#trying to draw this wheelchair nearly took me out

[risuwu]

preview of my piece for @gntm-zine :3

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2023 10 - Fortune

Summary: Alistair Shepard had to adjust to some weird shit in the hospital after surviving the Citadel. What he didn't expect was his sister and her book of wedding planning. Since when was she a fortune teller?

---

You know… he was really starting to get tired of being in a hospital bed.

At least he was being left alone for the moment. Ever since Alistair had come out of his coma, the doctors had been in nearly constantly. Apparently, surviving the Citadel coming down around you amidst the final push against the Reapers interested people.

He couldn’t exactly get out of being in the epicenter, but… they could be a little gentler with the needles.

At least he was free for the moment. His thumb kept rubbing up against the ring Garrus had given him as part of their engagement. The fact it was made of the Normandy was a comfort to him, especially since he wasn’t going back to it ever again.

After all… he was retired now. Papers were in and everything.

“I guess we should start thinking about if we want a wedding or not…” He trailed off. Alistair had done his share of alien studies as part of the Alliance, but those rarely covered marriages among the species for obvious reasons. He was kind of in the dark about what turians did to celebrate their vows, if they had any at all. For all he knew, they just signed some papers and got back to duty.

He wouldn’t mind that – justice of the peace was ok by him.

“Not very romantic,  Al.”

A voice hummed in his ear, though the speaker was nowhere to be seen. Alistair scowled, still not used to the fact he was technically subletting his body to somebody else. Well, not somebody – Love was a spirit. So they had never been a person or anything…

Look, it was confusing, ok? He shared head space with a concept that liked The Bachelor.

“We are technically cleaning up after a galaxy wide war, Love.” He sighed. “Plus I don’t know how turians handle marriages, especially if one of the parties isn’t turian. I guess I could ask Anora…”

He trailed off. While he was sure his sister and her family had survived, this was the kind of thing that as awkward to ask. After all, he didn’t really do a lot of bonding with Anora for obvious reasons.

She might not appreciate the call…

“They have a ceremony, don’t worry.”

A new voice drew Alistair’s attention to the door. Bo was there for her daily visit, a book under her arm. She entered the room and took the only chair, the one that had practically be carved out for her she had sat in it so much.

He envied her to look so at ease – he wanted out of the hospital ASAP.

“Do I want to know why you know that?” He shook his head. “Never mind, what’s with the book?”

Bo cracked it open and spread it out on her knees. “It’s the plans for your wedding. I’ve been keeping it since you met Mandibles.”

Alistair’s jaw all but dropped at that. “You what?”

That was nearly 3 years. How had she even thought to start it when he had literally slammed into the turian on the Citadel back in 2183? He knew she could be committed to a bit… but this was just ridiculous.

Maybe it was hypocritical for the guy who literally came back from the dead with a spirit inside him to be a skeptic, but so be it. He had to draw the line somewhere for his own sanity, or everything went out the window.

Bo flipped the pages as she spoke. “I just got a feeling about it is all, so I started writing stuff down. It’s weird, I wrote about the calendar before it even was a thing.”

He shook his head – oww. “So now you’re a fortune teller for my love life?”

“Just a wedding planner.” She flipped another page. “Oh, good news, looks like I planned for the aisle to be accessible in case you’re still in a wheelchair. Nice going, me.”

Ok, now he was calling bullshit. Alistair did his best to lean over so he could try to make out the details of the book. Much to his surprise, it was dated. The one page he was looking at came from 2184, when he was dead.

Al’s alive. Better get back to planning.

Note to self: clearly mark levo and dextro food. Mandibles’ sister has the bad version of the allergy, don’t need to put her in the hospital.

How… would she know about an allergy that Garrus’ sister had. Hell, he had barely spoken to the woman maybe twice since he had started dating the turian. She certainly hadn’t brought up what happened if she ate the wrong food…

Was it just a good guess? Playing the odds, maybe?

“Right, so, thanks to the bet and my winnings in the ring, I have enough saved. You’re not allowed to say no, it’s my present to you.” Bo was still flipping through her notes like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Oh, nice. When I thought about suits, I didn’t mention a binder. Guess that makes things easier.”

…

Nope, he was not going to think too hard about this. His head hurt enough with his amp having to be removed and replaced after what had happened at the Citadel. Pondering too long on her thoughts was dangerous and exhausting.

Would he accept it? Well… he’d probably just ignore it and think she was perceptive.

“Looks like you thought of everything.” He felt a little guilty there – he probably should’ve been the one to plan his own wedding instead of farming it off on his sister. Besides, what if Garrus just wanted a legal ceremony? Would he be comfortable doing things human style?

Man, they probably should’ve both been there for it.

Sensing his anxiety no doubt, Bo closed the book. “Don’t worry, I already ran it past Mandibles. He was a little confused by the human stuff, but you Catholics are confusing regardless. I didn’t put a mass down or anything, you said you haven’t gone to one since you were like 12.”

Yes, and he hadn’t had confession since his confirmation, so taking the Eucharist was a bit beyond him. Besides, did the make a turian version, or was it considered blasphemous? And was it weird for someone resurrected to take the risen lord?

…

This was why he didn’t go to church anymore. It made his head hurt.

“No mass is fine by me, I don’t know any priests who could do it anyway.” He shook his head again. “How did Garrus react to all this?”

Bo shrugged. “He probably thought I was out of my mind, but it’s hard to argue with the data so he’s going along with it.”

Well, at least that made things easier. Alistair was glad he wasn’t forcing his now fiancé into anything he didn’t want to do.

“By the way, here.” Bo drew a tube of green pixie sticks from her pocket and dropped it into his lap. “I get the feeling you’re about to bottom out.”

True to her word, his omni-tool began to beep its familiar sound of low blood sugar. Alistair resisted the urge to shudder as he tore into the pack with his teeth and swallowed it down. After all, he was in the hospital – maybe it was only natural his sugar would drop.

He… was going to go with that.

“Anyway, once that sinks in, I have some notes on food-“

Since there was no way to avoid it, Alistair just nodded and settled in. After all, if she had taken the time to write all this down, it would be rude to ignore her. Some of her ideas were pretty good too, better than anything he would have thought up.

Hooray for wedding planning sisters with strange senses of premonition, he guessed. And he was going to leave it at that, or his battered brain was going to overheat.

…

How had she known he would’ve had top surgery by then, though? Nope… he wasn’t going to dwell on it. Focus on the wedding planning and not the growing sense of unease with the unknown he was welcoming into his life.

Love was giving him practice for that, so maybe he would need to thank the spirit later… much later… after he googled if there was host for turians. Curiosity killed the cat and all that.

[anotherspnfanfic]

Overloaded

Pairing: Dr Dean x nurse reader

Word count: 1584

Warnings: minor injury

Squares filled: Hospital AU for @spndeanbingo and Doctor AU for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me a Story Bingo

Summary: Working too many hours and being short handed leads to a breaking point.

~~~

Gabe pushed the wheelchair off the elevator into the ED. She bit her lip to muffle her whimper as the small bump jostled her foot. “Sorry,” Gabe murmured as he wheeled her towards the nurses station. “Hey, Charlie, you got an open room? She needs an x-ray.”

Charlie turned to see who Gabe was referring to. “Oh, what happened?” she asked, seeing the pain on her friend’s face.

Before either of them could explain, Dean came out of an exam room and spotted her. “My nurses are not supposed to be in wheelchairs. Especially not my favorite one,” he said as he walked over and squatted down to her level. He noticed her puffy eyes as he carefully pulled up the pant leg on her elevated foot. He echoed Charlie’s question, “What happened, sweetheart?”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead as she glanced at the floor. “I missed a step, or maybe two. I landed wrong on my ankle. I'm pretty sure it’s broken. It hurts a lot.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he stood and moved to take over Gabe’s position. “Okay, let's get you checked out.”

“Exam 4 is open,” Charlie said.

Dean turned to Gabe as he pushed her toward the room. “Can you go grab the portable x-ray and 25 mcg fentanyl, please?”

Once they were in the exam room, Dean offered his hand to help her stand on her good leg. He leaned over and lifted her carefully and then set her on the bed. She tried not to whine as the movement sent pain shooting up her leg. “Damn it. This sucks,” she said.

He situated the bed so she was laid nearly flat and got her foot elevated on a couple pillows. “1-10—how’s the pain?” Dean asked, as he tossed a blanket over her.

“Uhh, about a 6.”

Dean nodded. “Gabe should be back with the pain meds in a minute. So, you missed a step?” he asked as he started to check her vitals.

“Yeah, I was playing with my phone and I missed it,” she explained. He gave her a skeptical look.

Before he could say anything more, Gabe appeared and handed Dean a syringe. “I figured you’d want that first. I’ll be right back with the x-ray.”

Dean finished recording her temp and BP, then pushed the sleeve of her scrubs up her shoulder and cleaned a spot with an alcohol wipe. “Little pinch,” he warned. “Babe, you can maneuver all the stairs in this building backwards, hands full, and with your eyes closed. You sure you just missed it?” he asked.

She broke eye contact as she contemplated her answer carefully, knowing he could tell when she was lying. “No,” she mumbled. “I might have been a little dizzy, too.”

He reached his index finger under her chin to force her eyes to meet his. “Any guesses why you were dizzy?”

She pulled away enough to drop her gaze back down to the bed and shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Low blood sugar, maybe? Probably,” she mumbled the last word. She fiddled with the corner of the blanket almost nervously, not wanting to see the disappointment and concern on his face.

He hummed. “So you didn’t miss a step. You fainted?”

She sighed in defeat. “Yeah.”

“Have you eaten anything since the granola bar I brought you,” he paused to check his watch, “five hours ago?”

She shook her head and pulled the barely-touched bar from her pocket. “I got busy and then I forgot it was there.”

“What about water? Have you been drinking?” he probed. She simply shook her head, still refusing to make eye contact. “So you’re probably dehydrated, too.”

She shrugged.

He sighed. “You really have got to take better care of yourself. I love how much you care for everyone around you, but you have to come first once in a while. Otherwise, you won’t be able to help anyone.”

“I just get so busy that I forget sometimes.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “We are going to work on that.”

Before she could add anything, Gabe pushed the x-ray into the room, and within a few minutes, they had all the images they needed of her ankle.

“Definitely very broken,” Dean stated. “Gabe, can you run a CBC and BMP and then start an IV of normal saline while I go page Sammy, please?”

“You got it, boss.”

“Wait!” she yelled before he could disappear out the door. “Why are you paging Sam?”

He turned back to face her. “Did you hit your head, too? You broke your ankle; we need an ortho consult. That would be Sam.”

She let out a frustrated groan as Dean left.

Gabe patted her shoulder before wrapping the tourniquet around her arm. “Maybe try not falling down the stairs next time.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away from what he was doing. “Oh, my god. Why didn’t I think of that?!”

He finished the blood draw and got the IV set up. Next, he carefully fluffed the pillows under her foot to ensure it was elevated enough. “You are all set. Do you need anything else right now?”

“Not unless you have a time machine.”

“A day do-over? Let’s see.” Gabe snapped his fingers and then spun around. “Damn. It was worth a shot.”

She tried to contain her smile as she rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks for trying, I guess.”

Ten minutes later, she was dozing off when Dean returned with Sam close behind. Dean ran a comforting hand over her head to ensure she was awake.

Sam took a few minutes to read over the x-rays. He turned away from the light board and walked over to the foot of the bed. “Unstable bimalleolar fracture,” he stated as he inspected her ankle. “You just bought yourself surgery and a vacation.”

“No way,” she blurted. “I can’t. We’re already short staffed.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s not exactly optional. Good news, though: the swelling isn’t too bad yet, I happen to be free in 45 minutes, and you haven’t eaten anything in hours. So we can do this today.”

Charlie joined them to give Dean her lab results. He turned to address her. “Just like I thought: mild dehydration and your blood sugar is at 58.” Dean flipped through the info again before handing it over to Sam. “Okay. So I’ll add glucose to her IV and get her up to pre-op.”

“Perfect. Make sure you keep her foot elevated.”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. “Do you think this is my first day?”

Sam shrugged. “Just making sure, Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled quietly.

Sam turned his attention back to her. “I’ll see you soon, Shortie. I’ll getcha all fixed up. Sound like a plan?”

She gave him a lazy thumbs up. “Thanks, Gigantor.”

“Can you send Gabe back in here on your way past?” Dean requested. Sam simply nodded as he turned to leave.

Dean returned his focus to her. “How’s the pain now?”

She scrunched up her nose as she considered her answer. “Um, about one and a half.” She laughed at herself.

“That’s good. I see you’re loopy, too.”

She scowled at him. “You’re loopy.”

He just shook his head. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Gabe returned and Dean gave him the med order and asked him to take her up to the OR.

“You’re not coming up?” She pouted.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ll be there when you wake up, though, I promise.” He took her hand and placed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

As if on cue, Charlie leaned into the room. “Dean, trauma incoming. MVA car vs pedestrian. Ambo is two minutes out.”

“Okay, I'll be there in a second.” He gave her hand one more squeeze before he turned to leave. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

~

Roughly three hours later, Sam found Dean in the lounge pouring a cup of coffee. He nodded and offered over the now-full cup.

“Thank you.” Sam took a sip of the dark liquid. “We got her all set up in recovery. She should be awake soon.”

“Okay. I’ll head up there in a minute.” Dean took a sip of his own coffee. “Everything went smoothly?”

“I’d have paged you if it hadn’t.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam nodded. “Yes, it went perfectly. It’ll heal up just fine.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Wandering into her room, he couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful she looked. He placed his hand softly against her cheek, sweeping his thumb slowly over the skin. She nuzzled into the touch as she lazily opened her eyes. “Hi, sweetheart.”

She gave him a goofy smile. “I like when you call me that.”

“I know you do.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy.” She yawned. “And I’m starving. Can you bring me some fries?”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad your appetite is back. You get a little more sleep and I’ll bring you fries.”

“And pizza,” she added. Before he could agree, she gasped. “Ice cream!”

“Tell you what: I will get you fries from the cafeteria for you to munch on on the way home and then we can order pizza.”

She pouted as her eyelids started to droop. “What about ice cream?”

His eyebrows scrunched together as he asked, “When do we ever not have ice cream at home?”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She smiled as she finally let herself drift off once more.

~~~

Tags: @deanwasscaredbyacat @babypieandwhiskey @muchamusedaboutnothing @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

[abluescarfonwaston]

What do you think Gregory would do if DL-6 played out modtly the same way, but Greg was knocked out and Manfred still took miles.

Like. Once he found out about what Manfred did.

I"m going to assume by 'knocked out' you mean like. In a coma of a length of time because unlike Muppet Miles Manfred can't just walk out with Miles, kidnap him and have everything be cool. (although... wouldn't amnesia Miles kidnapped by Manfred and raised by him while Gregory looks for his lost son be fun? Phoenix meets The Boy who is not Miles in Germany on study abroad that's just achingly similar to the boy that once saved him. Sure Manfred can't risk making him a lawyer but every time he sees Gregory's wane face he knows he's won. Except there's Phoenix. Except he didn't count on Phoenix)

So Gregory gets comatosed for a considerable length of time. Since no one can take Miles in Manfred swoops him up and takes him back to Germany. He doesn't even get to visit. Edgeworth still grows up with endless guilt except this time Gregory wakes up. At almost the fifteen year mark.

Miles- still consumed by guilt and unable to bare to show his face to his Father still goes out on that lake praying for benediction. Phoenix, who's been visiting along with Raymond Shields (who returned from abroad for Gregory) runs over to Gregory right after Miles turns him down for Defense.

Gregory can't defend him (his badge would have expired years ago) but he asks Shields to- "If he's worried about Phoenix's inexperience then you're the obvious choice Ray. Although I'm sure Miles would greatly appreciate your aid too Phoenix."

"I..."

"Heh. So you didn't tell him huh Nicky?"

"Tell me...?"

"That man is an Edgeworth in name alone. He's not your son anymore Mr. Edgeworth. He's Miles Von Karma now."

"What?" The horror on Gregory's face was absolute.

"Who's Von Karma?"

Gregory recovered. Face hard. Neither responded to Wright's question.

"Raymond I don't care what happened in these last Fifteen years. I don't care about what he has done. He will Always be my son. I am asking you to defend him."

"...Even if he's guilty?" Phoenix mumbled.

"Especially if he is guilty." Mr. Edgeworth's eyes were hard. Absolute. Sheild's nodded. "No one deserves to be alone." He bowed his head. Jaw trembling. "God knows I left him alone far too long already."

They bring Edgeworth to the trial in a wheelchair. Miles refuses to look at him. On the second day they're celebrating the pretty much guaranteed win when Gregory rolls into the lobby. Miles is not Celebrating with them.

"Miles what's wrong?"

And Miles just. Flinches away from him. "Don't look at me like that." Like what? "You have no idea who I am or what I've done in these last fifteen years. So stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Oh what?! Did Raymond not tell you? How I had all his clients convicted without mercy? Or Wright! How I nearly had him sentenced to death for the sake of my record?! Did you tell him that?" His wild and furious eyes clawed at them. "No? Of course not." He grabbed his arm and squeezed so hard the fabric strained. "You have no idea what I have done. So stop looking at me like that."

"Like what Miles?"

"... Von Karma was right." Four sets of Hackles raised. Maya's hands on the wheelchair tightened. "The guilty deserve to be punished."

"But you're not guilty!" Phoenix threw his arms up. "You didn't kill Hammond!"

"You have no idea what I have done."

Miles confesses on the stand to shooting his Father. Gregory and Shield's try to console him. You were trying to protect me. I love you and you don't need to be punished any more than you've already clearly punished yourself.

You were nine. If you think Uncle Ray is letting you serve a day for accidental injury while under extreme duress you're wrong kiddo.

"Nick what are you doing?"

"Getting the case ready. Sorry. But I don't believe your nightmare Miles. Something about this just doesn't add up."

"Wright..."

Everything is wrapped up and Von Karma is taken away. There's the "I don't know what to say." Line. "You could start by saying thank you." "Ah... Then... thank you."

Gregory wheeling over to Miles. His son. His precious boy who still can't look him in the eye.

"Thank you sir." Sir. Sir never 'Father'. Not the sweet little way Father used to fit into his mouth. His chest aches.

"Of course son. I'm sorry I left you alone so long."

That hand on his elbow tightened again. "I don't deserve that. You have no idea what I have done."

"No matter what you've done Miles, you will always be my son."

There are endless tears in his eyes when he turns. Finally looks at him. Drawing in sharp half breaths that do not fill his lungs.

"Father."

Gregory opened his arms and pulled him in. "My son."

"My precious boy."

[beautiful-bau-beau]

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode 

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

-

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

-

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

-

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.                                           

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

 He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

-

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea. 

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat. 

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…? 

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you. 

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t. 

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

-

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable. 

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke. 

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive. 

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise. 

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his. 

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss. 

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 6

Day 6 - When your soulmate is injured you will experience pain in that area

Pairing(s): Analoceitmus [ambiguous, can be read romantic or platonic, or a mix], QPR Royality 

TWs: Injury mention, swearing, Remus being Remus near the end 

–

“I’m going to sue him.”, Logan hissed, attempting to sit up in his hospital bed, “Soulmate or not, how can one man possibly be so irresponsible?! I’m definitely going to sue him.”

He winced as he tried to get comfy, but the tough mattress and uncomfortable bunching of the sheets said suffer. 

And boy, was he. 

Logan Sanders was an immaculate, careful man. Had been since he was a child. A neat and tidy lad who - upon learning of the rules of fate - made it his utmost mission to spare his soulmate any pain or anguish for as long as he could manage. 

His soulmate, however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

From childhood, Logan found himself with sudden knee pains from scrapes he never fell for, abrasions he had caused no friction to gain, and the occasional shoulder or back pain as if he’d been pushed over when he was standing perfectly upright. At least the universe had decided to spare humanity the anguish of leaving soulmates with the physical injuries that came with the pain, but it was only a minor comfort.

Logan couldn’t say he hadn’t expected a lot of rough and tumble from his soulmate after his elementary school years, but really; a broken leg, facial burns, and a splintered forearm? “This is absolute bullshit.”, he bitterly muttered, “Barely hours apart! How is that even possible?!”

His ranting went ignored by the nurse who came to administer his medication; thankfully science had worked out a wonderful little clear pill that could banish the pain from particularly debilitating soulmate pains. The little bastards were expensive - the true pain is always capitalism within the medical world -  but Logan’s job paid handsomely. Say what you will about computer nerds and whatnot, but programming for the right people lets you make some seriously high end bread. None of that homemade farmer’s market shit.

Unfortunately, he’d have to wait about a week for his pains to ebb gently into nothingness until the klutz of a man fate paired him with got into MORE trouble. Thus Logan couldn’t get back to his work. His leg was, for all intents and purposes, broken so the staff couldn’t let him go home. He couldn’t simply drive home himself either, his splintered forearm saw to that. And Logan couldn’t even ask his roommate Emile to bring him his work laptop to try and keep his workload at bay, his left eye was too cloudy and painful to concentrate on a screen. 

Yes; his soulmate BETTER be paying his hospital bills.

Realisation struck Logan; his soulmate is obviously just as injured, ergo it’s a high probability that he could be somewhere within the hospital too. Using his good hand to reach for a pen, and absolutely dreading adding to his pain, Logan poked the tip into his good arm, wincing as he first attempted to contact them with simple morse code, “My/ Name/ Is/ Logan. Who/ Are/ You?”

He waited for a response, fearing he would have to start scratching his name onto his arm when he felt the little jabs in response,  “Janus.” Great. He FINALLY had a name to put on the lawsuit. Logan, already wincing at the bee-sting pain from the pen, he jabbed out another message,

“Are/ You/ Currently/ Staying/ At/ Stokes/ General/ Hospital?”

