#i did my best with ruptured connection last night to try and get things up and some other obstacles

[forbiddcnsirvn]

instagram » DEVILSERPENT uploaded a new photo.

DEVILSERPENT: 

Five years. Half a decade. Sixty months. However you slice it, that’s how long Cyrek and I have been bound in this wild ride. The fucking audacity of us - two broken souls hitching their wagons to each other - is almost laughable. If you’re waiting for the sweet nothings and poetic drivel, you may want to hit the door right about now. Cyrek and I are not your garden variety, sickeningly saccharine, fairy-tale protagonists. Far from it. We’re at war against each other just as much as we love; there’s no grand castle with spires touching the sky, no enchanting serenades beneath balconies. Rather, we’re more akin to the shadows that creep out when the day fades away - a pair of misfits navigating the underbelly of life, perfectly content within our chaotic obscurity. Over the course of our relationship, we’ve traversed a veritable minefield. Losses that have reduced us to specters of our former selves, injuries leaving indelible marks on both flesh and psyche, and the harsh pangs of life, in general - dreams conceived and lost in the same cruel breath. Our journey has been anything but easy; we’ve crawled through the darkest tunnels, stumbling blindly, yet always feeling our way forward, together. We’ve helped each other to be the versions of ourselves.

Now Cyrek, that stubborn, yet undeniably irresistible arse, where do I even start? This one is a living, breathing paradox. Each day, he squares off against unseen opponents in the arena of his mind. Shite that could make the uninitiated squirm. Yet he stands tall, albeit a bit skewed, weathering the storms that batter him from within. He’s not the shining knight on a white horse; more like a war-weary soldier with tarnished chest, yet never hesitating to get back into the fray. The shadows he battles aren’t for the faint-hearted, yet he does. Every day. And here’s the part where I want to punch anyone who spouts that ‘just smile and be happy’ bullshit right in their cheery face. It’s not that easy. Not for him, not for any of us.

And yet - here’s the clincher - he’s the best damn father I could’ve asked for our kids. He’s not just dealing with his own demons, he will be teaching our kids how to duel with theirs, too. There’s no pretense, no false promises of ‘everything’s fine.’ He’s raw and real, and he’s showing our children that it’s okay to be human, to be flawed, to hurt, and to keep on fighting anyway. It isn’t a bed of roses. Hell, it’s more like a field of thorns with the occasional bloom. But those blooms are worth every scratch, every moment of pain. He’s taught me that beauty can be found in the most unexpected places, like the heart of a person who fights monsters and still tucks our kids into bed with a gentle smile and a story to make them dream of better things.

And I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I want more, in fact, I’d never want it to end. Here’s to our five years and more. I have loved you for so long, and undoubtedly, I always will.

Happy anniversary, sugar. @nxnbinarydracvla

[johnkrrasinski]

𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

Chapter 3: chains around my demons

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,798

Summary: blessed with telepathic abilities since birth, you were captured by HYDRA and turned into one of their weapons to kill. after the blip, you were pardoned by the government and you were obliged to check up with dr. raynor everyday which you had no clue would lead you to the one soul you’d been waiting for.

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+) angst, mentions of anxiety, nightmares, murders.

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @ohmickeyhenry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for trusting me with your story. i sincerely hope you like it.

The next day, you packed up your bags and were ready to leave. You were waiting on Sam to arrive at Wakanda with the quinjet so he could fly you and Bucky back to the compound. You were a little bummed about leaving Wakanda, it had been a therapeutic experience for you and Bucky to be here. The thought of living the domestic life, in a beautiful place like Wakanda that is far away from the bustling city of New York was enticing. Sometimes you’d look at Bucky just walking around in his shirt and sweatpants doing the most mundane things instead of getting prepared for another mission and you’d think “I could get used to this.”

You thanked T’Challa, Shuri, Queen Ramonda and the Dola Milaje for everything they had done before you bid your farewell. You promised to stay in contact with Shuri and the Dora Milaje but it was still hard to leave them, they were truly the best people you had ever met. They reminded you of everything HYDRA was not. You could see why Bucky always spoke so highly of them.

Later that night, you had the compound all to yourself. Tony was having a date night with Pepper, Natasha was on a mission to Hungary, Sam was visiting his sister in Louisiana and Rhodey was dealing with some air force matters. As much as you loved the Avengers, you were grateful for this moment alone with Bucky.

The dimmed lights in the kitchen where you and Bucky just had dinner gave him an idea, “doll, get up…”

She did as he told even though she had no clue what he was planning, “for what, Bucky?”

He didn’t answer her but rather, he commanded FRIDAY to play a song called Put Your Heart on My Shoulder by Paul Anka. “Let’s dance, doll.”

He put his flesh hand on your waist and took your left hand with his vibranium arm, “I haven’t danced in ages, Buck.”

“Me neither, doll, but we’ll learn from each other,” he smiled affectionately at you.

It started off slow and you kept your eyes on each other, saying things that words can’t illustrate. It’s love, the realization of how fortunate you both were to have found each other. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” you uttered softly as you fiddled with his dog tags.

“Me too, doll. But we got each other now, I won’t let anything keep me away from you for too long.”

There was a brief silence. “Do you remember the last time you danced like this?”

“1945, Stark Expo, before I was shipped out to England. Her name was Connie and I took Steve with me because I wanted to spend it with him on my last night. I set him up with Connie’s friend but the punk just left to try to enlist in the army.”

Steve. You’d heard about him from Natasha and Tony. No one outside of the Avengers really knew where he was but you knew that he went back in time. That’s all you knew about it. You had also learned about his and Bucky’s friendship and how they really went all the way back. You were often curious about his ‘disappearance’ however you didn’t wanna pry or made Bucky feel worse. Losing a friend was always hard, let alone someone who was his only connection to his past, the life that he knew before he was forced to live out those violent years. You’d heard from Sam about how Steve was the only reason why Bucky stayed alive and how he had thought about committing suicide before. Now that he was gone, Sam often feared that Bucky would snap and give in to it but he always tried to be there for him. You were just glad that Bucky had Sam even before you were around.

“Do you… miss Steve?” you hesitantly asked as you rested your head on his chest.

“All the time,” He confessed. You were a tad relieved that Bucky wanted to open up about him to you. “He was the only family I got left, and when he went back, I felt empty. I was just lucky that Sam didn’t give up on me… And that, I met you.”

You smiled, you lifted your head to look at him. “You’re never gonna lose me. Not again,” you touched his face and he kissed you. It was soft, nothing like the kiss on your last night in Wakanda, but you could feel him pouring all the emotions and gratitude he had for you and you did just the same.

He lifted you as you wrapped his legs around his waist, still maintaining that kiss. Bucky carried you onto the dining table where you just had your dinner and he laid you there as he trailed to your throat and all the way down to your body which was now half-exposed after he lifted the hem of your shirt up until your breasts were revealed.

You weren’t wearing any bra so it was easier for him to access your nipples, he sucked on the right one as his flesh hand made its way down to your pants, unbuttoning it, and he inserted his fingers to find your clit, rubbing it in circles, making you even wetter every second. You shut your eyes, letting him have his way with your body.

His fingers and his tongue worked so magically that within seconds, he had you close to orgasm. “Bucky, so close…” You could feel his smirk against your nipple and he rubbed you faster. You moaned his name as you released all over his digits, soaking them up and he lifted his head to look into your eyes as he sucked your juices all over his hand like a fucking ice cream.

“You taste like heaven, sweetheart.” The sight of Bucky staring intensely at you as he sucked on his fingers that were drenched by your cum was euphoric, like watching a live homemade porn video. Bucky took off his sweatpants and his shirt, discarding them on the floor. Seeing him shirtless never ceased to mesmerize you, his body was a work of art. He’d told you one night that it took him a while to accept the scars on his body, let alone the bionic arm that felt nothing like a human but you told him that you loved every inch of it and if you could, you’d worship it forever.

Bucky then lifted the shirt that was still rumpled on your chest, up to your wrists, where he used it as a makeshift knot, keeping your hands above your head, “stay there, understand?”

“Yes, sergeant.” You had no idea what sparked that nickname, but from the way he grinned, he sure loved it and if he loved it, then you were sure to use that in future steamy sessions.

“Sergeant, huh? You’re in big trouble, darling.” Bucky tore your damp panties and you gasped, not expecting him to be so aggressive… Not that you were complaining though. “Bucky…”

“Shh, let me take care of you, baby.” He kissed you ferociously, with his tongue completely dominating your mouth. Without any warning, his middle finger intruded your body… But it was an entirely different feeling from the last time he did that to you because he was using his vibranium arm and the sensation instantly took over your body, running in your veins like that serum in his blood.

“Oh God, Buck…” You whined as you looked down to where his finger was moving in and out of you at a slow pace.

“Does it feel good?” He asked as he kept looking at your face, searching for any signs of discomfort but with each motion, you only seemed to enjoy it.

“Yes, it feels fucking amazing… Don’t stop, please.”

He began to move his digits faster, and when your wails grew louder, he inserted another finger and you arched your back. “Fuck, oh God…” Bucky curled his fingers to brush your sweet spot, pushing you to the edge and you cum for the second time all over his vibranium hand.

“You’re so hot when you cum,” he whispered in a gravelly low voice that could weaken any woman in the knees. He pulled his fingers out of you and he used your juices to stroke his member to make it easier to slide into you.

Bucky lifted your legs onto his shoulders and he lined his cock to your entrance, slowly as he felt your walls fluttered around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Bucky began moving, he was taking his time with your body, wanting to feel every inch of you and you of him, and you whimpered with every thrust. He felt so heavy between your hips that you could feel your orgasm approaching fast, even with the languid pace.

“I’m not gonna last long…” You said in between whimpers.

“I know, doll. Just let go when you’re ready, okay?” He began to speed up, his grunts and the sound of your skin slapping was obscene, making you nearly forget you were fucking in the place where the Avengers would feast (if they found out what you did on this table, Tony would hire a cleaning service company to scrub the entire surface thrice.)

The coil in your lower abdomen tightened and you knew you were seconds away from rupturing. A few more thrusts and you hit your peak. Bucky kept holding your hips tightly and he continued to pound into you, prolonging your orgasm as he chased his own climax. Your body trembled from the aftershocks but from the way Bucky was impaling you, you could feel a fourth orgasm coming and you didn’t know if you could take it anymore.

He felt you squeezing his cock once again and you both came together, pleasure washed over both of you. He shot his load inside you, painting your walls white. A few more shallow thrusts to blow every drop he had left within him. He stayed inside you as he hid his face between your neck and your shoulder, the warmth of his body on top of you was comforting despite the sweat all over your body.

Bucky lifted his head to look at you and sweep the strands of hair sticking on your forehead, “you okay?” he panted. You could only respond by nodding, not moving because of the weight of him still between your legs and how completely spent you were.

Once he had regained his composure, he retreated himself out of you and he carried you in bridal style to your room, wanting nothing else than to take care of you with a hot bath and forehead kisses under the duvet.

tags; @ohmickeyhenry @suitofvibraniumarmor @themaddies-obx @themaddies-obx @beminetokeep @bluemoon-icecream @bluemoon-icecream @harprs @thefridgeismybestie @abitofeverythingg @wolfonthemoonwatchestvshows @julimelodi @bookscoffeandotherstuff @tanyaherondale @artisancowbells @ferxaniti @intothesoul @hallecarey1 @buckybarnesplumwhore @thefallenbibliophilequote @andiyholly @emizla @capxwinter @jevans2 @alwaysreadingimagineschick @swtltlmrvlgrl @extremelyblackandwhite

[queenofthedramedies]

Legacies Opinions 3x02: Bro, Don't Die On Me!

Hello, my lovely readers!

Welcome back to Legacies Opinions! I hope that you are safe and well! :)

Now, who wants to jump into last night's epi? Shall we?

BIG SPOILERS AHEAD! MAJOR! DO NOT PROCEED, IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO KNOW!

Last night was all drama, drama, and happy...depending on your viewpoint.

So, if you watched live--like I did--last night, you know that ninety percent of the epi was a love letter/farewell to Rafael Waithe (Peyton Alex Smith). At the end of the last epi, it looked like Raf's life hung in the balance. And most of the episode ranged from funny, to tear-filled, to sentimental sweetness.

Rafael had connected with most of our heroes, so it is not shocking that they pulled out all the stops to try to save him. The witches did spells, which resulted in Lizzie getting exploded upon, and Lizzie and Hope working together on a plan to use Landon's phoenix to keep Raf alive. And Alaric (who has been re-cast in my mind as Mischa Collins, Castiel from Supernatural. But that is another matter to be dealt with by the Powers of The CW and Julie Plec)... teamed up with Sheriff Mac who worked to track down Raf's birth mom.

Now, I'm not going to tell you everything that happened, but let's just say that Hope found a way to keep Raf alive, and in a happy place, so that he can return to the show, at a later date.

We also saw a split second of (Lipahael?) What was Lizzie and Raf's shipper name, again? Anyone?

Other happy moments: If you like Landon's and Raf's brotherly bond, you will love, and hate, this epi which ends with their separation, for now.

This will definitely place Landon on a new path because since they were introduced; the brothers were rarely apart. This may be a great opportunity for Landon (Aria Shahghasemi) to grow as a character. It will also give him a lot of pain to work through. Also, Landon believing that he's just Joe Schmo Human Guy will change his character's identity. (Although I suspect there is more to than plot the meets the eye...)

Speaking of pain, time for the not-so-happy bits: Hope just lost one of her best friends. And in spite of her appearance in Landon's story for Raf; they (Hope and Raf) were separated.

We all know, by now, that Hope does not do well with separation. This is a triple-punch, after she thought Landon was dead, and nearly lost Josie to dark magic. It seems like our super-heroine might be about to spiral, once again, or to push people away, as she did at the beginning of the series.

We see that at the end of the epi, when Hope and Landon fight over whether or not his being part of the Super Club is pivotal to their relationship. It is not clear whether or not this is just another fight, or another chasm, that will end in a true rupture for the lead couple of Legacies.

Speaking of pairings: Who expected Alyssa Chang to pair up with The Necromancer? Not me! Okay, maybe I just did not expect them to team up, to bring a rain of bad things down upon the heads of the Salvatore students, given Alyssa’s attachment to Kaleb and Jed. Oh, and Ted…sorry, The Necromancer! And Alyssa are not a couple-couple. But they are melding their shared desire for power and revenge.

This leads to us learning more about the Necro's plans for Mali (which it is unclear whether Landon will still be part of those plans, or not?) And The Sphinx returned, to render a prophecy about someone dying! What? Why? Come on, Legacies, we need a pause button on the pain! Isn't the real world painful enough? Oh, well! Dramas.

Well, that is it for now!

Next week is the musical epi. and I'm about to do a backflip! Two series done, and no musical epi? But now we get one! Yay! 😊😍

Be safe!

-J

[aloha-solar]

The Spaces Between the Stars: Three

Rating: M

AO3 link here

It was soothing to see that this project was like the Lazarus Project. Of course, the guidelines and steps this time were simpler but the two’s commonalities made Miranda feel more confident as she worked. It made her feel even more confident that she didn’t have a doctor glancing over her shoulders every five minutes, second-guessing every decision she made. No, for the most part Miranda worked in complete privacy, only calling in assistance when Shepard needed surgery.

For the most part. The doctors stayed away, but the visitors certainly didn’t.

Some of Jack’s students had already been discharged, but at least half of them still needed to remain in the hospital for further treatment. As a result, Jack took to sticking her head round after she visited her students.

“Jack, you do realize that I’m actually trying to work here?” Miranda said one evening. It had been two weeks since Hackett hired her, and she felt pleased with the progress Shepard made. The burns were mostly superficial, and while Miranda felt certain they would leave some scarring, it wouldn’t be debilitating. The wound on the left side of Shepard’s torso still needed regular dressing, but it hadn’t showed any signs of infection or major damage. Her lung puncture was healing nicely as well, and they’d been able to switch her to an oxygen mask instead of full intubation. The only problem seemed to be her brain…

Jack shrugged, offering Miranda a paper cup of tea from the canteen. “Yeah, I know. But I’m currently out of commission until the kids are all back on their feet, so what else am I supposed to do?” She took a slurp of her energy drink. Miranda rolled her eyes.

“You can learn other skills,” Miranda said. “And I know most of those tattoos are self-inflicted. You could open a tattoo parlor in the meantime.” Jack laughed before downing the rest of her drink in two seconds flat.

“Why? Want to be my first customer, princess?” Jack said. “How about a nice Cerberus symbol on your—”

“Maybe you’re good at something else,” Miranda said quickly. Jack laughed again before punching Miranda on the shoulder. Miranda shot her a quick smile before turning her attention back to her datapad. Jack walked over to the window to Shepard’s hospital room.

“She’s doing as well as she can, considering the circumstances,” Miranda said, not turning around and answering the question that was playing in Jack’s mind.

“She wasn’t this bad when you guys dug her up, right?” Jack asked. Miranda glanced over at Jack. Jack was still looking through the window, but she’d crumpled her can in her hand and ruptured it. Miranda turned off her datapad and then stood next to her.

"When we got her, we couldn’t tell if she was a man or a woman,” Miranda said. “A lot of her gear was infused onto her body, and—”

“So she’s not as fucked up,” Jack said flatly.

“No,” Miranda said. “She’s not.” She wondered if she should something nice for Jack—perhaps give her a shoulder pat or a hand squeeze—when Jack suddenly stepped away.

“Gotta go see the kids one more time before visiting hours are up,” Jack said. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Miranda saw that Jack’s jaw was slightly more rigid than usual. Her voice sounded thicker as well. “See you around, princess.”

“Jack—” Miranda began but Jack had already walked down the hallway and turned the corner. Miranda sighed, before taking a sip of her tea and heading back into Shepard’s room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were lots of visitors to Shepard’s room in that month. Miranda never saw Kasumi in-person, but there would be little hints that she’d stopped by whenever Miranda left the room: once there was a teddy bear stuck at the end of Shepard’s bed; another time, an abstract painting hanging on the wall that said, “Get well soon, Shep!” When Miranda scanned it with an omni-tool, she saw that it was an elcor creation, a piece that had been declared stolen just before the war began. Miranda considered calling the police, but instead ended up taking the painting home to her apartment. Shepard would probably get a laugh out of it, she decided, before they handed it in.

Zaeed came once, carrying a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Miranda chuckled when she saw him. “I didn’t think you were the romantic type, Zaeed,” Miranda said as the two of them shook hands. “And I don’t think Shepard’s ready to eat solid foods yet.”

"I couldn’t damn well smuggle her in a gun now, could I?” Zaeed said. “Figured it was the next best thing. These are damn good chocolates, and the wine’s from 2122.”

“How do you know the chocolates are damn good?” Miranda said.

“Because I had to try a couple to make sure they weren’t poisoned!” Zaeed said. He handed Miranda the box and the bottle, before taking the seat next to Shepard’s bed. He put his arms behind his head and crossed his legs.

“How did you even get these anyway?” Miranda asked, putting the bottle down on the floor next to Zaeed and plucking a raspberry cream chocolate from the box. “You were on the Citadel, weren’t you?”

“Not all of the Citadel was destroyed,” Zaeed said. “Most of the Outer Wards did get pretty fucked over, and there were apparently a couple of attacks on the Presidium, but most people fled to the Inner Wards when the Reapers decided to bloody drag us across the galaxy. And that isn’t bloody alien swill: that is pure Earth chocolate. Speaking of which, the marzipan ones are pretty good. Toss me one, will you?”

“I thought we were supposed to be saving these,” Miranda said, but she obliged.

“There’s a good girl,” Zaeed said, popping the chocolate in his mouth. He nodded at Shepard. “How’s my favourite commander doing? She all right?”

“As all right as she can be, Zaeed,” Miranda said. She closed the lid on the chocolate box and put it on the floor too.

“She’ll get up eventually,” Zaeed said. “When I got shot in the head, doctors thought I was done for. Said I’d be in a coma for the rest of my life. Shows how much those bastards know.” He chuckled. “Rage ain’t just an anesthetic, it’s a hell of a stimulant.”

“I don’t think rage is going to help,” Miranda said.

“You don’t think she’s not gonna be pissed that the Reapers nearly destroyed Earth and every fucking planet in the galaxy? Nah. She’s gonna be pissed when she wakes up,” Zaeed said. “Now if you need a merc to help discharge her early, then I might be available..."

Garrus and Tali were still off the grid, which left Miranda thoroughly unsurprised. All the Normandy crew would be banging down the hospital door if they were still on Earth, and none of the alien crew would even dream of going off-world until they saw Shepard wake up. She hoped that wherever they were, they’d be back on Earth by the time Shepard woke up. It stung, but they’d been with Shepard since the beginning. And as much as Shepard cared for Miranda, it would be stupid to assume that Shepard wouldn’t be disappointed when she only saw Miranda, and none of the rest of her crew.

Jacob and Grunt were off-world too, but at least Miranda had spoken to Jacob. She didn’t expect anything from Grunt—the krogan quickly dispatched themselves the second the last Reaper fell—but Jacob was stationed on a ship near the ruins of the Arcturus Station, part of a team that was supposed to rebuild it

“But you don’t know how to build anything, Jacob,” Miranda said, two days after Zaeed visited. “How are you supposed to help rebuild an entire space station?”

“By not being part of the building team,” Jacob answered. The connection was full of static, but Miranda could still here Jacob's voice above it. “I’m there to help guard the workers, prevent any attacks and fights from outsiders.”

“Ah, Jacob. And here I thought you left your merc days behind you,” Miranda said.

“I’m still serving as a member of the Alliance,” Jacob countered. “Plus they want to make Arcturus a military outpost this time, instead of being a hybrid between a base and civilian housing. They’re going to heavily reinforce it and everything.”

“What else could be out there besides the Reapers?”

“No idea,” Jacob said. “But…doesn’t it make you feel better at night knowing that we have a major base against outside attacks?”

“I suppose,” Miranda said, knowing that pointing out Arcturus Station's quick destruction during the Reaper invasion would not be a good idea. “But I’ve got to run, Jacob. Shepard isn’t going to make a full recovery without me. Tell Brynn I said hello and that I hope everything’s going well with the baby.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miranda,” Jacob said, laughing. “And Brynn…Brynn will be fine. Let me know when Shepard wakes up. Maybe I’ll treat us all to a few drinks. Just like old times.” Miranda smiled wanly before she disconnected. She liked Jacob—he was a good soldier, and she knew that if she spent more time with him, he’d be a good friend—but their lives were taking different routes. He seemed intent on forgetting about the Normandy and his time spent on it. She, on the other hand, had grown fond of some of the crew members. But then again, did she really have a choice in that fondness? Miranda didn’t suppose she did. Before the Normandy, the only other person she cared about was Oriana. Now…well. It felt odd, and it was more than a little distracting, but she liked those unexpected visits from her former crew-mates. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them.

The last person to visit was Samara. She came in late one night, exactly a month after Miranda started working on Shepard. After Miranda spoke to Jacob, she found herself in the hospital nearly twenty-four-seven, scanning Shepard’s body this way and that, trying to find some explanation as to why Shepard wasn’t waking up. Her abdomen wound had started closing up, her lung puncture was nearly healed, and her scars had faded, so it couldn’t have been from body trauma. The brain scans showed no major damage. No, the implants were the issue. They hadn’t failed: they were still working, keeping Shepard’s heart beating and her lungs full of oxygen. But they weren’t behaving properly either: if they were, Shepard would have been awake the second most of her major injuries were treated.

So Miranda slaved away in Shepard’s hospital room, running every test under the sun and still coming up empty-handed. She couldn’t even ask the doctors for help: they were her implants, her creation, and if she asked the medical staff for help, they wouldn’t have a clue as to how they could help. It all left Miranda tired and frustrated…and scared.

"Is that going to be it then, Shepard?” Miranda said the night Samara arrived, throwing her hands up in the air. She’d run another round of tests, trying to see if electro-shock therapy could get Shepard up, but still nothing. It was a long shot, anyway—electro-shock therapy stopped being used at all, even for mental illnesses, at some point in the 2080s—but after hitting every single wall in the maze, Miranda was fast running out of ideas. “Are you just going to lie there for the rest of your life?”

“That would be very unlike Shepard to do so,” Samara said, and Miranda jumped and turned around. “My apologies, Miranda. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Samara,” Miranda said, putting the paperwork away and turning the lights up in the room ever so slightly. “But what are you doing here? Visitor’s hours ended a while ago.”

“I had thought you had left already,” Samara said. “I don’t know Earth time that well, but I believe twelve o’clock at night is rather late for humans.”

“Not just here in the hospital,” Miranda said. “But here on Earth. I thought you’d have returned to Thessia by now.”

“I thought so as well,” Samara said, crossing her hands behind her back and walking slowly towards Shepard’s bed. “But it seems that the relay damage has delayed my leave. And after I heard that Shepard was the one who set off the Crucible, I felt that I needed to see that she was all right.”

“I see,” Miranda said.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Samara said.

“What question?”

“Why you’re still here instead of resting,” Samara said. “When I received the message about Shepard from Kasumi, I wanted to see her as soon as I was able. Kasumi said that you usually went home at eleven o’clock.”

“That’s what I usually do,” Miranda said, making a mental note to check the room to make sure Kasumi hadn’t cloaked herself without Miranda’s knowledge, “but…it’s funny, but as Shepard’s injuries have healed, I haven’t been as home as often as I should.”

“I see,” Samara said. Miranda felt her insides squirm. As much as she respected Samara, there was something about her that made Miranda nervous. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Samara could kill Miranda for breaking asari law without any consequences, or perhaps it was because Samara’s eyes were so piercingly, unnaturally blue, almost the exact shade of her skin. Miranda wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to find out.

“You’ve done an excellent job with her,” Samara continued, gazing at Shepard. “I believe Shepard would be pleased to know that her friend is taking such care of her.”

“I’ve had practice,” Miranda said simply.

“Shepard mentioned you being the one who brought her back to life,” Samara said. “I imagine this project is easier for you.”

“It would be even easier if Shepard actually woke up,” Miranda said. She started pacing, twisting her fingers. Samara’s eyes followed her, but she stayed by the bed.

“It’s…” Miranda began, but then trailed off. How could she describe it? It wasn’t a coma, but it couldn’t be sleep either. A vegetative state? Was that what Shepard was going to be? Alive, but only by the loosest definition of the word?

“She’s not…I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Miranda finally got out. “She didn’t score terribly on the Glasgow scale, but she didn’t score well either. But the doctors ran so many scans on her that they were able to rule out any sort of brain damage. It must be the implants that are the issue, but I don’t know what’s the matter with them.

“I’m the one who designed the implants, so why don’t I know what’s wrong? They want me to bring Shepard back again, but what if the first time was a fluke? What if she’s supposed to stay dead this time? I know I’m doing everything right, but the implants were supposed to wake her up the second her injuries started healing!” Miranda kept burbling on, coming up with different theories—had Wilson interfered during the Lazarus Project? Did the Illusive Man have some part in this? Did the Alliance?—when suddenly, Samara grabbed Miranda’s hands. Miranda stopped mid-sentence, finding herself face-to-face with Samara’s piercing eyes.

“Tell me, Miranda, when was the last time you slept?” Samara prodded. There was something almost motherly and tender in her tone that nearly made Miranda cry. Samara killed hundreds, if not thousands of people for the sake of preserving ancient justice, but Miranda had forgotten that Samara had been a mother before all of that.

“Do you want the last time I actually slept, or the last time I slept well?” Miranda asked. Samara gave her a sad little smile.

“Both,” she replied.

“Then I’m fairly certain you won’t like the answer for either of them.”

“Then perhaps you should get some rest,” Samara replied. “You’ll only injure yourself if you keep working like this.”

“I would,” Miranda said, letting go of Samara’s hands and stepping away. “But I can’t rest until I know Shepard will be all right.”

“You mean until she wakes up,” Samara said. She took a step closer to Miranda, closing the distance that Miranda created. “Tell me, Miranda: did you work yourself this hard when you were rebuilding Shepard?” Miranda paused. Truth be told, she had worked herself that hard in the beginning. She overworked herself in the three months before Shepard woke up as well, but she had no choice that time: she couldn’t risk Wilson waking her up again and nearly killing her. But those months in-between, when it was clear Shepard was healing and stable, she finally let herself relax. How could she not? Shepard would have been fine: the implants were placed and working well. But this was different: the implants were working, but as if they were at minimal power.

“If you’re worried about doctors interfering, you have no need to,” Samara said. “I will watch over Shepard until you return.”

“But what if something happens when I’m not here?” Miranda asked, looking down at Shepard. She looked peaceful, her black hair fanned out on her pillow, her breathing even and regular, but she kept thinking about the implants. What if they failed the second she stepped out of the hospital? If she didn’t get back quickly enough, there would be no chance of saving Shepard. All her hard work would be for nothing.

“You cannot keep thinking of the possibilities that something will go wrong,” Samara said. “Something could have gone wrong this past month, yet Shepard has remained stable. She is no danger if you step away for one night.”

“But what if it does?” Miranda said. “I know it’s stupid that I can’t trust my own handiwork, but—“

“Miranda,” Samara said. She placed her hand over Miranda’s again and rubbed her thumb over Miranda’s knuckles. “You have let yourself become overtired and over-paranoid. Once you have rested, you will be able to think clearly. Besides,” Samara said with another small smile, “even genetically-engineered humans need to get some sleep.” Miranda stepped away again and gave one last worrying look at Shepard. She took a deep breath.

“You promise to let me know in case anything bad happens?” Miranda asked. She hated how high and pleading her voice sounded—almost childlike—but she knew that Samara wasn’t going to let Miranda stay.

“You have my promise,” Samara said, walking to the chair and sitting on it in the lotus position. “Now go. Shepard will be safe under my watch.” Samara closed her eyes and lit up the dim room with her biotics. Miranda gave one last look at both of them before slowly walking out.

As she walked down the hallway and outside into the cool London air, it occurred to Miranda that for the first time in a month, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She inhaled sharply, taking in the smell of rain on concrete and the sharp scent of the takeaway places around her, before hailing a taxi to take her back to her apartment. She’d scarcely been in it since Hackett gave her the job.

She barely made it onto the couch before collapsing on the lopsided cushions and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She didn’t wake up until evening the next day. Bleary-eyed, Miranda stretched and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. The clock said six twenty-three. Miranda groaned. She ran her fingers through her hair and popped a few peppermints in her mouth before sprinting out of her apartment and back to the hospital.

She didn’t know why she rushed back. Shepard was still unconscious, her various monitors providing a beeping harmony in the background. Samara, by the looks of it, hadn’t moved either, still in the same position and chair she’d been in when Miranda left. Samara opened her eyes when she heard the door open.

“You should have phoned me when I didn’t turn up this morning,” Miranda said, running her omni-tool over Shepard’s body and checking all her vitals.

“I felt no need to,” Samara said. “Nothing about Shepard’s condition changed while you were away, and you needed the rest.” Miranda sighed. Samara was right on both counts.

Well, nearly right.

“Her implants are becoming more active,” Miranda said. She turned around to face Samara. “If they’re becoming more active, it means that they’re getting ready for when she’s conscious again.”

“I see,” Samara said. “Then the rest turned out to be good after all?”

"I…yes, that’s right,” Miranda said, turning around and facing her. “I suppose that running all those tests might have interfered with the implants.”

“Perhaps,” Samara said. “Or you two needed to spend some time apart.”

“A doctor and a patient spending time apart?” Miranda said. She crossed her arms as a smile tugged at her mouth.

“I remember my daughters fighting with each other about such trivial things,” Samara said. “I often needed to separate them before they would apologize to each other.”

Miranda chuckled. “I see,” she said. Samara nodded at her.

“I should take my leave now, Miranda,” Samara said. She gave her a pat on the shoulder before walking to the door. “I hope I see you again before I return to Thessia.”

"Same to you,” Miranda said. “And maybe I should tell Kasumi to send you in whenever I need to take a break.” A small smile flickered across Samara’s lips.

“Yes, that would be an excellent idea,” Samara said. “I will await her message. But in the meantime…good-bye, Miranda.” Miranda gave Samara a nod and watched the door close behind her. She turned back around to Shepard, pulling out her omni-tool to check her vitals again. As she walked over to Shepard’s head, she saw her eyelids begin to flutter and she let out a sharp breath.

Miranda’s jaw dropped.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terra Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Sometimes, a ghost is a wish. | Word Count: 3,218

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 6

The Master’s bedroom is exactly as he left it many years ago. Bed made, dresser (now) dusty, curtains parted to let the sunlight in, walk-in closet neatly organized with not a single article of clothing in his hamper, as the Master was a fan of washing clothes every single day. Terra never found out why. 

Terra has rummaged through this drawer three times already and still he can’t find them. He’s looking for a stack of sepia-toned pictures, cradled in a small envelope, the ones on the top dated many years ago when the Master was a student, while the ones at the bottom chronicle some of his adult life when Terra and Aqua were children. He’s tried searching every drawer, every box, every cupboard, and has even looked under the mattress and in the pillow cases. He couldn’t have misremembered them, could he?

One of the things he’s surprised to find instead is a small, delicately furnished wooden box with a latch. Full of cigars. The Master never smoked, but maybe he liked to smell like them. Though Terra would never personally choose to keep a set in his dresser, smudging all his clothes. 

Sighing, Terra stands by the bed, taking another gander around the room to see if there’s a spot he could have missed. Maybe behind the mirror? No, not there. He slips his hands into his pockets, and finds something else. Folded over in four, the paper is crumpled, living in his pocket for the better part of a week. Naminé’s drawing of Xemnas is messier, the strokes of crayon meshed into each other that he’s less of a childish, crude figure and more of a smear. That ring of fire surrounding him stays closed. 

Terra grunts.

Here comes another headache, a tense pulse above his brow. Massaging it never helps. Suddenly, Terra is not in his Master’s old bedroom anymore. Suddenly, he’s standing high on a cliff overlooking a wasteland, talking to someone in a black cloak with the hood up. 

Now he’s back in the bedroom, the sun cutting shapes through the lace curtains with the breeze passing by. In a few minutes, the headache will go away. This is how it goes every single time.

Yes, it’s been a week since they left Radiant Garden. Only Ienzo uses the Gummiphone for contact, leaving long messages that take Terra too much time to reply back to. The rest of the team would prefer correspondence through letters, which is something Terra would rather do as well. He just hasn’t done so yet, focusing his attention on cleaning the castle as they start a new life without their old Master. Once that’s done, he promises himself to do so. 

It’s a shame, he knows he should make more of an effort (and promises that he would once he takes care of the Master). Xion sometimes texts him with pictures, some of them with Roxas, who still hasn’t made an effort to talk to him even though they played a good race at the beach (Terra didn’t even need to let him win—that kid is fast). That’s okay. Xion has offered to set Terra up with what she calls a Kingstagram account, and Terra supposes that’s okay, too. He just doesn’t know what that is or if it’s worth his time. 

In the end, he is still really bad at connecting with others, and he’s still out of pictures, and he still doesn’t know what to do with the Xemnas drawing. Any moment now, Aqua will come looking for him. They’re finally preparing for his memorial, to say goodbye to his Keyblade—

—And Terra has to say goodbye forever without ever seeing him again. What’s the point of staying linked to these memories if they do nothing for him? 

Why does looking at this drawing of Xemnas the only thing that gives him reminders?

Grunting, Terra rubs his face. Maybe it’s as good a time as any to text somebody now, distract himself so he calms down and do some good so he’s not completely isolated. He waits for his Gummiphone to turn on to the initial screen, the whirring of the machine the only noise accompanying him. How did Ven do this again? He clicks on his address book. Now he has to remember how to open a text and take a picture, particularly of the Xemnas drawing.

terra

did he ever call you an also-ran

Send.

Terra doesn’t expect Lea to answer right away. He probably will read the text, probably take the time he needs to register how he feels before painting his usual bright smile that he uses to play everyone. Maybe Terra has him all wrong. Maybe this is really offensive, and Lea would actually be upset. It’s not his intention.

The Gummiphone buzzes several times.

lea

see

i told isa the other day

the first time i saw you i thought you looked like an asshole

Terra snorts to himself quietly.

terra

is that your favorite word

lea

;3

So it’s all good. Terra breathes a sigh of relief, a smirk that’s warm on his cheeks. He doesn’t know if texting people randomly is the right way to go about doing this whole make-new-friends thing. It’s not as easy as walking up to somebody and saying hello anymore, but starting a new life doesn’t have a manual. 

As though the chains he linked through Xemnas harbor resentment, he’s hit with another spasm of pain, drilling onto the side of his skull. Stars, they get intense sometimes, some of them downright gorey. He will not think about it. He will push it away. The pain subsides but only a bit, throbbing instead. 

It can’t end like this. He’s avoided going back to Naminé ever since just to keep trying and see Eraqus, one more time. One more. It’s not much to ask for, so why can’t the stars be more forgiving? He swears to them he’ll never ask for something again. 

Terra groans, pain hammering over his brow. What’s coming this time is going to knock him around, so he lowers himself to his knees. Several people dressed in extravagant embroidery, from some other world, being swallowed up by darkness, their hearts floating up to the sky and a small cry of Mister, is my mommy coming back? 

When it’s over, Terra sobs, keeping a heave from rupturing his chest and wiping dry tears. If Aqua comes in and sees him like this, she’ll freak—she’s already brewed so many potions and teas for him whenever he has an episode. 

He tries for the closet again. The Master kept his most expensive robes wrapped in plastic, preserving a faded scent of cedar. Terra takes the fabric, smooth as silk, and breathes into it. It’s weaker than last time. He could always spray it with the Master’s leftover cologne (his favorite), but it still wouldn’t smell exactly like him, and as Terra waits seconds for another memory to come, he realizes as soon as it hurts that it wouldn’t bother with giving him what he’s looking for. All he asks for is the sound of the Master’s voice, to see that smile move one more time so he makes sure he sears it into his mind for the rest of his life. 

Instead, a strong voice (Xehanort’s) talks about the Darkness making way for the Light, just like the expansive sky that is home to the stars. It was necessary to pursue it, he had said to someone. 

A single tear treads all the way to Terra’s jawline. He’s tried his best. No photos, no special memory. It’s like the Master doesn’t linger here anymore.

Defeated, Terra pulls his Gummiphone out, searching for Naminé’s entry. He won’t commit to an appointment. He’s only asking questions, wondering if there are better ways to maneuver through the memories so he gets what he wants. She doesn’t answer right away. 

He pulls himself up at the foot of the bed, aching like an older man even though he looks twenty in the mirrors. What lies.

Where else to find mementos? Terra has already looked through the Master’s study and his favorite spots in the library. The only place left is the attic. 

The attic sits atop the northeast tower. Terra is in the residential wing, in the southeast tower, so he has to travel several paces downstairs to make it over, just to climb all the way back up. Entirely built of wood, the attic has one stained-glass window that slices pastels through the floorboards. A lot of junk gets dumped up here—old knight statues from a Master that lived eight-hundred years ago or so, faded paintings that have names but aren’t recognizable anymore, couches that are stained and out of style, chests of outdated books and maps, and trinkets and gifts that litter everywhere else. Even Aqua can’t bear to let any of this go despite that none of it truly belongs to anybody. To her, it’s like rejecting their history. The Master probably had felt the same.

Before what happened, Master Eraqus was moving items up here, mostly stacks of papers. They were shoved in a leather binder, tied together with string. It’s a long shot the photos will be with them, but regardless, Terra begins the hunt. 

It’s not in the chest of crystals. Not by the old (creepy) dollhouse. Not with any of the broken phonograms, nor with the folded rugs that stack from floor to ceiling. 

But it’s right there, sitting neatly by a basket full of gold artifacts from worlds Terra has never been to and engraved in languages he doesn’t know, tied with a red string and stitched in handmade leather. When Terra pulls it open, he’s greeted by a handful of letters written to Eraqus about trouble in other worlds, asking for his help, and a stack of essays about the philosophy of the Keyblade, both in the common-tongue and the ancient. 

It’s nothing like reliving memories or watching them like footage, but Terra imagines the Master working late into the night on his desk with a quill, writing these essays slowly so he keeps his impeccable script. He’d read books with a glass of wine every night, and keep at it in the morning with a mug of coffee, hair unbrushed as usual but that’s fine when he keeps it in a short ponytail every day. He’d disappear every week to some other world, leaving Terra and Aqua with a nanny until they were old enough to take care of themselves. Considering what these people are writing about—missing circus animals, their neighborhood mountain being possessed, and even an early report of Unversed showing up in the woods—the Master used to be a busy man. 

Why did he have to die that day? Why can’t Terra keep the things that are supposed to come with home?

Terra sniffs. The smell of cedar comes up, as though the cologne was sprayed up here recently. Kicked up with a cloud of dust, as though the Master is here.

I am… well, for a short time at least.

Terra whips over his shoulder to find the Master behind him, a glow beaming through him as he checks the rust spreading on one of the oldest sets of armor. Picking up dust, Master Eraqus rubs it between his fingers.

This sorely needs urgent attention. I recommend some solvent and a spot of oil, he says, smiling at Terra as if it’s any other morning and breakfast will be announced soon. So many histories live here.

“Master?” Terra drops the papers.

Eraqus tsks his disapproval and like muscle memory, Terra immediately gathers the papers together, working on automatic mode, tucking them under his arm as if this is class and he has to be on his best behavior. When the Master approaches, he makes no noise: no thuds to his steps, no wind whooshed by his robe, gliding gracefully across the floor. Terra bows... though he cannot fight the urge to stare up. Terra has forgotten about the scar; it was on the Master’s face,  every single day, but he’s never heard the story behind it. An elephant accident. A run-in with pirates. Those were the contradicting explanations he’s heard every time he asks.

The Master looks down, motioning with his hand to stand up. Look at you. Almost as tall as I am.

“You’re here.”

The Master smiles. This is the happiest Terra remembers him being; he must not feel his chronic back pains anymore. You have spent your whole week following me. He gives Terra a mischievous knowing in his eyes. I suppose it would be rude of me not to return the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” Terra gasps, mouth gaped open for all the words he prepared, but now that the moment is passing by, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He reaches out with a hand but stops himself, scared of what it would feel like to to pass right through the image. “I missed you.”

And I have missed you all so much, Eraqus says with contentment.

“I wish it never happened,” Terra chokes. “Sometimes, I wish I could find some way—”

Shhh. The Master shakes his head lovingly. Don’t. No longer shall you venture down the path of grief. You have already experienced first-hand what such curiosities could lead to. And you already know you don’t need to. 

“I know,” Terra whispers. “I know.”

When the Master smiles this time, he sighs and closes his eyes like he’s feeling the sun. I have reunited with so many of my old friends since. Such a peaceful existence. He opens them. Your friendships are something to cherish for as long as they can physically walk by your side, Terra. But who am I to lecture? You have always. Friends to love, who want to care for you. I am so proud.

So proud…

Tears, quiet and happy, fall like drops of spring, Terra hearing what he always yearned to hear since he was six years old, a comforting embrace that wants to tell him he can breathe again without feeling guilty. 

But he still does. Every living breath is guilty by association.

“She’s so happy now,” Terra whispers as if to justify his actions, remembering Aqua sparring for the first time with Rainfell in years, hesitant at first, unsure of how it’s going to react with spells, but it comes fast. It comes like drinking water, natural and needed. “I don’t regret anything.”

Which was why you were the perfect candidate when I had asked you to look after them. He smirks. I couldn’t have trusted anyone better for the responsibility. 

Terra swallows, searching for the courage not to ask, believing he shouldn’t. He’s weak. “I am?”

The smile falls. You are not weak. 

You are willing to bare it all for your friends. Your bonds with Aqua and Ven are unbreakable, a magical, special, living Light to behold. A forge stronger than chains, weightless and free. I am sorry for seeding so much doubt within you, when you have so much to offer. If only I wasn’t—it was my duty to do better. That is my shame. He shakes his head at himself. But you’ve been so dedicated to the past, Terra, he says, concerned but not disappointed. Too much so. I worry. 

Terra grimaces. “Ha, I never have any explanations for the dumb mistakes I make when I need to.”

You’ll find little answers in what lies behind you. The Master leans forward, pulling a small smile as he studies Terra’s eyes. But you are more than capable. Please do me the favor. Trace the past no longer. You have your bonds to nourish, and more to flower. Then he smiles more, an epiphany in his eyes like he wants to share a secret. Only in death did I realize what true Mastery really is. The living can be so foolish. 

“You weren’t a fool, Master.”

Master… A Master is a forever student. To deny this is to be blind to your faults. Eraqus laughs, his eyes rolling. What would I have said to my younger self. You don’t see that one in the books. 

“I don’t know, I… I think what I did for Aqua trumps any dream I had in becoming Master.”

Eraqus’s eyes glisten. Do you not see one when you look at yourself in the mirror? 

Terra bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, warm and real. Terra could hug him. But he doesn’t, not when Eraqus slips something flat in his hand. 

Do take care of them. He holds Terra’s jaw. Chin up, son.

Footsteps climb up the stairs leading into the attic, and Terra is alone with a smooth piece of paper in one hand, the other wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Terra? You okay? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Aqua is carrying a finished wreath with purple flowers. She stops when she gasps, looking around the attic. “That smells like the Master’s cologne,” she whispers.

When Terra smiles, he cries more. “Look at this.”

A sepia-toned picture of Eraqus as a young boy, sitting on a window seat with a chess board laid out in front of him, all teeth from ear to ear, sincere and hopeful. He looks at the camera like it’s his best friend. 

Aqua’s eyes light up as she takes it, a tear for each eye. “Look at him. It’s so strange, but he was adorable.”

“Have you ever seen that one?”

“Never. It wasn’t with the others.”

“The others?”

She strokes the photo with her thumb. “Hm. I moved them into my room. I wanted to frame them.” She holds it to her chest. “Can I take this one?”

“For your room?”

“I’ve got one ready for yours. It’s that nice portrait that used to embarrass him.”

The one where he looked serious enough to judge someone to death. The Master had called it unsightly when it was presented to him.

“That one’s perfect.”

Aqua exhales deeply, shivering as tries to keep herself tall. “I’m so sad he’s gone, and... I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I had given him a Wayfinder. He feels so far away.”

He holds her chin softly, keeping it up as her heavy tears fall. “We could give him ours.”

She stops sobbing and stares through Terra when the realization hits her. She nods. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she says, nuzzling the wreath closer to her, her own little hug for the Master. 

Terra’s Gummiphone buzzes in his pocket. That has to be Naminé. 

“The wreath is beautiful,” he tells Aqua, and that grounds her back to reality. “You’ve done a marvelous job.”

“Thank you.” She strokes some of the leaves to keep them in place. “I’ll see you back at the front door?”

“Definitely.”

He’ll let her go downstairs first, pulling out the Gummiphone to read his new text. He’s going to tell Naminé that he’s changed his mind. He’s ready for an appointment.

[overwatchworks]

Ooo I have a McGenji prompt! ((It sounds kinda dumb though)) Maybe some sort of apocalypse-wasteland like Au where Genji and McCree both got separated for years. But, the way the reunite is through some sort of brutal injury Genji receives when scavenging by himself. ((Oh god I am legit cringe, I’m so sorry-))

Okay, I have a few things to say about this first:

1.) Nonnie, you are enjoying a harmless, if a bit more rare, AU for a pairing you like. Do not talk yourself down for liking it. Don’t call your little joys or things that make you excited dumb, because if they make you happy, then that’s all that matters. It’s not cringy to enjoy things, and it’s not cringy to be excited about an idea. Don’t let yourself be the person that talks down on your own interests, rather, be the one to encourage yourself to enjoy them to their fullest! So what if no one else really talks about it or you’ve never seen it before? Enjoy it anyways! Offer the idea anyways—there is no harm in it whatsoever! And you’re not cringy for enjoying it!

2.) When I first saw this prompt, I in no way, shape, or form thought it was cringe. I was simply intrigued by an idea I have never seen before for a McGen AU. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it happen, or how I would make it work, but when I sat down to actually write it, I had a blast. Your idea is fun and creative and I had a really good time figuring out what to make from it! You absolutely do not need to apologize. Which leads me to my last point.

3.) This is a no judgement zone. You shoot me an idea, I will do my best to make it happen. You have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to be afraid of. The worst anyone can tell you for this is “no thanks”. And I’m telling you now, this was fun. This was great, and I’m glad you asked for it.

Now, with that out of the way; Nonnie, here is your Apocalypse-Wasteland AU McGenji!

Genji knew he should not have gone in to that airship carrier alone. Knew he should have brought some of his crew with him for back up in case something went wrong. Hana had said she would come with him in the morning. Said she needed parts for her mech and that Jamison would be with her as well. 

But Genji had not wanted to wait. 

There would be too many scavengers like them looking in such a prize overnight. All the good metals and wiring and fuel cells would be gone by morning. Precious materials he needed to keep his systems functioning and the joints of most of his limbs still working. So Genji had gone in alone, even when he knew he should not have, when he knew there was so much that could go wrong. 

And of course, of course, it all went wrong. 

The wires he had been using as a rope to climb to a communications room of some sort were frayed. They had snapped when he was half way up, suspended forty feet in the air. Vertigo, and then static when he hit the ground. Fell through some of the debris and down even further into the wreckage. Somewhere he would not be found, even by luck, buried too deep for any of his comm signals to work. 

He could feel the parts of him that were broken. The synthetic parts. Wiring exposed and sparking at the ends, lighting up his nerves with fire that had only subsided slightly with time. Half of his vision was gone, sensors pinging in the peripheral of what he had left in bright red warning. 

System failure. 

Ruptures in his prosthetics. 

Something puncturing his chest. 

He couldn’t move his legs, they were trapped beneath something. The dull thudding of his heart—one of the few human accessories he had left—was a constant throbbing in his ears, high-pitched ringing beneath that. 

Genji was dying. 

Could feel the mix of biofluids and blood dribbling out of him slowly. Everything that was supposed to keep him working and healthy failing him. He had been too reckless—this carrier was huge, there would have been plenty left over for them in the morning. He should have just waited, he should have judged the wiring better, he had done this his whole life, was built to be the best at it. 