The reply came cryptically,

“Yes / I / -”

Logan wasn’t sure why his soulmate had suddenly stopped replying. Had a nurse confiscated whatever his soulmate was using to poke himself? Either way, Logan would have to be content with the knowledge his soulmate was at least close by. He truly had no idea how close until two very disgruntled voices were within earshot of his room door,

“Brilliant, I just adore being ousted from my comfortable bed so I could spend even longer looking at your delightful face.”

“Oh, like you’re the victim here, asshole! You’re the one stabbing yourself and fucking up my unbroken arm!”

Logan watched them both argue outside of his room door. Both men were sporting similar injuries to his own; the first one that had spoken, refined looking gentleman with sharp features and neat blonde hair, had the left side of his face bandaged heavily. Meanwhile the other man, sporting raven hair and eye bags that could carry a month’s worth of groceries, was fitted with a cast on his left forearm. Both of them were on crutches, though Logan couldn’t see if either had a genuine cast.

“Ahem. Gentlemen?”

Logan called to them, watching as both turned to meet his gaze. He lifted the pen in his hand and asked, “I take it one of you is Janus?”

The man with the bandages over his eye, Janus, nodded, “That would be me.”

The man with the broken arm looked confused, “Wait, so, you’re the one who was ramming a pen into their arm? Damn.”, he turned, begrudgingly to the first man, “I guess I owe you an apology then.”

“Really you needn’t-”

“Then I shan’t.”

Janus glared at the other man’s snark, but Logan found it rather delightful. Clearing his throat once more, he breached the topic, “I take it that means we three are soulmates?”

“Four.”

Logan and Janus looked to the third man as he explained, “Your leg doesn’t have a proper cast on it, this asshole doesn’t have one either,”, Janus gifted the man a half glare and a middle finger before he continued, “And since I don’t have one, it’s pretty obvious there’s a fourth musketeer.”

Fair to say, Logan was impressed, even Janus was hiding the tiniest hint of admiration as he retorted, “And are we to call you Sherlock or D’artagnan?”

The man rolled his eyes, “Ha ha, fuck you. My name’s-”

“VIRGIL!!”

The man, Virgil, nearly lept out of his skin, jerking his arm and giving the three of them a jolt of pain. Logan felt relieved he’d only have to put up with it for a few more days once the medicine took effect. 

In the doorway stood a man who could only be described as unnecessarily handsome, clad in a burgundy bomber jacket and a Nightmare Before Christmas shirt that seemed out of place on someone who stood poised like the protagonist of a romance anime. Logan noted he and Janus both checked to see if his leg was broken; good to know they had similar tastes even if the man’s lack of a cast dashed their hopes. Said handsome man made a beeline for Virgil, only to receive a swat and a motion to back off, 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Princey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!!!”, Virgil hissed and took a deep breath. ‘Princey’ let out a fond huff, “You should be so lucky, Bring Me The Depression, do you know how worried Pat and I were when we couldn’t find you!? This, dearest Emo Nightmare, is karma at its finest-!”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Roman. Where’s Pat? He’s gonna wanna meet my soulmates.”

Roman blinked, finally registering Logan and Janus just watching the two of them reunite. Clearing his throat, Logan made the introductions, “I’m Logan Sanders, this gentleman is-”

“Janus Delgado. Charmed I’m sure.”, Janus butt in, “Really, Logan, I can introduce myself. Unlike some people.”

Virgil flipped him off just in time for Roman to frown in confusion, “And…. you’re all sure you’re soulmates? I mean, no offense but you don’t...”, he picked his words carefully, his face contorting at the effort, “....act like soulmates?”

The three of them looked between one another and shrugged, “To be perfectly fair - Roman, yes? - we have all literally just met today under…. Less than optimal circumstances. I doubt you and your soulmate, assuming you’ve found them, hit it off instantly.”

Roman blinked, “Kind of, we didn’t have any problems like this, quite honestly...”, he almost sounded guilty at that notion, “The worst we have to deal with is his cat allergies-”

Out in the hallway, a couple of nurses hurriedly walked past and allowed another man into the room who immediately lit up at the sight of Roman and Virgil, “There you both are!!! I got held up at the vending machine, but when I came back you were both gone!”

“Patton! How glad I am to see you once more!”, Roman beamed, pulling the taller man into a hug and planting a dramatic kiss upon his cheek, to which Logan, Janus, and Virgil simultaneously met with an ‘ugh’. Perhaps they were more alike than they first assumed. 

Patton turned to meet Janus and Logan’s gaze, looking back to Virgil who explained, “They’re two of my soulmates, Pat.”

For a moment, the tall excitable ball of sunshine looked like he was about to pop with joy when Roman held up a hand to interject, “Pardon me, but ‘two of’?”, and cast his confusion towards Virgil who explained, “Our last soulmate has a broken leg, it’s the only injury we can’t account for.”

Patton and Roman shared a momentary look, drawing Logan’s attention, “Roman? Patton? Are you both alright?”. The two seemed to play eye contact rock-paper-scissors to decide who would answer, with Roman losing apparently.

“When exactly did you feel the pain in your leg?”

“Couple hours ago” “Around three?” “Precisely 3:27 pm.”

Came the chorus of answers. Janus and Virgil both shot Logan a look, to which he quietly murmured, “It never hurts to provide a little extra clarity.”

“Apparently so,”, Janus began, before shifting his partial gaze to the couple, “So, are you lovebirds-”

“Qpp’s.”, Patton corrected quietly, to which, Janus did apologise, “Pardon me. So, are you queer platonic saps going to clue us in to why exactly you asked us such a specific question?”

Roman sighed, “I ask because my brother, Remus, broke his leg at that exact same time today. Pat and I were going to visit him right after we’d checked in with Virgil.”

The three soulmates shared a collective look, but the first one to pipe up was Virgil, “You have a brother?! Why am I only finding this out now, I’ve known you for 12 fucking years, Roman! What the fuck!?”

Logan exasperatedly ran a hand down his face as he tried to maneuver himself out of his bed and into one of the hospital’s wheelchairs, Janus offering a hand to him, “Virgil, as much as I would love to listen to you and Roman bicker back and forth, could we possibly save such trivialities for after we meet our fourth soulmate?”

This time Patton piped up, “Oh, um, you may not want to do that just yet-”

As if on cue, roughly six or seven medical staff rushed by, causing Patton and Roman to quickly look around the doorway, only to turn back to the others, “Well, no time like the present. Patton, if you help Virgil, I’ll help Janus once Logan can shimmy into that wheelchair.”, Roman assigned as he offered an arm for Logan to hold onto while he got himself in the chair. Noting the context clues, Logan was rightfully worried, especially as he felt a new pain in his hand, only to note that while Roman and Patton helped them move, Virgil and Janus seemed to be experiencing more pain in their legs than before. In the moment, Logan did feel a little bad that the pill he’d taken hours earlier was saving him from too much additional pain. Approaching the hospital room the medical staff had gathered within, the group were greeted with a wild scene.

A scruffy man strikingly similar in looks to Roman - albeit sporting a thin moustache and silver hair streak - wearing a leg cast was holding a crutch in one hand and an honest to god butterfly knife in the other, standing atop his hospital bed, raving like a lunatic and gesturing frantically to an empty space in the room,

“NOW WILL SOMEBODY FINALLY LET ME OUT OF HERE?! ME AND THIS BEAR WANNA GO CATCH HORNY FISH AND SHIT IN THE WOODS!!” 

Charming. 

Logan glanced over at Patton and Roman, the question clear on his face just like their answer. That was Remus alright. He watched Roman talk with a nurse trying to calm Remus, “We gave him some painkillers to ease his leg pains, but it shouldn’t be affecting him this much!”

“Oh, Remus has always been like this with medication, I should’ve warned the nursing staff.”, he groaned, “But that doesn’t explain-”

“He must’ve pushed the blue button behind his bed,”, Logan sighed, already anticipating Roman’s question, “The medical staff likely assumed Remus was coding and thus went into action. That’s why they’re here right now.”

Roman’s expression confirmed that was indeed going to be his question. As Roman went to help the nurses tranquilise Remus’ wild flailing, and while his other two soulmates stood by to watch the chaos - in varying degrees of worry and strange admiration bordering on attraction for his disregard for social norms - Logan tried to come to terms with the facts.

He had three very different soulmates, and by the looks of it? He’d have to get used to frequent hospital stays….

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

This one’s probably on the weirder side, but uh, yeah, I hope it’s still a good read! [Also sorry these have been a little late lately TTvTT] @tsshipmonth2020 Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses

[chasing-classics]

Leave Out All the Rest- Bucky x Reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

 Warning(s): mentions of PTSD, fluff

 Summary: Bucky can never forget the things he has done, despite trying to piece together the memories he lost. He thinks himself a monster; you’re here to set the record straight.

  His yelling woke you up, your heart racing despite it being a nightly occurrence. Your bare body instantly covered his, gentle hands firmly holding his wrists down to stop him from hurting himself. He thrashed under your hold, shouting phrases that you still couldn’t quite understand after all these years of being with Bucky.

 ‘’Baby, baby. It’s ok, it’s ok. I’m right here,’’ you soothed, one hand shaking him awake while dodging his flailing fists. You never forgot how hard that metal arm could pack a punch and Bucky, to this day, never forgave himself for that incident. He never forgave himself for anything.

 ‘’D-Doll?’’ his bottom lip trembled as those ocean blue eyes of his sprung wide open.

 ‘’Shhh, Bucky. I’m right here, baby,’’ your hands cradled his head, drawing him close to your chest. The ticking of your heart always seemed to work for him, as if he were a scared puppy.

 You weren’t aware how much time had passed as the moonlight filled your shared bedroom. You could faintly hear birds chirping not too far away as you continued to comfort and soothe your boyfriend of nearly three years. Eventually his heavy breathing slowed to normal, but those massive hands were still clenched tight.

 ‘’Do you want to talk about it?’’ you hummed, fingers raking through his hair as he leaned into your embrace.

 He shook his head, sighing. ‘’Have I ever?’’ he joked, but you could taste the truth on his words. You sighed and pulled away, sitting up as the gray sheets pooled at your waist.

 ‘’Talking could help, Buck. Maybe if-,’’ you paused as he sat up beside you, towering over you as he rubbed his human hand over his face out of frustration.

 ‘’Nothing can help, Y/n. This is my punishment,’’ his voice was firm now as he glared into the shadows dancing at the foot of your bed.

 ‘’You know as well as I do that those things, what happened, none of it was your fault. That was H.Y.D.R.A,’’ your brows furrowed, hand placed on his shoulder.

 Bucky scoffed, shaking his head as if he could cause his night terrors to evaporate. As if he could will his trauma away. ‘’Let’s just go back to bed,’’ he tried laying back down, your firm grip preventing him from doing so.

 ‘’Bucky,’’ you huffed, gently tugging on his hair to get him to meet your eyes.

 ‘’Y/n,’’ his tone shifted from sleepy to annoyance instantly. You gave a playful tug on his locks once more, cracking a tiny smile. It worked, as he sighed and sat back up. You saw in his eyes that he struggled to process his words and make sense of his thoughts and emotions. You slowly traced invisible patterns onto the palm of his hand and up his forearm.

 ‘’I don’t know how to do it,’’ he finally spoke.

 You quirked a brow. ‘’How to do what, honey?’’ you pressed.

  His mouth twitched a bit, releasing a shaky sigh as his shoulders quivered.

 ‘’I don’ know. . .I don’t know how to look at strangers on the street, on the subway, in the grocery stores. Even in the fucking movie theaters. I don’t know how to pass by and look at all of these strangers, these people, and not know if I hurt them. . .if I hurt their loved ones. I try to remember and I-I can’t.’’

 Your heart clenched at your boyfriend’s words. You could tell he was choking back a sob but trying his absolute best not to in front of you.

 ‘’Bucky. Bucky look at me,’’ you whispered to him, your hands gently encompassing his chiseled face. Those baby blues glossed over with unshed tears as you stroked his cheeks.

 ‘’Nobody blames you for what you weren’t in control of. Honey, you need to let that all go or it’ll eat you up. You’ve saved more lives than you took, trust me.’’

 A lone tear streamed down his cheekbone, hot against your skin as he let out the most broken sound you had ever heard. You sat there, holding him as sob after sob racked through his form.

  You strolled around the museum, thankful that Bucky was training with Sam today. You analyzed the numerous posters and holograms, read the several plaques that detailed the victories Steve and Bucky accomplished.

 ‘’I got your call, rushed over as soon as I could,’’ Steve’s voice made you look up. He greeted you with the usual hug.

 ‘’What do you need, y/n?’’ his eyebrows rose in question.

 ‘’James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes was born in 1925. He served as a Sergeant in the United States army, assigned to the 107th in 1943. . .’’ the narrator began, causing the two of you to look away and focus your respective gazes on Bucky’s hologram. His strong jaw showing off a proud smile as he looked dashing in his uniform. Unable to help yourself, you smiled as your heart swelled with pride. That was your Buck, and you so desperately wished he saw himself as the hero he was rather than the monster he feared he had become.

 ‘’That,’’ you nodded your head toward the plaque that gave a basic run-down of Bucky’s accomplishments during the war. Your index finger tapped at one particular area, causing Steve to squint his eyes as he read the passage.

 ‘’Sergeant Barnes is accredited with saving over 58 lives while serving,’’ Steve read aloud before turning back to you. ‘’What are you getting at, doll?’’ Steve smiled, clearly seeing the wheels and cogs turning in your head. You beamed.

  ‘’Doll, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you treating me to a date, but really?’’ Bucky chuckled as you led him to the theatre.

 ‘’Shh, I’ve been waiting to see this movie for years,’’ you silenced him, practically dragging him to your assigned auditorium. Bucky just snorted and shook his head. ‘’Alright, alright. You don’t need to be so pushy, you’re practically burning through the carpet,’’ he teased, earning a gentle smack to his chest.

 He fell silent when he saw the theatre fully lit, over 200 seats completely taken as their eyes fell on the two of you. In the first three rows, many of them were elderly. Some adorned their uniforms as they shakily rose using their canes or walkers. Soon everyone stood up, applauding.

  ‘’What’s going on?’’ Bucky asked, tensing up as his eyes surveyed the crowd. You just smiled, feeling yourself become emotional as you two gazed at all of the different faces. You held onto his hand to steady him.

 ‘’These are just some of the people you saved, Bucky. They wanted to thank you, and some are their children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren. They’re standing here today because of you,’’ you spoke quietly as the thundering of applause continued. Many had tears in their eyes as they continued clapping, shouting their thanks and blessings. You turned your head to look at Bucky, tears cascading down his face as his mouth hung open in complete awe. He looked down at you and you nodded your head. He swallowed a sob as his hands held the sides of your face, leaning down to plant a passionate kiss to your lips. You cried as well, grinning into the kiss as people slowly began making their way to thank their hero.

 ‘’You’re a very lucky lady,’’ one veteran stated, wrinkled eyes bright with joy as his grandchildren ran around his wheelchair, begging Bucky for an autograph.

 You beamed, watching as they clung to your boyfriend’s legs, his laugh something you would treasure for the rest of your life as you nodded slowly. ‘’I know,’’ you agreed.

 ‘’Papa look! It’s Bucky! He’s my hero!’’ another young child called from the crowd, his grandfather proudly nodding in agreement.

 ‘’Mine too.’’

[procrastinatorimagines]

Here For You Part 4

Fandom: Chicago PD / One Chicago

Series: Here For You

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warning/s: childbirth

Word Count: 1,829

Summary: Y/N’s world spun out of control after she got pregnant, uprooting her life and moving to Chicago only for her brother to get involved in a murder trial. Now, in labour, her baby is finally coming, and with Jay by her side her life feels like it’s finally coming together again, but her troubles aren’t over yet.

Well, this was happening.

After a few moments of panic the amazing waitress managed to convince Jay to, albeit reluctantly, leave you with her while he went to grab your car. You were glad you over lived over the road, and after a couple of minutes of copying the waitress’ breathing advice you saw your car pull out of the basement car park and pull up next to the cafe. 

Jay was definitely out of his element, but to be fair, so were you as he got out to help the waitress get you to the car. You made a mental note to buy her something very very nice when you saw her again.

“You good?” Jay asked, gripping the steering wheel very tightly. You kind of nodded a little bit, still processing the fact that you were about to have your baby. It had been nearly 9 months, surely you’d think you’d had time to mentally prepare, but in that moment you were anything but ready. “Y/N?” Jay repeated as he drove to Med, eyes trying to focus on the road but constantly shifting to you.

“I’m okay,” you decided to tell him, wincing and leaning forward a little as a contraction hit. Jay took a breath, mimicking the breathing exercises you’d been taught in your birthing classes, and turned a corner slowly, one hand leaving the wheel to grab yours as you tried to breath through the pain.

You knew where you were, you realised, opening your eyes again, you were less than two minutes from Med. Jay kept his hand in yours as you pulled up by the ED, how had this come on so quickly? You knew some births were like this, but you’d been expecting hours, not minutes. 

Jay was taking off his seat belt and opening his door the second the car was parked, April Sexton and another nurse noting the concern on his face as they stopped on their way in to the hospital and headed towards him.

“Her water broke,” Jay informed them, rushing to your side of the car and opening the door for you as you breathed heavily. April directed the other nurse to help you while she called for a doctor and a bed. 

The other nurse, who you didn’t recognise, helped Jay slowly move you out of the car, aware of the need to preferably get you inside before you delivered. You were squeezing Jay’s arm tightly as you managed to stand mostly upright, insisting you could walk but a wheelchair was brought out for you anyway.

The nurse was about to take the handles to push you when Jay took over. “See, we’re here, you’re going to be okay,” he reassured you as she led you both inside.

“Are you the father?” She asked Jay as you entered the doors, April gesturing you to come to her as she stood outside a bay, Doctor Manning standing by her side. 

Jay shook his head, “er, no, no I’m not-” he began to explain but he was cut off by you doubling in pain again. You could feel the baby coming, and coming fast. 

“Jay-” you managed to get out, gripping his hand as he stopped moving, his other rubbing your back to try and sooth you. 

“You’re fine, it’s all fine, I promise,” he told you as the nurse gently but forcefully got his attention.

“I’m sorry, but we need to get her in,” she told Jay, taking the handles and wheeling you forward into the bay. Jay followed quickly, helping you up onto the bed as Natalie quickly got to work examining you. 

The look on her face... “what’s wrong?” You asked her, Jay’s head snapping to look in her direction too as she separated your legs to check how far along the baby was. 

“It’s nothing to be alarmed about okay? But your baby appears to be breech,” she told you calmly as you took a shaky breath, looking to Jay for comfort. 

“What- what happens now then?” You managed to get out. 

“We still have a little bit of time, so I want to get you upstairs and dressed, okay?” She asked and you nodded quickly, April putting the sides of the bed up so they could wheel you to the elevators. Jay went to follow but Natalie sympathetically shook her head, “I’m sorry Jay, but I’m going to have to ask you to stay down here.”

“Are you sure?” Jay asked, very reluctant to leave you on your own.

“Call Henry okay, tell him what’s going on,” you told him, trying to seem calm when you were currently terrified, noticing Jay’s expression seemed to mirror that feeling you added, “it’s okay, I’ll see you soon, we both will.”

You squeezed his hand one last time as it slipped from his fingers, the bed being wheeled away from him. Natalie was saying something but you could barely hear her, too focused on Jay. He’d very much become your rock, this constant, steady presence, and in that moment you really wished you’d let him kiss you that day in your kitchen.

Jay disappeared around the corner and you tried to focus on what was going on around you as the elevator doors open and you went inside. As they closed you were only just really registering the fact that you were quite literally about to have your baby.

-

Healthy baby boy. You’d heard the rest of what Natalie had told you of course, but they were the words that mattered the most as you held your new born son, carefully cradling his tiny head. It hadn’t been easy, but to see his face now, you knew it had certainly all been worth it.

The soft knock on your door was what managed to finally pry your eyes from his little face, smiling tiredly as you saw Jay and Henry in the doorway, bag of belongings and balloons in hand.

You gestured with your head for them to enter, not daring to move your hands as you cradled your baby. “Hey,” Henry grinned, speaking in a more hushed tone as he reached your side. Jay hung back a little at the end of the bed where he placed the bags to give you both some space as Henry carefully stroked a finger lightly over his nephew’s face.

“Oh look at him,” Henry mumbled, mesmerised. You couldn’t blame him, still not quite believing that you were holding your baby in your arms at long last. 

“Kind of looks like you did as a baby,” you told him, remembering when your parents had first brought your little brother home.

“Me? Nah, he’s much cuter than that,” your brother replied, “you did good sis,” he added, kissing you on the top of the head as his phone rang. It was one of your cousins, you realised as you saw his screen flash, and he excused himself to answer it, happy to be telling family and friends the news. 

Jay hesitated for a second at the end of the bed then, but with a smile from you he approached your side. “How’re you feeling?” He asked, looking into your tired eyes.

“Pretty good actually, if not a little sore,” you informed him, eyes flicking from him back to your baby. The labour itself wasn’t exactly fun, though you knew yours had been incredibly quick compared to most others, and for that you were thankful. It had also meant that you could hold your baby sooner.

Jay watched you as you carefully caressed your baby’s head. “I wish I could have been there with you,” he admitted, looking a little guilty about having to leave you alone even though the decision hadn’t been his.

“I do too,” you replied after a moment, eyes locking with Jay’s again as you took in his longing look. There were so many feelings, so many emotions that had been put aside, locked away so you could focus on taking care of yourself and your baby... But part of you wondered whether Jay was what would be best for you and your son. 