And yet here he was. Bitterly, there was a thought that at least if someone did eventually find him, he would be quite the treasure to scavenge. Long after he had died and the human parts of him rotted away, of course. 

Genji was dying, and all he could do was wait.

-

He had almost drifted to the point of no return. Had almost let go and not been able to come back. There was the sounds of scraping and clattering, someone grunting. Underwater. Muted to his ears, like he was underwater. 

Genji blinked slowly, eyes barely able to open. A flash of red greeted him, glowing hellish in the darkness. Heavy breathing. From him or whatever it was in front of him, Genji could not tell. 

And then he was being lifted from the rubble, body dangling limply from the strong grip he was held in. A familiar voice swam to him through the darkness.

“Hang on, Genji. Just hang on.”

-

Laughter. Something sweet and innocent. Childish. Because they were children. Children running through a scavenger’s yard, a workshop of sorts. 

There were creatures made of metal and what they had thought was a little bit of magic; sentient, in a sense, but simply run by mechanics. By cybernetics. A tinker’s shop. 

Genji was hiding behind a piece of sheet metal leaning against a pile of scraps, hand pressed to his mouth to quiet his giggles. Someone grabbed him from behind, and he squealed in delight as Jesse lifted him off his feet.

“Caught you!”

“That’s not fair, you grew up here so you know all the good hiding spots!”

“Even when we play at your place I still win,” Jesse shot back playfully, Genji sticking out his tongue.

“You do not always win.”

“Do too! You’re too easy to find! I’ll always find you.”

Genji smiled, and so did Jesse. And they were happy, in a time where it was okay to be happy and carefree. In a world where it was still safe to be children.

-

Genji woke to quiet whirring. His sensors were offline, he could not feel the right side of his body from the neck down. His cybernetics were not connecting to his conscious nervous system. 

Manual override: system shutdown, they blinked at him in green beneath his eyelids. 

Alarm shot through him, fear a tangible thing in his mouth, sharp and tangy like iron. Something began to beep, Genji turning his head to look around frantically, snapping awake. Both his eyes worked, and clearly his auditory sensors were back online as well. At least there was that.

“Woah, woah there. You’re okay. I didn’t scavenge you or anythin’. You were pretty beat up as it was, not much worth takin’.”

The accent was odd. Not quite because it was out of place, but because it was so familiar. Like traces of a dream still clinging after waking up. The source of the voice was a man wrapped up in a metal chestplate and a gauntlet on one arm, a tattered cloak of some sort hanging from his shoulders. He had a hat, too, and a cigar. Something old school. 

One of his eyes was glowing red, brighter than the lit end of that which was hanging from his lips. Heavy boots, metal around his waist, chains hooked to his belts. He stepped closer, into the light, hand raising to tip his hat back from his eyes. On closer inspection, Genji saw that it was a prosthetic, not a gauntlet. 

And those eyes were strikingly familiar. That face was one he could never forget. 

Old memories that Genji had thought were lost came back to him. Laughter. Something sweet and innocent. Childish. Jesse grinning underneath the blazing sun, both of them sweating. Jesse playing in the dirt, drawing a poor rendition of Genji’s face in it. Jesse chasing one of the cybernetic dogs after it took off with part of their lunch, Genji laughing until the dog came back and stole more of his. 

Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.

“Sorry, had to shut you down to fix you up. It would have killed you otherwise, trying to keep all of you functioning at once and keeping up with pinging your sensors. Would’a been in agony. I kept your most important systems up and runnin’, but gave the rest of you a break,” he continued lightly, walking over and unplugging some of the wiring that had been hooked up to Genji’s body. 

All he could do was stare wide eyed as Jesse reached down and connected the rest of Genji’s ports, clasping his prosthetics back on for him. Each one shocked back to life, Genji feeling the nerves burn for a moment before they connected and resynchronized with the rest of him. He flexed his toes, stretched his legs and shook out his arm. It was muscle memory more than him actually being aware of doing it.

“Now, I’m trustin’ you not to immediately jump me here. I saved your life, you spare mine, yeah?”

“Jesse,” Genji finally breathed. Jesse blinked, brows raising slightly.

“Oh. So you do remember...”

“Of course I remember.”

“They said you would lose all your early memories with the modifications and whatnot. Figured that’d mean me too, especially after I had to leave. You had no chance to relearn who I was.”

Genji took him in, simply stared and recalled as much as he could about them. Childhood friends. His best friend. All the mischief they would get into. Jesse building things in the night and showing Genji how to bring them to life. Their first scavenge together, gathering materials to make some of the very first models of what eventually became Genji’s modifications. 

Jesse leaving before they were finished.

“I...Know who you are. I remember. There are gaps and places that are static,” Genji grimaced, fingertips brushing against his temple. Sometimes remembering was hard. Certain things were hard to recall, others impossible. But sometimes it wasn’t.

“But I know one thing for certain; you’re my Jesse.”

Jesse’s face softened, a smile gracing his lips. It was not as big or as carefree as it once was, weighed down by the harsh reality of their world. But it was familiar. Something Genji could never forget.

“It’s good to see you again, Genji. It’s real good to see you.”

Genji smiled back, something warm in him that was definitely human making him feel light in a way he had not been since the world had broken more than it already was.

“It is good to see you too, Jesse. Perhaps we can take some time to catch up while my systems reset.”

Jesse sat with a grunt, taking off his hat, running a hand through his hair. Genji watched the movements, eyes scrunching slightly with his grin.

“I’d like that,” Jesse nodded.

~~

[darkvalkyrie6]

Hydra

Picture: illustration Kerby Rosanes (my coloring book Mythomorphia)

Don’t let the title fool you.

————————————————–

Axel was sitting on a chair in the examination room in his house, wearing only his pants and his boots. The same chair he sat every evening for the last thousand evenings. Elisabet was standing in front of him looking at the damage on his face from this days fight. His nose was broken, again. She grabbed his head with one hand and his nose with the other.

"Ouch! That hurts!" Axel said with an expression of pain on his face and a smile in his eyes.

"That joke’s getting old." Elisabet said examining the damage.

Axel laughed and blood started gushing out of his nose. He laughed even harder seeing the annoyed look on Elisabets face.

"Stop laughing. You are getting blood all over me. Stay still and let me do my job." Elisabet pulled his nose and snapped it into place. "Better? Can you breathe?" She asked him.

Axel took a few deep breaths and said. "Yea. It's better. I can breathe."

Elisabet took some cotton wool and put it up into his nostrils. "Put some pressure on the top of your nose and let this soak up the blood." 

Axel watched Elisabet wash the blood off her hands. He saw that she turned her head towards Axel and that she was looking at his torso, at all of his old scars, all of the new bruises and cuts from todays fight. By the look on her face, he knew this night was one of those sleepless nights, fixing the mess from the fight. He should have brought more ammo.

"Where did they hit you and with what?" Elisabet asked.

Axel scratched his head thinking. "Let me see. There was a guy with a bat. He hit me in the ribs once, the second time I stopped him with my arm. One of them hit me in the face, hence the nose, and I think he hit me in the jaw. One came behind me, while I was beating the shit out of the guy with the bat, and hit me on the head. I don't know what it was. The rest was just a normal fist fighting."

Elisabet sighted. "How many times did I tell you to avoid hits to the head?" She looked at him with disappointment on her face.

"What do you want me to do Elisabet? There were a few dozen of them and they had guns. I used up all of my ammo and grenades. After there were still a few of them alive. Should I have gone over to them and said: I just killed a bunch of your friends back there and I ran out of ammo so I'll have to beat you to death. Please don't hit me on the head while I'm beating you to death? That's not how it works Elisabet." Axel said with an annoyed voice removing the cotton wool from his nose.

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that you should be more careful." Elisabet said walking towards him. "I'm doing my best to keep you in one piece. Since you have been wearing the Dragon armor, your injuries went down by eighty percent. So why don't you want the Dragon armor for your head? Head injuries are the most dangerous." 

Axel put his head into his palm. "We talked about this. The Dragon armor limits my peripheral vision and my hearing. That's not a good thing in a fight. The shield on my arm is enough protection for my head from bullets and weapons for now." Axel looked up at her. For him, the talk about the Dragon armor for his head was over.

"Yeah… Yeah… I'm not going to pick that hornet's nest again. Come with me. Let me scan you to see if there are any serious injuries from the fight." Elisabet opened the 3D medical scanning bed and Axel laid down on his back on the bed. Elisabet started the scan and an arm over the bed began to scan Axel’s body. After the scan finished Axel got up and a 3D scan of his body appeared hovering over the bed.

"Let’s see the organs first." Elisabet used the tablet in her hand and the 3D image displayed Axel’s organs. "Good. No internal bleeding. No damage to the brain. Looks like my formula for stronger bones is working. Let's see the bones." She used the tablet again and the 3D image showed Axel's bones with four red arias pulsating. "You have two cracked ribs, not broken, just cracked, a crack in a bone in your hand and a broken tooth. I can fix the tooth. For the ribs and arm, I'll give you my new formula for healing. This time you don't have any broken knuckles, that's an improvement and no injuries on your feet. The new boots are working." 

Axel looked at Elisabet. She looked like she was watching at a guinea pig she's doing her mad scientist experiments on. 

They met ten years ago. He was looking for a specific type of person, a doctor interested in research to make a human body more durable, his bones stronger and thicker, his wounds heal quicker and his reflexes faster. Using his connections, he found about Elisabet. She was a doctor but she didn't want to work at a hospital, she wanted to do her own research. She believed there was a way to make the human body more durable, resistant to disease, stronger an even prolong the human lifespan. The only problem was that she was in debt and couldn't find funding for her research, research that he was interested in.

He approached her and told her that he'll pay off her debt and will fund her research with a few conditions. That she lives in his house, only works for him as a doctor, does her research at his house and doesn't talk about him or the things he does to anyone. She was suspicious at first but she agreed and for the last ten years, she was working for him. Axel transformed a part of his house into a laboratory for her research and a part into a hospital like examination and operation rooms with the best equipment.

“Let’s see the rest...” Elisabet used the tablet in her hand again and the 3D image displayed Axel veins, the ruptured veins where the bruises were, muscles and tendons. “No stretched muscles, no broken tendons, but a lot of ruptured veins. The formula for strengthening the muscle tissue is working but the one for veins isn’t. Hmm… The bruise around the cracked ribs is from the bat, that's to be expected. But the other bruises are they also from the bat?”

“No, I killed the bastard with the bat first. The other three guys didn’t have weapons. They just hit me with their hands, elbows, knees and feet. It was a standard fight.” Axel said trying to remember if he missed something. “Maybe it’s from when I hit the floor or from them pushing me against the wall.”  He said.

“I’m still working on improving the formula for the cardiovascular system. I think I know how to make it work better.” Axel had a feeling Elisabet was talking more to herself than to him. “Go sit in the chair so I can stitch your wounds and take these pills for the healing.” 

Axel wasn’t in the mood to argue so he took the pills and sat down in the chair. As Elisabet was stitching his wounds his mind was somewhere far away. He looked through the door of the examination room towards the main hall of the house. On the wall was a painting of his mother and father. This was the only painting in the whole house. The painting was old, the oil started to dry crack, but he still kept it hanging on the wall. This was not like him, he wasn’t a sentimental person, but his mother died of cancer shortly after he was born and this painting was the only thing that portrayed his mother holding him in her arms smiling. He tore down and put in storage all the other paintings and pictures that depicted his father after he found out what his father had done. 

After his father was killed, Axel, as the sole heir, inherited all the family fortune and the family business. He never questioned his father's way of doing business and investing money, he concentrated on his own passion, technology and space travel. Space always fascinated him and he vowed that one day he would travel there. When he took over his father’s role, he took over his business. At first glance, it looked like his father was involved in the import and export business around the world. Shipping cars, clothes, coffee, tea and other miscellaneous goods from South America, Mexico, Russia, Ukraine, China and the Middle East, but something didn’t seem right. The amount of money he received for those kind of shipments was too much. Goods like that weren't worth that much on the market these days. When he dug deeper, he found out the ugly truth. His father was in the import and export business, but the illegal kind, he was in the import and export business of drugs, weapons and human trafficking and that’s how he made billions of dollars.

Axel didn't know what to do. He had to do something, he had to stop doing business with the people his father was involved with. He stopped and sold all the ships his father was using for his import and export business and decided to buy shares of companies engaged in technology, software, space exploration, medicine, medical research and charity. This way, supporting these companies and giving money to charities he could do something good for all of humanity and at least undo some of the damage his father did. He didn’t think that the people that his father did business with would come knocking on his door threatening him to continue doing business with them as his father did. The first time this happened Axel came home and heard noises coming from upstairs. He followed the noise and saw a bunch of shady people in his father's office. They grabbed him, sat him down in his father's chair and threatened him that if he doesn’t continue working for their boss their next visit won't be so gentle. One of the lackeys punched him in the gut as a warning and they left. 

After that first incident, Axel started getting more and more threats. One drug lord sent his lackeys after him, and they beat him up so badly that he went to the emergency room. He didn’t go to the emergency room because he was in pain, he went because after seeing the damage they did he was worried that they may have caused serious injuries to his internal organs, brain or bones. He didn’t know if he was injured because he couldn’t feel pain, he was born with a rare genetic disorder, the Riley-Day Syndrome that left him insensitive to pain. Though a painless life sounds great in theory, it doesn’t work so well in practice. Pain is actually your friend. It sends signals to your brain to let you know when something needs fixing or when your bones are broken or your organs damaged. In the emergency room, they asked him what happened and he said a car hit him. He had several broken ribs, a broken forearm, broken leg, cracked skull, internal bleeding, broken knuckles and a few broken fingers. Everyone at the emergency room looked at him bewildered at how the man even walked with injuries as severe as that.

After he healed he started thinking about his options. One option was to continue to wait for the men, his father was in business with, to come after him again and defend himself. He had an advantage, he didn’t feel pain, he was rich and could technically buy an army of guards. However, he knew that drug cartels, illegal arms dealers, and human traffickers had a sea of armies and lackeys of their own and that at one point no matter how many people he hired to protect him there will always be more of the other guys. The other option was to stop these men from threatening him ever again. Not just to go after the heads, the drug lords, the heads of the illegal arms trade and human trafficking, because if you cut off a hydra's head, another one will just take its place. You have to start by cutting the hydra’s feet off and work your way up until you cut off all the pieces. He had his father's business book, he knew the names of the people he was dealing with, he just had to dig deeper and find out the rest of the people that were involved. 

He made a plan. For a year, he took weapons and military training from an ex-special forces marine. He hired a private army for his home security, that kept the thugs away from him, and he found Elisabet. She was the final piece of the puzzle. Her research made his bones stronger and denser, his muscles more durable, and his reflexes faster. The ex-special forces marine gave him the idea to make Dragon armor. Dragon armor was a bullet-proof armor, cowering his whole body, with discs overlapping like scale armor, it was lightweight and flexible, composed of high tensile strength ceramic discs encased in a fiberglass textile, which meant that in a fight he didn’t have to worry about being easily injured like before. Dragon armor, enhanced body and the inability to feel pain gave him the advantage he needed to make things right. He used his money to bribe people and gather information and names of all the people involved in the illegal business and he made a list of targets.

As the years went by the list got shorter and shorter and his body was covered in more and more scars. 

“I’m done.” Elisabet said. “You are free to go but take a day or two off so the ribs and the arm can heal.” She threw away the blood-covered gauze and put bandages over the freshly stitched wounds.

“Yes mom.” Axel said looking at her with a sneer.

Elisabet threw a box of rubber gloves at him. “Told you not to call me that!”

He left the room laughing. Leaving Elisabet to her research.

  ----------------

  The next few days,Axel should have spent resting and healing,he spent working out. He didn’t feel any pain and thought it a waste of time just to sit around doing nothing, and planning how to get the right hand and his lackeys of one of the cartel bosses. This one was a challenge. He always had a group of heavily armed bodyguards with him, courtesy of his brother the cartel boss, and a dozen of lackeys at every location he visited. ‘There has to be a way to get him, his bodyguards and all of his lackeys at one location at the same time.’ The problem was that the lackeys were the distributors of the drugs and each location cowered one part of the city, the right hand was the one that brought the drugs to them, as far as Axel knew there was never a time all of them gathered at the same place. Hitting every location separately was not an option, word about an attack would spread out to fast and they would just send more men after him.

Axel already crippled this cartel boss' organization, he killed around a hundred of his men, including his left hand, his youngest brother. Axel watched the funeral from afar and now that gave him an idea. He researched if the cartel boss had any parents or grandparents alive. A funeral of a family member of a cartel boss would mean that most of the cartel members would be at the same location at the same time. If you have money you have unlimited resources and unlimited access to information. Axel called his informant in the DEA department and asked him to look up if the cartel boss had any living family except his younger brother, the right hand. As it turned out, he did. The cartel boss has an older sister that is currently in jail, for laundering money and selling drugs, and will be released in two weeks. That was all the information he needed. Seems like the whole family was in the drug business.

A plan formed in his head…

For two weeks, Axel watched the locations the right hand visited and counted the number of his lackeys. He also went to the cartel boss' house and counted the bodyguards and the lackeys. One night he entered the cartel bosses office and took photos of a notebook on his desk. The text in the notebook was written in code, but an easy one. A lot of the text was crossed out, but some of it was newly written. At home, he decoded the text. It contained names and locations. Almost all of the names where on his list, only four were new but the location, next to the names, wasn't. The crossed out names were the names of those he killed, there were only sixty names not crossed out. His sister’s name wasn’t in the notebook but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved in the family business. Two more days and she will be released from jail.

The day came. Axel was sitting in his car across the street watching the cartel boss pick up his sister from the jail. As they drove away, Axel followed, keeping his distance, he knew the way to the cartel boss' house, where they were probably going. He followed them just in case they didn’t go to the house but went off somewhere else. Axel was right, they drove straight to the house. He couldn’t get to her in there, he would have to wait for her to leave the house and find an opportunity to kill her and make it look like an accident so they don’t suspect foul play. 

For the next few days, Axel practically camped on the roof of the building across the street of the house, waiting for the sister to get out. After four days, he saw her leaving with two bodyguards. ‘That's not going to be a problem. I’ve dealt with worse situations.’ This was his opportunity and he wasn’t going to miss it. Whenever Axel left the house he always took his gun, silencer, rope, zip ties, injection kit with injections to make someone fall asleep, paralyzed, and an injection of adrenalin if somebody tries to mess with him. 

Axel quickly ran down the stairs and out of the building on the street. He saw a truck on the road waiting for the light to turn green. He ran towards the truck, opened the passenger door and used the sleep injection on the driver. The truck driver fell asleep, he took over and started to drive in the direction the sister of the cartel boss was going. He accelerated and, at the last moment, turned the wheel towards the sister and the bodyguards so they didn’t have enough time to get out of the way. At the last second, he opened the driver's door and jumped out. 

Later, at home, Axel watched the news report saying that the truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and killed three people, a young woman and two men. Axel was sitting on the couch, smiling from ear to ear, so concentrated at the news report he didn't notice Elisabet standing beside the couch, watching him.

“Did you have something to do with that?” She asked him with a disapproving look on her face.

Axel turned his head towards her, still smiling “At least this time I didn’t get hit on the head.”

“I can’t believe you. You’re planning something again, aren’t you? You just killed three people.” Elisabet shrugged her shoulders “When are you going to stop?”

“When they stop trying to kill me! And I’m going to need at least ten sleeping injections.” Axel said.

“When I finish my research and perfect the formulas, then nothing will be able to kill you. Not even me when you’re behaving like this. If you need supplies you know where to find me.” Elisabet said with a hint of annoyance in her voice and went to the lab.

Axel remembered the day he killed someone for the first time. It was one of the other cartel’s members, not this one, he almost threw up after he killed for the first time. He felt sick for a week, panicked that the police would come for him, and arrest him for murder, but nothing happened. No one came to avenge the death of the one he killed and no police came to arrest him. After that, with every new kill, killing came easier to him. Obviously, humans can get used to anything, even killing. 

‘The investigation should take a few days, then the funeral arrangements another couple of days. They will hold the wake at the cartel boss' house but they won’t leave it empty. They will leave a few guards at the house and probably one person at each location.’ Axel started to finalize the plan in his head. Everything was falling into place.

  ----------------

  On the day of the funeral, Axel was leaning against the wall of the building across the street of the cartel boss’ house, a black bag on the floor next to his feet, waiting for them to leave for the funeral. Almost all of the cartel members were present. Not including the two dead bodyguards, there were six members missing, they were probably at the locations. The cartel members got into their cars and left for the funeral, they left eight guards and a few staff members behind to guard the house and prepare everything for the wake after the funeral.

Axel knew the house like the back of his hand. He sneaked in and while avoiding the guards placed the C4 and weapons in places no one would look for. He sneaked out unnoticed and left for the locations to kill the members six remaining members of the cartel who were left to guard them. He killed one after another as quickly as possible and returned to the house. 

After taking care of the locations, he came back and saw they have not yet returned from the funeral. That was good. Axel had enough time to go back into the house and position and arm the C4 where it would do the most damage. This time he sneaked into the house with the intention to half the number of guards so it seems like everything was all right, but so that he has four less guards to worry about. Axel used his sleeping injection to put the first guard to sleep, dragged him into the bathroom, locked the door and strangled him, leaving the water in the sink running. He got out through the window and went straight towards his next target, the only guard on the second floor. Using the same injection, Axel came behind him, injected the sleeping mixture into his neck and dragged his body towards one of the rooms. He locked the door, strangled him and exited through the window. The next two guards suffered the same fate and while doing this Axel put blocks of C4 under the staircase, under the tables with the food and drinks, into the bathrooms, into the main hall, most places you would expect the people attending the wake to be.

At strategic places around the house, Axel hid weapons like guns and shotguns so if anybody survives the explosion, this time, he would have enough guns and ammo to kill them without the need to beat them to death. Axel came prepared, there was no way he could kill sixty people with his bare hands, even with his inability to feel pain and the Dragon armor. After he finished all the preparations, he hid on the second floor, in the cartel bosses office, left the window and the door ajar, crouched near the door, listened and waited for the cartel members to return.

Fifteen minutes later the cars started to enter the carpark of the house and the cartel members started to enter the house. This process took around ten minutes because of the large number of people. The longer it took, the greater the chance that someone noticed a missing guard or a planted C4 brick, but it seemed that the cartel members were too preoccupied with the funeral, alcohol and food to notice any foul play. 

As soon as everyone was in the house, near the places the C4 would do the most damage when it detonated, Axel put earplugs in his ears, closed the door to the office and pressed the detonation button. The whole house shook as 30 bricks of C4 detonated on the first floor. ‘If anyone survived that I’ll shake his hand before I kill him.’ Axel thought to himself, took out the earplugs and put on a gas mask.

Still crouching near the door, he took out his two guns, stood up, opened the door and went looking for survivors. The house was a mess, the staircase was gone so he decided to search for survivors on the second floor first. He checked every room on the floor and found one woman hiding in a corner frightened. He asked what her name is. She answered. Her name was on the list so he shot her in the head. With every bathroom, room, closet, space under the bed and a possible hiding space cheeked on the second floor, he returned to the place where the staircase once was.

Axel jumped down to the first floor. There were bodies everywhere, for some, you could tell they were dead because they were missing a head or they were split in two, but for some, you couldn’t. For those who Axel couldn’t tell if they were killed by the explosion, he shot them in the head, better safe than sorry. He did the same as on the second floor. He checked every possible hiding space, including the refrigerator and freezer and all the bodies, he couldn’t determine if they were killed by the explosion, he shot in the head. He knew he didn’t have much time. The police would be here any second. While he was checking the rooms, he counted the bodies. The final count was fifty-five. With the six guarding the locations that made sixty-one, sixty from the notebook and one for the cartel boss. He collected the weapons he hid, put them in a bag, returned to the main hall, looked at the cartel boss one last time and emptied his whole gun magazine into the his face.

There were police sirens in the distance and they were getting closer fast so Axel took a grenade of off his belt and threw it into the surveillance room where all the camera footage and surveillance tapes of the house were stored. The grenade destroyed all trace of him ever being here. Axel left the house through a hidden exit the cartel boss used to smuggle stuff in and out of or to leave and return to the house so the DEA surveillance wouldn't notice. He put on clothes over the Dragon armor and went home, throwing the guns, he shot the cartel members with, into the river. ‘One more hydra down. That leaves me with four more to go.’

The past ten years he took down four drug cartels, two weapon smuggler gangs and one human trafficking ring closest to home. This was the last drug cartel his father did business with. That left two weapon smugglers, one from China, the other from the Middle East and two human trafficking rings. They were harder to get rid of because Axel had to use his contacts from here, from America and from Interpol. It was harder to get all the names of the members. If he eliminated the ones here, they would just replace them with men from Russia, China or the Middle East.

During those last ten years, he never backed out from a challenge and he wasn’t going to start now. A grin appeared on his face as he was walking home, a bag full of weapons in his hand, a plan was already starting to form in his mind... 