Jay swallowed hard and you forced yourself to look away, you couldn’t put all that on his shoulders. So instead you said: “do you want to hold him?”

He blinked, a little unsure but he nodded, arms slowly coming out as you passed your son to him. Taking him slowly, he was clearly worried about holding him wrong, but you directed his hands and made sure he was cradling the baby’s head.

The sight made your heart swell as you took them both in, and you were glad that Jay was too busy focusing on the baby to notice you quickly blink away tears. For a moment, you allowed your mind to wander to the place you had tried so hard not to let it: that you wished it had been Jay, you wished it would always have been Jay, and from the look on his face you actually thought that Jay was thinking the same. He held your baby in his arms, and you allowed yourself to wish he was Jays.

Jay let out a breath, lips curling into a smile as your son opened his eyes a little, looking up at the man above him. “He’s perfect,” Jay got out, soft smile turning into a grin he added: “his mom isn’t too bad either.”

You laughed a little as Jay returned him to you, letting his hand linger on yours after the baby had been transferred. “I’m proud of you,” Jay told you, eventually sliding his hand away.

“Yeah, I’m kind of proud of me too,” you let yourself admit as Jay chuckled. This baby, this beautiful boy, was yours, you’d made him... you hadn’t done a bad job either. 

Jay put a hand on your shoulder. “Can I get you anything?” He offered.

“Some water would be nice, the nurse left before I could ask,” you replied and he nodded, squeezing your shoulder and turning to head out as some kind of commotion sounded in the hall outside your door.

You’d been able to hear your brother talking on the phone just outside, muffled by the door, but his voice had suddenly gotten louder, angrier, like he was arguing with someone actually out in the hall.

Jay flashed you a puzzled look and headed to see what’s going on. You couldn’t see who was outside, but Jay pulled the door too a bit suddenly as soon as he opened it, blocking the way.

You tensed at this, drawing your baby closer to your chest protectively. What the hell was going on? Was someone trying to get in?

The noise was coming through better now, and you could clearly made out the following exchange, panick setting in as a shiver went down your spine.

“Who the hell are you?” Jay asked, defensively guarding your door.

“The father,” came the reply.

[ren1327]

Sweet Survivor Ch.1

Wet.

Something wet was on his cheek.

Oh gosh, everything hurt! His lower back felt like someone had poked it with a corkscrew.

He flexed his toes and could feel his shoes stretch a bit over them. At least he had that going for him.

He heard a grunt and opened his eyes, seeing a blurry shape. One asymmetrical.

“Bumpy?” He rasped.

He blinked and gasped.

She was much bigger!

Bumpy had to be at least four feet tall, with ridges on her back and a longer tail. She shuffled her feet excitedly as he smiled in relief at seeing his friend.

She grunted and nuzzled his shoulder, almost crooning.

“I’m okay…” He said, trying to sit up and wincing. “Scratch that. My tailbone is not…”

She turned and laid her tail next to him and he reached out to touch it, noting the heavy club it now sported. She gently lifted it, then lowered it again. She did it a few times and grunted, and he suddenly understood what she wanted.

He grabbed it and hissed as he was pulled up to his feet, body trembling with pain and fatigue.

“Thanks girl. Man, I could really go for some…” He patted his waist and gasped. “My pack! My…”

He looked up and saw the monorail, silent and empty. He gasped as he remembered what had happened, Darius clinging to his hand as Brooklynn and Kenji stood frozen with shock behind him. The fear gripped him again and he started to hyperventilate.

“They left me.” He said softly.

Bumpy barked, as if trying to tell him something.

He looked at her and she walked in a circle, barking again.

“Th-they probably went for help.” He said, trying to push down his anger and despair. “Darius would never leave one of us behind—”

He heard a faint roar in the distance.

“The T-Rex.” He whispered and Bumpy nudged him, knocking him halfway on her shell, her small spikes still round enough for him to lay on top of as she walked off, following the monorail.

“What? Where are you…”He moaned as his eye lids felt heavy again.

Ben groaned after a few feet, and she laid down, nudging him until he fully laid on top of her, clutching her shell as he tried desperately not to pass out, failing.

 *

When he woke up, they were on a concrete path.

“Bumpy? Where are you taking us, Girl?” He asked.

He saw a building coming up and smiled, laughing excitedly.

“The hotel?!”

Bumpy grunted and walked up the wheelchair ramp.

Ben got down and pushed at the automatic door, groaning when it wouldn’t budge. He tried to pry them open, arms shaking with strain.

Bumpy suddenly swung her tail and shattered a bottom panel of the thick plastic, causing him to shout. Ben chuckled and crawled through the new entrance, unlocking a swinging door for his friend to squeeze in and follow him.

He found an abandoned umbrella, long and missing a few spokes, and used it as a walking stick to get to the front desk, finding the security office behind it. Finding a key next to the computer, he opened the door to see all the cameras still operational.

“Maybe this place has a generator or something.” He said, and spied a sink in the corner, grabbing his dry throat.

He limped to it and turned it on, not caring when he leaned over and drank from the tap. It had that flat iron like taste, but other wise was clean. He gasped after drinking his fill.

“Plumbing…works…” He panted and went to look at the cameras.

They viewed the hallways, the daycare, the spa and fitness center, even the pool. All were empty with the windows covered.

He laughed happily. “No dinos. Not even a compy squeezed in!”

He turned to the open door and grinned at Bumpy. “It’s all our til the others come back!”

He found a map of the hotel.

“What would Darius do?” He asked, going back outside to the front desk and seeing a button that said; “Emergency only.”

He pressed it, and metal shutters fell over the front windows and door. Bumpy screeched in alarm and he pet her head, making her groan and stomp her foot.

“It’s okay girl.” He said and looked at a switch board for the lights, shivering when he remembered the monorail. He took a deep breath. He needed to secure the area.

“We got some work to do.” He said, grabbing a universal key card and a ring of keys, limping towards the kitchen.

 *

They had found some fruit that had yet to go bad and several crates of water, all he moved to the front of the dining area so he could get to it easier if his hips kept bothering him.

He then used a few backpacks from the gift shop to load up all the snacks at the register along with more water and a few changes of clothes down to underwear and new shoes. Bumpy didn’t seem bothered when he loaded them on her back for her to take back to where they would camp out.

He picked a large room on the ground floor and propped the double doors open so Bumpy could go in and out. He shut all the windows and curtains on the first three floors, quieting anything that would draw attention, making sure to unplug TVs, alarms and radios except for in his room. Going as far as to turn off the automatic indoor and outdoor lights and signposts from the security desk, masking the hotel in darkness.

After hours of shutting down as much as the hotel as he could, his body gave out and he collapsed on the bed. He still had eight floors to go!

His hips were screaming in pain and he took a generic pain killer with his dinner of fresh fruit, bread from the buffet area and beef jerky. He promised himself he would search the kitchen again before things went bad.

He took a deep breath after and nearly gagged at his own body odor.

He panted and got up, going to the bathroom and gasping at what he saw in the mirror.

His eyes looked sunken in, bruises all over his arms and legs. He saw his shirt torn in the back, lifting it to see the claw marks where the Pteranodon had grabbed him, deep purple bruising all over his side and his hip where he had landed.

He took a shuttering breath and hiccupped before the tears started and he couldn’t hold back his sobs.

He could have died.

He could have actually died and never seen his mom again.

He sat on the toilet lid and took gasping breaths and rubbed his arms to try and calm himself before turning on the shower and undressing to clean his wounds.

Finding a first aid kit, he sobbed more as he cleaned his wounds, trying to take deep breaths to clam his panic. Bumpy laid down outside the bathroom door, as if keeping watch.

He smiled softly and got in the shower, humming as the hot water hit his body. He looked over the mini shampoos and conditioners on a recessed shelf in the stone tile wall. He grabbed a rag and lathered up the soap, planning to scrub away the grime and blood and soak.

 *

He woke up in the still warm bath, the eucalyptus scent from the essential oils he found a little weaker. He groaned and got up, happy that the sharp pain in his hips had dulled to a manageable throb.

He dried his hair and wrapped himself in the white robe with the T-Rex emblem on the left side of his chest.

Bumpy groaned softly as he laid himself more gingerly on the bed, hugging a pillow and remembering for a moment ‘How is your grip this strong?!’

He smiled to himself, remembering the scent of the campfire, Darius groaning, Brooklynn and Sammy looking over her pictures and Yaz standing in the back next to the railing. His hands locked on Kenji’s bicep as he pulled hard, a surprised look on his face.

He always gravitated to Kenji.

Of course he did.

Kenji was strong.

Kenji was brave.

Kenji was confident.

And he was none of those things.

But there was something he noticed he and Kenji had in common.

Kenji was lonely.

And every time he clung to him, Kenji would push once and then allow him to stay. As if he wanted him to stay. Ben blushed and hugged the pillow tighter, squeezing his eyes shut.

He hoped he was okay. He hoped they all were.

[massivelycreepypineapple]

He Loves His Gimp

Request: Gynac Jensen anon here. Couldn't stop reading your work again and again. I just love it❤️ Hence came to you requesting another story. (Sorry🥺) Can you write one Jensen x reader where they have a big fight, she storms off, but while going, falls down the stairs and bumps into a wall and somehow her hand gets into a cast along with concussion. Jensen gets worrried and doesn't leave her alone all the time. After 2 days, for next appointment reader panicks while receiving PRP injection. All the fluff between these days. After few days, when her leg is better, next doc's appointment for removal of cast. Reader gets freaked out again. (Well I did freak, I had a full blown panic attack, my husband had to physically restrain me XD) so Jensen supporting her while removal process. ( I know I mentioned hand, but I wanted to request for leg, Idk how did I do that) Again sorry, I have bombarded you with such a long request. But write only if you want and are comfortable. Thanks ❤️

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hope you enjoy this! 

Feedback is welcome!

Word Count: 3032

❅ ❅ ❅

It had barely been a week since Jensen got back from Vancouver and in one week everything had gone bad. There was something happening with the brewery and as a result tensions were high. This in turn caused the the married couple to snap at each other often. The last couple of days have been really bad as Jensen and Y/N kept fighting non stop. It was taking a toll on her and she didn’t know what to do to help him. Every time she tried, he would snap at her and it would result in a full blown argument. This time was no different.

“Damn Y/N! God it was so peaceful living alone back in Vancouver!” Yelled Jensen.

“Oh yeah?! Well maybe you should’ve just stayed back then!” Shouted Y/N as she stormed out of the master bedroom.

With tears blurring her vision and blind anger consuming her, Y/N failed to pay attention to where she was going, causing her to trip on the stairs and take a fall. On her way down, she hit her head against the wall and landed with a thud on the ground floor. Her right ankle was askew and pain shot through her like wildfire as she screamed. She barely noticed Jensen run down the stair and crouch down beside her worriedly asking her questions.

“Y/N! Oh god! What hurts, baby? Talk to me!” He asked frantically.

“My leg and my head.” She mumbled out, her head feeling a little dizzy.

Jensen went to hold her ankle to take a proper look at it, the action only made her yell out in pain more. “Shit I’m so sorry, honey! I think it’s broken.” He said.

He pulled out his phone dialling 911, “Hi I need an ambulance immediately! My wife fell down the stairs and I think she broke her ankle and might have a concussion.” He explained, giving them their address.

Y/N was close to falling asleep but was immediately woken up with insistent pats on her cheek.

“Hey, stay awake sweetie. You might have a concussion and falling asleep will make it worse.”  

“Everything hurts, Jay.” She said doing her best to keep her eyes open. The tears streamed down her face quickly wiped away by Jensen.

“I know, baby. I know. The ambulance will be here in a bit.” He said not leaving her side.

“C-can I sit up?”

“Just stay still okay? You’re going to be fine.” Jensen said carding his fingers through her hair while he held her hand with his other one.

The paramedics finally arrived and Jensen rode with her to the hospital.

_______________

12 hours later they finally made it back home at 1:30 in the morning. The doctor insisted on keeping Y/N in the hospital that long to make sure her concussion cleared up. He put her leg in a cast and prescribed some pain killers along with strict orders for plenty of rest for the ankle to heal. Lucky for her it was a small fracture that should heal on its own within a few weeks if she didn’t stress it out too much. She was, however, asked to come back couple of days later for a PRP injection to accelerate the recovery.

Jensen carried her inside the house and placed her on the couch. He shut the main door and went into the kitchen to bring Y/N her medicines and some water. Y/N knew there was something bothering him. He had been quiet the entire time and barely looked at her. She was feeling more and more guilty especially after the fight they had this morning. Her thoughts were interrupted when Jensen offered her a glass of water along with the pill. She took it and returned the glass back to Jensen who took it back to the sink, still avoiding any eye contact.

He came back to her to carry her to their bedroom when she stopped him.

“Jay, wait.”

“What’s wrong? You okay?” He asked fearing that the doctors missed something.

“I’m fine, but you clearly are not. Talk to me Jay.” She asked worriedly.

“Y/N it’s 1:30 in the morning and you’re hurt and in pain, and I’m exhausted. Can we please not do this now?” He asked rubbing his face.

Y/N felt a pang of hurt go through her heart. She had really messed up with the fight. Jensen was right he would’ve been more at peace without her.

“Okay.” She whispered and allowed him to carry her up to their room.

_______________

That morning Y/N woke up late thanks to her medication that made her drowsy. The space next to her was empty and suddenly the events that occurred the previous day crashed on her all at once, breaking her heart. Her leg was throbbing and she was doing her best to keep the tears at bay as she sat up and placed her feet on the floor.

Jensen walked into the room with a tray of breakfast, “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked chiding her.

“I thought-“

“I was making you breakfast in bed, Y/N. Now get back in and relax, okay?”

She got back in bed and Jensen placed the tray on her lap and sat in front of her. “How are you feeling today?” He asked rubbing her knee.

“Leg hurts a little, but my head is much better.” She replied taking a bite.

“Good. Eat up so you can take your painkillers.” He smiled softly at her.

“Okay.” Y/N back smiled at him.

Once breakfast was over Jensen grabbed the tray and handed her the medicines. He then helped her into the shower so they could take a bath. He covered her cast with plastic to it wouldn’t get wet and placed a stool in the shower so Y/N could sit comfortably. He helped her strip her clothes and proceeded to do the same. Nothing was exchanged between them which was odd. There was this lingering tension and Y/N didn’t know how to break it. Her mind was racing thinking of ways to apologise, and just as he proceeded to scrub shampoo in her hair a tear slipped from her eye. Her sniffle didn’t go unnoticed by hm and he immediately crouched down in front of her.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He asked concern filling his eyes.

She shook her head sniffling some more.

“Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry” she whispered.

“What for?”

“I’m sorry I’m so overbearing. I’m sorry, Jay. I shouldn’t have pushed you with the brewery and now you want to go back to Vancouver to get away from me. And then I had to get hurt and you’re stuck here with me. I’m sorry it’s not so peaceful here.” Her outburst stunned him.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry!” She was clutching onto him as tears fell rapidly down her cheeks. Jensen hugged her tightly to him, uncaring of the shampoo in her hair.

“Baby, you listen to me. I don’t want to get away from you. I’ll never want that, Y/N. I’m sorry I said that. I was angry and tired with everything that was happening and I took it out on you when you were only trying to help. It’s my fault baby. Vancouver sucks without you there. And I’m even more glad I’m here when you’re hurt. I’d hate myself if I wasn’t here for you. I already hate myself caz you’re hurt because of me.”

“It’s not your fault, Jay. It was a freak accident.”

“Feels like it is. I caused this indirectly.” He whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “God, when I heard you scream and saw you at the bottom of the stairs, my heart nearly stopped.”

“No you didn’t. I wasn’t paying attention. But I’m okay, Jay. Nothing too bad happened.”

“Yeah. Thank god for that.”

Y/N kissed him softly. When she pulled away from him she giggled.

“What?” He asked amused.

She scooped the suds on his nose left by her on her finger and showed it to him. He chuckled at that and kissed her nose. “Let’s get cleaned up. We have a busy day today.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked amused.

“Yep! A whole day dedicated to R&R!” He grinned.

“Can we watch The Lord of the Rings again?” Y/N asked with puppy eyes that she learnt from Jared.

Jensen groaned at her, “Fine, the gimp gets the final say.” He said earning a whack.

_______________

The next couple of days went by in a blink and the dreaded day finally arrived. It was time for Y/N to take a PRP injection. With lots of coaxing and promise of mind blowing sex, Jensen finally got her into the car and drove her to the hospital.

They were waiting for their turn and Y/N was bouncing her uninjured leg in nervousness. Jensen placed a hand on her leg, stopping her. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s going to be fine.”

“I hate you.” She snapped at him. “They’re going to give some stupid shot and I’m going to kill you.”

“Hey! I’m not the one giving the shot!”

“You made me come here!”

��You’d do anything in return for sex and you know it. You’re insatiable.” He grinned at her wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shuttup, Ackles.”

“Y/N Ackles” the nurse called out.

“You know if I wasn’t married to you now, that name would mean nothing!” Y/N whispered yelled.

“Haha, hilarious.” He said rolling his eyes. “Come on, gimpy. Let’s get you cured.” He helped her into the wheelchair and the nurse rolled her into the room.

The doctor made her lie down on the bed and got her prepped.

“We’re going to first draw some blood from your arm and then we will be transferring that blood into your leg. It’s so the extra platelets can help the injury heal faster.” He explained, making Y/N shudder.

Jensen moved closer to Y/N and she gripped her hand tightly. The doctor left the room for a while allowing Y/N to panic freely.

“Jay, I don’t want to do this!” She said frantically. “It’s not just one, it’s two needles poking me!” She said looking mortified. Jensen chuckled at her, “It’s not funny, Jay! Quit laughing at me!” She glared.

“I’m sorry, baby but it is a little funny. Besides, Y/N, it’ll be over before you know it. I promise, sweetheart.” He tried comforting her.

“You’re a jerk, Jay and I want to leave. Take me home, please!” She cried getting up.

Jensen pushed her back down gently and was about to say something when the doctor came back in with the stuff. Y/N was trying not to go into a full blown panic. Needles freaked her out big time and this was one of the worst things she’d had to do.

The doctor took a cotton swap with anti septic and cleaned the area making her flinch. Her grip on Jensen tightened and he kissed her forehead. “Just look at me, baby. Think about something else. Like what do you want to do this weekend, hmm?”

“I don’t know!” She looked at him wide eyed. Trying to play along but it was getting increasingly harder.

Just as the needle pierced through her she shut her eyes tightly, holding her breath in. She felt Jensen caress her cheeks with his thumb as he cupped them. “Breathe baby. It’ll go away.” He whispered.

“Almost done, Y/N” The doctor said smiling sympathetically at her.

She felt him gently withdraw the needle and she let out a breathe of relief when it was done. But that didn’t last long. She remembered the hard part was yet to come. The damn doc had to stick the little bastard into her leg and it was going to be 10 times worse.

She felt Jensen squeeze her hand, “Don’t think about it. Just keep talking to me ok?”

“Let’s go visit Jared and Gen this weekend.” She said, giving him a small smile.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” He smiled widely.

Y/N and Jensen kept chatting and she didn’t notice when the doctor was near her feet. The needled pierced her leg just above the cast and she whimpered in pain. “Son of bi-!” She exclaimed.

“There all done!” Grinned the doctor.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Said Jensen smirking at her.

“Wipe that look off your face or I’ll do it for you.” She glared at him.

The doctor chuckled at her, “Well you’re good to go, Y/N. You just need to come back a week from now and we can remove the cast.”

“Can’t wait. This thing is itchy as hell.” You said, thanking him.

“And it smells” mumbled Jensen to himself earning a glare from Y/N.

An hour later they were back home comfortably cuddled up on the sofa. Y/N was flipping through the channels trying to find something good. Jensen groaned beside her as she changed it once more.

“Just pick one!” He exclaimed throwing his head back.

“I’m trying! There’s nothing good on!”

“I’m booored, N/N!”

“Urgh fine! You pick then!” She said throwing the remote into his lap.

He settled on some silly rom com, making Y/N look pointedly at him. “Really? This one?”

He grinned at her and she squeaked when he shifted her in a blink of an eye. She was sitting on his lap with her leg carefully placed so it wouldn’t hurt.

“What are you doing, Jay?” She asked suspiciously.

“Snogging to silly rom coms like teenagers?” The grin not leaving his face.

Y/N giggled at him, “You’re such a boy!”

“You love it.”

“Nahh.” She said with a cheshire cat grin. But soon started laughing as Jensen tickled her.

“Jay! Stop please!”

“Nope!”

“I’ll make you smell my cast if you don’t!” She managed to gasp out between laughter.

“Yuck! Keep that thing away from me, woman! That stench is poison!” He exclaimed with wide eyes, immediately stopping the tickle attack.

Y/N laughed at his reaction and kissed him hard. They spent the rest of the day snogging to crap TV.

_______________

A week later Y/N was back in that dreadful hospital room. She got her foot x-rayed and cleared for the cast to come off and she couldn’t be happier. Jensen was sitting on the chair beside her reading the stuff on the wall. Y/N was fiddling with her phone when the doctor came in with the equipments to cut open her cast.

When Y/N noticed the equipment, she freaked out. “W-what’s that? I thought you had to cut the cast open!”

The doctor chuckled at her, “This is to cut the cast open. That thing is too thick for scissors. We need something stronger.”

“Oh no no. You keep that thing away from me, she said in shock. She moved backwards in bed.

“You won’t feel a thing, I promise.” Said the doctor looking at Jensen for support.

“Y/N come on. This is the last time you need to be here. So let’s get this over it, huh?” He said gripping your hand.

Y/N watched in fear as the doctor got everything set up. He turned on the electric cutter and got ready to cut open the cast. Y/N went into a full blown panic attack and began thrashing around.

Jensen was holding onto her. “Honey, you gotta breathe for me. Look at me, Y/N.”

“No! No please. I can’t keep doing this, Jay! I’m constantly in pain and now he’s going to cut my leg! I like my leg!”

“Baby! He’s not going to cut your leg!” Jensen talked over her. “Look at me, Y/N. Open those eyes and look at me.” He pleaded.

Y/N reluctantly opened her eyes and looked into her husband’s green ones. It calmed her down for a second.

“There’s my girl.” He whispered. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Y/N, it won’t even get any close to your leg.” The doctor explained. “It’s just vibrations that will break open the cast.”

Y/N still looked unconvinced and stared at the monstrosity in his hands. Jensen cupped her face between his palms and kissed her forehead. “Do you trust me, Y/N?”

“Yes.” She whispered teary eyed.

“Then do this honey. It’ll be over soon.”

“O-okay.” She said taking a deep breathe and letting the doctor get to work.

20 mins later the cast was off and the doctor was checking her ankle once more. He then decided to put it in a brace since it was still swollen quite a bit and was painful.

“It’s going to hurt for a while, but I think it’s strong enough for you to start physical therapy. Just keep icing it and soaking it in hot water to bring down the swelling.”

“Thank you.” Smiled Y/N. “And I’m sorry you had to witness my freak out.”

“Oh don’t worry about it. I’ve seen people react worse.” He chuckled and left the room after shaking hands with Jensen.

“I’m sorry I was so panicky, Jay.” Mumbled Y/N looking guilty.

Jensen let out a booming laugh, surprising her.

“Why are you laughing?” She asked, confused.

“Y-you thought he wanted to cut your leg off!” He laughed harder.

“Shuttup, Ackles! It was scary okay! I’ve never done this before.” She looked at him grumpily. But she wasn’t really mad.

“Aww my poor gimpy!” He said pinching both her cheeks, making her swat his hands away.

“I’m not a gimp anymore!” She fake glared at him.

“True. I’m going to miss my little gimp. I could do whatever I wanted to her. But now she can limp away so fast.” He grinned cheekily.

“Ha ha! You’re fucking Robin Williams!” She said rolling her eyes.

“Oh the hubris! You’re not Robbin Williams, honey” He said his grin getting wider.

“Just take me home, you dork.” She shook her head at him fighting off a smile.

❅ ❅ ❅

Tags Below

@hobby27 @akshi8278 @svmwinchesterr​

[severetimetravelnerd]

Hatred and Love (ft. G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 14

Jiyong realises something very important.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@kwonnansi​

@aarfyie​

@suhappysuho​

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Now, things are coming to a close. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot. This chapter has a lot of Suho. It also has a good amount of Xiumin:))

This is the last part of the series and I’m so sorry it took me so long to upload it :(((( I know it’s been ages, but after all of this, I just blanked out when it came to the ending. Thanks for supporting me and following the story :)) I’m going to miss this one :))

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language. 

————————————————————————–

You had no idea what to expect. You turned to Jiyong, eyebrows raised, wondering what Joonmyeon could possibly want, but Jiyong looked just as stumped as you. He was also way angrier. His eyes immediately became cold and hard. 

“What does that fucker want now?” 

You gently took his hand, trying to calm him down. 

“Let’s go into this with an open mind? Maybe he wants to come up with some sort of agreement?” 

Jiyong tried to conceal his anger but that didn’t work very well. His jaw was absolutely taut when he spoke. 

“Y/N, he wants to fuck things up somehow. Why else would he want you there? You’re the one person I’m scared of disappointing.”

 You planted a light kiss on his cheek, instantly making him relax.

 “Then maybe that’s a good thing. You won’t do anything that would disappoint me.” 

He sighed, but he kissed you back.

 “You’re right, Y/N. You’re the only person I can stay calm for.”

The two of you walked into Jongin’s room, that had been turned into a makeshift conference room. Joonmyeon was there in a wheelchair. Yixing and Sehun were also there with their hands bound, both flanked by Hanbin and Mino, making sure neither of them try something funny. Jiyong took his place at the head of the table, prepared to let Joonmyeon start, but Joonmyeon looked up straight at you. Still looking at you, he said, 

“No Jiyong. That seat isn’t for you. That seat is for her. Your side of the table is over there.” 

Jiyong stretched his neck, unable to believe what Joonmyeon just told him. You were also in complete shock. Why would he want you at the head of the table? Before you could overthink it, Joonmyeon said, 

“I want Y/N to be the head and mediator of this meeting. She can guide us towards a merger.” 

His eyes were thrown at you, as though daring you to take up the challenge, daring you to mess up. Jiyong eyes turned dark with pure, unadulterated rage and he was about to step in when you met Joonmyeon’s gaze. This guy had messed with you one too many times. You had had enough.

 “Okay Joonmyeon. I will.” 

Every single head in the room whipped towards you, wondering what you were playing at. Jiyong, still in shock, quietly got up and went to his seat. You sat down, slowly crossing your legs. Your eyes were so determined, they were nearly piercing through Joonmyeon. No one there had ever seen you that way before. Not even when they first abducted you. Staring straight at him, you began. 

“Well, Joonmyeon, what did you want to discuss?”

 Your gaze was hostile, openly challenging him to try and mess with you. Joonmyeon hated it. He hated that he felt so guilty about harming you and Jongin. He hated that he owed you his life. He hated that he couldn’t completely hate you. This was just his way of trying to find reasons to hate you. But none of this struggle showed on the outside. Eyes cold and calculating, he said, 

“If we’re doing a merger, only I have control over my men.”

 Even before he finished the sentence, you could feel the anger and the protests from the rest of the room, including EXO, but you silenced them all with a glare. Joonmyeon just wanted to make things messy and you wouldn’t let him. Jiyong snarled when he heard that, but he calmed down when he looked at you there, his grip on his gun slowly loosening. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke. 

“Joonmyeon, I don’t think you understand your position. You asked for a merger. Not a partnership. With a merger, you become part of an organisation and work the same way the organisation had worked. So, no. You won’t be the only person to have control over your troops. You will be at the level assigned to you. And you will have to report to Jiyong.” 

Joonmyeon already knew all of that, but he just wanted to get a rise out of you. Nonchalantly stretching, he said,

 “Okay, but I’m second in command.”

 That was too much for Jiyong to bear and he scoffed. He threw his head back to laugh and then he slammed the table. His voice was dangerously detached when he did speak. 

“Joonmyeon, is this a joke to you?”

 You saw the glint in Joonmyeon’s eyes. He was happy he succeeded in getting a rise out of Jiyong. He felt that it somehow validated his behaviour and his deep-rooted hatred for them, although he knew they weren’t that bad. You had saved his life. Jiyong saved his men. He was just clutching at straws to justify his behaviour. You were determined to not give him those straws. You would make him realise that there wasn’t any justification for his behaviour. He would take accountability and realise where he went wrong, so that he could go back to being himself, instead of being obsessed with taking Jiyong down. Your hand quietly wrapped around Jiyong’s hand, silently urging him to not say anything. Jiyong eyes flashed, and he glared at you, annoyed that you were telling him to not react, but he kept quiet anyway. You tried to look at Joonmyeon, but he was refusing to look at you. He didn’t want to make eye contact. He could only put up the act as long as someone didn’t see through him. You tried to get him to peacefully meet your gaze, but when he absolutely refused to, you resorted to desperate measures. Standing up, you grabbed his chin and forced him to look straight at you. Your voice was still calm when you said,

 “Joonmyeon, you and I both know that’s not going to happen. You might not even get a commanding post for a while, because you, Yixing and Sehun have to prove your loyalties first. How are we supposed to trust you after everything that happened? You turned on Jongin. Why wouldn’t you do that again?” 

Joonmyeon could feel this crushing pain when you said that. He didn’t want to accept that he did that, but there was no other way to it. Joonmyeon lost all fight when you said that. You had seen through him. He quietly slipped out of your grasp and turned to Jongin, bowing deeply before saying, 

“Jongin, I’m sorry.” 

Jongin sat there, on his bed, in complete and utter shock. Joonmyeon hyung never apologised, especially not in front of other people. He was too in shock to say anything. Heart sinking even further, Joonmyeon turned to you, bowed and apologised. He then looked up and for the first time, his eyes were genuine. 

“Thank you for saving my life Y/N.”  

Everyone other than Minseok was in shock. Minseok had the slightest smile on his face. 

“Maybe we will get out Joonmyeon back after all.” 

Sehun and Yixing were both furious, and they were about to protest it, and Hanbin and Mino were ready to supress it, but you beat them to it. Voice cool, you said,

 “To prove their loyalty, Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun will work directly under Minseok and Youngbae for the next three months to start with. They’ll work on the Hongdae area.”

 Joonmyeon’s head shot up when he heard you. You were giving them control over Hongdae? The area that they’d been fighting for? Joonmyeon’s eyes teared up a little. He would finally get to take care of his sister’s grave. Joonmyeon immediately bowed before you. Yixing and Sehun were too shocked to do anything except stare at you in disbelief.

 “Thank you, Y/N. You don’t know how much this means to me.” 

You had the slightest smile on your face when you replied, 

“You’re welcome Joonmyeon.”

Jiyong sat there watching all the events unfold, feeling detached. He didn’t mind that you were making decisions for him. he knew the others wouldn’t mind either. He knew it was only because of you that they managed to resolve things with Joonmyeon. But he was more worried about the other things. The slight tremble in your hands from dealing with this. Your pale and tired face. Your tendency to flinch slightly when people make sudden movements. The near imperceptible tremor in your voice. You weren’t used to this, and it scared you. He felt awful. You didn’t deserve this. You had been through so much. You needed a break. And he would make sure you got one. For the first time in his life, Jiyong decided he would take a break with you. It wasn’t because he wanted to take a break, but more because you needed him around. As weird as it was, although Jiyong was the one drawing you into this world, your only way to feel better about everything was around him. And also, for the simple reason that he missed you, and couldn’t stand being away from you any longer. He was staring at you, making up his mind about exactly what to do when you turned to him.

 “Jiyong, that’s okay right?” 

He didn’t hear you. He had zoned you out, wondering how he got so lucky as to have you in his life. He would protect that at all costs. He would protect you at all costs. He would protect your happiness at all costs. You raised your eyebrows, wondering why he didn’t reply. You mentally scolded yourself for shooting your mouth off like that without talking to him first. You turned to Jiyong, much more nervous. 

“Jiyong? All okay, Love?” 

The vibe of the meeting had changed. Everything was much more relaxed. Sehun was trying hard not to cry, Yixing was apologising to everyone, Jongin was playfully guilt-tripping a very apologetic Joonmyeon about his injuries. But when you said that, everyone turned to Jiyong, a little nervous. He had a rather…intimidating reputation. Youngbae was the only one who was sure Jiyong would be okay with it. He was more interested in watching the drama between you and Jiyong unfold. Jiyong just stared at you, looking at him nervously. There was one thing that was different about you. No matter how nervous you were at that moment, there was no fear in your eyes. You looked at him trustingly, knowing fully well that no matter how dangerous a man he is, he would never hurt you. Ever. Jiyong didn’t bother answering your question. Jiyong just stood up, leaned over the table, grabbed your face and kissed you. A deep, hungry kiss. All his longing, all his fears, all his worries were in that. He deepened the kiss because as he felt your soft hands gently caress his bruised knuckles and kiss him back, he realised that there was something he needed to do. He needed to meet his grandmother.

You were very surprised when you were pulled up from your seat and kissed like there was no tomorrow, but you kissed him back equally longingly. You had missed him. You had never stopped worrying about him. You were right. You didn’t know whether there was going to be a tomorrow. You kissed him until you felt like you had the feel of his lips committed to memory. Cheers erupted all around you, although the two of you were quite oblivious to it. Hanbin rolled his eyes, laughing at the two of you while Jongin whistled. Hanbin leaned over and muttered to Jongin. 

“Thank god the two of them are back together. I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re more annoying on their own.”

 Jongin scoffed. 

“Hanbin, I can see that you’re tearing up.”

Jiyong pulled away first, both of you gasping for breath. You blushed at all the hooting boys around you, some newer than others, but all equally determined to embarrass you. Jiyong didn’t even bother to acknowledge the hooting. He just turned to Youngbae and whispered something in his ear, making you look at him quizzically. He turned to give you a quick, reassuring smile before speaking. 

“Okay. Now that the merger is done, I have an announcement. I’m going to be away for a month. Youngbae is second in command. Don’t try to reach me unless it’s absolutely urgent.” 

Your heart fell. He was going to be away for a month. After everything. When you had just gotten back together. You had missed him so much. But you tried your best to not let your face fall, sticking a weak smile on your face. If he was leaving, it had to be important. You would talk to him about it in private. Everyone nodded except Hanbin. Hanbin was pouting when he said,

 “Who’s after Youngbae hyung?” 

Jiyong froze for a second, staring at Hanbin before sighing and answering. 

“Seunghyun hyung.” 

“After him?”

 “Daesung.”

 “After him?” 

“Minseok.”

 Minseok looked surprised while Hanbin’s pout deepened.

 “Hanbin, are you really going to make me list this out in order?”

 “Yes.” 

Jiyong glared at him and answered. 

“Then it’s Mino. Then it’s Jongdae. Then it’s Baekhyun. Then Chanyeol. Then it’s you. Then it’s Jongin. Then it’s Kyungsoo. Then it’s Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun. In that order.”

 While the others laughed at Hanbin arguing with Jiyong, you struggled to keep that smile on your face. Jiyong playfully glared at the rest of the room before grabbing your hand and walking out of the room. Your heart sank even more. He was going to say bye. He was going to leave again. You were staring at the floor, letting yourself get lost in your thoughts when he tilted your head up and beamed at you, the smile leaving quickly when he saw that you weren’t smiling. 

“What’s wrong love?” 

You bit down on your trembling lips and looked away, not wanting to make him feel worse. He gently cupped your face and made you look at him. 

“Talk to me Y/N. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 You took a deep breath.

 “I’m just going to miss you Jiyong.”

 He looked terrified. 

“Why? Why’re you going to miss me? Are you leaving me?” 

You stared at him confused. 

“No. You’re going somewhere, remember?”

 Jiyong’s brows knitted together in confusion before he laughed and pulled you into a hug. 

“Sweetheart, if you think I’m going anywhere without you after not having seen you for the past month, you’re in for a surprise.”

 It took a while for it to hit you, but when you finally realised he wasn’t leaving, you hugged him tight, burying your face in his chest. You looked up at him, confused.

 “You mean I’m coming with you on work?” 

He leaned in and nibbled on your ear, pressing a light kiss against your neck before saying,

 “No. I mean we’re going on a holiday.”

 Two weeks later, you lay down on the plush bed in Jiyong’s hidden away holiday home, buried under the blankets and wearing his hoodie, so utterly happy with how everything just felt right. You closed your eyes and buried deeper into the bed, enjoying the warmth of it. You felt the bed dip as you heard Jiyong’s sleepy morning voice.

 “Good morning love. I got you your tea.”

 He sat and was about to sip his tea when you crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, snuggling into him. Amused, he asked,

 “Do you not plan on letting me drink my tea?” 

You took in a deep breath, letting Jiyong’s familiar scent wash over you.

 “Nope.’’

 “Do you plan on moving from here?”

 Pressing a light kiss against his smile, you said,

 “Nope.”

 You stared out of the balcony. It was 3 am on your last night there, and you were lost in thought while you stared at the stars. That one month was magical. You had Jiyong all to yourself, and both of you sat and worked through the problems in your relationship. You knew you loved him. You knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You knew you weren’t scared of him. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t realise how windy it was until he walked out behind you, wrapping a blanket around you. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck. 

“Love, you have to be careful. You can’t stand out here in just my t shirt.” 

You turned around to face him, wrapping the blanket around the both of you. 

“Jiyong, you came out here in just your boxers. I don’t think you should be lecturing me.” 

He had this blissful smile as he kissed your forehead.

 “I couldn’t help it Y/N. I just needed to be out here with you.” 

You had the same blissful smile as you kissed him, letting yourself get lost in the kiss. He pulled away, suddenly looking nervous. 

“Y/N, I know we’re going back tomorrow, and I know I’ll get busy, but like we discussed, I promise I will always make time for you.” 

He paused to take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm down that rising feeling of nervousness in him. 

“I know you can do way better than me, and you deserve way better, but I promise I will always respect you, and I will do anything to make you happy. I’ve realised I can’t live without you, and I know this might be too sudden, and I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but you’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with and start a family with. So, Y/N L/N, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” 

You stared at him in shock for a minute, unable to comprehend what was going on before a single tear slipped down your face, and you burst into the largest smile you had in you. You nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, Kwon Jiyong, I would love to marry you.”

 Jiyong felt all the nervousness leave his body only to be replaced with an overwhelming, indescribable feeling of joy. There are no words for how he felt in that moment. And as he slipped on the beautiful ring his grandmother had given him to give you, he lifted you up and kissed you, knowing that everything finally felt right.

[brideofcthulhu10]

Could you please do something with the boys (poly or separate I don’t care either way) having a S/O in a wheelchair? Maybe a night out on the boardwalk or in the cave or just general fluff? I’m sorry I don’t have a more specific prompt

Sure thing! Don’t worry about being a bit vague, but due to the non specified S/O I’m going to be writing it as female. If that’s not what you prefer, please feel free to message me and I’ll be sure to adjust it.

Lost Boys with a Paraplegic Fem!S/O

David

When David first saw his little kitten sitting with a few friends in a group seat on the carousel he couldn’t resist the urge to sweep her off her feet. Well, apparently literally. When he offered a ride on his bike and you had to turn him down, it certainly threw him off. You were obviously flirting back! It wasn’t until the ride stopped that he saw why. 

It took two of your friends to help her off and gently she wedged into a red wheel chair. Alright he definitely wasn’t expecting that, but it didn’t seem to deter him. 

He’d ask how you came to be wheelchair bound, either by accident or just born that way. Naturally he’ll handle it with suave tact, sitting beside you watching the people pass around you. Any time someone stared at you he’ll shoot them daggers. 

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?”

“O-Oh! I’m sorry.... uhm.”

“Get lost.”

When you two become a couple, he refuses to allow such a simple thing like a wheelchair keep you from having fun. Yes. He said simple. When bursting into flames at the slightest light becomes the norm, very few things are seen as an obstacle to him.

He’ll have Marko carry your wheelchair while he takes you up flights of stairs or up cliffsides. You won’t miss out on what life has to offer while he has a say in it. You will see the wonders of Santa Carla, even if he has to carry you everywhere he goes. 

David doesn’t let on about his vampirism, at least not at first. As much as he loves to be one, it’s not a form he takes lightly. When you learn about it, at first there is that initial wonder of whether or not turning would give you your legs back, but David insists you wait. Savor your life, savor the sun. He was turned because he had no choice, his humanity was long gone by now. He promises when the time is right he will turn you.

Dwayne

Knowing you were in a wheel chair didn’t dissuade him from flirting with you at the record store. When he offered to reach a shelf for you he was impressed when rather than say yes, you hoisted yourself up with one arm while the other pulled down your desired product. 

Rather than dive into it, he’s not going to openly discuss why you’re in a wheelchair. It’s not his business. Or rather, it’s not for him to bring up. You’ll tell him when you’re good and ready. When you ask him if he wants to know, he always follows that with “are you ready to tell me?”

The night he reveals himself to you, you almost scream. But then.. he lifts you into the air. Of course it’s terrifying. More than that, you’re overwhelmed. It’s so beautiful above the clouds amongst millions of stars. The moon was massive, it took your breath away. He’d land atop the lighthouse, and up there huddled together you two would share your first kiss.

When you ask about what being a vampire could mean for you, Dwayne does mull over the possibility that you could heal. But you are a light to him, he’s not quick to throw out that he draws you into the darkness. More than that, he doesn’t think you need fixing. Dwayne doesn’t want to change you if it’s only to be with him, he wants you to really want this. But when you ask him if he would be willing to change you, he asks again “are you ready for me to?”

This time you really think it through. What it would all entail? Were you willing to leave everything behind, your friends, family, the sun? “Yes. I’m ready”

Paul

Whoa who’s the cutie in the tricked out roadster? Paul can’t help but fawn over you! When he first sees you rolling along the boardwalk he doesn’t hesitate to smoothly glide beside you and flirt up a storm. A few of your friends try to tell him to buzz off, but you humor him. It turns out to be the best choice you could have made. 

There is no way you’ll miss out on any rides. If the attendant hesitates to allow you on the roller coaster he’ll square up to them and demand you be let on. Even if you’re nervous he’ll hold you tight against him and promise if anything goes wrong, he’ll catch you before you fall. 

It’s no surprise that he’s defensive of you, especially when people aren’t aware of their surroundings. At one point he nearly starts a bar fight because a man spilled his beer on you.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” Paul hisses, grabbing the guy by his collar

“Tell your sports car down there to move out of the way next time.”

“What the fuck did you just say?!”

It took everything you had to convince Paul to walk away. He’ll just sit beside you outside absolutely seething, No one talks about his baby like that. No one! 

Its that same night you start to see his true form. Leaning over you can see his eyes illuminated white hot, with harsh red rings. Instead of being afraid, you place your hand on his. Paul looks at you and immediately tries to hide his fangs. But it’s too late, vampirism is out on the table. Even still you told him it didn’t matter, he was still Paul to you, not some vampire.