The end

————————————————–

Riley-Day Syndrome, that the main character has, is also known as Familial Dysautonomia; and it’s a disorder that is genetically inherited. To actually show signs of having the condition, however, the relevant gene has to be passed on by both parents. Basically, Riley-Day syndrome affects the autonomous nervous system. While there are many extremely unpleasant symptoms, it does also have some arguably cool features. Chief among these is the fact that many people with the condition are almost entirely insensitive to pain. Of course, though a painless life sounds great in theory, it doesn’t work so well in practice. Pain is actually your friend; it sends signals to your brain to let you know when something needs fixing—so to go without it all together isn’t necessarily going to be a pleasant experience. Especially if a bunch of drug cartels, weapon smugglers and human traffickers are out to get you.

[amphetameme-queen-blog]

If you slip up...

Here’s my master list of how to take care of yourself after a b/p, stay strong my lovelies!

1. Physical Damage Control

Teeth -

It's usually a warning sign to have bad teeth as someone less than seventy years old. It's a 'classic' symptom of bulimia and I've heard a lot of (rookies) swear by brushing their teeth. DON'T FUCKIN DO IT MAN. I used to b/p anywhere between three to ten times a day at my worst, but I always kept a handy supply of TUMS or antacids on me. Your teeth become weakened when you b/p in the first place, so the abrasiveness of toothbrush bristles tends to wear down on your enamel. I never brushed my teeth after I would purge, and I've been b/p'ing on and off for about four years now. Like I said - ten times a day at the worst. I went to the dentist last month and they said that my teeth were like, perfect. It was actually shocking. Thank god for chemistry I suppose.

So how does it work? Well, the calcium carbonate (the main ingredient of TUMS) neutralizes the hydrochloric acid (stomach acid) on our teeth like it would in our stomach. It's basically a high school chemistry equation.

CaCO3+ HCl -> CaCl2 + CO2 + H2O.

The symptoms you'll get (after an antacid) is basically just burping up the CO2 lol. It's much more preferable to tooth decay, might I say. OH and if you don't have any antacids on you, baking soda works in the same way. Just put a teaspoon of baking soda into water, swish it around your mouth, and spit it out. It doesn't taste great, but you could probably mix it with a little alcohol-free toothpaste so it tastes more minty. I highly recommend against swallowing baking soda because it will most likely irritate your stomach and make you even more nauseous, and not in an emetic way. (Ana butterflies don't get any stupid ideas it's not gonna work like you think). Swallowing baking soda just makes you kind of uncomfortable, really.

Y'all need to floss too. I sound like I've got a major stick up my ass, because who actually flosses flossing is for old people and l0zers fuck that shit. Nope. Flossing once before you go to bed helps your teeth against yellowing, in my experience. I wouldn’t recommend flossing post-purge as your gums tend to be much more sensitive. ‘Cuz who’s trynna get gingivitis yeah no one.

Sinuses -

​Remember that time you (regrettably) b/p’d on rice? And you felt that rice grain up there and took a napkin and blew fuckin snot rice into your napkin, like the sexy beast you are?

Yeah I remember that too.

It’s pretty apparent that stomach acid anywhere besides your stomach is a recipe for havoc. The stomach acid eats away at the mucous membranes in your nose, leading to constant sniffling, loss of smell, and chronic sinus infections. Even if you don't feel irritation in your nose immediately following a b/p, the acid can still lead to damage.

So how do you remedy this?

From my experience, the Neti-Pot saline rinse is the best bet. You can use the one that looks like a tea kettle or the one that's a squeezy bottle - both do the same thing. I have the squeezy bottle and it's really simple to use. You add water up to the fill line

And then you pour the saline packet into the bottle and mix thoroughly (just shake the bottle). Be sure to use FILTERED DRINKING WATER because tap water often contains heavy metals like copper or iron, which isn't good for your nose. Then put the plastic bottle with the saline-water solution into the microwave for approximately 35 seconds, and be careful to make sure it isn't too hot. Make sure it's just slightly warm and then screw the cap on tightly. Lean over a sink and gently squeeze the bottle into one nostril until the water comes out the other. Don't worry, it doesn't provoke the dreaded “oh god there's water in my nose I feel like I'm drowning” feeling. Your sinuses are connected and because the water is warm (like body temperature) it won't come as a shock to your body. Repeat the process on both nostrils until the bottle is done.

I've had actual chunks of food come out of my nose before, and I'm like, “shit, that would have just been hangin out in my nose the entire time?” So it's really important for preventing sinus infections or acid damage to the nasal cavity.

​Electrolyte Imbalances -

​If I had a dollar for the amount of times I've seen THAT PICTURE of the dead bulimic girl I would be richer than Donald Trump. Yeah, she died from gastric rupture blah blah blah but I always see blogs referencing that picture with the danger of heart failure and death in bulimics.

Despite how frequently I used to purge, I'm not dead yet! Hurray I guess! I used to get serious heart palpitations after a long day of purging, but I could mitigate some of those side effects with proper hydration and electrolyte drinks.

I ain't talkin no purple Gatorade shit either. Gatorade isn't as hydrating as one would think. It's made for athletes who are working out and sweating, and releasing salt through their skin. Gatorade replenishes the sodium and sugar, but if you're not working out/sweating a lot, the extra sodium could cause water retention *panics* The best option for electrolyte-replenishing is coconut water, in my opinion. It's naturally high in potassium, which is the principle electrolyte lost by vomiting. Pedialyte takes a close second for hydration because it's designed to replenish electrolytes, like if you have the flu or something. You can buy Pedialyte over the counter at most (American) pharmacies.

Electrolytes are important in muscle contraction, which includes the heart. This is why many bulimics die from heart attacks

Of course, the best way to get potassium is through potassium-rich foods. Some examples:

Avocado

Acorn squash

Spinach

Sweet potato

Wild-caught salmon

Dried apricots

Pomegranate

Coconut water

White beans

Banana

Source: Dr. Axe

Y'all also gotta be mindful of your magnesium too. Magnesium is lost (most notably) through diarrhea and thus laxative abuse. Here's how to remember the electrolytes:

Potassium is lost through Purging and Magnesium is lost by taking Mega Shits.

I'm laughing bahahah but I shouldn't be because the magnesium thing is no joke.

2. Psychological Damage Control

The Post Purge Freakout-

​Quit playin. You know what I’m talkin’ about, that anxiety like fuck fuck fuck what did I just do I’m a worthless human I deserve to-

Stop.

These thoughts seem real, like ground-breaking realizations that affirm your worthlessness and desire to continue hurting yourself with ED behaviors. Diffusing these thoughts feels like the hardest thing to do in the moment, of course, but self-care is one of the most important factors in preventing another episode. I’m not trying to be some over-simplifying, self-righteous therapist who thinks that mindfulness is the only way out ‘it’s all about positive self talk, honey!’ Nah fam, anyone who’s dealt with the vicious cycle of bulimia knows it’s not that fuckin’ easy, and so I’m not trying to sugarcoat the fact that post-b/p self-care can be really goddamn difficult.

The best post-b/p self care I’ve implemented is putting on cozy pajamas (if you’re at home) and just taking a five minute break from what you’re doing to listen to music, draw/write, or go on a short walk. Let yourself feel comfy and secure, like being wrapped in a warm fuzzy blanket. Give yourself just five minutes to collect your feelings, and realize that a past slip-up can’t determine the future. Because that’s all it is - in the past. What’s in the past is done, and no amount of hateful self talk or self-injury will change that. But what you do in the present is what matters. Think about it as a fork in the road -

“Okay, so I just binged and purged, I have urges to hurt myself or compensate for what I just did, but what will happen if I don’t do either of those things?”

Nothing.

You might panic. You might cry. Let the tears come, if you are in a safe place where you feel you can do so. We know that the day might have sucked, but time stops for no one. The next thing you know, it’s the next morning. The sun is shining through your window, you are alive and your body is resilient. BOI IT’S A NEW FUCKIN DAY! YESTERDAY WAS A CAN OF SHIT, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, TODAY DOESN’T HAVE TO BE. The important thing is that you lived through those horrible feelings, and you’ll remember that. You’re stronger, more resilient, and persistent than you think. You don’t even have to be in recovery to apply this. That’s not what I’m getting at. If you’re pursuing a goal, whether it be eating at regular intervals or meeting a certain calorie limit, there are going to be times you might mess up. And good god, it is absolutely okay.

Imagine yourself going to bed the next night, realizing that you had your first binge free, purge free day since you could remember. Knowing that you fought your urge to b/p will help you remember that next time, “hey, I’m stronger than my urges.”

I guess what I’m emphasizing here is self-forgiveness. I know a lot of people’s ED’s are driven by self-hatred and you’re all such beautiful human beings who deserve to love yourself as others love you. Wow. That got really deep real fast. But hey, I’ve been through it all.

~

Yo. I'm gonna add more to this, but only if people are interested in my ED-related writing. I'm actually working on a blog right now but I figured I might as well post some stuff here for feedback. PLEASE comment I would love to hear from you guys. 'Do I write like a sappy self-help book'? 'Is it relatable and/or helpful?' Let me know in a comment or DM what you're feelin about it. Sending hugs!

[tigerlilynoh]

Title: Don’t Stop Me Now

Author: TigerLilyNoh Rating: Explicit Word count: 8,109 Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Sexual coercion

Summary: When Sam and Dean are captured on a hunt, it’s up to Ruby to save them... in her own special Ruby sort of way.

Ruby felt like she’d been hit by a truck and as soon as she opened her eyes she knew why.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she muttered at the sight of a car’s chassis several inches above her face.

After gingerly checking to make sure she still had all her limbs, she pushed herself out from under the SUV.  She could feel some internal damage, probably a ruptured spleen, kidney and some internal bleeding.  Half her ribs felt fractured, but it wasn’t structurally meaningful.  Her meatsuit could walk and she had bigger concerns.

Sam and Dean weren’t there.  It wasn’t like Sam to just leave her unconscious under a car—Dean was another matter.  He’d ditch her in a heartbeat, especially if they had to chase down a suspect.  She supposed it was possible that Sam had just gone with Dean, after all he knew her well enough that it was clear she’d survive.

Ruby turned around and saw the Impala still where they’d parked it, about ten yards away.  The front passenger side door was open.  As she walked up to it she noticed Dean’s ridiculous chromed pistol laying on the ground.  Beside it was a coaster-sized puddle of blood that turned into a trickling path.  She followed it to the large, unmistakable tire tracks of a van trying to get the hell out of dodge.  It definitely was looking like someone had taken the brothers.

She climbed into the Impala, hot wired the car, readjusted the bench seat so that she could reach the pedals, then started driving back to their motel room as she tried to recall everything she could about the case.

They’d been investigating the deaths of eight locals.  As far as they could tell the victims had gone missing, then five to seven days later their bodies were found in alleys across the city.  The cause of death wasn’t entirely clear.  Each victim had had their heart removed, but three of the bodies showed evidence that it had been extracted postmortem.  And aside from the massive trauma to the chest, there weren’t any significant mauling injuries that would’ve indicated a werewolf.  There had been some bruising around the victims’ wrists, waists, chest, thighs, and ankles, hinting at some sort of restraint, but it lacked the distinctive texture of rope or chains.  

The strangest part was that the bodies had been meticulously cleaned, dressed, and positioned when they were dumped.  Each victim had been left well-groomed and in the muted, neutral clothing palette of some fashion designer that none of them had been sophisticated enough to reference as a joke.  The bruises had even been covered with concealer.

Sam’s research had suggested that they might be dealing with a ghost that killed beautiful people, but there wasn’t any obvious connection between the victims, the places where they were last seen, or where the bodies had been found.  There also didn’t appear to be any record of a single killing in that manner than may have given rise to a disgruntled spirit looking to share its pain.

The three of them had just met up to compare notes over dinner, but they hadn’t even gotten out of the parking lot before things had suddenly gone wrong.  The boys had been dragging their heels, discussing their frustration that the victims seemed squeaky clean and had no connection.  

Well, Dean had pointed out a possible connection.  The victims were all well above average in the looks department—‘babes’ had been the exact word choice that elicited an eye roll from Sam.  Not to mention the victims were good people who seemed completely undeserving of that sort of bad luck… the same bad luck that had befallen Sam and Dean— Ruby decided that she had her own brand of bad luck.  After all, she was the one who’d been hit by a car and knocked out mid-conversation.  And while she was out the guys had been taken, just like the victims… all the gorgeous victims.

She had to admit that Sam and Dean were both fine physical specimens, even if she’d rather eat iron than tell Dean that.  They’d been wearing their boring Fed suits, which weren’t really her thing, but she supposed that somebody had to like them in order for them to keep selling.  But why the fuck would the monster leave her behind?  She’d put a lot of time and energy into finding an attractive meatsuit without a soul.  She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, then checked how much of her cleavage was visible.  A good amount of it.  Some bruising from the impact of the SUV was visible just at the edge of her bra’s cups.  Taking a more invasive peek down her shirt she could see the extensive discoloration.  She absentmindedly readjusted her bra before texting Sam and Dean’s cells, asking for them to call her on the very unlikely chance she’d misinterpreted the situation.  

Patting the dashboard of the Impala, she said, “It’s okay, girl.  We’ll find the boys.”

Sam was an excellent researcher; he loved getting into a pile of books more than Dean and her.  Yet despite his reputation as the team nerd, there were some areas of knowledge that were found more easily mastered through experience… languages being one of them.  

Once Ruby had gotten back to their motel room, she began flipping through Sam’s notes on the case and slowed down as she read his attempt at a translation of Andalusi Arabic.  He’d done a valiant job considering the language had been dead for three centuries— Well, she wasn’t sure whether a language was technically dead if the active dead spoke it, as she did.  She rolled her eyes at the fact that he’d probably spent hours translating what she could’ve done in a minute because he hadn’t bothered asking if she was familiar with the language.  Granted at the time she’d been busy running a few hustles with Dean at a nearby bar for some easy cash.

Looking at Sam’s translation she could see where he’d missed a few nuances.  Rather than a ghost that was attracted to physically beautiful people, they were actually dealing with a flesh and blood monster called an Aashtann.  They were beautiful creatures, who retained their beauty by killing people who were beautiful, both physically and who acted with inner beauty or noble purpose.  She could definitely see Sam fitting the bill, but it was hard to imagine Dean acting nobly… well, she supposed he did sincerely want to save people from monsters, so maybe that was close enough as far as the aashtan was concerned.  With a better idea of what they were looking for, she decided to bypass some of the elbow-grease-based effort that Sam was known for.  She didn’t have time to spend all night in the library.

Ruby hurried to the closest street intersection, stood in the middle, then shouted, “Crowley!”

As a demon, she didn’t need to go through all the normal Crossroads formalities.  Any intersect would act as an open mic to the entire Crossroads.  The question was whether there was a demon left in Hell that could stand to play nice with her.  Crowley seemed like her best bet.  At the very least he’d probably be disappointed if Sam and Dean were no longer alive and available for him to periodically torment for kicks.

“You don’t have to yell,” Crowley commented from where he was sitting on the bus stop bench next to the intersection.  He sipped his perpetually-on-hand glass of 1979 Port Ellen.  When Ruby went over and sat down next to him, he added, “you look terrible.”

“I was hit by an SUV,” she explained while taking the glass from his hand and helping herself to his scotch.

“I meant your haircut,” he jabbed.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sam and Dean are missing, I need you to find them—“

“No.  No deal.”  Crowley shook his head.  “I’m not going to be your deus ex machina.  Do you know how much of my time I would spend if I took requests like that?  Do you have any idea how often Moose or Squirrel are in danger?”

“I’m painfully aware of it,” Ruby groaned.  “Can I at least get some intel from you?”

“It depends on what it is.”  Crowley made a show of checking his wristwatch.  “I have a meeting in an hour.  The time between now and then is all the due diligence I’m willing to part with.”

“I want to know about aashtan and I don’t have time to go to the fucking library.”

“And why are you asking me?”

“You sell people their sins wrapped in a bow.  Vanity is on the list and these things live for it.”  She reluctantly handed back the glass as a peace offering now that she was actually asking for help.  “I think one of those things took them.”

“I’m not surprised.”  Crowley hummed in agreement at the thought or maybe just recalling the Winchesters’ blessed genetics.

“I’m looking for any intel that I can use to find them and on how to kill these aashtan things.”

“You know how this works.  I’m bartering for souls, and you my dear, don’t have one.”

“You want Dean’s?”  She smiled despite her concern for the brothers.  “I’ll trade you that.”

“I’ll pay you to keep both of their souls away from me,” Crowley huffed.  “Those two are like a waking blight.  You’re lucky you’ve survived this long.”

“I’m tough to kill.”

“I’ve noticed.”  He stared pointedly at her.  “There are several dozen vacancies in Hell’s finest that can corroborate that.  By the way, everyone would appreciate it if you stop killing our people.”

“Can I trade that for the intel?” she asked with a grin of false innocence.

“Like I personally care about a few more dead grunts.”  Crowley looked at her for a moment, then said, “I want your help with a ritual.”

“A ritual?”

“You were a witch, weren’t you?  I need some help cracking an egg.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  “What kind of egg?”

“The interdimensional gateway kind.”

“On Earth?” she asked warily.

“Heavens no, In Hell,” Crowley assured her.  “We’re just looking to expand our real estate investment into the area next to Purgatory.”

“Deal.”  She quickly pointed to him, adding, “and I’m not on the hook if you unleash any Lovecraftian Old Ones.”

“Deal.”  Crowley offered her a handshake, then told her “one moment,” before teleporting back to Hell to collect her intel.  

She sat there on the bus stop bench and checked her phone for the tenth time to see if Sam had returned her text.  Still nothing.  

Crowley reappeared with a full glass of scotch and a worn parchment pamphlet.  “I pinched you the Cliffnotes.  But the good news is that your boys probably aren’t dead yet.”

“Well, that’s great,” Ruby said as she started skimming the booklet, squinting to read the fading ink in the dim illumination of the streetlight.  “And Sam’s my boy, Dean’s just the readily available organ donor.”  She held the parchment close to her face to take a closer look.  “What are these aashtan guys into Feng Shui?”

“Something like that,” Crowley acknowledged.  “Their love of beauty includes more than just their prey.  Aashtan like to stay in buildings that fit a bland, modern, geometric aesthetic, constructed with a south-facing corner that’s less than a 90° angle.  God knows how they survived through the Baroque period.”

“There can’t be more than one of those…” Ruby started saying as she finished searching for the rare architectural characteristic on her phone.  “Fucking pretentious architects.  Brent Hilton, award-winning postmodernist architect of the year.  He’s known for his acute angles and has fifteen commercial buildings and thirty homes in the metropolitan area.”

“Are you going to go door-to-door spreading the good word?” Crowley asked.

“Do I even have time to check forty-five buildings before they’re dead?”  She scrolled through the architectural journal’s article a bit more, then groaned.  “And half of them aren’t even listed.”

“The aashtan drain the blood of their victims over the course of 24 hours before removing and eating the heart.”  Crowley raised an eyebrow at her.  “How long have they been missing?”

“Maybe a half hour”  Ruby did some quick math.  Assuming that blood loss occurs at a constant rate, she only had about eight hours to get them back without risk of serious injury or death from blood loss.  “I need to find this fucking building.”

“The boys are both fairly large.  I don’t suppose it’ll take longer for them to bleed out because of that,” Crowley mused almost academically, though she suspected there was a hint of concern below the surface.

Ruby stood up and tucked the pamphlet on aashtan into her back pocket, then told him, “if you can give me a lead on Brent Hilton I’ll make sure no Old Ones waltz into your neighborhood.  Call my cell.  I’ve gotta make a run.”

He didn’t shoot her down, instead tilting his head from side to side in a noncommittal gesture.  “Where are you going?”

“The blood bank.”

Ruby was cleaning their motel room mini fridge out of its leftover cherry pie and four bottles of beer when her cell rang.  She answered the phone, then positioned it between her shoulder and her head so that she could keep working.

“Has the King of the Crossroads won my fealty?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice while stuffing eight intravenous bags of O- blood into the fridge.

“What’s the fealty of a peon worth?” Crowley snarked right back.  “It turns out Brent Hilton is on the naughty list.  Based on all his minor infractions, it looks like he spends most nights at The Spot, a bar on the edge of downtown.”

“What put him on the naughty list?”

“I’d prefer to not tell you.”

In her surprise she stopped manipulating the bags of blood, cause two of them to slip from her grasp and flop onto the carpet.  “Really?”

“I have a wager with Abyzou about whether you kill him.”

That didn’t bode well.  She grabbed the two bags, stuffed them in and slammed the mini fridge shut, hoping that the seal would hold.  When it didn’t end up regurgitating the blood packets, she stood up and went over to her duffel bag.

“How’d you bet?” she asked as she grabbed her knife and tucked it into the back of her belt.

“Well that would spoil the bet now, wouldn’t it?” Crowley purred.  “Happy hunting.”

Sure enough, Brent Hilton was sitting at the bar counter at The Spot and he looked like just as much as a preppy douche as she’d imagined.  His blonde hair had way too much gel in it.  The salmon polo shirt that he was wearing contrasted horribly with his rosy skin.  And he was wearing fucking khaki slacks.  For a brief moment she wondered if fashion sense was sufficient to put some people on the naughty list.  But she had to try shaking this guy for intel, so she put on a fake smile.

“Are you him?  Are you Brent Hilton?  The postmodernist architect.”  Ruby just assumed that some award-winning pretentious designer wouldn’t doubt the existence of a fan and would probably happily brag about his accomplishments.  She took the empty bar stool next to him.

“Why yes, yes I am.”  He smiled at her, turning to give her his full attention.  “I take it you’re familiar with my work.  Maybe the Arcadia?” he asked, shamelessly name-dropping his award-winning work.

“I think it’s stunning.”  She didn’t have any sincere compliments so she opted for vagueness.  “I read the recent article on you in Modern Design Quarterly.  I was so impressed I ended up visiting all of the buildings that were listed and doing a photoset of them for my portfolio.”

“You’re a photographer?”  Brent grinned at her and his eyes scanned her body.  “I would’ve guessed a model.”

Ruby forced herself to smile in a bit of feigned flattery.  “I’m actually just putting together my work portfolio and I thought what better subject than your designs.  The article said that there were twenty three other buildings that you’d designed, but that weren’t listed—”

“Those ones were purchased by various private investors over the years.”  He wave his hand in a gesture of disinterest at the business of his work, then pounding the last of his martini.  “I’m under contract not to disclose their addresses.”

“I wouldn’t bother anyone, I’d just like to see them from the street,” Ruby pressed.

“And your photos would end up in a collection and that wouldn’t look very good would it?”  His voice had turned very condescending.  “But if you’d like, I can show you some of my current projects.”

“Are they under construction?” she asked, wondering if the aashtan might be using a new, unsold building.

“Still just blueprints.”  Brent could probably tell that wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for because he placed his hand on hers.  His thumb caressed her wrist in a wholly unwelcome move.  “Maybe we could figure something out?”  He spread his legs, then raised an eyebrow.

Ruby felt like she could put money down on why he’d made the naughty list and why there was a wager over whether she’d kill him.  She resisted the urge to just slam his head into the bar counter, causing a scene.  “I’m seeing someone,” she replied, hoping that he’d just take the fucking hint.

Instead he leaned forward until he was far too close for comfort.  He took her hand and placed it on his crotch, then rubbed her hand against his partially hard dick.  “I won’t tell.”

Her first instinct was to bludgeon the guy to death with his own smug face—she wasn’t sure how that would logistically work, but she had faith in her ingenuity.  Yet though she enjoyed vengeance as much as the next demon, she knew that things could easily get out of hand when mixing torture and business.  Anyway, Crowley had waged on her murdering him, and she would’ve loved to make him lose that bet if at all possible.  Even though she wasn’t sure which side the Crossroads demon had taken, his parting statement of ‘happy hunting’ made her suspect that Crowley had put his money on murder.

She glanced at the clock on the wall.  There was still seven hours left to get the information from Brent, then plan and execute a rescue mission.  Sam and Dean were obviously her top priority, but pummeling intel out of a person in a crowded bar was only so effective and she had a potentially-literal axe to grind with this perve.  As long as she didn’t take too much time she could deal with this guy.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” Ruby asked quietly.

She let him lead her out to the parking lot.  He opened the door to the back seat of a brand new Mercedes-Benz, then climbed in.  She coyly followed him.  After getting inside she closed and locked the door behind her.  He unzipped his pants, then pushed them and his boxers down to his mid-thighs.  She stared at his dick, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Go on,” he instructed.  

He reached forward, eager to push her head down into his lap, but she leaned back out of his grasp.  Before he could complain, she slid her right hand along his dick until she was at the base of it, then wrapped around to hold his balls too.  Her smile turned menacing as she squeezed.  He cried out in pain and tried to sit up, but Ruby grabbed his throat with her left hand and slammed his head into the opposite side door, cracking the window slightly.  He punched at her face, but instead of trying to dodge or block, she took the hit and tightened her inhuman hold on him.

“Every time you hit me it’s just gonna get worse.  So just tell me what I want to know or I will rip your goddamn dick off.”  She dug her nails in, making him to yell.  “I’m looking for a building with a south-facing corner that’s less than a 90° angle.  Somewhere that people can be hiding out with prisoners.”

“I… I don’t—”  He gasped when she squeezed a little tighter.  “Not the houses!  The positioning isn’t right.  One of the office buildings—The ones by Market Street or in the Financial—”

“Hiding prisoners,” she reminded him as she twisted for good measure.  “Someplace with not many people.”