Paul is the first to suggest healing you, but this time you’re the one to deny. At least, not yet. Sure this has been hard for you, but you aren’t ready to leave behind everything just yet. But in his arms laying on the beach, you promise him when the time is right you’ll be with him, forever

Marko

Honestly he hadn’t even noticed you were wheelchair bound. You were too cute to not talk to that night. You were sitting alone beside the roller coaster line looking utterly miserable. Swooping next to you he asked what such a pretty face was doing looking so pitiful. Apparently the attendant felt that having you ride was a safety hazard. Nonsense! Marko insists you try again with him this time. 

Now the suggestion of riding with an utter stranger would come off as a bit dangerous to anyone else, but there was something so different about him that just made you trust his word. It seemed to work, because as soon as the attendant looked up at him, they changed their tune. They were even nicer than before!

He’ll introduce himself afterwards, treating you to a basket of deep fried oreos- his treat, of course. When you two click, it really clicks. He’s just enthralled by you, your life, how you’ve grown up with this. You were so strong and confident, he couldn’t help but admire it. 

He always came to the boardwalk at night. You tried inviting him to the library in the early afternoon, your favorite author was doing a signing then but..

“Sorry baby girl, no can do,” he’d sigh. His other friends seemed to keep distant as well, which made you worried at first that your new crush was already vanishing

But the others would warm up, especially his best friend Paul who would help decorate your chair. Flowers? You sure you wouldn’t prefer hot rod flames instead? Well, you’d settle for skulls and roses.

Finding out that Marko was a vampire wasn’t supposed to happen, and honestly he was worried you’d try to hide from him. But instead, you chose to stay by his side. The topic of turning has yet to be seriously discussed, for now he just wants you to live in the moment. To make it up to you he flies you to the very top of the hotel overlooking the ocean, wrapped in his arms. Using the rock box he’ll put on your favorite rock ballad, holding you up in his arms as you slow dance for the very first time.

[mimik-u]

Flower Child (Chapter 13): Blue (III)

Goodness, I'm nearly a year and a half late, but here we are—Chapter 13 of "Flower Child." First of all, I want to give my sincerest apologies for the delay... I mentioned this at the start of my fic "Facets," but the simplest and truest story is that my muse for writing Steven Universe and, well, writing in general petered out for a long time and has only recently returned. But, because it has recently returned, I wanted to begin to make good on a promise I made to you guys so many months ago—that one day, I would finish this story. So let's do this. <3 I'm ready now. 

(1) I read through the previous twelve chapters, lmao, and half-loved and half-hated my writing, but the point of that exercise, beyond getting acquainted with the plot of "FC" again, was to also do some quick grammar and flow revisions, so a few of the previous chapters should read just a little better than maybe they had before.

(2) Fun fact! Chapter 13 is pretty interesting because some portions of it were actually written over a year ago; it was an incredible challenge for me to work with what I had as a 2019 writer versus what I've learned as a 2020 writer.

(4) Someone asked on Tumblr a long time ago if there was a playlist I worked with in writing this story...

(5) And finally, and most importantly, this chapter is incredibly heavy, dealing with themes of suicidal ideation and extreme depression.

Please be cautious while reading if these are topics that are triggering to you!

i.

The shiny, black town car eased to a stop at the pull-through entrance of the hospital, drawing the gazes of passerby on the sidewalk. An older lady in a wheelchair, a group of what appeared to be college kids in scrubs, a scraggly-looking patient who’d obviously escaped the confines of his room to light a cigarette—they all stopped and stared as the back door of the overtly fancy car was pried open from the inside out, as a metal cane preceded a woman who quite looked like she needed it.

Blue Diamond unfolded into the light of day, trembling.

Because it was hard.

It was so hard.

To be here.

(To be.)

She wanted to collapse where she stood, dissemble and dissolve away one piece of herself at a time; she leaned heavily on the head of her cane and lit upon the sole pair of eyes that weren’t looking at her—or, really, her Lincoln. The man named Greg Universe stood next to the automatic doors with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the ground, all but boring a hole into it. When the sliding doors opened and closed at his backside, they appeared to be ripping into him, piece by miserable piece.

“I’ll call when I’m ready,” Blue murmured to her valet before shutting the door and slowly hobbling over to Greg.

Clank.

The onlookers glanced away as the town car drove off, resumed their lives and cared not for yet another broken person in their midst. The hospital was full of them as it was. Perhaps they were even broken themselves—very probably they were.

Blue Diamond did not care to know.

Clank.

I’m betraying her, she thought, she was always thinking. I’m leaving her behind. I’m betraying her. I’m—

Clank.

The clanking did the trick, catching Greg’s attention and only half-holding it. He lifted his head slowly and mustered a smile that must have been agony. It wobbled on his lips and very nearly disappeared in his bushy beard. It pulled at him—all over. He looked like a Picasso gone wrong, an abstraction of a man stretched too far.

“Hey, just in time.” He gave a shaky little laugh that rather sounded like a sob and then somehow kept talking, his entire physiognomy alive with his nerves. “Steven’s so excited to see you again. He hasn’t stopped talking about ya since this morning, which is kinda nuts because he was so tired yesterday, but this is a good thing, and so we should really go up and see him now because—”

She cut across him; it was a quiet act, a merciful one. “Greg.”

It was just his name, a singular syllable, a sound, but even that was enough.

Mr. Universe’s face fell into geometric disarray.

“No use hiding it, huh?” He half-wept, half-laughed again, scrubbing a hand over his face and bringing up his shirt to soak up what was left.

“No,” Blue Diamond whispered, her hands tightening on the head of her cane. “It’s scrawled all over you, I’m afraid.”

“Figures,” he said hoarsely. “I’m a mess.”

“No more than I am.” She pried one of her hands away from the other and gestured loosely at her entire body with a wry smile. “If you’re a mess, then I am a dereliction.”

It wasn’t a contest; it was the truth.

Four years of grieving had wasted her.

Blue Diamond was skeletal.

Broken.

Greg took this in and considered; his smile that really wasn’t a smile resolved itself into a quiet, aching sort of frown. It tugged his face downwards; it tugged at the hollows of her chest. She’d seen him only a little over a week ago, and yet today, he looked as though he’d aged a hundred years in the span of eight days. There were bags under his eyes and sunken dunes in his cheeks.

There was a little boy in a hospital bed.

There was a disease.

It was killing them both.

“How do I do this?” He asked the ground. “How did you—” But he stopped short; his breath hitched.

It was a highly personal question after all.

It was no short wonder that Blue’s cane didn’t snap beneath her grip.

“How did I do it?” She returned softly all the same. The slight breeze stirred the strands of hair poking out of her silvery braid.

Greg nodded mutely, the desperation in his face tangible. She could reach out if she wanted and touch his hurt, the very heart of it, and all of its dimensions. (She didn’t want to.)

“To be entirely truthful,” she murmured, “I’m not sure that I ever did.”

ii.

It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, and it was also 2:38AM, the very moment when a police officer had the audacity to come to their door and tell two mothers that their daughter was dead, gone, and never coming back. His expression was a gathering bruise, and his words were like bullets, striking right between the ribs.

Blue Diamond couldn’t breathe.

In the darkness, she sat on the edge of Pink’s bed and dragged every mouthful of air inwards like it was painful; her chest heaved with the awfulness of it, the punctured horror of leaking lungs.

Her child was dead.

Oh, God.

Her child was gone.

Why, oh, why, oh, God, my God?

And she was never coming back.

Goddammit.

In the coagulated darkness, Blue clutched her daughter’s favorite sweatshirt close to her chest; it was black and ratty, full of holes and little tears. A small alien logo perched on the chest, grinning up at her from depthless eyes.

They used to fight over this particular number.

Constantly.

“You’re a multibillion dollar heiress.” Blue would pinch the bridge of her nose and try not to raise her voice above an acerbic whisper. “Would it inconvenience you to buy some nicer clothes?”

Pink was unsparing in her retorts, wicked and witty, face upturned in a haughtiness to match her mother’s own. 

“Would it inconvenience you to get off my ass, Mother? It’s just a sweatshirt.”

“Pink!”

And on and on. 

The fabric was cold between Blue’s long fingers, still scented with Pink’s favorite perfume.

They were going to bury her today, mere hours from now.

Last week, they’d been fighting over this shirt.

On and on and never again.

The funeral… mere hours from now… less than three… but how could that also be true when it was only 1:52AM and Pink Diamond was coughing her last, strangled breath on a dirty pavement outside a bar on 9th Avenue?

Blue Diamond hadn’t been there, but she forced the words on the detective’s report to come to life in the theatre of her mind’s eye anyway. By the time the paramedics had arrived, Pink was all but gone; she gasped, and she coughed, and her brown eyes marbled in one final supernova of emotion. They tried to resuscitate her, but the damage was too extensive.

She’d fought back, the officer had said. (He thought it was a consolation to them.)

The proof was caked in her nails and scratched all over her arms, but it’d been three against one.

She was a lion, and they were men; she was a twenty-one year old girl, and they were men.

In the darkness, unraveling, Blue Diamond’s face dripped onto the sweatshirt, onto the alien smiling up at her with a black sliver of a mocking grin. She did not register—she did not care to register—the slow creaking of the door opening inwards.

Amber light strained from the hallway to find and reach and touch her but didn’t quite make it. 

Yellow Diamond was a shadowy figure in the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she scolded, and yet, she moved into the room anyway—the hypocrite—her sharp heels muffled in the carpet. Stiff and forbidding, she came to stand in front of Blue, arms crossed over her chest, a frown crossed over her face. “It’s not healthy for you, Bl—“

But Blue cut across her. It was not a kind act; it was a precise incision—cold and surgical—three inches long and just as deep. “Our daughter is dead, Yellow.”

The shadowy figure recoiled but did not bite.

Even now, Yellow couldn’t bear to be seen as vulnerable, couldn’t bear to give one damn inch.

“I know that, dammit,” she muttered to the wall. “Dammit—do you not think I know that?”

But Blue had no pity for her, no shred of any emotion left except for the vicious tangle of grief; it tangled in her fingers, which sunk deep into Pink’s shirt, and it tangled in her cold eyes, leaking down her pale face and salting her anemic lips.

“Then act like it,” she hissed.

The exhortation bruised the air.

It demanded a reaction.

On its hands and knees, it begged for a response.

And yet, the shadowy figure said nothing. She didn't move her clenched fists.

She could not face Blue in the eyes.

Coward.

Hypocrite.

(Mourner.)

(Mourning.)

She simply left, staggering out of the room on precariously high heels, and Blue simply stayed, conflating the hours and the days and the minutes.

Later that day, they buried their daughter in a mausoleum, a gazebo—in a cemetery slathered in golden sun.

iii.

Greg explained the details as best as he could on the way up to Steven’s room. It was hard to find him a kidney because his blood type was O negative, which meant that he would only be able to receive a kidney from a Type O donor. And though he’d been on the waiting list for months now, and though he’d recently been moved to the top of the list given his worsening condition, it was still anyone’s guess as to when a kidney would become available.

(“If,” he could barely choke out, “we can even get one at all.”)

After slowly making their way across an expansive skywalk, they finally arrived at a pair of double doors labeled Truman Ward. The sun pierced through the tall glass windows and lit upon Blue’s sunken face, and Greg’s red eyes, and her metallic cane, and his wobbling lips—as though it was doing them a favor by doing so.

Greg reached behind her and pressed a button on the wall, alerting someone on the other side to their arrival.

“Listen”—he ran his hand along the back of his neck as the doors slowly parted open in welcome—“I’m going to go back to the room for a bit and see if I can get some paperwork done. Feel free to stay as long as ya’d like. Visiting hours don’t end ’til eight.”

Blue stared at him. 

Every moment—every hour, minute, and second with this child was precious nowadays, and here Greg was, lending her time out of his own.

She felt the gift of what he was offering deeply.

(She could have never found it in herself to be so generous with Pink.)

“Thank you.” She swept a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I appreciate you allowing me to visit him.”

But he only shook his head and urged her through the doors with a pinched smile.

“If he’s happy that you’re here,” he shrugged, “then I am, too.”

And with that, he waved a last goodbye, and the doors folded to a close again with her on the other side of them.

Room 11037.

Walking became a monumental task as the clinically white hallway stretched out before her, lengthened by her mind, twisted and contorted into an obstacle she had to surmount.

It should have been just a hall.

Clank.

The memory of Pink burned bright behind her eyelids, stained there permanently by principle but stamped in starkly with assistance from the harsh fluorescents overhead. She was laughing, always laughing, in these flashbulb reminiscences, her freckles coalescing and then expanding across the bridge of her nose like the bellows of an accordion.

Clank.

But it wasn’t just Pink, though it always would be.

Clank.

It was Steven now.

Clank.

A ghost she chased, as opposed to the one who perpetually haunted her (who mercifully, who cruelly stayed.)

Clank.

But he wasn’t a ghost just yet, right? He was still here and still fighting—did that not count for something? Didn't his heartbeat, the very state of its continued existence, teach her to hope?

Clank.

But hope was such an awful word—so empty, brimming with meaningless sensationalism.

Clank.

(Maybe it was the vestiges of her long dead religion, but she wanted to hope anyway.)

Clank.

Hope was such an awful word.

Clank.

Room 11037. 

The door was decisively closed. 

A tall woman with bicolored eyes leaned against it, her dark lips corkscrewed into a frown.

Blue Diamond vaguely remembered her from the cemetery but couldn’t quite place a name. She could place an expression, though, and was surprised to name the one on this stranger’s face as disdain. Disdain rolled off this mysterious woman in waves, from the resolute clench of her jaw to the iron way that her arms were folded across her chest. It burned in her eyes. It seemed to languish inside of her, seething just under a facade of smooth skin.

She was a monolith of quiet loathing.

Blue squared her rounded shoulders in a manner she thought to be composed; her hands trembled on her cane nonetheless.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” She asked it quite politely, even as the walls were harsh and white around them. She used to command rooms by the authoritative nature of her voice alone, and now she struggled to keep it together long enough to face a singular woman in front of a singular door.

“It’s not you specifically,” the woman replied, impressively put together, admirably composed. If her electric blue eye was cold, the brown one simply burned. Both were bruised underneath with tired shadows. “It’s what you stand for. It’s about the morals that Diamond Electric doesn’t have.”

“You’re an activist,” Blue surmised quickly, almost flippantly. Activists were challenging DE all of the time, and activists were always losing. Before Pink… she’d largely assumed that these sorts of protesters simply had no logical case. After Pink, she had had much more consuming thoughts on her mind than petty lawsuits against their multibillion dollar company.

“A Crystal Gem,” she corrected tersely, “but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” Her gaze slid subtly to the doorway behind her, and Blue understood her at once.

“Steven,” she whispered.

The woman nodded.

“Steven,” she agreed, and her voice cracked as she said it, splintering into thousands of little pieces and struggling to regroup. When she swallowed to compose herself, it was almost as though she was swallowing the shards. “He likes you, and I can’t… I won’t begrudge him that.”

In the way that she said it, it was almost like she was convincing herself most of all.

“There is an implicit but there,” Blue parried softly. “You won’t begrudge him that, but.”

Again, the woman nodded, the gesture slow and measured, as though she was working something out in the tiny motion. When her squared chin came up again, her mismatched eyes were bright, intense with quiet pain.

“But don’t hurt him.”

It was a reasonable demand, but the implication behind it stung immediately and anyway.

She inhaled sharply and scrambled to defend herself, to salvage the punctured wound, but the damage was already done. Her voice came out more broken than it did cold.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” the Crystal Gem said, shaking her head. “Most people never really intend to hurt someone… but it happens. We get caught up in our emotions. We get selfish. We get distant. And then we hurt people.”

It struck Blue Diamond at that very moment that she hadn’t even deigned to ask the woman’s name.

“So, all I’m saying is don’t hurt him.” She unfolded herself from the door and stepped aside. “He likes you.”

iv.

Two days after the first anniversary of Pink Diamond’s death, a doctor shined a light in Blue Diamond’s glassy eyes and waited for a pupillary response. When he received one—an involuntary but nonetheless reactive blink—he unceremoniously clicked off his pen light and straightened up into the unfriendly darkness once more.

In the sparse incandescence bleeding in from the hallway, Yellow Diamond cut a shadowy figure by his side, her usually tidy hair rumpled from all the times her fingers had become ensnared in it that day.

Her tie was loose, and lines had already begun to etch themselves beneath those hawklike eyes of hers.

Soon, they would become permanent fixtures, marked there by time and age and grief.

For now, though, they were only suggestions.

Hints of what was to come.

(So many sleepless nights.)

(How many haunted days?)

“Well?” Though the CEO tried hard to strangle her voice into a whisper, the sharpness of the syllable was still the loudest sound in the room. Subtlety had never quite been this woman’s strong suit; she wielded her words as though they were gavels to proclaim on the heads of all who dared to cross her path.

“Catatonic depression,” the doctor replied, just as succinctly, replacing his pen in the pocket of his lab coat. “The staring, the lack of movement, the loss of appetite, the elective mutism. All textbook symptoms that point to the fact that your wife is still grieving, Mrs. Diamond. Frankly, I’m worried for her health.”

The shadow on his left scowled at this diagnosis, and she fidgeted, and it was apparent by these two idiosyncrasies alone that she was scrounging deep for some incisive rebuttal against the truth that laid like a breathing corpse directly below her. 

“Then what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?” Her voice exceeded its former intentions of quietness. “That’s the problem. Now what’s the solution?”

“Well, I admit her to the hospital and start her on an intravenous Lorazepam treatment. It’s a sedative. It’ll assuage some of her anxiety and relax her muscles to prevent spasming.”

“Yes, and then?”

They were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there.

It was a fair enough assessment.

“And then what, Mrs. Diamond?” The doctor stared at her incredulously, shoving both of his hands in his pockets. “With all due respect, I can treat your wife’s physical symptoms from sunup to sundown, but that’s not touching the heart of what is truly debilitating her. She’s grieving, ma’am, and she needs psychiatric treatment beyond what I can provide as a private doctor and you can provide as her spouse. We discussed this the last time I was here.”

“And the time before that—yes, I know,” Yellow Diamond laughed humorlessly, the sound half-mad in her constricted throat. “Because you stand there, like an imbecile, and tell me that there’s no underlying medical cause to this?!”

She jabbed an accusing hand at Blue Diamond, whose oceanic eyes were wide open and unseeing, silent tears slipping from the corners of them and falling sideways across her face. There was an untouched tray of food on her nightstand. There was a lankness in her unwashed hair. There were pill bottles accumulating like a grotesque collection next to the alarm clock.  

And there was an air, an atmosphere, an oppression of silent decay.

The funereality of it was undeniable.

An uncomfortable wooden chair stood next to the bed where Yellow Diamond had been sitting vigil for the past two nights since they had visited the cemetery on the day of the anniversary. 

Blue Diamond’s keening sobs had sliced the autumnal air.

Her daughter was dead.

Gone.

Never coming back.

She stared at nothing, it seemed to Yellow and the doctor; she languished in the visions of Pink that seized across her mind with every dripping second of consciousness. 

“Depression is an underlying medical cause, Mrs. Diamond.” 

The doctor’s voice softened. 

Minimally.

For the first time since the house call had begun, his lanky silhouette jerked a little, as though he wanted to place a hand on the CEO’s shoulder, but thought better of it upon seeing something forbidding in the other’s expression.

“And she’s tired, ma’am. You both are.” Look at you, his rust colored eyes seemed to say. You’re both historical wrecks to a long dead ghost. “You can’t take care of her alone…  moreover, you shouldn’t have to.”

But the doctor had finally overstepped one prying comment too far, and he must have known it immediately, because he took a step back from the golden eyes glowering at him in the darkness of that dusty bedroom.

Yellow Diamond’s entire face transformed, twisting itself into facets of shattered rage.

She was feral.

(Wounded.)

Apoplectic with fury.

(Grieving, she was inconsolable.)

Dangerous.

Goddammit, she was on fire.

“Do not ever deign to tell me what I can and can’t do when it comes to my wife,” she snarled, all pretense of quietness long gone, devoured in the hurricane of emotion. “Get out! OUT!”

“Mrs. Diamond, please—“

“I SAID OUT! OUT!” She shrieked, harshly shoving his shoulder with the flats of her palms. “GET THE HELL OUT!”

The doctor did not need telling again; he fled the room as the force of Yellow Diamond’s dismissal stoned his back.

Blue blinked slowly as a shaking hand suddenly clasped her arm in the wake of the carnage, the imprint of a steel wedding band carving itself into her flesh.

That hurts, Yellow.

She blinked again, the words swelling on her tongue and dying there unrestfully.

That hurts.

v.

The warnings of Steven’s guardian standing sentinel on top of her frantically beating heart, Blue Diamond turned the knob to Room 11037 and pushed inwards until the door reluctantly gave way to a sight she had forgotten to steel herself for in-between the guilt of moving on and the agonizing action of doing so.

Steven himself.

Dwarfed in a hospital bed.

A mere wisp of the boy who had sat with her on the balcony only three days ago and stuffed his face with little chocolate cakes.

Her prodigious mind working far ahead of her paralyzed body, she frantically tried to recall his text from yesterday, what it had said about his condition, if it had indicated anything about his current state at all. But he had only told her that he had passed out and ended up in the hospital again. The boy had said nothing about the extensive tubing and the wires that ribboned and scissored his entire body in streaming colors. Lines crisscrossed each other and tumbled over and under and around his blankets. 

She saw the bottom of an empty catheter bag at the edge of the bed.

And the bruises like angry embers pulsing up his arms.

Somehow, amongst all the other things she was absorbing at precisely the same time, she noticed that next to a vase of elegantly arranged sunflowers, there was an inelegantly arranged tray of hospital food.

Untouched.

He had texted not a word about the yellow pallor of his skin.

He had used exclamation points—exclamation points!—to indicate his excitement.

Blue Diamond could not shake the notion, the very absurd idea, that he had lied to her somehow, had drawn her here under false pretenses.

(This was not the truth. She had estimated at what she was getting herself into and crossed the line into getting herself into it anyway.)

“Hi,” Steven Universe said sheepishly, his cheeks flushing darkly. He was caught, and he knew it. “It’s good to see you again, Blue.”

The seconds dripped between them.

The heart monitor on the wall counted them out.

One…

Blue’s plump lips parted slightly.

Two…

Her hand shivered on the head of her cane until the sound of it rattled the clinically quiet room.

Three…

She couldn’t do this again.

She wouldn’t grieve for another dead child.

One had been too much—one had almost killed her. 

Four…

God, and there were still days where she wondered if it still would.

Without thinking, desperate for relief, Blue turned away and braced her free hand on the door, drawing in harsh, ragged breaths that scratched at her beaten lungs, that bled them anew until they were leaking.

Who was she to believe that she wasn’t falling apart at her seams? How delusional was she to hope that a boy with a flower would be the difference between her saving grace and her inevitable dissolution? Was she so naïve to overlook the contours of his illness and think that his determination would be enough to save him from the eternal truth of this world? Was she so weak?

Death didn't discriminate between the old and the young, the sinner and the saint.

Pink Diamond was only twenty-one years old.

Steven Universe was a child.

“Blue!” Steven pleaded. “Wait, please don’t go. I—”

“I cannot look at you, Steven Universe," she cut across him, her voice low and fractured. Hot tears stood in her eyes, suddenly blurring her hand against the smooth door. “I’m sorry, but I cannot bear to see…”

“Can’t bear to see that I’m dying?”

He didn’t just refuse to mince the word; he stabbed it into her back so remorselessly that she gasped sharply. She glanced down at her chest and half-expected to see it lodged there, poking out, her beating heart speared on its tip.

“People can skirt around the word all they want,” Steven laughed bitterly, “but there’s no other word for it… without a kidney, I’m gonna die soon, Blue Diamond. I’m dying right now. I think I’ve been dying all this time. And everyone… all they wanna do… is look away from me. Pearl, Garnet, my dad…”

He sniffed.

“They keep looking away, and I’m so tired of it… I-I’m exhausted.”

The door felt cold against her palm.

Icy.

On the balcony, two days ago, she accused Yellow Diamond of shoving their daughter away in a drawer with the rest of her useless items.

In an arctic hospital room, Blue Diamond was ready to consign a boy to the same grave her daughter was buried in… 

… but dead children couldn’t talk.

Dead children couldn’t be tired.

They were simply dead.

“So, please, Blue Diamond… please don’t look away.”

The seconds dripped between them.

The heart monitor on the wall counted them out.

One…

Her eyes were wide with the horror of everything, of it all, the senselessness, the depravity, the nihilistic revolutions of this awful, uncaring world.

“I had a daughter once,” she whispered to the door. “Her name was Pink Diamond, and she was… she is… my everything. She had a smile wider than this planet could ever hope to contain… and she very much liked to laugh.”

She had never talked about Pink to anyone other than Yellow before.

Even evoking her name felt like blasphemy.

Two…

A second passed, and no lightning fell from the sky to strike her dead; she supposed her own self-flagellation was the punishment and the eternal damnation alike.

“I looked away. Yellow and I both did. She wanted more from life, and we wanted to contain her life into… into a little box that could fit on the shelf with all our other trophies. She was our accomplishment, you see, our legacy.”

Three…

Blue Diamond’s hand fell away from the door, so she could bring it up to her mouth in a futile attempt to dam the sobs that racked her shoulders.

Four…

“We looked away. The night that she… she—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word aloud. She wasn’t brave like Steven. “We thought she was in her room, and I didn’t tell her that I loved her that night because we had argued… I thought I’d get the chance the next day or the day after that because we argued all the time. It was normal for us.”

On and on and never again.

When was the last time Blue Diamond had said those three words to her daughter?

These past four years, she had scoured her brain for the answer, but the answer was as elusive as the phrase was from her mouth.

For the simple truth of the matter was that she hadn’t said it very often.

In all her vast intellect, she had always assumed that it was assumed.

Implied.

Understood.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

I love you, she could have said.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

I didn’t want you to, she would have replied then. I wanted you to collect dust with all the rest of our awards and certificates. I wanted you safe, where I could see you. I wanted to quantify the entirety of your life and itemize the particulars. I wanted you to always be mine.

I love you.

I looked away.

An oxymoron.

A tragedy.

Five…

“So if I look at you, Steven Universe,” she murmured, screwing her eyes closed tightly against the pain, “really look at you, then I have to face that truth again—that I loved someone once… and I looked away… and now she’s… gone.”

And that was the immutable truth of the matter, the conclusion she circled around to no matter how many times the Earth continued to revolve away from the day since Pink Diamond had last existed on this world.

Four thousand revolutions later, and this would still be what it came down to in the end.

Her daughter’s blood was on her hands, staining them crimson, veining her lifelines with the guilt and the awfulness and the unbearable, crucifying shame.

And her daughter’s blood cried out, You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

And every time she so much as looked at her own palms, that was the only echo she saw written across their hollows.

Those last words.

Unanswered.

Unfinished.

Undoing and undone.

Six…

“But… I’m not gone yet,” Steven argued softly. His voice fought to be heard over all the machinery keeping him alive. “I’m here.”

He must have moved because blankets shifted somewhere behind her.

Dead children didn’t move.

Dead children weren’t here.

They were simply—

Seven…

Eight…

Nine…

Ten…

Do it, she commanded herself.

Look at him.

But Blue Diamond was frozen, and she was statuesque; she was a calcification barely anchored on the foundation of her cane. One false move and she would crumble entirely. 

The safest bet on her own survival was to limp away and dare not look behind her lest she turn to salt and dust. 

Someone else could clean up the carnage.

That woman who stood at the door—she’d do it—Greg Universe and the boy’s other guardians, too.

Don’t hurt him, that same woman had also said. He likes you.

Eleven…

Twelve…

Thirteen...

vi.

It was wash day. 

For nearly a year and half after Pink Diamond died, Yellow would force Blue out of bed every few days for a bath or a shower—usually a shower because it was becoming increasingly hard for the CEO to lift her wife in and out of the tub.

Today was a tub sort of occasion, though.

Date night with the Diamonds.

The presence of death was always with them, though, an intrusive third wheel.

With a slight groan, Yellow lowered herself into the warm water behind Blue, steam rising around their naked skin like curling smoke. Once upon a time, this used to be a favorite pastime of theirs, a chance to reacquaint themselves with each other and their bodies… but now the gesture was simply hygienic in purpose, asexual and quiet.

It was always quiet in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite these days.

Silent.

“Is it too hot?” Yellow asked, her voice as gentle as she could wrangle it. Somehow, at the same time, it was still edged with the trappings of harshness. “I can add some cold water?"

She waited briefly for a reply that would never come.

Blue stared limply at her knees, pulled up awkwardly as they were to her chest. Her sensitive skin had already reddened in a couple of places where it was touching the water. There were pink fingerprints wrapped around her armpits where she’d been handled into the tub. 

“I think it’s too hot. You’re getting a rash.” A well-manicured hand flashed out from behind her ear and knobbed the far left tap. There was a quick murmur and then the steady hiss of cold water.

“There,” she humphed satisfactorily. “This’ll feel better.”

The running stream answered its assent.

Blue Diamond did not say a word.

She hadn’t in days now, maybe even weeks; time was irrelevant to her, and the words would not come. 

There was only a dullness in her head, numb and numbing, like an icy compress coiled tightly around her thoughts.

Yellow didn’t think so, but this was better than the alternative; this was the far superior solution to the problem, the pain, and the pervasiveness of the ghost who was their daughter Pink Diamond.

Because when the analgesic of her own catatonia faded, and some of the feeling tried to seep through, her chest would unfailingly tighten, a vice squeezing hard upon her weary heart.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her child was dead.

“I…” 

The sound came from behind her, guttural and choked, as though the speaker was fighting hard against the noise and losing the war.

“I’m so tired, Blue.” 

It was an admission, and it was a copout.

Both of them knew that Blue Diamond wasn’t registering a single word.

She heard them—yes, this was true.

But they came to her—they landed softly—like distant echoes; she did not feel the pain of them, the visceral agony; at the present moment, she did not even feel her own pain, the grief and the scalding water and the grief.

Because it was always the grief she was trying to repress.

Everything else was just ancillary.

“You don’t know, goddammit, you can’t know, how exhausted I am.” Yellow Diamond’s voice shattered in the tub.

And her entire body hitched.

As though to keep that from breaking, too.

“You exhaust me, Blue Diamond. You exhaust me every single day. And you don’t even know it, goddammit. Who are you? What the hell have you become?”

The question was delivered to her backside, where it slipped down her tall, curving spine and into the water, splashing there with the delivery of the tap. With a violence that was almost cruel, Yellow reached from behind her again and flung it back into an off position.

There was quietness then.

It was so still, that it was disquiet.

It was always quiet in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite these days.

Silent.

Blue continued to stare blankly at her knees.

There were red patches on her skin.

Her child was dead.

After a moment’s hesitation, her breath heavy on the back of Blue’s long, slender neck, Yellow Diamond gathered her silvery hair gently in one hand and grabbed the comb on the side of the tub with another.

She was careful as she maneuvered its teeth through damp, lank strands.

She always was.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Blue.”

That was what Blue Diamond’s note would say merely a few months later.

I’m sorry and I’m sorry and I’m sorry.

Love always, Blue.

But that was the crucial thing, wasn’t it?

Sorry was not enough; love was not enough.

Because if love had been enough, Pink Diamond would still be alive. 

vii. 

In a hospital room pierced through with golden sun, Blue Diamond turned around and faced the light of day, her heavy braid swinging along with the slow, deliberate motion. 

She wasn’t looking away, Steven Universe.

She was staring straight at him—at his sunken face and his tubing and at the catheter bag and at the sunflowers.

The boy was dying, but he was not yet dead.

It wasn’t much.

At the very least, though, it was something.

He was not gone, even if he was going.

He was here.

In this moment, in this very ephemeral second.

The heart monitor on the wall attested to that; it counted his heartbeats; it pleaded with her to have hope.

(Hope was such an awful word.)

“Those are beautiful flowers,” she whispered. Her cane clinked against the tiled floor as she carefully drew closer to observe them better.

Their petals were tall and spiky, assaulting the air with attentiveness and regal magnitude.

They vaguely reminded her of Yellow.

With a light finger, she tried to prop up one that was beginning to droop beneath the weight of all its brethren, but the moment she withdrew her touch, it fell again, sighing listlessly. 

Poor thing.

“But not quite as pretty as that hibiscus you bequeathed me.”

Steven’s eyes, edged with the trace remnant of his tears, were wide and dark, full of velvet and silvery stars.

“You don’t still have it, do you?” He asked, incredulous and rather pleased.

He played a little with his hands on top of his blankets. 

He tried to tamp down his hope for an affirmative with an unconvincing casualness.

Blue Diamond’s smile bruised her lips.

“I placed it on my nightstand, sweet boy, so I could look at it everyday.”

It took a second, but the irony of that word choice was not lost on either of them.

viii. 

Yellow Diamond placed the failed suicide note on her nightstand for Blue to see and know that she saw. They didn’t talk about it afterwards.

How could they?

What was there to say?

It remained there for a few days afterwards, shriveled and guilty-looking next to the alarm clock; every time she opened her eyes, she would see it and feel its quiet condemnation. She would close her eyes against its glare and wait for sleep or numbness one to wrestle her into the dark. 

One day, she woke up, and the paper was gone again. 

The realization drew a frown across her wrinkled face.

When she thought about getting up to search for it, and mustered the appropriate will to get out of bed, apparently, many days had passed in the interim.

A month.

She only recognized this upon surveying her bathroom on her way to the toilet; she couldn't find her shaving razor anywhere.

One night—the day, the month, the year undetermined in the abscessed haze of her mind—a dull ache throbbed through Blue’s hip, growing in intensity and sharpness with each passing second that she laid on the wounded area.

There was a part of her, not entirely inconsequential, that invited the pain. For after all, suffering was the only victory the woman had left in the entire world; she wrestled with it nightly, and she embraced it. She made it her new lover and exchanged an oath that only death would do them part. She didn’t shoot herself, or cut herself, or swallow a handful of pills that would surely do the trick.

She laid on her bad hip and convinced herself that she deserved it.

But that night—whatever night that it was—the agony was unbearable, pulling at her all over.

With a groan that wasn’t voluntary, Blue wrested herself into some semblance of a sitting position and looked for her phone so that she could call Livia for an ice pack, but it wasn’t on the bedside table as it usually was… and since it wasn’t in its usual position, she had no clue where she had last left it.

If she wanted relief, she would have to brave the kitchen herself.

She wanted relief, and the guilt of it half-immobilized her.

So she sat there for a couple more minutes still and endured the stabbing ache before finally coaxing herself upwards into the dark night of the bedroom. 

Assuming her cane in one hand, Blue crept silently towards the door and out of it, where the hallway stretched out before her like a cavernous tunnel, all the lights extinguished. 

Even the telltale glow of lamp warmth that usually emitted from the study across the hall was gone out, which meant that Yellow had likely succumbed to sleep on the couch within. 

A twinge of something bothered Blue’s sternum at the thought.

She limped forward anyway and all the same, lifting her cane off the floor to keep from making noise; the wall was her guide in its stead, the pads of her long fingers moving along its smooth planes until she reached the end of the archway, where she immediately intuited that she wasn’t alone.

In the moonlight that wept into the living room through the tall windowpanes, Yellow Diamond was a stark figure sitting on the edge of the couch, leached of all her color. Her blonde hair, her silky pajamas, the leathery musculature of her corded neck—all of it was leveled by blinding whiteness.  

Illuminated.

Vulnerable.

Exposed.

When her wife swallowed, she could see every line in her powerful jaw working through the peristaltic motion. 

In the shadowed hallway, Blue Diamond stood still, even though the sharp pain in her hip demanded attention.

For this  moment, this night, this moonlit haunting did not belong to her—even though most of them usually did.

She understood, somewhere in the mire of her own head, that to disturb this scene would be sacrilege. So she watched, and she waited.

Yellow Diamond was holding something between her sharp, angular hands.

With a jolt, she realized that it was Spinel, a stuffed pink cat who had been Pink’s favorite companion once upon a time. Her left ear was still stained from the tea Yellow had once accidentally dripped on it during a princess tea party.

Washed it though they had—several times over—the spot was stubborn; Spinel had been permanently marked.

“S’okay, Momma,” Pink had only said, grinning up at them both from gapped teeth. She had hugged the toy to her chest. The affected ear brushed against the side of her freckled neck. “That just means she’s one of a kind."

Yellow’s fingers were wrapped around the cat’s plush stomach tenderly; she stared at it from depthless, ancient eyes. 

It struck Blue Diamond—then and there—that she wanted something more from this vignette; she wanted Yellow to say something. Selfishly, she desired a confirmation for what she had already so trenchantly inferred.

She wanted, she desired, she longed, she needed to know that her wife was broken, too.

It was a horrible hunger, an itch that felt terrible to scratch.

But Blue Diamond was voracious.

Sometimes, maybe even oftentimes, she could be cruel.

After a long while, though, Yellow Diamond only placed the cat down on the coffee table and stared out into the irradiated night with her hands templed below her sharp chin, lost in silent thought.

She looked older than she ever had in all of their collected years together.

She was only fifty-four.

ix.

They talked—for a long while—as the sun slipped away from the sky, sunset coming in fragments through the slats in the window blinds. 

Blue Diamond held Steven’s hand, the one that didn’t have so many IVs in it, and rubbed smooth circles against his wrist.

“Pearl does that, too,” he smiled at her softly through hooded eyes when she began. “It’s nice.”

They talked about everything, and they talked about nothing.

He told her about his favorite show, which seemed to be about morose breakfast items from what she could vaguely surmise, and he talked to her, very quietly, about his disease.

It was rapidly progressing, far more quickly than his nephrologist had anticipated.

“Those chocolate cakes we shared on your balcony,” he admitted with the air of a child waiting to be scolded, “I may have accidentally puked them up in your toilet. Sorry..."

“It’s of no consequence,” she returned with a small, sad smile.

And this was very well true.

She wasn’t the one who had to clean it after all.

They talked about everything, and they talked about nothing.

Blue told him about the sunrise yesterday, how all the colors had seeped together in a swirl of delicious color, and she talked to him, very quietly, about Pink.

“In the best of possible ways,” she mumbled, the sound caught in the column of her throat, “you remind me of her sometimes. She smiled at everything, even when there wasn’t exactly something to be smiled about.”

“That’s a very pretty way to put it.” Steven wriggled a thumb from beneath her palm to stay it against the side of her hand.

“Yes,” she nodded gently, “I suppose so.”

When it was time for her to leave—a team of nurses had come in to administer Steven’s evening medicines and check his vitals—she pressed a kiss against his forehead.

Very light and very soft.

“You didn’t look away,” he whispered against her cheek as she withdrew. His breath was sickly sweet with disease. “Thank you, Blue.”

She froze, meeting his eyes.

There was hesitancy, and there was consuming grief.

The scribble of guilt.

Scrawled all over her face.

“I wanted to, though,” she breathed. “If we're being technical... if we're being fair... I think the impulse counts against me.”

“But you didn’t.”

Steven’s chapped lips tilted into the beginnings of a smile.

“And that’s what matters, right?”

She brushed a stray curl off of his clammy forehead and thought about Pink and Yellow and all the things she did and didn’t do.

She loved them.

She looked away.

“Yes,” she told Steven Universe. 

Yes.

x.

Alone, Blue Diamond slowly crossed the skywalk, her silvery hair crowned in all the colors of the sunset, a phone pressed against her ear.

Her cane struck the tiled floor with each shuffled step forward.

Clank.

The dial tone droned rhythmically—bzzt and bzzt and bzzt.

Clank.

She felt her heart work its way up her throat, clambering up its fleshy rungs. The immensity of what she was doing transformed her nervous system into a network of beating, pulsing neuroses.

She was ready for this, and she was not.

She could do this; she half-hoped that she wouldn't receive an answer.

Clank.

And then—

“Blue?” Yellow Diamond’s low voice threw its instinctive panic across the line. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Because this was new.

And yet, achingly familiar.

So many years of having not sought Yellow out—all those weeks, days, and months—were well-established patterns that were not easily overturned and undone.

All those collective hurts—hundreds of them, thousands.

Four years of misery sat between them like four hundred thousand miles.

Blue Diamond swallowed thickly, stopping dead in her tracks as the spillage of people continued to swarm all around her like a package freed of its contents: doctors and patients and sundry other visitors. She was the eye of their storm, and yet, she was just another broken person in the midst of so many other broken people. She was separate from them, and yet, she was their intimate kin. The contradiction seemed untenable, unworkable like all the rest.

Her fingers tightened on the head of her cane.

“I’m… I’m fine, Yellow,” she began. “Please don’t worry. I just had to… I wanted to tell you something. Are you busy?”

On the other end of the line, somewhere in a giant, yellow skyscraper at the edge of Empire City, there was the sharp intake of breath.

And the hesitant beginnings of a fearful reply.

It was a start, though.

And that was what mattered, right?

Yes, Blue Diamond thought to herself.

Yes.

[companionjones]

To Get Better (Part 3)

Requested by: @closetedgoth8

Request: Hi! I loved that resident fic, could there maybe be a part 3 where they can get the kid treatment, or the gang fights the ‘evil’ doctors to get the kid actual treatment?

Fandom: The Resident (FOX)

Warnings: Surgery reference, fight reference

1 // 2 // 3

*******

    “Good morning,” Conrad greeted cheerily.

    Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was Dr. Hawkins. You responded by saying his name and repeating “Good morning to you, too.”

    Conrad smirked as he leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up onto your bed. “I get to watch you today, so what do you want to do?”

    “There’s not much to do, Dr. Hawkins. I’m stuck in this room, remember? No one’s allowed to see me or else I could be sent back to those evil doctors.” Your disappointment in your confined situation was shown clearly on your face, so you turned it away from the resident.

    He brought his legs down, and leaned closer to comfort you. “Hey, don’t be so upset.” Conrad took a breath, and it looked as if he was using it to deliberate his next inquiry. “...Do you want to go for a ride?”

    At first, his question puzzled you. Your concerns were put to rest, however, when Conrad helped you into a wheelchair and began pushing you down the hallways of the hospital.

    “But what about the evil doctors?” you wondered.

    Conrad laughed, “Stop calling them ‘evil.’ We’re not in some story where we’re heroes fighting villains. And as for the ev...idiotic doctors who are after you...Well, looks like we’ll just have to be careful with avoiding them.”

    The day spent by Conrad wheeling you to visit all of your friends throughout the hospital. Your first stop was the ER. Thankfully, it was a slow day. Devon and Irving showed you around the department, and you even helped diagnose a patient. Irving, who found out about the secret that was you later than everyone else, was impressed. He said that after you got better, and maybe completed some odd years of medical school, then a job would possibly be available for you in the ER at Chastain.

    Next, Conrad took you to Mina. She was preparing for a surgery with Dr. Austin. AJ was an interesting doctor. Apparently, Mina had told him of you, and AJ was in full support of Conrad’s deceptiveness toward Bell. Another thing about Dr. Austin was his clear-as-day egotistic personality. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you found AJ entertaining. You happily called him by his self-dubbed nickname, “The Raptor.”

    To return your kindness, Dr. Austin invited you to sit in on his surgery. It was a routine procedure, so it was likely you wouldn’t see anyone die; and AJ also promised that the observation gallery would be empty except for you and Conrad, so no one would find out about you. Although there was a small complication during the procedure, the patient turned out fine. The only cost was the concern on your and Conrad’s end. Ultimately, you were glad you were able to watch the ordeal.