“The corner of Franklin and Grant.”  He was crying, face bright red, snot dribbling from his nose.  “It’s vacant—I consulted on the remodel, but they don’t have a seller yet.”   

Some people came out of the bar.  She clutched Brent’s throat tighter, partially impeding his cries for help. She began shifting her weight rhythmically, rocking the car, then let out a few fake moans of pleasure.  The group started snickering, then turned to head another direction, giving them some privacy.

“How long ago was the remodel?” she continued.

“Five months,” he choked.  That was consistent with when the eight victims had started disappearing.

“Don’t you ever take advantage of another woman.”  She blinked her eyes black, causing him to yelp, then leaned in close to snarl in his ear.  “Or I’ll be back and you’ll lose more than the dick.”

She let go of his crotch, made a fist, and pretended to punch him in the face, but instead she hit the window behind him, shattering it before she disappeared.  After teleporting back to the motel room, she washed her hands.  It took a little extra scrubbing to get the blood out from under her fingernails.

She teleported over to be a hundred yards down the street from the corner of Franklin and Grant, then walked into a coffee shop with a large window that offered an excellent view of the three-story building’s full length.  After compulsively checking the time —five hours left— she ordered a quadruple shot of espresso and took a seat by the window.  She couldn’t help but appreciate the poor taste of her sitting around sipping an espresso while Sam and Dean were likely across the street being slowly drained of their blood.  Of course, she was still doing reconnaissance and formulating a plan.  It wasn’t her fault that she needed an excuse to sit and stare at the building for a long while.

She could see people moving around in the upper floor, but they weren’t bothering to turn on the lights—hardly the behavior of lawful occupants.  But that was another problem… there were people, not person.  By her rough guess maybe ten of them.  It was a fucking nest.

Two people exited the front of the building.  They were dressed in beige and grey ensambles, the man a suit and the woman in a knee-length dress with an awful, blocky three-quarter sleeve blazer.  The woman even wore impractical five-inch clear acrylic heels. Truly Ruby had found her monsters.

She took a moment to run her fingers along her soft, dark purple leather jacket while she considered her enemies.  They looked absurd.  Objectively they were absurd.  Bloodletting monsters that were so obsessed with appearances and their haute aesthetic that they wore clothing that was just begging for blood stains.  And those fucking shoes, how was anyone supposed to fight in five-inch heels?  

Actually, how did they even beat Sam and Dean in a fight?  It was easy to explain how she’d been bested; she’d been hit by a several hundred horsepower, two-ton fist.  Evidently she was expendable, but the boys weren’t.  And if they had to have their blood drained as part of a ritual, that meant taking them with minimal injuries.

“One more and you can keep the change if I don’t have to get up,” Ruby told the barista as she waved a twenty dollar bill above her head.  Predictably, the money was collected a few seconds later and her order skipped the line.

She sat there reading the pamphlet on aashtan while periodically eyeing her target.  Crowley had told her about some of their habits, but she needed the sorts of details that counted in a fight.  Namely: How they were able to subdue two trained hunters?  And how could she kill them?

The answer to the latter question made her smile subtly.  According to the lore, aashtan needed to have their bodies disfigured, to lose their prized beauty, before losing at least half their blood.  Ruby thought for a few minutes on how she’d like to tackle those steps, then did some quick searching online for local sources of her choice weapons.  She’d have to make a trip to go collect some goodies after her coffee.

The answer to the question of how the aashtan had subdued Sam and Dean was less delightful.  Apparently, the aashtan had the ability to disorient and fatigue their victims.  The effectiveness of this ability was directly related to the amount their target fell within the criteria of their prey.  That helped explain why Dean’s gun had been left at the scene, seemingly having been dropped after an attempt at self-defense.  Sam was a better fit as a beautiful body and mind, and had probably been easily subdued.  Dean was more debatable in his moral purity, but altruistically trying to protect future victims or his brother could’ve easily checked the box.

Ruby didn’t consider herself anywhere near Sam’s status as a would-be saint but for a few of his small vices—well, mostly just her.  But she considered herself to be somewhere on the same moral plane as Dean.  They both engaged in plenty of turpitudinous fun, with one major difference.  She was a fucking demon.  No one knew what Dean’s excuse was.  So if she was playing with a moral handicap, and trying to save Sam had put Dean into a vulnerable state, then what would happen when she tried to save both of them?  How fucked would she be?

But if the vulnerability came from being tasteful or pure, then she’d have to resist it through raucousness and self-indulgence.  Her rescue mission was about saving Sam and Dean, but it had to be more than that otherwise she could easily become another victim.  She needed to turn away from the elegance and nobility of a surgically precise mission if she wanted to be most effective at fighting the aashtan.  It was time to fight the aashtan on a whole other level, pitting their bland haute aesthetic against her own theatrical debauchery.  She stood up, walked over to the counter and stole someone’s to-go order on her way out the door.  It was time to be a little bad.  It was time to have a little fun.

After gathering supplies from the local Asian cultural museum and a nearby U.S. Army armory.  She dropped her equipment off at the motel room for safekeeping before beginning the first phase of her little rescue mission.

The building where Sam and Dean were being held was in the middle of the city and she was planning on a fight that could easily cause a scene.  Personally she didn’t care about witnesses, but Sam and Dean would probably be annoyed by avoidable innocent deaths.  Not to mention, if the cops showed up then they might start shooting and risk hurting the brothers.  She needed to create a big distraction in as little time as possible.

Ruby grabbed a can of red spray paint from the trunk of the Impala as well as Dean’s pistol, then teleported downtown.  She waited at the public bus stop, counting the number of bystanders.  When the bus pulled up, she stepped onto it and held the pistol up for the five passengers and the driver to see.

“Everyone get off,” she ordered.

The frightened passengers and driver hurried off the bus, running for cover.  With the three pedestrians making a total of eight people potentially calling 911, she guessed that she had about 45 seconds before she had to get moving.  

She closed and locked the bus doors, then took out the can of red spray paint and began writing random words in Luhya just to confuse the situation even anymore.  Tossing the can aside, she put in her earbuds and began playing Queen’s Greatest Hits.  She sat down in the driver’s seat, then started the strangest joyride of her life.

It only took three minutes of driving around the streets aimlessly for her to count nine cop cars chasing her.  The late hour left the city streets largely free of traffic, but she occasionally swerved to avoid a car and ended up sideswiping a dozen parked cars, tearing off car doors and setting off alarms.  

“Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time—” she sang as she made a detour to take out a few tabloid newspaper dispensers.  

“—I feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out”

She plowed through a police barricade as the music swelled.

“—So don't stop me now don't stop me—”

Checking her side mirrors she noticed two more police cruisers join in the pursuit.  That seemed like it was enough.  

“—I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva—”

She swerved, cutting across a business plaza, taking out several small trees.

“—I'm gonna go go go—”

The bus bounced as she took a curb at 50 miles an hour.

“—There's no stopping me!”

The bus crashed through the glass floor-to-ceiling windows of the First National Bank building.  She took care to avoid the security desk and even offered the stunned guard a grin as she sped by.  Particle board, stuffing, and navy blue polyester exploded across the bus’s windshield as she took out the lobby’s seating area.  She turned the wheel one last time to flip the bus, sending it sliding on its side to collide with a row of teller stations.  Papers and loose dollar bills rained down on the bus, but Ruby had already teleported away.  The police would likely spend a few hours searching for the mysterious woman who had stolen a bus and used it to break into a bank.  With the attention focused there, she’d teleported back to collect the Impala and her supplies.  It was showtime.

Ruby parked the Impala just outside the building’s back exit.  She rechecked to make sure that the beer cooler was doing a good enough job keeping the bags of blood cold.  Opening up the trunk, she took a moment to gather her conviction before holstering her weapons.  Checking her reflection in the passenger side window, she fixed the collar of her leather jacket, then teleported inside.

Rather than leaping directly into the fight, she stopped at the security room.  There were a dozen security monitors depicting various rooms throughout the building.  She counted ten aashtan.  After consulting a digital blueprint of the building, she determined that Sam and Dean were being held in the north corner of the third floor.  The brothers were both bound to the tops of large, heavy wooden tables with fabric bands.  Most of the aashtan seemed to be milling about in an open-concept workspace that took up the majority of that same floor.  With the brothers probably weakened, she’d have to more or less take out all the aashtan in order to protect their retreat, which would likely be slow thanks to the brothers’ blood loss.

As she was turning to leave she noticed the controls for the emergency lighting system and the microphone for the building-wide PA system.  She pulled out her earbuds and shrugged to herself.  It only took her a minute to figure out how it worked, then to pick the right song.

Killer Queen started playing throughout the building.  She paused a moment to check the monitors.  The aashtan were looking around at each other, urgently talking as they started unpacking sleek, brushed stainless steel knives and swords.  She noticed that Dean had lifted his head at the music, then lowered it back to the table’s surface.  His mouth formed the shapes of an unmistakable ‘son of a bitch’ before he started saying something to Sam.  Sam replied, but he was visibly slower and he didn’t bother opening his eyes—he was in worse shape.

She wanted to go up there and save him, but she had to watch herself.  Aashtan had a way of messing with people who had honorable intentions.  An affectionate, streamlined rescue mission was just the sort of thing that might screw her up.  She had to try to indulge and treat the battle like a dance literally set to her own tune.

Before going up to meet her very confused audience, she went to a utility closet on the first floor.  After a little searching she located the water pipe for the sprinkler system.  She hesitated for a moment before reminding herself that all the furniture and carpets in those sorts of office buildings were flame retardant anyway.  Two good kicks to a joint in the pipe caused it to break, pouring water all over the floor.

Ruby teleported to the third floor, into a waiting area just before the fortified work area.  The flashing red emergency lights pulsed in rhythm to the music.  She waited a few beats to sync up her entrance with the song, then kicked open the double doors, breaking half the hinges on one of them.  The aashtan watched as she strolled into the room.  She smiled and casually raised her flamethrower as the music announced her presence.  

“She’s a Killer Queen.”

It’d been years since Ruby had used a flamethrower, but this seemed as good an occasion as any.  The flames would disfigure the aashtan, then she could go in with another approach to drain them of their blood.  Besides, flamethrowers were fun and this was a time to treat herself a bit.

When she realized that the aashtan were waiting to see who would make the first move, she decided to oblige them.  Ruby sidestepped a few paces to the left until she was positioned next to a six-foot tall, abstract sculpture made out of smoky glass that made her think of a tornado that had destroyed the Epcot sphere.  She placed her foot against its narrow base.  Without taking her eyes off the horrified-looking aashtan, she tipped it over, shattering the artwork.

Enraged, the aashtan charged at her and she aimed her weapon.  A burst of flame lit up a group of three, but she had to stagger backward in order to dodge a sword.  She bounced forward and followed through with a swift kick to a male aashtan’s crotch.  Her steel-toed boot connected with what she assumed was the equivalent of his balls, then she shot him in the face at point blank range with the flamethrower.

Having lost track of various foes in the sudden chaos, Ruby spun around in a circle, firing a ring of flame around her at chest height.  Three more aashtan joined the five of their allies that were rolling on the floor trying to extinguish themselves.

A female aashtan lunged at her head with a knife.  Ruby tried to evade, but suffered a cut across the cheek and nose.  Using her offhand, Ruby grabbed the attacker’s knife-wielding arm, then headbutted her.  The aashtan stumbled back, dazed by the brutish move before Ruby let her have it with the flamethrower.

A male aashtan started running for the room where Sam and Dean were being held.  Ruby teleported to intercept him.  

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she told him, then immediately started feeling dizzy and tired as the room around her blurred.  It was their disorientation effect.  Her switch in motivation had made her more vulnerable.  Knowing what was happening to her just made her angry.  She embraced that anger and let it propel her back into the fight.  Her vision and mind cleared while her blood boiled.  “You think you can take advantage of my fucking goodness?!”

He swung a sword at her, but she ducked below the swing.  As his body turned from filling through on the swing, she shoved him in the same direction as his momentum, spinning him around.  She kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground.

“I work hard for this shit!” she yelled at him as she sprayed him with fire.  “I’ve killed armies to get where I am.  So don’t you assholes dare fuck with my goodness!”

From across the room, one of the aashtan fired several shots at her with a pistol.  One connected with her chest near her left shoulder and another hit her right thigh.  After realizing that she hadn’t exploded from the bad luck of having a bullet hit her flamethrower’s gas tank, she glanced over at the wall and door of the room where Sam and Dean were to check for bullet holes.  There weren’t any.  Evidently the angle of attack hadn’t been such to put them in danger.

Ruby glared pointedly at the aashtan who had shot at her and shook her head.  She raised the flamethrower at him while he attempting to reload the unfamiliar weapon, then she started walking with ominous purpose.  When he began backing away while clumsily pushing the magazine into the gun, she opted to half-jogging half-skipping after him in a leisurely chase around the workspace because it seemed to terrify him all the more.

One of the charred aashtan that was still on the ground tried to grab her, but Ruby dodged, kicked it in the face, then gave it another round of fire before resuming her chase.  

The guy with the gun finally took position to fire at her again, so she teleported to be next to him, then grabbed the pistol and yanked it out of his hands.  He elbowed her in the face, but she pistol-whipped him several times before shoving him away from her and lighting him up like the others.  Since she was a demon and the aashtan could only be killed by catastrophic blood loss, the handgun was only effective against Sam and Dean.  She pulled the slide off of the pistol, dismantling it, then threw the pieces to opposite sides of the room.

All of the aashtan appeared to be sufficiently disfigured.  Half of them were still rolling on the floor trying to put out the flames, one had forgotten to stop-drop-and-roll and instead was running around screaming, but a handful of them had somewhat recovered and had their weapons at the ready.  She had to spill a lot of blood and do it before the flaming office furniture really ignited the building itself.  She slipped off the flamethrower and tossed it aside, then removed her new weapons from their improvised holsters.

Ruby took a moment to cherish the truly menacing appearance of the pair of Chinese hook swords that she was holding.  Each sword was just under two feet long with the tip of the slashing weapons shaped into a bladed hook that was large enough to wrap around an enemy’s wrist or ankle.  The handles each had a fingerguard that consisted of another cutting edge, and the butts of the handles were adorned with yet another three-inch long blade.  They were literally two pieces of steel containing fourteen razor sharp edges, all backed by the physical strength of a demon.  She was ready to make them bleed.

As a new song came on, she playfully tapped her foot to the music, inviting further enraged attacks with her tasteless behavior.  Sure enough, two female aashtan with knives charged her at the same time.  Ruby parried one blade after the other, right sword for right attacker, left sword for left attacker.  After deflecting the attacks, she swung both swords inwards in a scissor-like cut, slashing both women’s torsos.  While they were still shaking off the counterattack, Ruby kicked the left one back so that she could focus on one foes at a time.

“It swings—” she sang along to the music while slicing one of the right one’s throat.

“—It jives—”  She lunged forward, decapitating the one that had been on her left, then kept moving.

A flaming desk chair went hurling right at Ruby’s head.  She managed to dodge it, but was immediately tackled from behind, knocking her to the ground.  The aashtan stabbed her twice in the back before grabbing her hair and bashing her face into the floor.  Ruby held the hook swords up behind her head, then repeated the scissor-slice motion.  A shower of 98.6° liquid showered her followed by a limp body.  

“I kinda like it—” she continued singing loudly while shaking the blood and body off of her.

“—Crazy little thing called love.”

A male aashtan with a sword swung at her, cutting a gash across her chest that gouged the bone.  She blocked another attack with her offhand, then sliced his main hand off at the wrist causing his sword to drop to the ground.  When he tried to pick the sword back up, she maneuvered the hook end of her swords to grab his torso and physically stopped him from getting the weapon.  She wanted to use one of her swords to cut him, but they’d both been imbedded with a bit too much force, so she awkwardly tugged a couple times trying to dislodge one from his ribcage.  On the third attempt, she braced her foot against his chest, then yanked, tearing him in half.  Turning to her right, she saw the female aashtan in the five-inch heels moving to attack her, but quickly swept the aashtan’s feet out from under her.  

“They aren’t fucking practical!” Ruby shouted to her for over the music.  “If you’re gonna murder people—“ she sliced through the woman’s throat, causing blood to splatter onto her own stain-resistant black boots.  “—wear smart footwear.”

She’d barely taken a breath when another one jumped her, stabbing her in the chest.  Rather than wasting energy on taking out the knife, she punched the aashtan in the face, embedding the bladed hand guard several inches into his skull just above the nose.  She shook him off her weapon, then took a nice long horizontal slice across the torso for good measure.

“I gotta be cool—” she kept singing just to piss them off.

“—relax—”  A swift upward swing, cleaved a male aashtan in half from crotch to neck.

“—”get hip—”

The last three came at her from different directions, so she interlocked the swords’ hook ends, then let go of the left one.  Ducking down a bit to avoid hitting herself, she swung the right sword around her.  The two temporarily connected swords acted as a four foot long whip of blade that cut deep wounds in the three aashtan, including slitting a throat.  Quickly grabbing the left sword’s handle, she unhooked her swords.

“This thing called love—”  She cut down one of the injured aashtan. “—I just can't handle it.”

“This thing called love—”  She blocked another attack, then decapitated the last aashtan with her counterattack.  “—I must get round to it.”

She glanced around the room and counted the bodies, then made her way to go collect Sam and Dean.

“Crazy little thing called love.”

She walked back over to the door to the room where the boys were being held.  Before opening the door, she grabbed a nearby desk that was on fire and threw it to the opposite side of the room in order to give them a bit more time to leave.

Sam and Dean were both bound to their respective tables with what had to be wide, 900 thread-count cotton straps.  They both had an IV in each arm, which was slowly drained their blood into brushed stainless steel basins.  Sam’s basins appeared noticeably fuller, but probably not enough to justify how much weaker he appeared.  It was possible that the disorienting effect of the aashtan had hindered him all the more.  Either that or maybe Dean’s blood just flowed at a trickle with all the alcohol and caffeine that he consumed acting as a diuretic.  

“You couldn’t have played Zepp?” Dean asked as soon as she’d entered the room.

“Next time you cut through a whole nest by yourself, you can pick the fucking music,” Ruby shot back as she hurried over to Sam.  She cut him free with her knife, pulled out the tubes from his arms, then applied two very temporary bandages.  When he didn’t react much more than rolling his head to one side, she asked, “Sam, you awake?”

“Pretty sure,” he murmured.

She cut Dean’s bonds and pulled out his IVs.  She bandaged his dominant arm, but left him to take care of the other himself while she turned her attention back to Sam.

“Do you think you can you walk?” she asked Dean.

“Stumble maybe,” Dean groaned as he rolled off the table.  It took him a few seconds to get up off the floor, but he seemed in decent enough shape that she wasn’t worried.

“I can get Sam, if you can get the doors and spot me on the stairs.”

Dean walked into the thoroughly destroyed workspace, and began looking around, then asked, “why is the building on fire?”  

“I lit it on fire,” Ruby replied as she hoisted Sam onto her back for a comically ill-proportioned piggyback ride.

“As long as... you meant to,” Sam replied with a pitiful shrug.  She couldn’t reach up to pat him reassuringly, so she settled for leaning her cheek against the side of his head.

Dean returned holding a severed head.  He stared at her with the knowing half-smile of a man who was trying not to display his admiration.  She tried to shrug at him, but couldn’t with Sam piled on her back.  Instead she gave a little smirk.

“Somebody’s got anger issues,” Dean commented.

“Yeah, and you’re one of them.”  Ruby nodded in the general direction of the stairwell entrance.  “Get the fucking door.”

They carefully made their way down the stairs.  Unfortunately, the strain of supporting Sam’s weight made all of Ruby’s stab wound flow liberally with blood.  She wouldn’t complain about her ruined clothes, but after having someone be nearly decapitated directly above her… well, she didn’t want to think of the dry cleaning bill.  

Halfway down the stair the music cut out having possibly been a victim of the first floor sprinklers.

“You owe me a new iPod,” Ruby muttered to Dean.

“Eat me.”  Dean let go of his intense grip on the arm rail in order to flip her off properly.

“If you want to get eaten, you can go back to the aashtan—oh wait, you can’t because I killed them all saving your ass.”  Ruby paused at the second floor landing, then shifted in order to get a better grip on Sam.

“I can’t believe you can lift him,” Dean commented, waving his hand toward Ruby carrying someone twice her size and weight.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had him on me.”

“One sec, I need to go back and burn my eyes out,” Dean joked, then pretended to turn back towards the fire.

They made it down the stairs and out the back door without anyone collapsing.  Ruby deposited Sam into the backseat of the Impala, then carefully straddled him.  The holes in his elbows had continued to bleed while he was being evacuated, but at least the bandage had slowed it down a bit.  She redressed his elbows, then folded his arms up to help apply pressure.  Once the damage was mitigated she started an IV by his collarbone, connected a bag of blood from the cooler, then held it above him to let gravity do its work.

“You sure you should be driving?” Ruby asked Dean as he squeezed into the driver’s seat.

“I’m fine.  Sam’s the one they really went in on—Jesus Christ, Ruby.  It’s like a ten year old was fucking driving,” Dean groaned as he repositioned the bench seat.  

“Just be glad I didn’t weld it in place.”

Ruby tried to clean herself up as much as possible considering the quantity of arrant blood that had followed the three of them into the car.  At a particularly long traffic light, Dean allowed Ruby to put an IV in him.  It was a long night and she was kneeling in the backseat holding up bags of blood for her hunter companions.

“Hey Dean, can you drive through someplace?  I’d kill for a burger and fries.”

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Mycroft x reader where he was wounded badly and lies in the hospital with the reader being a calm and friendly nurse who sometimes comes to him and talks because hes not allowed to use his phone and doesnt get any visitors. Hes Mycroft like but she is still totaly nice

“Now if you feel like the pain is unbearable Mr. Holmes you can call the nurses to give you another painkiller but like I was saying earlier I would like for you to be weaned off them entirely before your discharge next month,” Dr.Kowalski explains  again for what felt like the third time in the last seven weeks of his stay in the hospital.

For Mycroft the risk for getting injured let alone grievously so were negligible when he ran the numbers prior toward his recuse of Sherlock and yet here he sat-in a hospital bed no less with limited mobility and worst of all no cellphone.   

Left leg fractured in two places, hip bruised, dominant hand in a cast and a ruptured disk Mycroft was as helpless.

He couldn’t feed himself, couldn’t do his work, hell he couldn’t even make it to the bathroom by himself causing him to be disgusted more and more with stay as the days rolled on.

Sure, Anthea had visited until Dr. Kowalski banished her from the building for bringing him paperwork, Sherlock and John accompanied by either young Rosie or Miss Hooper had made their appearances, even Gregory had found his room to cheer him up when he could but otherwise Mycroft was alone.

Well.

Mostly alone.

Nodding noncommittally at the doctor Mycroft if able to banish the man from the room only to count the seconds it would be  acceptable to page the nurse ______.

Now out of all his associates and family nurse _____ was one of the dew that kept him company or at least paid him any real mind during his stay there.

The other nurses were polite and professional (as they should be with the amount of money they charge for their services) but ______ was just more pleasurable company.

From day one she was trying to make him feel more at home offering to fetch a paper from the lobby, sweets by the nearby bakery or just spending time with him in general when Mycroft was bored to tears in his room in the late afternoons.

Shared dinners where ____ would hand feed him, bringing in special bath tokens from home, talking to him about world events, spending time with him even during late night hours when she by all accounts should be off the clock.

Funny, considerate, caring and constantly checking up on him throughout the day made Mycroft feel like he wasn’t just a patient but someone special.

In fact if Mycroft didn’t know any better he would suspect that ______ may have been keen on him however not even doped on whatever medical drip ordered by the doctor did he entertain that to be true. After all he was a broken old man in a hospital and she looked relatively young, spry woman with her whole life ahead of her.

What could he offer her in such a state? Money? Connections for a promotion? 

Surely not given by her seemingly genuine concern for him but then again Mycroft is considered a very high profile patient. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for someone like him to receive special treatment.

Don’t fool yourself with these needless emotions. It will only break your heart in the end. She’s just doing her job to the best of her ability Mycroft reminds himself as he stares at the nurse call button in disdain. 

Nevertheless Mycroft is not made of stone and decides that five minutes was good enough to seem believable before pushing the nurse call button. 

Much like a summoned genie ____ is there in a heartbeat with a chai latte, lunch tray, rolled up Daily Sun prepared and smile on her face. “I was wondering when doctor K was going to stop hogging you Mycroft,” ____ says warmly as she shuts the door behind her.

Like a pattern she sets the drink and paper before him on the side table and then proceeds to do her work.“What did doctor K say,” _____ asks as she does her inspections of the monitors and paperwork.

“That I should send for you should my pain level become to unbearable and that I should do so sparingly as he would like me to be less dependent on them since I will be discharged by the end of next month but otherwise its the same song and dance as before,” Mycroft explains in a tired tone.

As much as Mycroft despised sitting in the hospital he loathed leaving _____ here more. She was like the sun; warm and inviting for an old cold soul like him.