    Your time with Conrad was winding to an end for the day, so Conrad started taking you back to your room. The person watching you for the night was going to be Nic.

    “Hey! What are you doing with them?!” A burly man yelled at Conrad from the end of a hallway. He was one of the doctors that favored racking up your medical bill over giving you actual help.

    Conrad wheeled you behind himself. “My job, Dr. Stevenson,” the resident firmly notified the approaching agitated man. “This is my patient.”

    Dr. Stevenson angrily corrected, “No, this is my patient that you stole from me!”

    “That doesn’t matter,” Conrad’s voice suddenly got very low. “What matters is you would rather watch a child get sicker over ending up with less money in your pocket.”

    Hawkins didn’t get a verbal response. Instead, Stevenson wound up his fist and went to take a shot at your friend.

    “No!” you shouted out of fear.

    Conrad easily dodged the punch. He twisted Dr. Stevenson’s arm around the offender’s back and pushed Stevenson against a wall.

    “Wait!” You called out to the resident. “Conrad, stop!”

    He didn’t respond, Conrad was seeing red.

    The commotion was drawing the attention of other personnel. You could tell that they were all viewing Conrad as the bad guy.

    “Alright, everybody! Back it up!” came a high-pitched but authoritative voice out of no where. “I’m Dr. Bell’s personal assistant and I say that there is nothing to see here!” A boy appeared. He seemed to be in his very early twenties. Despite that, he was putting on the best show of power that he could. However, he wasn’t very good at it.

    You had to hide a smile at how out of place he looked.

    He tapped Dr. Stevenson’s shoulder. “Bell needs you right away.”

    Stevenson rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”

    Conrad let him go. “If Bell needs you, then Bell needs you.”

    “No way I’m leaving you with the child,” scoffed Stevenson. “You’ll just hide them away again!”

    Dr. Hawkins shrugged, “I don’t know, man. It sounds like Bell really needs you.”

    “He’s by OR-3,” the boy informed.

    Dr. Stevenson glared darkly at the boy, then the resident, then you. He stalked off toward OR-3.

    “Dr. Hawkins, you better get going now, because Dr. Bell definitely isn’t looking for that guy,” the boy chuckled.

    Hawkins looked confused, “How do you know my name?”

    “Oh, I’ve heard stories about you. It’s how I knew you were trying to do the right thing in that fight that just happened. You’re always trying to do the right thing.” The boy introduced himself upon seeing Conrad’s still-weary eyes. “I’m Grayson. Grayson Betournay.”

    Conrad seemed to be put at ease. “So, you actually are Bell’s assistant.”

    Grayson was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. “You’ve heard of me?”

    “I’ve heard the name of Bell’s assistant,” Conrad clarified, a little amusement in his voice.

    You giggled.

    Grayson nodded. Realization that he may have been acting like a fanboy was hitting him. “Right. I’ll-uh-just let you two get on with your day.”

    “Thank you. Oh, and Mr. Betournay?” you called as he was walking away.

    “I’ve never been called a “Mr.” before. It sounds so official,” he noted childishly.

    You laughed again at the boy’s antics. Then, your mood changed, and you nervously asked, “Could you keep me a secret?”

    Hawkins continued for you, “We’re trying to get Y/n better, and the only way to do that is for no one to know we have Y/n, especially Bell.”

    “You have my word, sir.” Grayson saluted.

    The resident chuckled, “Conrad’s just fine.”

    As you started to be wheeled away, Grayson looked as if he had just been bestowed the highest honor. “Thank you, Conrad.”

    You and Hawkins were both holding back laughter as you rolled away.

    “So, eventful day, huh?” commented Conrad once you were settled back in your makeshift hospital room.

    Nodding, you admitted, “I want to see The Raptor again, and Grayson was really funny.”

    Conrad agreed, “He was. Maybe I could bring them to visit you some time.”

    “Dr. Feldman, too?” you wondered.

    Conrad smiled, “Feldman, too.”

    “Great!” you celebrated. “Maybe he could teach me more about the ER.”

    “Maybe,” Conrad chuckled.

    There was a knock at the door. It was Nic. “Hey. I heard the two of you had quite the eventful day.”

    Conrad nodded, “We did. Y/n, how about you tell Nic about the new friends you made. I’m going to head out and start my rounds.”

    “Okay,” you smiled. “Oh! Conrad?”

    Hearing you say his name turned him around.

    “Thank you so much for today. I really needed to get out of here.”

    He smirked, “Any time, kid. Anytime.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics on The Resident over on my page. You should check it out. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I take requests for preferences, headcannons, drabbles, and one-shots. No smut requests, please. If you’re wondering if I write for a specific fandom, feel free to ask me. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[bittersweetmelxdy]

Prompt 60 Victor plz?

so I usually write all my headcannons and scenarios that are set in ‘present day’ as part of the bittersweetmelxdy writing universe, where each of the love interest exist in their own separate universe where all the scenarios and headcanons are connected to the other. But I couldn’t fit this one in the rest, so assume this one exists by itself :), Hope you like this dear, I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time.

Title: a calm before the proverbial stormPairing: Victor x MCWords: 1,417

Victor had woken up that morning in a state of calm, something that would not last throughout the day unbeknownst to him. He rose at his usual time, kissed his wife on the temple before rising to complete his morning routine. He then helped his wife out of bed, checked his schedule and emails, whilst she got dressed and then he carried her down the stairs to the kitchen, to prevent any accidents whilst she was heavily pregnant. Setting her tenderly in a rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen he then was about to leave, when he heard some sniffing behind him, immediately he whipped his head back around to see what had hurt his wife.  

“Wait! Where are you going?” your tears welled up in your eyes, and Victor’s felt a sharp pain in his chest at the sight of your pitiful gaze.

“Just to the kitchen.” he reassured, “you’ll be able to see me.” he then pointed at the counter that was clearly in your sight range.

“It’s too far.” you sobbed.

“Dearest, it’s not-”

“Victor if I say it’s far! it’s far!” you were on the verge of sobbing due to your irritation

Victor drew you into his chest and rubbed your back, which somehow only made your tears come worse. Feeling helpless, he just drew you in a little tighter, taking care of your pregnant belly, and hushed your sobs whispering soft words into your ear. Until your sobs subsided and you simply just sat and breathed deeply.  

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I don’t mean to be like this, but I just can’t.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and your fists clenched tightly in the back of his shirt.

“No, no dearest, it’s fine.” Victor slowly extracted you from his frame and then he eased you into a standing position, escorting you gallantly into the kitchen, “But maybe you are a bit too far for me to look after.” Victor took your bright beaming smile as his reward for his solution to your pregnancy-induced mood swing.

While he made breakfast for the two of you, he snuck glances as you set the coffee machine on for him, and then reached for a cloth to continue to clean the surfaces of your already spotless kitchen. He smiled as he watched you furrow your brows in concentration, if the doctor hadn’t mentioned that this behaviour was sometimes exhibited by expectant mothers, he would have been really confused at your new-found mysophobia. The doctor had amusedly told him when he had fussed over you about this, that sometimes some mothers take to “nesting” as their labour date draws closer and closer. He was told it was nothing to worry about, and that if anything he should indulge you in your behaviour and allow you to “nest” happily. You hadn’t caused too much chaos in your day-to-day life; it was mostly just excessive cleaning and moving around pillows and blankets in order to make the place more comfortable for yourself. Victor would just let you be, secretly enjoying how hard you were trying to make your home more friendly for your coming child.  

The smell of breakfast being finished, is what stopped your cleaning spree, Victor watched as you sniffed twice deeply before waddling your way to the table and easing yourself into a chair awaiting Victor with both of your breakfasts. Victor snorted once, and you immediately glared at him in response.

“Stop laughing Victor, it’s not funny, I can’t walk.” You pouted at him.

“I can’t help it dummy.” Victor placed the plate in front of you and as you tilted your head in anticipation towards him, he rewarded you with another kiss to your temple, withholding his thought on how adorable you were.

Breakfast passed without much fuss, Victor filling you in about his schedule whilst he watched you fondly munch away at your stack of pancakes that were literally covered maple syrup and bananas. He was lucky that your pregnancy cravings hadn’t been too crazy, the baby mostly just craving sweet foods, their favourites including kit-kats and strawberries. Seeing as you had always had a bit of a sweet tooth, this was a game Victor was definitely a pro at, knowing plenty of recipes to satiate your urgings. Victor loved watching you eat what he cooked, and you being pregnant meant that he could impress you even further with his culinary skill.

After breakfast, despite his refusals, Victor eventually bowed out and let you wash the dishes, choosing to instead to gather both your belongings to place them by the front door. He then helped you to the car and carefully drove you to LFG. Seeing as your office was closed for the day, Victor didn’t want you at home by yourself, so he decided that today he’d look after you himself.

Arriving at LFG, Victor settled you into his office, letting you place your belongings where you saw fit, as also using the blanket Victor had bought for you earlier, to nest yourself onto the sofa in the office. After a parting hug and kiss, Victor went about his day, working in his office and answering phones calls, periodically checking on you throughout the day to make your safe and happy. You had felt a few cramps and twinges, but you didn’t want to worry Victor unnecessarily, so you passed it off and didn’t let him know. However, it was when he finally left his office that things took a turn.

It was halfway-through the meeting, just as Victor was about to ask the company’s representative about their financial projections for the project, when Goldman burst into the room breathless. Victor raised his eyebrow at his assistant and Goldman doesn’t even bother to work around to tell him discreetly he just panted out the news that both made Victor’s blood run cold and sent him into fight-or-flight mode.

“Y/N’s water broke, she’s gone into labour.”

The whole room was so quiet, as Victor stood up abruptly, didn’t even gather his things and barely remembered to utter a “meeting adjourned”, before rushing back to his office to see you. You were sat, exactly where he had left you, and were breathing deeply, hands on your stomach. Victor sat gingerly next to you and placed a hand gently on your back, rubbing it in smooth circles to calm your already frazzled nerves. Looking up at him up offered him a tired smile and another contraction caused you face to twist in pain and your head lolled forwards, Victor scrunching his brows and resting his forehead against yours, as he listened to Goldman tell him that he had contacted the ambulance and they were on their way.

The paramedics helped you into a wheelchair and wheeled you down into the ambulance, Victor being allowed to ride in the vehicle to the hospital. Following them as they wheeled you into the delivery room, Victor’s heart contracted watching how much pain you were in. Once in the room, you latched onto Victor’s hand, squeezing it to the point of pain, as the doctor told you calmly to push.

“This hurts so much. We have to use condoms next time; you can never plan this pain as much as you plan for the baby!” You were almost screaming in pain.

“I thought you were the one who wanted a big family.” Victor tried to tease.

“Victor, don’t give me that smart attitude this is to-” you stopped speaking to give another painful push, “this is totally your fault.”

“Wholly and completely dearest.” Victor tried to placate you.

“Just another push Mrs Li, we can see the head.” the doctor told you.

You turned to Victor tiredly, “Victor I can’t, I just can’t…”

“You can, my brave, brave girl, I know you can.” Victor reassured you, and finally after one final push that nearly caused you to pass out, as your consciousness began to blur, you were greeted by the glorious cry of a small baby.

“Congratulations Mrs Li, you have a beautiful baby girl.” the doctor smiled, cutting the umblical cord, and you wearily smiled back, having already given birth to the afterbirth, watching as they left to clean and weigh the baby.

Victor brushed the damp hair from your forehead and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, as you continued to slip in and out of consciousness, “Sleep dearest, you deserve it.” and your world faded as you finally succumbed to sleep.

[grim-faux]

17 - Prometheus Lies

More of the floor had fallen due to rot or fire higher up on the stairs.  I nearly missed it in my climb, I was still taking the steps as I flicked the nightvision on and stumbled upon the gaping tear.  It was a large jump and I had my doubts about being able to drag myself up on the other side, given the slick tile, but no other options were available. This time I made sure the camera was secure in its pack before I put my back against the cool plaster and steeled myself for the short sprint.  Focus on the leap, on footing, don’t hesitate—