Had he the chance Mycroft would soak up whatever stray rays of sunshine she had to spare because it made him feel less isolated and dare he say it-more at home in this world full of goldfish.

_______ stills minutely at the explanation-a pause that even under the minimal use of drugs Mycroft doesn’t miss. Her face betrays nothing but unease for a split second before it morphs back into her normally happy mood when ____ tries to set him up for lunch.

Interesting.

“Well, that must be exciting for you,” _____ comments cheerfully getting the side table fixed over his lap, “getting to go home and out of this boring old hospital am I right?” Her smile although big doesn’t quite reach her eyes as ____ locks the table a bit forcefully that it nearly sends the latte spilling and paper rolling onto the floor.

Mycroft takes note at how her hands shake when they were normally steady as Anthea’s execution in the field to feed him his lunch. 

Her voice seemed strained as ____ tried to talk with him about their favorite shared topics and eyes growing increasingly misty that it got to the point where Mycroft was sure she would excuse herself to cry that he finally spoke up.

“______ is there something amiss?”

The reaction was instantaneously as _____’s ears immediately flushed followed closely by the heat in her cheeks.

“What-no nothing’s wrong Mr. Holmes. I’m just dealing with some seasonal allergies that’s all,” _____ tries to lamely deflect but no one not even two year old Rosie would buy such tripe.

“_______.”

“Mr. Holmes-”

“You haven’t called me that in the last six and a half weeks ______ I would dare say its a little too late to pretend formality now especially since our time spent together,” Mycroft retorts kindly.

And indeed it had been some time. 

While regaining some of his mobility back that ____ wouldn’t have to do everything for him Mycroft was content to allow her to do things for him even if it was menial as straightening his sheets or combing his hair (with much complaining from Dr. Kowalski to stop letting her do so because he needed to start doing these things for himself.)

_____ puts down the fork and seems to be at odds at what she should do with her hands as her eyes are downcast. The fidgeting with her fingers was foreign to him as Mycroft had rarely seen her without holding something meaning this was something she deemed very important that needed sole focus.

Shame,embarrassment, despair, desperation and a small shred of hope.

“Look I…I know this is unprofessional Mycroft but I was hoping,” _____ pauses for a deep breath, “ I mean, wondering if it would be alright to visit you after you get out of here?”

Not even giving him time to answer ____ is quick to follow up with, “As friends of course! I just want to make sure that you’re okay and stuff…”

If there was ever any doubt that Mycroft wasn’t more than a patient to _____ it was ultimately smashed by the sight before him.

 ________ looked more like she would burst into flame by the way her face and neck were lit up. The tension palpable to such a degree that he could cut it with one of the horrid plastic knives that they permit patients to use.  

“You know what, forget it. I’m just overstepping my boundaries,” ______ quickly dismisses waving at her face, “I’m sorry I got all weird there. I just-I’ll let doctor K know that to reassign me and-”

“I would not be opposed.”

_____’s head turns at such a degree Mycroft is afraid of whiplash for her sake. “What?”

“I said that I would not be opposed to meeting you outside of these walls,” Mycroft elaborates. “Obviously we enjoy each other’s company and we as adults can visit each other in other places, say for dinner at the Aqua Shard?”

Again ____ looks like an mishap Sherlock had with his lotion experiments back as a child but far more attractive to bear.

Her mouth soundlessly opens and closes much to that of a fish a couple of times before croaking out,“Yes.”

Mycroft allows himself a small smile that sends ____ flushing anew.

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 1: Chapter 26 (If It Can Go Wrong...)

Part 1 Summary: A long-buried Hydra disaster, a monster in the shadows, a missing child. Eight months after the events of “The Winter Soldier”, Bucky turns himself in to the Avengers on one condition: They must help him find a girl snatched off the streets by Hydra seven years ago. In their quest, the Avengers accidentally unleash a horrifying creature of darkness and shadow, intent on making their quarry its prey.

Chapter 26: If It Can Go Wrong...

Bucky watched over Inessa day and night via the tablet. The child was hunted by the Shadow, and as it grew in strength they were at a loss to challenge it. Natasha injected the anti-venom faithfully every 12 hours, but they saw no change. It was like a piece was still missing, and as the weeks rolled on Bucky had no idea where to look.

He didn't sleep much. None of them did- but Bucky was the only one with the Shadow breathing down his neck (quite literally most of the time) and all he could do was try to keep himself busy. Tony gave him completely unlimited access to his classic car warehouse and Bucky ordered one of his father's old 1940 Chevrolet Street Rods brought up for restoration. No more engine rebuilds, now he had the entire thing. There was also Netflix, which allowed him to make great strides in his understanding of the modern world with Steve and Thor (it also provided a fantastic mental escape from the stress and strain in the Tower).

"I do not jest!" Thor argued one night as they watched some 'Sherlock Holmes' movie, "Do you not also believe this Sherlock resembles our Tony Stark?"

"Please," Steve laughed, "you said the exact same thing about the guy in 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang'."

"And you swore you saw my twin in 'Hot Tub Time Machine'," Bucky pointed out, "I think you're losing it."

"Do all of us Midgardians just look the same to you?" Steve was mock-offended. Thor laughed and gave him a light shove- he flew to the other side of the room and hit Bucky. All of their movie nights included a wrestling match these days.

Bucky and Steve had Thor pinned down (not for long) when Bucky felt it- that fear growing in his mind. The Shadow was coming. Thor's head jerked back suddenly and he made a desperate, choking noise. A moment later Steve flew across the room into the television. Thor dove after him, pinned him to the wall, and with a single blow crushed his rib-cage. He dropped Steve and turned to Bucky.

Black flames burned in his eyes. He watched Bucky like a predator- moving slowly towards the door all the while. A muscle near his nose twitched- was he snarling?

"What do you want?" Bucky demanded, "You can't have her. You know we'll keep her safe. What do you want?"

Thor roared at Bucky and attacked. The human was faster- it wasn't hard to dodge his blows, the real danger was if one connected. Thor- or rather the thing controlling him- aimed for Bucky's face, then when he ducked swung his left fist to connect with Bucky's stomach. He flew backwards into the window. It was reinforced- he didn't go for any late night flight, but he came damn close. Bucky crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. Thor took off out of the room. "It's got Thor!" he coughed the words out, "Get Nessa out of here!"

"Sam!" Natasha, several floors up, grabbed Inessa and dragged her to the balcony.

"Oh my way!"

A dull and distinctly Hulk roar echoed through the tower. Banner would slow it down, at least.

Bucky scrambled over to Steve. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, he looked bad, "I'm fine, you go."

Bucky wasn't buying it. He ripped Steve's shirt open- his torso was already turning purple, "Internal bleeding. I'm not leaving until-" a white med suit ran in flanked by two other remotes. Bucky smiled, "until now." he patted Steve on the shoulder and got out of the suits way. Once it had Steve secured inside, he ran out the door to catch up with Thor.

He found him on the landing of Banner's floor, locked in a wrestling match with Hulk. The "Jolly Green Giant", as Tony put it, was pinning him down as best he could, but the beast inside Thor fought viciously- gnashing it's jaws at Hulk's throat, kicking out randomly. Bucky grabbed a leg with his metal arm and pinned it down, but it barely helped. The creature had Thor's strength, and Bucky couldn't anchor himself. He was tossed about with every kick, but at least his added weight was tiring the demi-god out.

Natasha and Clint came running down the stairs followed closely by Tony. Between the three of them they brought four large spotlights, which they turned on at full-blast and dropped around Thor. He roared and, slowly, the darkness faded from his eyes. When he stopped kicking, Bucky held out a hand behind him. Natasha gave him a needle full of anti-venom, and Bucky stabbed Thor in the leg.

"Kill the lights," Bucky's eyes were burning. The three did as he asked and he crawled around Thor to inspect him. Hulk tipped back to sit against the wall, panting. For a stupid, tiny human(oid), the man was strong. Bucky lifted both eyelids- jet black, as expected. He remembered how Thor had convulsed as they wrestled. No part of him should have been in shadow- every room of the Tower was fully lit! Except- he'd been pinned down very close to the couch, and Tony didn't have lights in the floors. Bucky carefully turned Thor's head to the side and pushed up his hair. A long cut ran along the back of his neck, already turning silver.

"Sam, stay out there for a few more minutes. JARVIS, give us house lights at 100%," Tony wanted to make damn sure the Shadow was gone. Even if that meant blinding everyone.

Bucky closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel it close by, watching, waiting for them to let their guard down. Wherever it was perched, Tony's lights flooded it out and it let out a loud, echoing roar before being blasted back to wherever it came from. It was trapped, the Shadow was depleted, but it was also encouraged somehow.

"Everything alright?" Bucky opened his eyes. Banner stood over Thor. He was still slightly green, but it was fading.

"I think so, but... It's happy about something. Like we did it a favor."

"I don't like the sound of that." Tony rubbed his neck.

Natasha waited 5 minutes before calling Sam back from his flight around Avengers Tower with Inessa. By then the med suit had a report on Steve.

"Four broken ribs, punctured lung, and a ruptured spleen," JARVIS sounded cheerful. Tony decided with all the tension in the tower any bad news should be presented as good news. It was a supremely bad idea. "Beginning automated surgery now. Chance of survival at 99%."

Tony whistled, "Damn, Thor packs a punch," the god moaned in response and slowly covered his eyes, "ooh, well done Simmons."

Thor was sitting up within minutes, though he did throw up a few times, "What has happened?"

"The Shadow got you," Clint tapped the back of Thor's neck, "Right there."

Thor felt the cut himself and shuddered, "My last recollection was of us arguing while we watched 'Sherlock'-"

"Oh! The one with the guy who looks like me!" Thor pointed at Tony and looked at Bucky as if to say 'told you so!'

"I still don't see it."

"Did I- was anyone harmed?" the tone became serious quite suddenly. Thor looked at the faces around him- there was no Steve Rogers, or Sam Wilson.

Bucky shook his head, "The Shadow did a number on Steve, he's in surgery, but he knows it wasn't you."

Thor could feel Heimdal's eye, watching, "Do not worry, old friend. We will defeat this foe. Keep the Bifrost closed, and report none of this to my father or the Warriors Three. Please." the sense faded. Heimdal was content to listen to his Prince.

Tony spiraled a finger around mid-air to trace the universal gesture for 'Kookie'.

"Any new insights? Did you see anything?" Clint prompted. Thor sorted through his memories as best he could- he had considerably more to quiet down than the others had. He paled slightly, but shook his head.

"I learned nothing. James Barnes, can you help me to my quarters? I believe I may be ill yet again." Bucky helped pull him up and the others gave them space. Thor seemed well enough- he made it to his apartment with no help from Bucky.

Once inside though he closed the door, waited for the sounds of Clint, Natasha, and Tony passing to their own floors, and slid down the wall to sit on the hard marble. Bucky crouched next to him, "What did you see?"

"Our enemy is no longer alone," he sighed, "it has summoned many, many companions. James Barnes, I believe you were correct when you said we shall all perish. It means to attack soon."

Chapter 27: … It Will

[thatsrightmytrash]

Somebody Else Pt 6

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 7

Rating: NC-17

Genre: Smut, Angst, college AU

Pairing: Jungkook x reader x Taehyung

Warnings: Cheating, Explicit sexual content, Suicide.

Summary: You had met Jungkook on a summer day at the age of 10,  at 12 you became best friends,  at 14 you had your first kiss,  at 15 you fell in love and at 16 you made love. You’ve never really knew what heartbreak was until at the age of 18 he broke your heart.

Inspired by Somebody else by the 1975.

A/N: Sorry if i have grammar mistakes, English is not my first language.

I didn’t know which of the three photos to pick so I put the three of them lol. 

You stopped abruptly and turned around to see one of the worst things you've ever seen, Jungkook sprawled on the floor, blood sprouting from his body, eyes closed and body covered with glass. You feared the worst, running to his figure lying on the ground you crouched, crying and calling his name.

“Please don’t leave me, please. SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

You felt the air being sucked from your lungs the minutes it took the ambulance to get to the place and the path from the accident to the hospital, tears flowing from your eyes incessantly, unsteadily breathing while you strongly held Jungkook until the doctors took him away to the emergency room and you had to let go of him.

Three tortuous hours passed before the surgeon emerged from the emergency room.

"We have stabilized him, he suffered a fracture in two of his right ribs and a spleen rupture, but we were able to close the wound fast enough." The doctor explained to you, blood returning to your pale face.

"Are you a relative of the patient? I need you to sign these papers that authorize Mr. Jeon's hospitalization," the doctor asked.

"I am his girlfriend," you replied without really thinking, the weight of those words quickly making effect in your mind, you pushed the thought to the back of your mind.

"That will suffice, please sign here" the surgeon handed you some papers and a pen to sign them, you signed them quickly and gave them back to him.

"You can see him in an hour when he is taken to intensive care" the doctor told you before turning around and leaving.

That hour served you a bit to think about the events that had happened in the last weeks, your feelings for Jungkook, your feelings for Taehyung, Jungkook's thought of  him being ripped from your life forever, his almost lifeless body lying on the pavement , you never wanted to see or feel the same thing again in your life. It was terrifying to think that someone could disappear from your life with the snap of two fingers. What had happened was your fault, because you were the one who ran away from the place without looking back, no mattering that Jungkook was running after you, shouting your name, imploring you to listen.

A woman's voice woke you from your thoughts, you looked up and there was a nurse calling you.

"Miss, you can see your boyfriend," the nurse murmured slowly, thinking that she had woken you from your sleep.

You quickly got up from the hard hospital bench and entered the room; Jungkook was awake, probes and wires connected to his arms, monitoring his condition.

You looked at him and you couldn’t keep the tears from flowing from your eyes, you approached him, sitting in a chair beside his bed and gently grabbed his hand, afraid that somehow you break it.

"I... I'm so sorry, this is all my fault" You sobbed lowering your head, you couldn’t even look at him.

Jungkook squeezed his hand in yours "Don’t cry, it's not your fault" He croaked. "It's no big deal, I only have a couple of broken ribs" He giggled lowly.

"This is no time for jokes, you could be dead! Do you know how hard that would be for me? The moment I saw you lying on the floor, blood sprouting from you, and your eyes ... your eyes were closed; I imagined the worst" you cried.

"But I'm here, I'm alive and I'm by your side," Jungkook assured you, raising his other hand slowly so as not to disconnect any cables, bringing it to your cheek and wiping the tears with his thumb.

There was no doubt that you loved this man, there was no doubt that you couldn’t live without his existence, but a strange emptiness in your chest prevented you from moving to kiss him, and the image of golden hair embedded in your mind.

"I need to know why, I need to know what's going on here" you begged him, rather you demanded. It wasn’t necessary for you to say what was that you needed to know; Jungkook knew very well what you meant.

 He took a deep breath before saying what he had to say "I was so scared Y/N, leaving our town, going to university, living together, it was too much, I was afraid that when we moved together things would become difficult, I was afraid to leave the conformity we had and one night, god… in a night of drunkenness I made the worst mistake of my life. I was at a party with the guys and I hardly remember anything about that night but there was this girl, Bora, who came to talk to me and in a few minutes I forgot all my worries and when I realized it was the next day, I woke up in a unknown room next to her and I knew in the moment what I had done, what I had done to you” His words felt like daggers through your heart but you didn’t say anything and let him continue.

"After that night I didn’t see her again, I blocked her number, I was going to tell you I swear to, but then she showed up at my house and..." Jungkook swallowed hard "She told me she was pregnant, and God, I didn’t want to be with her, I didn’t want that baby but you know I couldn’t leave her, I couldn’t do what my father did to my mother." Jungkook's father had abandoned his mother before Jungkook was born, he never met him.

"It was easier to tell you that I no longer loved you instead of telling you the truth, less painful, I was a selfish, a one night stand, a one night mistake ruined my life, our life. Shortly afterwards Bora lost the baby, and I know it sounds horrible but I felt relieved in some way, because maybe I could leave her, come back to you, tell you what had happened. But she lost her head after that, she didn’t eat, she didn’t leave her bed, I had to bathe her, feed her, change her clothes, I was afraid that if I left her, she would do something crazy." You felt like your chest closing as if cement had dried inside it.

"I know I'm not in position to say anything but, God, I love you so much, the moment I saw you with Taehyung my heart almost stopped at that very moment, I love you, I love you and no one else, I want you by my side, I love you Y/N, I don’t love Bora I really don’t, I love you and only you." He cried as a mantra.

His words were bittersweet, a part of you wanted to hear that, wanted to hear Jungkook saying I love you and your name following those words, but why did it feel so wrong?

"You know I think the same, the feeling of someone ripping you away from me is unbearable but ... I can’t, I have no doubt that you loved me before Jungkook, I'm sure of that but I don’t think you do it as before, and me neither, I swear that all this time I tried to push the thoughts away of my mind, try to convince myself that things could be as before” you paused looking at him, his eyes screamed in agony, shouted that you say something else but not that .

“For more than I try, I can’t love you like that again, I can’t love you with the same ferocity and intensity I once did, I can’t even look at you like I used to, like you mean my entire world and your eyes hold the secrets to the universe because everytime I look at you I remember what you did to me, I remember how you betrayed my trust, you broke something in me, something which can never be repaired, so I might say I have forgiven you, and we would try to move past this, to rebuild what we once had, but trust when I say this but we will never love each other like we used to”. You finished the last words in a murmur, your tearful eyes and the sight of Jungkook crying in front of you broke your Heart but both knew that the words that you had just said were true.

"Please don’t say that, I love you, I did, and I always will." Jungkook implored you, bringing his hands to your face, but you gently pushed them apart.

"Don’t, we both know you don’t love me as you once did, you know why? Because if you love someone you don’t deceive them, if you love someone you try to solve things, you could have told me your concerns, you could have told me what had happened, surely I would had gotten angry but we would had solved it together. Because I loved you and that meant I would have done everything to be by your side, to help you, but instead you decided that it was better leaving me and I know that in that exact moment you didn’t feel the same as I felt for you, I would have gone and come back from hell for you." Your eyes now full of tears, and anger blooming in your heart, a mixture of feelings, anger, sadness, and disappointment.

"I love you" Jungkook repeated between sobs, his face covered with tears, wetting the wounds he had on his chin and in his left cheek. His eyes filled with pain, agony and regret.

"I love you too," you cried, letting go of his hold and rising from the chair to leave the room. "I'll never forget you," you murmured, staring at a completely downcast Jungkook before closing the door behind you and running.

You ran and ran like there was no tomorrow, all sorts of thoughts running through your mind, first the love of your life had deceived you, betrayed you  in the worst possible way, the moment he felt things were difficult he ran to alcohol and to the arms of another woman when you were sleeping in your bed, without knowing anything, knowing nothing of what was waiting for you, thinking about how you would spend the rest of your life with Jungkook, how you would live together, finishing college, moving to a bigger house, how you would raise your children and how you would work in something you loved ,becoming old with him by your side. Those plans were long forgotten.

Then there was Taehyung, the man who in a certain way gained your confidence, the man who made your accelerated world slow down, the man who the moment your life was darker, he lit a light and guided you, guided you again to feel, to feel things that you thought you would never feel again, filling your empty heart with flowers, with hope, just to have that trust be betrayed again. Taehyung had been with Bora, and the only reason he was with you was to hurt Jungkook.

Everyone betrayed you, no one ever thought of you, the tears rolled down your cheeks as you ran, the cold sticking to your face, but you didn’t care, because everything would be over soon.

You rushed into your apartment, slamming the door behind you, taking your clothes off soaked in Jungkook’s blood, you headed to the bathroom to fill the hot tub.

You opened the cabinet on the wall and took the bottle of your sleeping pills, one, two, three, you don’t know how many pills you took until the bottle was empty, you threw it to the floor and you got into the bathtub, hot water relaxing your tensed muscles immediately, gradually you immersed almost completely inside the bath, leaving only your head outside, and at that moment you felt it.

You were no longer crying, a tranquility that you hadn’t felt in ages took over your body, traveling from your head to your feet, and the tips of your toes, you let yourself be carried away by peace, calmness, your heart no longer hurt, your body no longer felt, and your mind was gradually fading away, you closed your eyes and let the darkness consume you. Your head began to descend slowly, sinking into the water, the sound of rain fading off more and more distantly.

Darkness and silence.

A/N I’m sure this has MANY grammar mistakes, I’m so sorry! What It’s going to happen in the next chapter? That conversation with JK killed me I swear. I think this his having only two more chapters, look forward to them! :) xx

[veryveryveryshyshyshy-blog]

Torment

Word count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, loads and loads of angsty shit

A/N: Be Mean by DNCE made me do this, though its didn't inspire the whole story lol but yes there will be something smutty in the later parts also wow @ the gif,,,,, also i feel like this is kind of a filler chapter lol also feel like i shouldn't have ended it there but idk i cant continue also this was kinda short iDk SORRY

A lot of people deserve forgiveness, a lot of people deserve to forget but all they receive are reminders after reminders after reminders of the mistakes they've committed. 

First, it was a scandalous relationship with a girl. The newspaper article headlines with his secret connection with this nobody, including the explicit (but not too explicit, of course) details of his sadistic and masochistic sexual requests. If that didn’t cause a whole bunch of ruckus, the next one did. Jeon Jungkook was sitting by his window ledge in his secret hiding place, a “temporal safe haven” as his manager puts it. His doe eyes glossy as the light from outside reflected. Though the ray did reveals his tears, his eyes still seemed dull as compared to before. Like a light, that had inhabit his vision before, had been torn away. It was drooping at the sides, so were the sides of his mouth. You could clearly see the toll that he had taken. Exposing his emotions, clearly plastered on his face, vulnerable as the sound of his empty house started to turn deafening. His pupils following the tiny amounts of snow that descended gracefully from the sky. His palm warm against the cold glass of the window, soon to transfer its heat, turning the heated hand into numbed flesh. 

The crestfallen boy knew he was going to have to face the public soon. He didn’t know what the fans thought, getting mixed responses as he read the tweets. He didn’t know what the conservative public of Korea thought of it, he didn’t know what his parents thought. He also didn't know what the members thought or what you thought. Jungkook was desperately avoiding thinking about the latter, especially. The thoughts would harass him till he's ruined. His ringtone chiming interrupted his thoughts. The ringing got more violent as all the notifications flooded in. “Jeon Jungkook Nude? BTS’ Golden Maknae Nude Video Leaked.” #Jungkooknudes trending on twitter.

Moving before his eyes on the screen was two familiar figures. Jungkook’s memory of that special night was slowly tortured and decaying further by every embarrassing moan that blasted out of the speaker of the device. Or by every spank that could be heard in the audio, resounding in the room. Both bodies were moving at the same pace, before his manager pulled the phone away from his face. Now, he was sitting in an office with eight pairs of eyes all on him. His manager had spoken. But the bunny-tooth boy paid no mind to the stressed man,it was probably something along the lines of, “Do you know how much trouble we’re in? If you dare pull some more shit like this. You know what’s coming, kid. Watch out, alright?”, the last part had a hint of sympathy and care, not being as harsh as his few previous sentence. His manager knew that this isn’t what Jungkook wanted, he was human too. He obviously didn’t leaked it himself. But, it did put his job and the rest of their jobs at risk of being taken away, he needed the younger boy to know that his actions have consequence and to be careful with what he does.

Jungkook just sat there silently, staring lifelessly at the table. Nobody could really disclose what he’s thinking about, not the boys as they sat in the room with him, not his manager, no one. They all just stared at him as he was to the table. The dispirited boy had his fringe covering a little of his vision as he stared into the matte black that covered the table, still trying his best to avoid the thoughts of you from popping up in his mind. Nobody had foreseen that the youngest of BTS would’ve been so, well to put it simply, problematic. Nobody thought he would’ve been so sexually promiscuous, everyone speculated that he was the innocent little boy that everyone assumed and portrayed him to be. Some made up rumours that he wanted to get rid of this image, thus causing all this commotion. Others said it was for publicity, quote “These celebrities will do anything to get their face onto the cover of a magazine, be it bad or good news. Absolutely pathetic.”

Amidst all the chaos, nobody asked Jungkook how he felt about this whole situation. Of course, he felt pretty damn shitty. After all his privacy was being pried into. That little minute dust of freedom he had, that he had the right to have, was blown away in a violent wind straight from his bare hands. No amount physical work could have snatched it back as it scatters all over the place. It was out there for the world to look at, the uncensored image of his naked body and the girl he loved on display for the whole world to see. His sultry words, that was supposedly only for his lover to hear, was now heard by millions. Jungkook also felt irritation amongst all his emotions. Why did he have to apologise when he never did anything wrong? What kind of goddamn social contract was it to apologise for his own leaked nudes? It was his privacy being violated here. The person who leaked the nudes and everyone who watched that god-fucking-damned video should be sending their apologies to him instead. Jungkook also felt a tiny sense of happiness lingering at the back of his mind, however he was confused by this emotion. He almost caused 8 other people to lose their jobs, a girl to lose her dignity and pride and not able to face the public. He allowed the familiar elderly couple to be tortured by the hushed whispers spouting more and more rumours about them and him, especially about their relation and how he was badly brought up and nurtured by the couple. He jeopardised a company’s reputation and his own. How could he have felt happy in a moment like this? 

Next thing Jungkook knew, he was, back in the house, lying in the silence and on the extremely huge and empty kingsized bed. The loose string of the smooth silk bedsheets caught in the crooked cut of his nails on his finger as he thought about some of the people he did owe an apology to. Jungkook knew he had to make some amends. He apologised to the members, all of them forgiving and accepting his apology quite easily. They understood what he did wasn't on purpose and that they all had their own things to hide. He apologised to his parents, his parents also being very forgiving. He was exceedingly thankful for all grace shown by his members, the company and his parents.

Now, it was time for the harder part. He walked through the dark cold street, step after step to the familiar address. His hands pushed into the pocket of his coat, in great need of warmth. The air conditioner in the house broke before this, he’s been living without heat for about 12 hours. He couldn’t escape the house either as he was suppose to be in hiding. Just his luck, he also forgot to wear gloves tonight.

He knocked against the wooden door, a crack in the door causing a splinter to prick the skin of his knuckle. He knocked again and waited. After 15 minutes, still not a single soul.

“Hey, I know you’re in there.” His voice sounded rough. As he hasn’t spoken much in the past few days, Jungkook was surprised by his own voice.

The door then opened with a creak, his large eyes engulfed into the small lifeless ones that stood before him. Despite being lifeless at first sight, he saw fear and sadness swimming around in them too.

“What do you want?” The soft, but hoarse voice ruptured in the quiet night. The air so chilled that her hot breath condensed in the contrasting temperature. Silence stood all around them for a moment before Jungkook sighed.

“I just wanted to apologise.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Feeling guilty and for the first time, he felt small in front of the petite woman.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it.” For someone so small, the girl spoke with so much hatred, Jungkook couldn't believe that much hostility could occupy one being. Booming, so sharp that it cut the silence straight into half. The boy was shocked, expecting an easy and smooth forgiveness. But, his naive mind never ran over the possibilities of what was going to happen. Alas, he was, now, confronted and the infamous feline has really grabbed his tongue, this time. Maybe, even tied it into a knot as it felt like he couldn't talk.

“I’m a girl. You’ll never understand what it's like for me. For you, it’s a bump in your life, its a mistake that’ll soon be forgotten by many. For me, however, I’ll live with it forever. Instead of people telling me that it was just a mistake, they blame me for this. My reputation forever tarnished by you. I’ll always just be known as the girl that had that sex scandal with that idol. People at my workplace talk about me, I’ve been forced to resign to protect the company’s reputation. People at the convenient store talk about me, I see the censored thumbnails of that stupid fucking video on the covers of magazines while walking in the goddamn supermarket. People are making violating comments about my body, right in front of me. All thanks to you, the whole world knows what I look like when I'm fucking you, completely naked.” Her voice once again, firm and loud enough for Jungkook to understand the emotions she was projecting, but not loud enough to wake the neighbours. Jisoo wouldn’t risk that, there was enough talk going around town. Jungkook, then, realised the double standards that was still alive. He’ll be able to move on and build his career again and soon, everyone would forget. But, a female body. The female anatomy wasn’t easily forgotten especially by people who sexualise it so much. Even, Jungkook could still remember what his first love looked like. But, not her face first, if you asked him in this way. He remembered the curves in her body and the way she moulded so perfectly with him. The sole reason why he remember her face was because well she's his first love.

“You said you’d always protect me. Why didn't you keep your promise?” She whispered, her voice broken. Though, she was quick to compose herself again, blinking the tears away. Refusing for the, though downhearted too, boy to see her so broken. She knew how it'd affect him, because through everything she still does love Jungkook.

“I know, Jisoo. B-but this is different, I-I couldn't-“ Jungkook stammered, not being able to say what he wanted properly. Shoving his tears to the back of his eye socket, clearing his throat so he could properly discuss this. 

“I think we should breakup. If that wasn't obvious enough.” Jisoo interrupted coldly. 

"No. Please." Jungkook whispered as he begged. The only words he could muster up. 

"Please never look for me again." She said almost reluctantly.

"Jisoo, we can talk it out. Please, just stay." Jungkook had a tear running down his face at this point. Jisoo wiped at the tear with a small smile, her's also threatening to fall.

"Goodbye Jungkook." With a kiss on the cheek, slowly Jungkook felt her hands slip away and she retracted back into the house. 

This love died too early, Jungkook did love her but the unhappy boy’s eyes weren’t as glossy as he thought it would be. He was hurt, he did feel the sour squeezing in his nose and the closing of his throat. Yet, it didn't hurt as bad as he expected. Above all, his mind, contrarily, hasn’t occupied by Jisoo at all. These few days, it had been set on avoiding thinking about you. Although, the boy was trying to circumvent, eschewing these thoughts seemed to make them worse. Avoidance wasn't going to make him feel any better, he had to come to grips with it.

Everyone advised him that it was a mistake to leave. But, Jungkook didn’t care. He’s been in their restraints for too long, as much as he liked being restrained. He didn’t like it this way. As the male sat in his gigantic kingsized bed, once again. He thought all was right in the world again, like the stars had aligned in the world, except that it's not. He felt he was missing something as his eyebrow scrunched together, then your image popped up in his mind. His eyes widened in realisation as his stared into the white ceiling. His raised eyelids start to falter as he thought about what to do. There was a shit load he had to do, he was muddled as to where to start. 

He had to find you. Jungkook stared at the map, the leather seat beneath him getting warm. As he drew on the map, the red ink smudging on the glossy paper, he narrowed down his options to you two's hometown first. His lean legs reached for the gas pedal, his ink stained hands found the steering wheel and sped down the roads. He went out to venture, close to a pilgrim, on a journey to search for you. Your name is his permanent safe word, you are is his permanent safe house.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Small Considerations Between Partners - 5 'There's no place like home'

Summary:

It’s Scully’s birthday but she isn’t celebrating.

Chapter Text

Season Five

‘No place like home’

When Scully had announced a few weeks ago that she intended taking a personal day in order to celebrate her Birthday I hadn’t questioned it.

A day spent with her Mom sounded like exactly what she needed right now, especially given the year she had just lived through. More recently with her loss of a daughter she knew for such a short time but before that was the Cancer, and the way she kept up a punishing work schedule even as she grew ever weaker and more vulnerable coupled with the stark realisation of her own mortality as the cancer finally metastasised, spreading insidiously through the delicate network of veins and arteries as it began to take her away from me. Quietly stripping the flesh from her bones and the light from her eyes as day by day she became weaker and ever more accepting of her fate; and I don’t think even she believed that our last desperate gamble would pay off; believing instead the tiny vial she held in her hands that day in front of her incredulous family could never be more than a last hope in the midst of so much failure.

And now, with the luxury of hindsight, I know she had agreed to have the chip re-inserted not because she believed it would reverse the cruel progression of the disease, but because I did. That to humour me was to have been her last gift to me; an attempt to ease the pain of her passing for me with the knowledge that I had at least tried even if I failed.

But I hadn’t failed – we hadn’t failed – and against all the odds she came back to me. Healthy and whole once again; or at least that’s what I told myself, and to be honest, initially the sheer relief I felt at not losing her overshadowed everything else. But the Scully who remained was not the same Scully she had been before the Cancer took up residence inside of her. Physically she was different of course – the weight she had lost during the many fruitless treatments she undertook had yet to be regained. Her appetite remains poor and more often than not when we eat together she opts for a salad or something similarly bland which she winds up pushing around her plate and offering me a half smile of apology when she catches me risking a concerned glance her way.

Food, she explained to me one day in a rare unguarded moment, holds little appeal to her now, associating it as she does with the frequent and terrible bouts of vomiting she had to endure over the past year or so when she forced herself to eat in the hope her body would at least garner something of nutritional value from the meal before her stomach began to cramp and whatever she had managed to eat was violently expelled in to the nearest toilet bowl or sink or on too many occasions, by the side of the road as we travelled to a new case, to a new city, to a new place of escape; moving – always moving – afraid to stand still for too long because somehow she knew that if she stopped she might never find the energy to continue on.

And so the cycle continued; she would force herself to eat, accepting that, a good percentage of the times, depending on what she had eaten, within anything from a few minutes to a few hours, her body would betray her once again, leaving her a sweating, shaking shadow of the woman I knew – at least in the short term. And if that wasn’t enough, a nose bleed would usually follow a bout of vomiting as the pressure of the act ruptured yet more of the swollen blood vessels inside her beautiful sculptured nose and bathed her pale alabaster skin in a scarlet flow that, over time, took longer and longer to stem. I lost count of the amount of handkerchiefs I saw her toss in to motel bins, the pristine white cotton soaked red in a way that no amount of washing would ever completely remove until she simply replaced cotton with paper. Small rectangular packs of Kleenex, then later wads of paper towels when the Kleenex ceased to be effective enough and I carried them too, always ensuring I had my own supply should she require them; an unspoken acknowledgement of a necessity that neither of us could find adequate words to voice.

I try not to think of those terrible days where I stood before her, stoic and supportive even as I slowly and completely crumbled inside; wanting nothing more than to take her in my arms and crush her against me in the hope that she might finally acknowledge that she couldn’t hope to do it alone; that the walls she had built around herself were not the protective force she believed them to be; that it was okay to cry, to scream, to rail at the injustice of it all but mostly to just understand that it was okay to need and accept the help of those around her who were suffocating in the face of her own apparent indifference of her own fate.

But Scully – my brave Scully- had remained closed off and unwilling to accept even a token shred of comfort until right at the very end when one afternoon I had stood before her as she lay pale, tired and used up in a hospital bed that seemed to consume her very essence and she had held out her hand to me, inviting me to go sit beside her, allowing me finally to hold her, to fold her frail body in to mine as though I could somehow transfer my own life force in to her; to defeat the cancer using nothing more than sheer power of will because at that moment, a moment that hit me with all the force of a runaway train, I knew this was her chance to say goodbye to me while she was still coherent enough to do so. To feel our heartbeats merging in to one, to say to each other all things that may otherwise have remained unsaid.

And on that late summer’s afternoon as the room became suffused with golden sunlight that filtered through the half-closed blinds at the windows, we finally re-connected and regained something I thought we had lost forever; finally understanding that Scully had pushed me away as much to protect me as she had herself. To keep me focused on the work where otherwise I would have simply fallen apart at the seams in the face of her continued suffering and I think I understood for the first time that all the assertions she had made over the preceding months insisting she was fine were actually made to ensure somehow, that I remained fine also.

But the knowledge of her sacrifice didn’t make it any easier to bear and I think I will forever remember the feeling of her disintegrating in my arms as she finally allowed herself to feel something, her tears soaking my shirt and imprinting on my skin just as surely as if she had taken a hot iron and branded me. And I fought with everything I had to not cry in front of her; forced myself to hold myself together enough to give her this time – a time to acknowledge all we had lost, struggled, fought for, lived for – even as her own life was draining away.

And through the tears we found laughter too, falling as always in to the playful verbal sparring that had sustained our complicated partnership through the darkest of days, deflecting as always when the pressure of the situation became too much for us to bear. An afternoon spent reminiscing, talking of things past and oh- so painfully of things that we knew could never be – that time had finally run out for us both and no more memories would be made; that our history together was about to come to an abrupt end. Because I already knew that at best she could expect a few more days of lucidity before her organs began to fail and at worst – the unthinkable worst – was that she may not even last out the night, weakened as she was there was every chance that her heart would simply stop beating in her sleep and she would quietly slip away.

She had given me a final gift before I left her that day, the small leather-bound notebook that I immediately recognised as her journal – the journal she had begun so many months before and which I hadn’t thought she had continued after our return from Allentown. But page upon page was filled with her slightly untidy looped handwriting as she catalogued with pen and ink all she had needed to say to me but had been unable to find voice for; a book filled with love and hope and which spoke, not of regret for things lost, but with her hopes that I might someday find the peace within myself she felt I deserved even if I didn’t believe it myself.

I had taken it from her and she had turned those incredible blue eyes on me that in the past had seemed so fathomless, so hard to read when she slammed her barriers in place and for the first time I think I finally caught a glimpse of the woman she really was. Because all I saw reflected back at me was love coupled with a deep abiding respect for me that I certainly don’t think I ever deserved from her and right then I knew that she loved me; that in some small way she had always loved me, just as I loved her too.

Somehow I managed to tear myself away from her, managing to get to the safety of my car before I finally broke down, engulfed with a grief so raw, so consuming that I didn’t know how I would ever recover from it; feeling myself falling from within as emotionally, I literally felt a part of me tear in two. Unable to breathe, unable to speak, unable to see through the strangulating realisation that somehow, I would have to face a life lived without her by my side, I had finally become aware of the journal I was clutching to my chest, holding on to it in my hands as though it were a lifeline in itself.

That night I sat alone in my apartment and read it from cover to cover; hearing my partner’s voice in her written words as surely as though she were seated beside me, smiling despite myself at some of the memories she had included in it; words meant just for me; of shared moments in our partnership, words designed I think to sustain me when things got tough.

And right at the very end she had expressed a certain sadness that while she may have never found her way over the rainbow during her time with me, what she had actually found was worth so much more and I had smiled again as I recalled a conversation we had shared once on one of the long, long drives to God knows where chasing God knows what, where I had expressed incredulous amazement that she had never watched ‘The Wizard of Oz’ the whole way through. That most American of classics and possibly the most easily identifiable movie in cinematic history, promising her with a smile that one day I would watch it with her just to see the look on her face that would surely mirror exactly that of the millions of people who had come before her; a promise which I acknowledged painfully, had become just one of many promises to her that would never now be fulfilled.

Two days later I had stood and proclaimed before a joint panel all I had discovered to be the truth, heedless of the ramifications such a declaration might bring upon me, I had finally pointed my finger at those responsible for Scully’s illness. Their belief in me, in the work, became secondary to my need to find at least a modicum of justice for my partner who had been nothing but a fucking lab rat to them. And the scepticism had been all too obvious; Spooky Mulder, brilliant crackpot who they effectively kept locked in a basement, allowing him out occasionally to howl his theories to a bright silver moon, having the audacity to name one of their own as being dirty. I didn’t expect them to act upon my information; and truthfully it didn’t matter anymore because all I wanted was to be with Scully, my letter of resignation neatly typed and signed ready to be handed over to Skinner when she breathed her last breath, when the journey ended for both of us.

And much later I learned the true extent of the chaos that had reigned in the aftermath of my revelations after I calmly rose to my feet and exited that conference room, ignoring the insistent assertions from the men gathered within that I should return immediately to explain myself.

Instead I had pulled my phone from my pocket where I had switched it to silent and my blood had literally ran cold at the amount of missed calls from Margaret Scully, expecting the worst, I probably racked up just about every traffic violation in existence as I drove at breakneck speed to the hospital, barely holding it together as I prayed like I have never prayed before that she would just hang on until I could get there. That I wouldn’t be denied the chance to hold her hand just one more time and feel the warmth of her satin soft skin beneath my fingertips, to be denied the chance to say goodbye.

On arrival though I had discovered her pale and fragile and weakened from the terrible toll the past few days had taken upon her ravaged body, but still very much alive and if the latest PET scan were to be believed , fully expected to remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Because the cancer was just gone.

Taken away just like that; as though it had never been.

But after the initial euphoria had subsided, when life had begun to return to some kind of normality for both of us it became more and more apparent that a part of Scully had been taken away also; and that the bond we had formed in the final weeks of her illness, when she finally permitted herself to drop the barriers she hid herself behind was, while not completely severed, were certainly tattered and frayed as she pushed me away again and again in a futile attempt to make some sort of sense of all that had been done to her.

Truthfully I just didn’t know how to reach her, how to find a way to help her find herself again; floundering helplessly as she effectively cut me out in the aftermath of Emily’s death, refusing my every effort to help her grieve in a way that might bring her some peace; listening but never reacting when I heard her awaken on the nights we spent in motels, the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to suppress the tears that always followed a nightmare where Emilys name was forced from her lips on the back of a scream.

And it took every bit of self control I had not to just go to her, willing myself to remain where I was; fists clenched tightly as I listened to the sound of her misery filtering through the thin walls that separated us. But I never allowed myself to get up from my bed; knowing that it had to be on her terms; that she would only accept my help when she was ready to do so.

It’s a pattern that has repeated more often than I care to remember.

But more recently, she has seemed lighter somehow, more like the Scully of old and I had been ridiculously heartened when she told me of her Birthday plans with her Mom. Brunch in town, then shopping and either a movie or a show in the afternoon - Nothing particularly special sure, but finally, evidence that she was coming back to us after so many months of her own self imposed exile from the world; a tiny chink of light to find a way through the bricks and mortar that surrounded her as she began to choose to live her life again in a way she deserved it to be lived.

Which would all be great – if any of it were actually true.

I had discovered her attempts at duplicity quite by accident because Scully, as I have realised over the years, is as adept at lying to cover up her own frailties as am I and let’s face it, it takes a liar to know a liar right?

Because this time she had me good; or maybe I was just desperate to believe that she was beginning to emotionally recover from everything she had been through and so to say I was shocked when Margaret Scully phoned me to extend an invitation to join her and the family for a surprise dinner this coming Sunday – held to make up for the fact (and this was news to me) that we would be out of town on the day of Scullys actual birthday – was a understatement so fucking huge that for a few seconds I was rendered incapable of speech.

Eventually though I had managed to string a few words together, thanking her for thinking of me and assuring her I would be there to celebrate her daughters birthday; a birthday I know none of us had ever dared hope she might somehow manage to reach, let alone that she might get there intact.

I had said nothing to Scully, not really knowing how to broach it with her and, if I’m honest, afraid that to do so would just send her fleeing from me in a way that has become painfully repetitive since she opened the lid of that tiny casket to find all evidence of her young daughter had been removed, that once again something had been taken from her that could never be regained.

So I have played along with her, feigning interest as she furnished me with the details of her plans, agreeing to try not to call her on her Birthday as she would probably have her cel switched off to enjoy the day; staying silent as I listened to her voice that was just a little too cheerful, a little too positive and which now I had been blessed with the luxury of hindsight, I recognised held just a slight undertone of desperation, that I didn’t question her too deeply; that I believed her implicitly.

And now it is the day of her Birthday and I have spent the morning tidying up a few loose ends at the office before finally exiting and making my way over to her apartment where I am pretty sure she will be. If I find she isn’t I will simply wait until she returns because while I am in no way annoyed or hurt that she chose to lie to me I refuse to let her keep hiding from herself like this. Because if she doesn’t open up soon she will simply curl in to herself and forget who she is; and I’m not prepared to let that happen. Not now she has been given a second chance at life.

I arrive at the beautiful building she calls home and make my way up the steps and in to the hallway, pausing for a moment before I lift my hand and rap gently on her door to alert her to my presence. She will know it’s me just by the sound of my knuckles against the smooth painted wood, just as i can identify her by her footsteps, by the cadence of her breathing, by the subtle scent of her when she enters a room; because I know her completely, just as she knows me and the first thing that registers when she finally opens the door is that she is hurting.

I see the pain in her eyes even as she drops them to hover at a point somewhere just below the knot of my tie that I had loosened the minute I had exited the office; just waiting for me to call her out on the fact that rather than being out enjoying the day with her Mom she is instead, standing before me dressed in a ratty sweatshirt I easily identify as belonging to me which falls almost to her bare knees and looking like she wants nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow her.

Because she has been busted and there’s nothing that embarrasses my partner more than to be caught in the middle of a moment of weakness; a moment of human frailty that God knows, more than anyone else, she deserves to wallow in occasionally.

But not today; not like this.

I reach out to her and place my index finger beneath her chin, exerting soft pressure until she is forced to acknowledge me, removing in one small action her ability to hide from me and one which I have used in the past to similar effect. And now that I get a chance to observe her properly it is obvious by the puffiness that surrounds her beautiful eyes that she has recently been crying and that right now, she is in danger of falling once again. And while I know that crying for her is a necessary release that she only allows herself to succumb to occasionally, I don’t want to be the one that causes her more pain.

So I simply dip my head and place my lips against her cheek as I whisper against her warm skin.

“Happy Birthday Scully.”

And I know that she will be the one to choose whether to step away, to lightly brush off the concern for her which has brought me here or whether she will allow herself to take the comfort she knows I can offer her if she only she will take that leap of faith to reconnect with me and in turn to begin to heal herself.

But while she doesn’t step away she doesn’t step toward me either, dropping her head again as the silence stretches uncomfortably between us and the battle rages on inside her, so obvious is her fight with herself that she actually starts to tremble, clenching her fists tightly in what I can clearly see is in direct response to the tears that have filmed her eyes again and which she is desperately trying to keep in check.

It’s a fight she is losing though and when the first tear escapes it’s confines to splash on to her cheek I find I can stand it no longer; that to just stand here and do nothing is no longer an option; that even as I reach out for her she is stumbling forwards, clutching at my shirt as she anchors herself to me as though her life depends on it, sinking in to my embrace, her body shaking now with the force of her desperate grief – a grief I think has been a long time coming for her and which finally, inevitably has demanded release.

I don’t speak. Words at this point are not necessary because she knows just by the way I hold her against me, resting my chin on the crown of her head as I lightly tangle one hand in the silky strands of her hair while the other presses against her back, that I am here with her for as long as it takes. Both as her partner and as her friend.

And slowly, so painfully slowly, she begins to come back to me as the desperate cries begin to taper off in to hitching sobs, then occasional sniffs and finally I feel her take a deep, cleansing breath before she exhales slowly. I suspect it might be the first time she has allowed herself to really breathe for a very long time.

I don’t ask her if she’s okay because I know that she isn’t. But it’s a start and I will take what I can get if it means her finding herself again.

Instead, I allow her to disentangle herself from me, heartened that she finds my eyes with hers and doesn’t waver as she places her palm against my jaw, resting it there just briefly before sliding it down to follow the contours of my shoulder before dropping it to rest over my heart.

“Thank you.”

And despite the way the words catch slightly in her throat, for the first time in months she sounds like Scully again, the sudden realisation causing my own breath to pause momentarily before I feel a smile begin to tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Here..”

I reach in to my pocket and bring out the rectangular parcel that is already losing the rose gold paper I had clumsily wrapped around it. Gift wrapping has never been my forte it’s fair to say.

But Scully doesn’t seem to notice that the scotch tape is already beginning to curl as she carefully and delicately peels back the paper to reveal the gift below, her whole face suddenly lighting up with recognition; remembering a promise made many months ago as she stares at the VHS tape before lightly running her finger over the title.

And she smiles up at me, the first really genuine smile that has graced her beautiful face for longer than I care to remember and I know that somehow, she will be alright.

“So what do you say Scully? You want to watch The Wizard of Oz with Me?”

End

[facetiousfanboy]

Finding Answers

Here’s a little fic following my fanwalker Faust as he journeys across the plane of Zendikar in search of answers about himself. This was longer than I had intentioned but it was a lot of fun to write. I hope you guys like it and please give me feedback.

Warning: Contains violence and partial gore.

Faust lifted his head and looked up at the lush green trees surrounding him. These trees were more than three times the size of any tree he had ever seen on Innistrad. As he looked up through the trees he saw floating stone structures high in the sky. Occasionally he would hear the sounds of some creature scrambling through the underbrush or the roar of some predator in the distance.

It had been a few months now since Faust had become a planeswalker. A few months since he had gained these strange new powers along with his new form. He slowly moved each of his limbs, flexing them. He could move each new limb as if he had always had it, as if it had been a part of his body since birth, though he knew otherwise.

Faust had retained only a few memories of his life on Innistrad, he knew he had grown up near the sea and that he had avoided death on numerous occasions. He remembered one night in particular when he had been pursued by a particularly hungry vampire and had barely survived the attack. His mind however had been shattered when his spark ignited and most of his memories of Innistrad were now fuzzy or gone.

Drawing on what bit he did know he could tell that this plane, known as Zendikar, was much larger than Innistrad and it was filled with nearly boundless mana. He extended one of his original hands out towards a red and yellow flower and very slowly drew in its mana. The flower withered and died as he did this. He could taste the mana, it was delicious and rich, and filled with memories. He hummed and old tune softly and looked about.

The moment he had arrived on this plane he could tell it was filled with life, with millions of organisms growing and fighting, and surviving. But the strange thing was that Faust felt a sense of familiarity with this plane, as if he had been here before. Of course that was impossible, he had only visited a few planes since his spark ignited and he knew for a fact that he had never been here, at least he thought as much. He shook his head to clear his mind and began moving again. He needed to reach some form of civilization and get some information, that was why he had come to this plane in the first place, to find out about what had happened to him, to learn about Her.

He walked, looking forward. There was no path, no indicators telling him which way was the right one. However he was not lost, for there was always the ley lines. Faust had gained many new abilities after his spark ignited, many of those abilities involved mana, sensing it, consuming it, using it. He could instantly tell where the richest sources of mana were on any plane he visited, could feel the movements of the magical ley lines that ran across the surface of each plane, and he often found that anywhere mana pooled he could find a civilization of one kind or another.

It was perhaps an hour into his hike that he began to first hear the cracking of branches. He ignored it at first but as time passed the sound became more frequent and grew closer. Before long he could also hear the falling of feet and the sound of heavy breathing.

Faust froze and immediately began drawing in mana from all around him, he drew it from the grass which turned to dust, he drew it from the air, he drew it from the trees. He did not know what was coming to meet him but he would be ready for it if it was coming for a fight. He looked around for a bit before he could identify where the sound was coming from, right in front of him.

A large meaty claw was the first thing he saw. The claw was half the size of Faust and was tipped by large black nails. It was on the end of a muscular arm which was connected to a green torso, covered in light red stripes. The beast's back was ridged by spines and had many scars on it. The most interesting feature however was the head. The beasts head was square, it was crowned with horns that branched out in many directions, the eyes were yellow and beady, looking right at Faust, their was no nose, just two small nostrils on the front that moved when the beast took a breath. The worst thing about the head was its mouth which made up half of the beasts head, it was huge and lined with rows of multiple razor sharp teeth, the beast drooled as it looked at Faust and breathed out. Its breath was the stench of dozens of rotting carcasses and goodness knows what else.

Faust looked up at the beast and frowned. He really didn't want to fight this, but it didn't seem like he could outrun it, or convince it to leave him alone, of course it wouldn't hurt to try.

"Hello there. Are you able to understand me?"

The beast opened its vast mouth and let out a roar of rage. Faust would have to take that as a no. The beast charged, lowering its head and rushing towards Faust.

When Faust had changed he had gained many thing, one was his new abilities with mana, another were his numerous arms, and one other thing was a significant increase in the muscle mass of his legs. Faust had found that he could use these new muscles to his advantage to run faster, kick harder, and jump very high. Faust used his strong legs to jump out of the way and into a nearby tree. The creature plowed right by where Faust had been then ran into a tree, cracking the wood. Faust felt relieved that tree was not him.

"Alright, it's not conversational, it's very big and very angry, and it seems like it's hungry. That's just perfect."

The beast looked around before its beady eyes landed on Faust and it growled. It ran over to the tree Faust was in and immediately tried to push the whole tree over. The tree swayed and Faust had to grip onto a branch to avoid falling. The beast roared and moved back a bit before charging at the tree. Its head collided with the trunk which cracked and creaked before breaking. The tree began to fall. Faust jumped again, trying to get clear of the tree.

He landed on the ground and turned to see the beast charging after him. He cursed and jumped straight up into the air right before the beast would have collided with him, feeling the air pressure as it passed under him. He landed on its back and grabbed onto one of its spines, not daring to let go. The beast stopped and looked back, spotting Faust. Faust looked back into the creature's eyes and gulped.

"Alright, here we go."

The beast began bucking about, trying to throw Faust off. Faust released some of his arms from inside his shirt and grabbed onto more of the beast's spines, using his many hands to keep himself secured as best he could. He needed a way out, a way to kill this monster, a way to, oh, that could work.

Faust placed his few free hands on the bare skin on the beast's back and began to pull. He immediately began sucking in the life force of the creature. The creature let out a screech of agony and began thrashing about more frantically, trying to escape the pain that Faust was now inflicting upon it. Faust kept his hands against the beast and continued to draw in its life. He would not be beaten by this thing. He gritted his teeth and continued to draw in the creature's life, determined to finish it before it finished him. Then the creature did something he wasn't prepared for, it rolled over.

Faust felt it as the entire weight of a monster that must have weighed more than a ton rolled over him. He felt some of his bones break, some of his organs rupture, and the agony of being crushed. Moments later the creature was off, stomping and clawing the dirt as it continued to move, still in a panic and agony.

Faust groaned and took a few deep breaths into his one remaining lung as he waited patiently for it to begin. Luckily he was filled with mana from the beast and from what he had drawn in before the beast attacked so it only took a few moments for his body to begin repairing itself. His bones reset and fused together, his organs patched themselves, any blood that might have escaped went back into the veins. Faust remained still on the ground for five long minutes before he was completely fixed up. He stood very slowly and looked around, trying to spot the creature which had stopped stomping about at some point while he had been recovering.

The creature was laying on its side in the midst of fallen trees and turned up earth, a result of its writhing. It was taking heavy labored breaths, struggling to hang on to whatever bits of life Faust had left it with. Faust considered leaving the monster to die, it had attacked him and he had a lot of ground to cover. But there was something wrong about that. Faust sighed and walked to the poor creature. Its skin hung off its bones, much of its muscle mass had shrunk, and it looked sick, the spot he had been touching looked like a nasty burn. Faust walked along the beast up to its head and looked into its beady eyes. The eyes were now grey in color.

"I'm sorry about what I had to do. I suppose it is the law of the jungle, kill or be killed, only the strong survive." He hesitantly placed his hand on the beast's brow. "You knew that better than most I'd wager. I'm sorry, let me end your suffering." He closed his eyes and focused, taking a moment to say something of a prayer for this beast before he sucked in the last of it's energy and it grew completely still.

Faust pulled his hand back and looked at the creature. Death was never dignified, nor was it right, but he would rather it was this creature than himself. He grabbed his cloak off of the ground, where it had been thrown from his back at some point during the fight. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and secured it with a broach. He had gotten this cloak some time ago when he had been visiting a city plane and decided that he needed something to keep himself more inconspicuous. He pulled all of his arms back into his shirt, keeping them hidden for now, he did not want some wayward traveler to see him and be scared half to death or attack him.

Faust took a moment to once again find the ley line he had been following before and moved back towards it, following it towards what he hoped would be a town.

After a few hours of travel he reached a settlement that was less of a town and more of a camp where a number of peoples intermingled with one another. Faust checked to make certain that none of his abnormal features were exposed before he walked down into the camp. He moved past Goblins, Kor, Merfolk, and humans as he moved through the camp. He drew a few glances from some of the more curious individuals in the camp but no one approached him or questioned him.

Faust continued to move through the camp, looking for something in particular. He finally spotted it, a larger tent with the distinct smell of mead and wine drifting out. Faust walked into the tent and looked around at the tables set up around the tent. There was a single counter behind which stood a woman in front of a number of barrels and other storage containers. Faust walked forward to the counter and looked at her. "I'll take one drink." He didn't actually need to drink but it was the best way to break the ice.

She looked him over and scowled. "You pay first, otherwise you can leave. We don't serve bums."

Ah, so it was that kind of a place. Faust didn't have any money that was local to the plane and he didn't have much to barter with. He looked at her from under the hood. "What will you take?"

The woman looked him over again, she was attempting to determine if he was just some vagabond or if he was simply hiding his wealth. Faust knew his clothes looked less than pristine but he had little choice when it came to finding things that fit him.

"I'll barter if you have anything I want."

Faust thought for a moment. "How would you feel about an exchange of information? Forget the drink."

The girl scoffed. "This isn't a gossip den, it's a place people come to drink."

"Then where should I go for information?" Faust asked.

The girl smirked. "Just because this isn't a gossip den doesn't mean I give information away for free. Make me an offer."

Faust sighed and thought of what he had. He reached into a small pouch at his side and pulled out a few items, a scattering of copper coins from Ravnica, a necklace with the symbol of the Avacynian church, and a dagger made from sharpened stone. He set the items before him on the counter. "I offer the necklace and two coins." He had other things but he would need them if the next person wanted to barter as well.

The woman looked through the items and lifted them slowly, looking at each.

"These coins aren't from around here."

"I come from a far away land. If you want to have them inspected be my guest." He knew nobody on the plane would be able to identify where the coins had come from unless they were like him. Of course it might make this more difficult.

She shook her head. "No, it's fine." She lifted a coin and tried weighing it in her hand. "A little lite." Her attention moved to the dagger. "How about I tell you where you can get your information and you give that dagger?"

Faust would have smiled but it would look like a smirk with his mouth. "Please, the dagger is worth more than the rest of the items combined, you'd have to throw in something else to sweeten the deal." He slid the necklace and three coins forward. "How about I give you three coins instead? That should be more than sufficient."

The girl's eye twitched just a bit, she clearly wanted the dagger. She frowned. "Looks like an old blade to me, still blades aren't as easy to come by here. I'll give you the information and that drink you wanted."

"I'm not thirsty." He pulled the dagger back. "My offer stands." He knew she would crack if she wanted the blade enough.

She scowled and thought for a moment. "You say you come from long away, maybe you'd be interested in something to help you find your way around?" She pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. It was a map of the camp and the surrounding area. She quickly closed it back up before he could study it. "This and where you can get more information for the blade."

Faust slid the other seven coins forward. "One necklace and ten copper coins for the map and the information. Final offer."

She flinched and her eyebrows furrowed. "Alright, fine." She lifted a small diamond shaped object from beneath the counter. As she was about to set it down six legs sprung out from the sides of it and the object slowly scuttled around a bit. "I'll give you this hedron crawler, the map, and the information for the knife, the necklace, and the coins."

The little mechanical creature intrigued Faust, how was it able to stand and move? He could also sense mana coming from the creature, though it was a little faint. Faust slid the knife across the counter. "Done."

The woman snapped up the items before he could change his mind and slid the dagger into her belt. "Needed a new knife anyways."

Faust picked up the map and set it into his pouch the little hedron crawler he looked at. "How does it work?"

"You tell it what to do and it does it, usually."

Faust picked up the crawler and it retracted its legs into itself. He willed it to be dormant and it became so. "Alright, now where can  I find more information?"

The girl smirked. "There's a merfolk oracle on the other side of the camp named Torsa, she can answer any questions you have. Good luck."

Faust nodded and left, very carefully studying the little hedron he had picked up. It was covered in runes of some kind, they were very interesting. He asked around as he moved outside of the tent. Some people brushed him off and kept moving, others gave him quick directions before moving on. He kept moving through the camp until he finally spotted a group of merfolk. He approached them and asked them about Torsa. They pointed to a small tent and stated that was where she was.

Faust thanked the group and walked into the tent. The merfolk inside was sitting cross-legged on a pillow. She had blue skin and long black hair. She looked a bit aged and had some wrinkles around her eyes which were shut. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders and head and wore a simple tunic.

"Welcome, how may I help you?" She liked at Faust with eyes that were pale white, she was blind.

Faust blinked and looked at her. "Are you Torsa?" He asked hesitantly.

She nodded and smiled. "I am. What brings you to my home?"

"I come seeking information, information about someone."

She nodded. "Indeed... I can help you if I know the person. Please sit and tell me their name."

Faust hesitated before sitting down on a pillow opposite her. "I hope I was correct about this."

She tilted her head. "We never know until we try."

Faust sighed and took a breath. "Alright, well her name is, it's." He had to take a moment to remember, the name echoed in his mind constantly but an echo was hard to understand at times, he had to focus and as he did a feeling of power filled him. "She is called Emrakul."

The merfolk started and though she could not see him her gaze turned directly to him. "Who are you?" Her voice had a sharpness to it as she asked as if Faust were now a threat to her.

"I'm a traveler from a distant land seeking knowledge. My name is Faust. Please, what can you tell me?"

She pulled a staff from behind her and pointed it towards him. "How do you know that name?"

"I-I don't know, it's in my head, it's like a distant memory long gone, but I want to know, who was she?"

The merfolk frowns. "Emrakul is the name of a god, a monster who we thought our savior but who was in truth our doom. She invaded our home and was here for eons before leaving. She is not here anymore and we are all the richer for it. Her brothers however still are, their carcasses litter the ground."

Faust listened closely and frowned. "She was a god?" He didn't really understand, it was so strange. "Can you tell me more?"

She scowled. "No, the beasts are gone and none speak of them, we are happy they have been destroyed. If you want more you will not find it here." She stood. "Leave."

Faust stood and looked down at her. "Wait, please tell me where I can find more information. I need to know."

She scowled at him and sighed. "If you wish to know about the titans then seek out the vampires, they know more about the them than most, you will find them to the west where they control the swamps. Be warned that vampires are no allies of mortals, they will suck you dry given the chance."

"I have experience with vampires." He bowed. "Thank you miss, I will use what I have learned here as best I can."

She just stared at him with her sightless eyes. She frowned. "I hope you find whatever you're looking for."

He didn't say anything, he simply turned and left, moving out to the camp again. He had more travelling to do. He quickly learned which direction was west from one of the locals and began marching, knowing he had a distance to travel. He studied the map as he moved, figuring out the area around the camp. He was able to find an easy path and followed it as he went.

It took nearly a day of travel before he arrived at the edge of the swamps. He reached out to feel the mana flow and found that this place was filled with both life and death. He had never met any vampires from this plane but he imagined they were not too different from those back on Innistrad, and so he would be cautious. He slowly began moving forward into the swamp.

It wasn't long before he noticed the first pair of eyes watching him. He kept moving regardless and began to feel more lives surrounding him the further he went. It wasn't long before he came upon someone. It was a woman dressed in armor with red markings on her face. She looked at Faust with bright eyes and hummed.

"You smell strange." She stated, looking him over.

Faust nodded. "I'm certain. My name is Faust and I come seeking knowledge." He could sense the others around him, two, no three others besides the one in front. He would defend himself if they attacked, besides he wasn't certain what would happen if the vampires drank his blood. He assumed it would be bad though.

The vampire before him rested a hand on the grip of her weapon. "And what do you have to trade for the knowledge?"

He had been expecting this the moment he had walked into the swamp. "I have gold and power. Also you should send your friends off, it would be a shame if I had to harm any of you."

The vampire seemed a little surprised but her frown only deepened. "Very well Faust, first let's hear what it is you want to know, then we'll decide on a price."

Faust was expecting the vampires to attack, and if the reaction of the old merfolk was any indication it was probably inevitable. "I'm looking for information about a fallen god, a creature named Emrakul."

The vampire's eyes widened and Faust could hear a few distinct hisses from around him. Faust prepared himself for a fight just in case.

"Why do you want to know about Her?"

"Because I'm looking for something, a question at the very center of my being. I want answers. What is your price?"

The vampire held her hand up as some signal to the rest of them. "We will take you to the chief, they will answer your questions." She flicked her wrist and made some kind of signal with her hand. The others stepped out from their hiding places and stood there.

Faust stepped forward. "What is your name?" He asked, attempting to be polite.

The vampire tilted her head and frowned. "It's Larel."

Faust crossed a hand over his chest and bowed to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you Larel, my name is Faust."

She seemed rather confused by this but she very slowly pressed her hands together and bowed back before righting herself and turning, walking through the swamp. Faust moved after her and the other vampires fell in behind him. Faust could feel their eyes on him as he walked.

They quickly reached an encampment which was settled upon a rock shelf which rose up above the  ground in the swamplands and stood about twenty feet up away from Faust and the others. Larel stepped forward and flew up to the top of the rock shelf, she turned and looked back at Faust and the rest.

One of the vampires stepped to Faust. "You want to see the chief then you have to climb." They then stepped up to the rock and began climbing nimbly up the nearly sheer surface.

The other two followed suit, grabbing the wall and scaling it easily. Faust however was not going to do that. He couldn't risk falling and exposing himself by having one of his limbs fall out from his cloak by accident. Instead he used a little mana he had stored in his body to increase the strength in his legs and crouched before launching himself up and reaching the top of the shelf in one move. His cloak flapped around him as he landed before falling into place around him. He took a moment to steady himself as the vampires looked at him in astonishment. He looked at Larel.

"So, where's the chief?" He dusted off his cloak and looked out at her from under the hood which had somehow stayed up.

She frowned and gestured for him to follow. "The chief will either help you or kill you. You understand that right?"

He nodded. "Of course." He didn't expect anything less. Larel sighed and walked him into the camp. The other vampires rushed to keep up with them. They attracted quite a few eyes as they moved. Faust looked around and saw a number of creatures, though he knew that some were not vampires but mortals kept in the camp to feed the creatures. He would not become one of them. Larel stopped outside of a tent and turned around. "I'll go and speak with the chief, you stay here until you're called for." She looked around at the other vampires. "Don't let him wander." She turned and walked into the tent.

Faust stood there patiently and listened to the sounds around him, the buzzing of insects and the wind whipping over the land, the sounds of voices speaking and a bubbling of some kind. He closed his eyes and extended his enhanced senses out. He could feel the mana flowing through the air, and he could feel the lives around him. He was pulled from his thoughts by Larel who had appeared at the front of the tent again.

"She will meet you. I would advise you to watch your tone."

Faust nodded and bowed to her. "Thank you." He stepped past her and into the tent.

The inside was lit by a few lanterns and a fire in the center. It was decorated with the skins of animals along with tables and other wooden structures. As Faust stepped further in he saw two guards standing before a chair made of bones, wood, and animal skin. Sitting in the chair was a woman with a pale face who was dressed in leathers and a cloak of fur, upon her head was a crown of bone and crafted metal and she had at her side a spear. She had a pensive look on her face as Faust approached her. The two guards, large men, seemed to tense as he grew closer. The chief held up a hand at some point.

"That's close enough." She frowned and sat up in the chair. "Leral tells me you come seeking information, information about... Her." She scowled. "Who are you?"

Faust decided to be as respectful as he could. He knelt on one knee and bowed his head to her as he crossed one arm over his chest. "I am Faust, a traveler from a distant land, I have come to seek information about the creatures and I am willing to do what I must to learn." He looked up at her. She did not seem impressed.

She gestured for him to stand. "Get up." Faust stood. The chief frowned and looked at him. "Why do you hide your face? Are you keeping secrets from me?" Faust frowned. "My face was scarred long ago by an attack from a monster and I have kept it hidden ever since as a kindness to others. But if you wish to see it I will not deny you."

She nodded and gestured. "Reveal your face, I would see what you look like before I decide."

Faust sighed and reached up. He slowly pulled back his hood. His face had once been handsome and noble and in many ways it still was. However the left side of his face was now scarred, morphed from its former shape so that the upper skin of his mouth was stretched and split, most of the teeth on that side of his face were visible through the pieces of flesh that still held his face together. His ear and the back of his eye had fleshy scars that made it look almost alien. His long black hair grew down and covered some of the side of his face. He looked at the chief to see how she had reacted.

She had leaned back in her seat and though a look of disgust passed over her features she was able to keep up her air of authority. The guards on the other hand flinched and lowered their weapons just a bit.

Faust stood there. "I know it is not pleasant. I will replace my hood if you so desire."

She waved her hand. "No, I would see your face. Now tell me, why do you want to know about, Her?"

"I have heard her name echo across the world, heard it whispered and shouted, I need to know who she is, what she is. Can you tell me?"

The chief stood. "That monster was said to live here for hundreds if not thousands of years. She laid dormant on our surface, trapped in a ring of stones, waiting, seeping into our minds. Our ancestors were foolish, they believed she and her brothers were gods, protectors. They were wrong, they were destroyers. They broke free and began to roam across the land, killing everything they touched. Our people fought their minions and with the help of some incredible mages we were able to destroy them.  But we only destroyed the brothers. She escaped." The chief narrowed her eyes at Faust. "Few speak of them, wanting them to  be forgotten."

Faust nodded. "I understand. I will not speak of them beyond here. Is there anything else you can tell me?" He waited to see what she would say.

The chief seemed to consider for a few moments before responding. "No, all we once knew has been destroyed or forgotten. I cannot tell you any more of this, you will have to find answers yourself." She looked him over. "Now what will you give me as payment for this information? Perhaps some treasure? A valuable item you could not part with? You could always give me some blood." She smiles.

Faust nodded. "I do not think you would like the taste." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a collection of gold coins. "I offer these to you chief, hoping they will be enough to satisfy you."

The chief chuckles. "You are foolish." She snapped her fingers and the two guards stepped forward, lowering their weapons and swinging them at Faust. Faust stepped back and dodged the blows. 'why must things always end up like this?' He grabbed the next weapon as it was swung at him and pulled it forward, the guard did not let go but instead followed the weapon and swung his arm at Faust, intending to knock him aside.

Faust ducked out of the way and brought a fist up, knocking the guard back and dropping the weapon. 'Oh, I didn't kill him did I?' He watched the guard until he stirred then let out a breath.

The other guard growled and thrust at Faust with his weapon, intending to wound or kill him. Faust avoided it and swung his leg out, kicking the guard in the gut. 'Just don't kill them and it should be fine.' He then stepped back as the guard wretched onto the floor. He looked at the chief who was now standing and had grabbed her spear.

"You think you can escape? This is my camp and all within it are mine!" She threw the spear right at Faust. It hit him in the shoulder and he groaned.

"Goodness that hurts." He pulled it out and let the wound close before looking at the chief. "Please stop, I don't want to hurt you. I have what I wanted and I'll go now." He dropped the spear.

The chief drew a sword and flew at him, swinging the sword at his head. Faust ducked and reached up, grabbing her by the neck and throwing her back into her chair. "I'm sorry, I must be going." He quickly turned and ran from the tent. He drew a few eyes but they were confused and didn't give chase, that is until the chief let out an unnatural screech and commanded the camp to kill him. Faust groaned and drew mana into himself. He then ran, using his powerful legs to propel himself forward through the camp. He didn't look back, knowing the vampires would be chasing him soon. He needed somewhere to go. He soon spotted a mountain peak which seemed to be spouting fire and decided he had a better chance of surviving that than a tribe of angry vampires. He quickly reached the edge of the shelf and jumped down, moving through the swamp and towards that mountain.

He glanced back only once and saw a group of the same vampires who had lead him to the camps giving him chase at the head of a swarm of others he did not recognize. "And it was all going so well."

[singverguenza]

A Call to Action in Post-Election Day America

A speech I delivered for Carleton’s Annual Martin Luther King Celebration Dinner

Good evening, everyone. I am honored to have been invited to be on this stage by a faithful friend, but in all honesty, I was taken aback by the timing of their request. After nearly three years of stepping forward at every opportunity to be a part of a movement for social change that I envisioned with starry eyes, I was significantly less engaged in campus organizing last November. What’s more, I was certain that the outcome of the American election should NOT be a more resounding call to action than those of the past. These starting words may not be the ones you came to hear. If I offer you the messiness of my emotional response, though, I ask that you thoughtfully consider this as the critical juncture where we can choose what is familiar but normative, or choose what is uncertain but unprecedented and potentially transformative.  

On Wednesday, November 9th, I was startled awake by the buzz of a text message that read, Will you protest today? The drop, that dread that I had imagined was the only appropriate response to such a call was swallowed up in emptiness, in a low hum that my body had fallen asleep to on many nights before the last. The news delivered to me in that text felt like… nothing as I looked steadily at the stillness of College Street from the dorm room window. My own blankness frightened me into a search for feeling or warmth or community, and it confirmed to me that the wave of emotion that would lift me out of my silence throughout the election campaigns would not come.

Without the words to respond to that text, I decided to attend the school rally to show the sender that I had heard them. Later that afternoon, I wove through a crowd of students, faculty, and staff gathered in front of Sayles, and was confronted by the scene that I had tried to distance myself from in the weeks leading up to this moment. Around me were somber students in tight embraces, with their gazes fixed on speakers who were using loaded terms, by claiming that we had entered an era of “totalitarianism” and “fascism,” and calling for “solidarity” and “resistance.” Students voiced their proud support for Hillary Clinton. Others expressed their helplessness and heartbreak. They’re voices broke midsentence. I halted far behind the crowd and looked before me, feeling the hum from that morning turn into an outburst I no longer had the breath to hold. What were we gathered here to mourn? What exactly had changed from one morning to the next? Their words held profound historical weight, but were without contextualization to the very real ways that each of us personally benefit from how racism, American imperialism, militarization, and economic stratification are insidiously embedded in the mechanisms that grant us personal, economic, and national security. Rather than a material and imagined America where these forms of security necessitate violence, it appeared to me that what had ruptured was a symbolic America, in which it was believed that our voices should be enough to tilt the system of governance toward good. 

But what is good in America? Restless, I pushed my way through the crowd and gladly jostled those around me, in my clamor for a clearing. In the weeks leading up to this election, I imagined that this end could be necessary to expose the instability and precarity of our political system. However, the outcome of this election had also produced a scramble back to the promises of white liberalism, the same that had looked on passively when black people were disappeared in death or incarceration, when undocumented immigrants marked as “criminals” were violated in private detention centers, and the exploitation of laborers outside the United States bolstered corporate profit. All this and more took place relentlessly in the previous eight years of the Obama administration. With these thoughts, I backed away from the rally, questioning, What does it matter for you to be anti-Trump, when you do not actively try to exist outside these mechanisms? As I trailed away from the gathering, the speaker called on everyone to hug each other, and praised the sense of community they felt in that moment.

I stand before you now, with pressing questions that propel me into a more intentional commitment to engage with the work that will be done in the next year. Was it wrong for students to gather at this moment, even if there were more frightening things to fight before Donald Trump? Well, if the best time to organize was yesterday, the second best time has to be precisely now. But even with hopeful anticipation that the presidency will finally move Americans out of complacency, I caution you from falling for the enchantment of social movements. It could be easy to feel drawn to calls to action that promise a profound connection with masses of people, a fulfilled sense of social responsibility, and inclusion into the next great thing. Calls to action themselves can put forward a political agenda that preserves belief in democratic change, and they could get away with it by claiming to be the solutions of lesser evils. Instead, we must take on the gritty and frustrating work of practicing alternative solutions, even when our swells of energy and emotion are weak. If my starry-eyed past self were to ask me at the end of my life, what kind of activist did you become?, I want to be able to say that I took on a way of being of critical thought and creativity that was more sustainable than love for the romantic promises of change.