I hit the edge of the floor with my middle and gagged, I couldn’t see in the shadows where I would collide with the splintered wood.  I recovered and was able to get my elbows under my chest and hoist up.  My chest ached, as did my bad arm, nothing new.  Had to keep going, couldn’t stop, never again. Soft glowing candles decorated the broken shelf across from me.  The usual message Follow the Blood was painted on the wall above them.  I leaned through the gate examining the closed in surroundings, a gate on my far left looked locked.  Probably was.  A lone battery had been left to me between the candles wax drippings.  I took it feeling very little gratitude to my ‘benefactor.’ It was like being given a brick in this place.  Or a flashlight.  Didn’t help much but to keep me going. I paused as I glanced to the darkened hall at my left.  I thought…could’ve been ‘Farther’ Martin.  But I didn’t linger to certify this, blood was marked to the dark hall ahead.  I adjusted my hand under the cameras strap and took my time, in no hurry and with no drive for my current objective.  I wasn’t certain where I was headed, only that I was in another one of the numerous and indistinct corridors.  In a room someplace nearby, someone was shrieking as though their skin was peeling off.  I shuddered, but felt no other sentiment toward the matter.  Too preoccupied with that tingling in the back of my skull.  I was anticipating the horror that awaited my presence but it never ceased to terrify me. Blood was brushed across the floor curving to the right.  Follow the Blood. However, there was still a stretch of corridor to check ahead.  It wasn’t worth the trip at any rate, the corpse of another patient with his head nearly twisted off his shoulders, the air rich with copper, and a door boarded up.   Disquieted, I returned to my marked path and found the floor there wrecked by the fire, a light hung from above enabled me to store my camera away.  I inched closer to the wall, the boards underfoot reduced to charcoal and dusted with white, creaked as I moved to the edge.  A door sat nestled in the wall on the left, with the faint traces of blood marked on its sides.  There was very little space to press my heels back onto, and maybe I just didn’t give a damn how dangerous this stunt was on the unstable remains of floor.  But it was my path and that was all my mind had locked onto.   The light overhead flickered occasionally, but its illumination remained steady.  As I inched along, a shirtless patient began to patrol on the floor below bumping into walls despite the light and smashing his fist against doors.  I grimaced as I moved, the path was not as stable as I had hoped and shifted under my weight.  I didn’t need to fall down there with him. When I was directly across from the door, I braced for impact and leapt, hitting the ledge and freezing when the splintered wood punched into my chest.  My coat absorbed most the impact, but I still lost my grip and slipped backwards.  I barely snagged the edge with my hands and dangled, below the patient sobbed something about his shadows, I really couldn’t jot it down.  The wood lamented my weight and creaked, I held on for dear life trying to decide what to do. It wasn’t really up for debate.  I growled between my teeth and pulled my body up as much as my arm would allow, then swung my leg up over the burnt timber.  I fit my heel onto a little notch that held my weight, enabling me to lift myself parallel with the side, until I could get my elbow over.  I scooted the rest of the way up until I had cleared the edge, and rolled far-far from it.  I had to pause and catch my breath and let my muscles a moment to loosen.  I felt the familiar spreading warmth in my backside.  Damn. Maybe next time I should just drop and run like a bitch. I jerked up when I caught a flash of static, light flooded the next room.  I regretted it and winced as my ribs pulsed.  Damn it.  I heard thunder and chalked it up to the fierce weather that raged on outside. The room was large but cluttered by all manner of bed and furniture, most stacked in the center as well as along the walls.  I paused when I cleared the doorway, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.  It felt like someone was watching me, though I couldn’t – could not detect a physical presence of any sort.  The room was empty aside from me, and silent, the soft patter of rain outside hammered on the thick glass as my heart thudded in my chest.  The feeling wouldn’t leave and I was wary to travel further within the labyrinth of disorder, fearing something inhuman would lunge out at me and shriek as my brain erupted inside my skull. I moved towards an open area on my left, crouching low and peering over the confusion of beds and mattresses.  My battery was already getting low on power, I had to watch it and would probably need to change it soon anyway.  Nothing was on this side, the shadows the nightvision couldn’t penetrate revealed no hidden eyes, no shifting shapes.  Absolutely nothing living. I moved around the support pillar off center of the room, rising to my full height and slipped forward, ready to bolt at the first hint of movement. The floor shifted beneath me, I turned the camera down as the boards gave a horrendous groan and I fell.  My spine jolted between my muscles when I hit, and I twisted in a stunned mess on the floor.  Right in my ear something shrieked and I turned over in time to see that hazy form dart overhead, at the outskirts of the NV.  I rolled aside and crawled behind a pillar, before I peeked out to watch it glide out of sight. It was gone.  Whatever the fuck it was, it was gone.  It could come back.  I had no sick desire to move around too much and draw attention, but I was becoming aware of the small room I was in and its lack of doors.  And escape. I moved away from the pillar scouting the open area visible.  It was identical to the floor above, I’m sure, but less clutter, more boarded up doors and windows.  A few items had been abandoned, a table cart and some bed frames stacked.  I pressed my palm to the side of my head while examining the blocked double doors.  This was one of many I had passed in the burnt out corridors, either those that had been locked inside had escaped, or there was nothing here to begin with. On the floor around a sequence of stacked bed frames, lay rotted wood and masonry.  I lowered my arm to peer up the way the shape had flittered, and saw a large hole where the floor had collapsed.  Maybe patients had been trapped in here, and they found a way out? The NV was dimming, I had to stop and change that before I could secure the camera and climb up.  I was detecting a pattern here. It was nice to actually grip something smooth for a change rather than the splintered and rough floor surfaces of lately.  I hopped up to the ragged floor boards and pulled the camera up before climbing onto the floor.  The camera wasn’t necessary, light flittered through the murky windows, allowing my eyes to perceive some of the dark edges.  More beds discarded, empty of mattresses and patients.  I kept low as I slipped towards the obstructions, trying to see the odd flickers just beyond the perception of dark, lights that flashed behind my eyes without the storm.  That odd vibration in my muscle.  Maybe I just wanted the paranoia, maybe I wanted the delusions to be true.  It felt more real than my current predicament.  Most of all, I feared what I was thinking. I stopped when that churning sound occurred and felt myself quiver.  There was nothing, I told myself.  The room was empty as far as I could see, I was seeing things.  I wasn’t seeing things.   Or was I? It sounded like scratching, or subtly rubbing.  Over and over, in a constant rhythm until I wasn’t sure if I was still hearing it or if it was the sound in my ears.  I let it drone on and ignored it as I ventured around the thick pillar near the hole, and scanned the cameras visor for movement, eyes.  A lone wheelchair sat beside the gaping hole I had fallen in.  A few feet beyond it was a small connecting hall, with light cutting through the dark shapes I imagined shuffling around.  Blood had been splattered along the floorboards, I shut off the NV to confirm the crimson hue before pushing the next door open. Somehow this room seemed darker, the shadows pressing on the NV range and giving me a feel for claustrophobe I was not accustomed to.  I took a few tentative steps forward testing the depth of my view, the black veil gave and retreated as I pressed further into the room.  Beds upturned, blotched with dried blood.  Overturned desks and rushed shelf stacking; I took the open path along the wall at the left.  On one of the beds beneath a shattered window, boxes had been dumped, more scattered files lay about the crusty mattress.  I gave my perimeter a short glance before poking through what remained of the damp pages.  I pulled out one file with two names that seemed familiar, couldn’t remember where I might’ve read about them. (Excerpt from the diary of Shirley Pierce, Mount Massive Mental Hospital Patient, 1952-1964) How can I not remember where the cuts are coming from?  They hurt so deeply, even days later.  Doctor Newhouse tells me that it’s my fault, I’m subconsciously resisting the hypnotherapy.  But I want so much to get better, I don’t know how I could be doing this to myself, Dr. Newhouse says it’s another condition of my bedroom-inspired hysteria.  Poor Bruce, I make him suffer so. I’ve tried, subtly, to ask Mrs. Jackson if she’s had similar “issues” with her husband, but she is loathe to talk about it.  Her husband, too, has found comfort in a younger woman. I know the doctors mean well, and with the help of the government men who’ve joined the staff, I am in the very best hands possible.  I should just take my pills and sleep, and hope for more pleasant dreams tonight. I was unmoving for a time, unaware that I had been standing a full minute holding the side of my ear.  The date on the page.  That date barely came to me.  That was long ago.  Long-long ago.  I reread it a few times before it finally began to sink in.  God, I’m an idiot. Mount Massive was shut down in the early 70s.  Miles, you fuckin idiot.  How did I not see this sooner?  It was staring me right in the face.  Right in my face.  Murkoff came along and ‘reopened’ it.  What was I reading again? She was committed to the Asylum from 1950 to 1960, before Mount Massive was shut down.  But they were doing experiments before then.  I didn’t need to linger on the subject any longer. I lost my train of thought as I knelt beside the bed, staring at the page.  I was certain of what was in this note, but I couldn’t focus. Was that what the patients meant when they talked about sleep therapy?  I thought this over carefully, ignoring that buzz in my head.  The Whistleblower said ”Sleep therapy going too deep.” The experiments were happening before Murkoff came along, the government was involved before Murkoff commissioned Dr. Wernicke.  Was I just blocking this information out?  Everything that was started here.  Could this go any deeper?  The Hypnotic transgression to alter individuals thought patterns, and the Project named Walrider for those side effects?  It seemed to lock together, yet the same old holes remained in my theories.  Murkoff never started this.   I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  One mass hallucination.  Nothing more.  And I was buried deep in the center of it seeing what the patients saw, feeling what they felt.  For them it was real, and for me it felt real.  Too real. I lowered the camera and pressed my forehead into my palm.  A massive hallucination.  That was all it was.  But… hallucinations didn’t tear people to pieces.  Had I really seen the MHS cops murdered?  I was drugged at the time, my recollection wasn’t the most credible. I stood off the bed and continued around the room, passing between stacked beds and mattresses.  They must’ve been storing all this away when Project Walrider took its wrong turn, they butchered up most the patients and needed to put they vacant beds someplace.  What a grotesque thought. Even though some of them did NEED to die, they were still human beings.  I think.  I had no idea what the female patients were like, aside from the one transgender I had come across.  I hadn’t had the privilege thus yet to run screaming from a woman.  I’m such a man. Another small connecting hall appeared to my left, but the door that would lead to the next room was blocked by something large and unmovable.  I couldn’t budge it with my weight and gave up to resume my path to the front of the room. The sunken outline of smashed out double doors loomed ahead, and a corridor beyond that.  I hastened my steps, but jerked to a halt when that dark shape drifted by.  I recorded that - I SAW THAT!  That was no hallucination!  NO!  You can’t tell me I didn’t see that! I backpedaled around the corner, until I toppled backwards over a table cart and lay staring up.  That buzzing in my head was getting obnoxious.  If I didn’t think about it, it would dissipate somewhat, but it was there at the back of my mind scratching at my thoughts. I sat the camera on my chest and pulled up the most recent recorded file and played back the last few minutes. Yes!  A clear shot between frames, as it was at the center of the door.  I stared at the image trying to make sense of what I was looking at.  It looked….almost skeletal and corporal, at the same time.  Like black dust, or a statue carved from obsidian.  I could almost describe it as beautiful, if my mind were not so fractured. Time to go.  I pulled my legs off the overturned cart and stood.  It was going to the right, maybe I should try the left.   The hall extended a distance and took another left.  Double doors sat in the corridor to my right, but as with many doors they had been boarded up tight.  I blinked as I turned, and felt a searing blaze of light behind my eyes as though I’d been hit.  I didn’t understand it, I knelt to my knees and waited for the pain to subside, it didn’t actually hurt.  Felt like the memory of a hard punch, like when Trager beat me out of the dumbwaiter, I was shaking all over again and my breath came labored. Anxiety attack.  Just an anxiety attack.  Not shock, just relax, deep breaths, get it under control Miles.  I was in a bad place for this, I was totally exposed and if a patient happened upon me I would be done for.  Get it together, deep breaths, rhythmic breathing.  My chest felt like it wanted to splint open, and I dropped the camera beside me as I fell over.  The dust tickled my nose but I kept trying to drag myself back into focus, my left leg went numb.  Just anxiety, not shock, not heart attack.  I’d know if I was having a heart attack. The pain in my head died somewhat and the feeling slowly returned to my leg.  Good, good.  Get up and move, walk it off. I fumbled in the dark for my camera and picked it up.  I half expected a face to be staring right in the visor, it was almost a shock that there was none.  I pushed myself up and resumed walking. Chairs, broken beds stacked, more doors tempting but going nowhere.  On the wall there was the occasional dark arrow, still seeping with the fresh lines of its making.  I took another left, coming to realize I was going in a circle if this route endured.  Some open double doors, at least I was still headed somewhere, and apparently I could not have gone in the wrong direction.  A few feet away the flicker of candles caught my attention, yes, I was going the right way.  Though I think I could’ve come the other way, and still reached this place. This door would still be here when I came back, the blood stained arrows were still running thick lines down the plaster.  The door left ajar, inviting me. It could wait.  I crept slowly down the corridor, always aware the thing could be at any turn and suddenly spring from nowhere as though from thin air.  The hall took a right and a ways down I could see light, wavering from an open door. Inside was the mother load of files.  Shelves stuffed with boxes, and binders full of notes.  Boxes stacked around the room, many had been torn to pieces, some still had scraps of folders and pages littered everywhere.  None of them looked complete, exerts from Frankentein’s Monster, and more letters from family to patients and vice versa.  Some of the pages I handled felt brittle and were yellowed with age, a few dates on letters read as far back as 1950.  On the wall was a cross painted in blood and the familiar word in bold LIE The red was fresh, it still trickled down around where a trash chute was set into the wall.  My shoes squeaked on the tile as I checked down the opening, then proceeded to go through the boxes. “I recognize the handwriting.  Father Martin killed a man here.  Are the “LIES” he’s talking about all the files missing from these boxes?  The facts?  The records?  They look like government agency material, at least thirty years old, probably older.  I start thinking MKULTRA, CIA.  Mind Control.  The buzzing won’t stop.” There was a file about patients claiming to see a Dr. Wernicke in their dreams, though they had never known a man by that name.  There was a file of one individual that screamed so much his tongue and throat had swollen, and he had perished.  Another about a violent individual that had eventually died from blood loss when he had worn the skin from his fingers away, and tore his entire face off. I started feeling sick, I wanted to stop and sit down, rest a moment.  But I couldn’t.  There was no telling what lay ahead, everything was coming together now.  Or maybe it was the feeling I was having about this place, the hallucinations.  The whispers. I returned to the marks on the wall, the door left ajar encouraging my progress.  As I moved forward to push it open, someone shut it from the other side.  I drew my hand back.  Was the door now locked?  No, it couldn’t be, this was where I was supposed to go. That just sounded insane. I took the handle, it turned easily in my mutilated hand, and I pushed the door open just a bit.  My movement wasn’t unheard by the occupants of the room, and I cued in on soft foot falls just before they entered the range of the nightvision. The twins! I slammed the door shut and pulled the little cart with the candles on it and put it between the door and I.  Why I did this, I’m not sure.  I took a few steps back as the door opened and the first twin gave the small cart a baffled look before he scooted it aside with his machete. I took the hall I had first come down, through the double doors and paused to look back.  The twins stepped into the hall, glancing one way then the other.  I crept behind the corner and watched, they couldn’t see me I was certain but they knew I was here, or someone was here.  The candlelight, they might have seen me standing in the doorway! One twin began down the opposite hall, while the other turned and moved in my direction.  They were going to corner me like they tried in the caged hall, but this time there was no window for me to use to get around them. They were counting on me coming this way, with no other option but to follow the Priests blood trails.  This didn’t hardly seem fair, but I wouldn’t get a word in edge wise if I was caught.  I might still beat them back to the other room, but it didn’t change the fact I had to get by them to that door and with the two of them patrolling, it was only a matter of time before I was caught. I ducked aside when the twin reached the open double doors.  I needed a way to get around them, someplace to hide and double back. The stacked beds I passed.  I dropped down and scooted under them until my shoulder was to the wall.  My camera was getting low on power again, damn.  Why now? I held still as the bare foot falls grew louder with each step.  I shut the camera off and tucked it into jacket, gritting my teeth hard when the fibers caught on the remains of my index finger.  At least the bone was exposed only on that finger, the camera and loop somewhat protected it in my travel.  I shut my eyes and focused on the sound of the brittle wood as the twin stalked past.  Couldn’t see me, couldn’t know I was here.  I exhaled a low breath when his steps faded down the hall, and I began a count once I could hear them no longer. One-one thousand.  Two-one thousand.  Three one-thousand.  I was still counting as I slid out from under the bed and moved towards the door, and the candle light.  Four one-thousand.  Six one-thousand.  A sharp pain filled my skull as the candlelight clashed with the NV.  Couldn’t pause.  Keep moving.  Eight one-thousand.  Nine one-thousand. The door to the room was left open, I could barely make out the extending edges through the failing nightvision.  I entered and flung the door shut, all the time keeping by the wall and straining to pick up early warning I heavily relied on.  I couldn’t gamble that the other twin was unaware of my intentions, and would still be out to corner me off at his brother.  With the door shut I was more likely to hear of their return. Now it was impossible to see through the visor, I had to fumble and get the batteries switched out before proceeding.  It was another room identical to the previous ones I cut through, the few items of furniture scattered about, broken night stands, beds along the far wall.  I crept around the thick pillars, wary of what might be lurking. A door to the side of the room was jammed in its frame, another on the opposite side gave false hope.  Through the window I could see broken wood and the dusty tile on the floor far below.  I tried the handle out of habit, locked.  It didn’t matter, there was no visible way to climb down.  I pressed my palm to my head, the stress caught up to me as the revelation hit.  I could easily die if the twins returned this moment, and I had still not gotten my shit together.  Keep moving, keep moving.  Where didn’t I check yet?  It was obvious enough. The back of the room?  I moved close to the wall and the windows.  It sounded like the storm had lessened for a short while, but boards nailed against the wall made it impossible for the meager amount of light through.  The joining corridor was on the right side, and the door beyond open.  Boards had been torn away allowing chunks of light through, enough to pick out the jagged floor where the fire had eaten through the wood.   The wood protested my weight but the structure seemed stable enough for my weight, at least where the damage was not as sever.  Each gap of ruined floor was a distant, I couldn’t tell from a glance what sections were solid enough.  I tried not to think of it either. I sprang forward clearing the gap easily, the floor creaked under me and I tottered as wood snapped and clattered somewhere below.  Needed to stay sharp, none of this floor was stable.  For now it held. I crossed to the corner where the fire had done ‘less’ damage, and maneuvered around a bed as the wood groaned, warning its lack of patience with my weight.  The wall beside me had burnt out, leaving the skeletal remains of the framework within.  I leaned against it certain I saw something at the edge of my vision, something there without the NV.  There was comfort in my dependence of the camera, a trick of the light.  A voice reverberated from the floor below and I moved the camera over the demolished room, seeking its source. A bright beam flashed over me and I met eyes with ‘Father’ Martin.  “Only God needs be so mysterious.  Be patient, hold faith.”  As he spoke he turned away, looking across the edge of a gap of where he stood upon.  I couldn’t be sure, but I doubted he was speaking to me.   I moved on, reinforcing my resolve.  I needed to get out of this area, with the twins geared to hunt me down.  They wouldn’t hesitate to gut me on the spot, and I felt in my deepest fears that they wouldn’t kill me before they went to work.   Shuddering, I edged myself onto a thin path that ran flush with the wall, I had very little room for my feet but the edge felt stable enough.  The ruined timber moaned as the structure shifted under the malicious storm, it sounded like the whole place could topple at a wrong move, yet still it stood.  I used the NV to make sure that I was scraping onto a solid surface, the charcoal was black and blended with the shadows.  The floors center between the support pillars was still intact, not a big surprise.  Another break in the floor separated me from the next door, by a distance I was leery to attempt jumping, but I was certain that I had leapt farther previously this evening.  There was no easier way over. Lamps undamaged by the fire gleamed down, revealing the tile floor of the room below.  I focused on the door trimmed by light, wide open and inviting with only the ominous abyss of dark beyond.  I would have a moment to gather myself before I pushed resumed.  The floor didn’t seem stable enough on my island, I shuffled near the edge and tested the thin boards.  It made quite a bit of noise, but it felt solid.  Maybe made from a different wood, from whatever comprised the asylums charred sections?  I clicked off the NV and put some distance between myself and the edge, then dashed forward and threw myself out over the fissure. I hit the other side with more force than anticipated, the wind gushed out of my lungs and my arms hit the boards.  Hard.  I didn’t have a chance to inhale, my body began to slip backwards.  I panicked and slung the camera out of my grip a safe distance and braced my hands and elbows against the splintered wood, sweat trickled into the corner of my eye obscuring my sight.  I think I might’ve snapped a rib. It sounded like it.  Or was that the floor creaking against my weight?  As I pulled myself up, the board snapped and I fell catching the next piece with my hands.  A streak of light flashed through my eyes as my ragged finger tips locked into the timber.   The whole floor was falling! I clambered up, kicking and clawing for a stable grip, and finally got my torso over the edge in time to witness— My camera!   My camera was skidding backwards, off the slanting floor!  No!  I shuffled along trying to reach it before it fell.  Visions of it hitting the black tile, dashed into a million pieces of plastic and metal.  All my evidence!  My only source of light in this shit hole!  I reached, scratching it with my remaining fingertips as it tipped, then flipped jolly like over the edge.   Down, down, and down it went.  Everything in slow motion as I was stuck up here, watching it get smaller and smaller, the further it descended.  Any minute now, a millions pieces scattered everywhere.  You wouldn’t be able to tell what it was in the first place.  Scattered to the far corners.  I’d never be able to find them all and put it back together. But it didn’t scatter.  I watched as it bumped against a board, and held my breath, right before it hit the other side of the floor above a thin black hole.  Then, vanished into the dark abyss.  I reached for it.  I could still feel it in my hands, solid and comforting.  This couldn’t be happening.  It was in one piece but it was gone.  Fuck!  Why didn’t I secure it?  Why didn’t I remember to protect the damn thing?  It was gone forever and I was the one to blame.  Fucking idiot, Miles!  Your life is over!  The damn camera was the only thing keeping you— The floor whined as the boards gave out, and a piece clattered hollowly in the open room.  I shifted, dragging myself up just as I saw the door to a room below swing open and a dark figure creep into view.  Shit! Another panel snapped away before I had latched onto the next, and I was hanging by my hands snarling as hot needles pulsed through my fingertips.  GET UP THERE MILES!  I clawed my way up as the floor crumbled out from under me.  I dug my fingers into what I could reach and braced myself, launching forward as everything under my feet snapped free.  I was running on literal open air as the ground dissolved under me, I dove into the awaiting doorway and locked my hands on the frame as I spun about, to witness the last of the floor break away.  I took a few deep breaths, and gazed at the open door with light pouring through.  No evidence of the prowler below, I’m not sure if it was a twin or someone else hunting me. I was still shaking when I turned to the dark corridor awaiting my trespass.  I had become so dependent on the camera, the total blackness was like a wall I could never pierce with my conviction.  Memories of those inexperienced cavers returned to my thoughts, how they had been lost for days before they succumb to hunger and thirst. How do you get lost in a cave?  The darkness is disorienting, and even when you feel you must be turned in the right direction, it is impossible to be sure.  You can run in circles for days before you realize you’ve been in a room of nine by nine. I didn’t stand a chance navigating the dark totally blind, while the patients strolled about, conditioned to the dark halls that was their world.  Aside from all the evidence I could not afford to lose.  It would be better if I died trying to find it, rather die getting beaten to death by something I couldn’t identify. The ruined floor echoed a strange sound as the wood settled, almost like the shriek of a dying man.  I pondered it, as I pondered how to go about locating my camera.  I reviewed my recent progress through the asylum, deducing if I returned the way I came I would not be able to access the floor below where the camera should be.  That was not considering the twins, I didn’t doubt they were still hoping to stumble upon me in that section of the hall.  I wiped some sweat from my eyes, and recoiled at the blood soaking my palm. Oh god! After scrapping some of the fresh blood from my hands, I picked my way down what remained of the floor.  At least ‘if’ I returned, I could still climb up easily.  Small miracles.  There was no sign of the creeper, this made me uneasy.  He could as easily have been a spy for Father Martin, as he could have been one of the violent lunatics that’s only purpose was to shatter skulls.  He had to have come from somewhere, I doubt he came from the floor above or had a way up there.   This was all speculation, I had no reason to believe there was a way to access the lower floor through here.  I planned to turn back if it became too dangerous, or if there was no visible way to progress.  I don’t know which way I preferred more. The room was dim, light pouring through broken windows offered miniscule guidance, cutting dark lines over the beds and furniture that looked jammed into the space.  I heard no sound, nothing to indicate a living body present.  The path on my left was packed high with bed frames, to my right was a space I could slip through.  I didn’t want to attempt climbing over anything unless I absolutely had to, my hands were shaking against my sides.  They felt hollow and light without my camera.    A flash of lightening pulsed from the windows, I crouched down when I though there was a shape peering over the shelves on my right, but it was already gone before my eyes adjusted.  It felt like the ringing was getting louder, maybe my heart thudding harder in my chest.  I crept along listening to the sound, trying to blot it out with thoughts of the mountains.  How calm the night had seen before the storm.  I climbed over a bed and scanned the front of the room as it brightened with a blaze from the windows. Shadows raced back into place as the light died, I thought eyes were staring back at me but I didn’t have the NV of the camera.  Couldn’t be anything there.  Just the noise in my head making me feel like there was something that should be there, but couldn’t be. My camera.  Think about that for a bit.  Where would it be?  Fell through the floorboards, would be on the floor below here if it didn’t shatter into a million pieces.  My quest seemed lost, everything I had been through, everything that I had witnessed was on that camera.  I would go completely insane, and they’d find my body with my last words scrawled into the notebook and they’ll scratch their heads, no clue of what the hell happened here.  What horrors were witnessed. The camera will be there, in one piece, because I will it to be so.  With my fuckin mind! Bed frames and shelves.  They filled the gaps on either side of me as I moved towards another set of open doors.  It amazed me how comforting furniture could be in a place like this.  It looked like the doors had been blown apart, I couldn’t find where the other had fallen.  A sound startled me, the clatter of timber as something came down hard on the floor above.  I knelt down and listened to the noises of footfalls overhead, silt trickled down getting into my eye.   I blinked it out then checked beyond the doorframe, a soft whimper wheezed out of me at the black veil that greeted me.  I would get lost forever and die of hunger, or get beaten to death by someone in the dark.  By a shape in the dark. My spirits were lifted when the frail light spilled from a crack in the wall.  I crawled to it, on my hands and knees, and peered inside hearing water running from somewhere.  Another shower room.  Lockers had been torn from the walls and stacked in odd areas, some were left along the floor.  I tested the stability of the plaster that blocked me, and found I could tear the chunks out.  Enough that I could easily slip myself under. I entered and stood up and made my way along the side of the room that was open, and into the shadows that devoured my form.  I used my less torn up left hand and set my fingers on the wall feeling where I was going and tried not to get turned around, but my fears were unfounded, the wall gave way to the other side of the washroom and a light blazed from the ceiling. I checked a few of the stalls that would open, confirming there was no one hiding, nothing to surprise me.  The drum of the water intermingled with the buzzing in my head, my body quivered despite how dry the top layer of my coat had become.  It was bone quaking trembles, stemming from my muscles.  I needed to shut the water off, stop the insistent white noise.  I tried to figure out how to work the faucet, but the valve was snapped and spun uselessly in my grip. Beneath the spout was a tear in the floor, the wood exposed under the tile and something under that.  I went to the next stall over, the door taken somewhere left the access open for full view.  Inside was a large hole to the level below, and where my camera must be. I dropped down onto a plank of wood, and felt the hollow vibrations of lockers through my feet.  For a moment I listened and waited, that had been loud.  The drum of water above enveloped my senses, I few droplets of icy water splattered my neck.  Along the ceiling the thick pipes transporting the water crossed, thick calcite had formed along edges where water seeped.  Rather wait and confirm my isolation I crawled down onto the next floor. It was a sizable closet to store supplies and some furniture.  Everything had been dragged out into halls and used to board up doors, it was empty but for the lockers gathered into the center of the room.  I walked around it before I located the door, it was a relief to escape the consistent sound rattling my mind.  I gave no consideration to someone waiting outside, how reckless I was being.  I didn’t care.  I peeked out into the dark hall. The edges of a broken bed came into focus, the light from the closet didn’t tread far but the glow of another lamp did reach around a corner some distance away.  It was impossible to tell with the wall of black.  I opted to follow the light for now, until I needed to get lost in the dark.  I’d save that as last option if I could.  The hall that cut right was too bright for comfort, I lingered by the wall briefly, the light didn’t extended far.  Beyond the shadows bars were stacked, or bed frames, silhouetted against soft light a large window.  I really wanted to know that lights origins. I climbed over a broken bed frame and listened, as the crackle of thunder and the flash of static illuminated a figure darting across the room far ahead.  It looked like he had some destination in mind, but I wouldn’t just stand at the edge of the shadows and wait for him to come this way.  Couldn’t be certain of what I saw, I wasn’t confident in the stability of my mental faculty. A door boarded up on my left thudded as something hit it, or fought to get through.  I picked up the pace before they could get through while I was there.  Those boards had held all through the shit storm, there was no reason for them to give now. Light pulsed through the bars of the beds stacked at the end of a hall, cutting me off from the room.  But I was certain the figure I’d seen had been there as well.  A hall was to my left with light spilling like cold silver between the bars of a gate.  It was too far up out of sight, I couldn’t see where the light filtered down from. I hesitate when I thought there was a voice, or someone mumbling.  I listened, trying to get past the ringing in my own head.  The silence without the constant drum of rain on windows to drown out my thoughts, made the walls vibrate with a resonance of silence that was almost as thunderous as the sound of clatter.  No longer could I hear the voice, but it was probably my paranoia diluting my senses.  I was on high alert and couldn’t shut myself out. As I neared the corner, leaning forward— A man lunged out at me snaring my neck and bad shoulder.  I gave half a yelp as the air was cut off in my throat, the man yelled in my face and shook me.  My vision buzzed with static as he applied pressure, I couldn’t decide which was hurting worse.  The blood flow had been severely hindered by his grip on my neck and my ears started ringing.  I slapped my hands down over his elbows and struggled to pull his arms off, get them unlocked as he pushed forward nearly causing me to topple.  When I fell it would be all over, I wouldn’t have the leverage to throw him off.  I didn’t have it now. When I reached my limit, I knew I couldn’t take much more of this, I dropped to my back on the hard tile and somersault backwards.  The patient, placing all his weight against me fell forward.  I jammed my foot into his stomach and propelled him along as he tumbled over me.  Weak and stunned, I rolled aside not prepared for what would come next.  I only heard the man climb to his feet and dart off screaming about the coming and Billy.  That went well… I coughed into the floor until my throat reformed, the cold and dusty air of the Asylum a welcomed return. I was still rubbing the soreness out of my neck as I CAUTIOUSLY ventured into the next room.  I felt the walls as I went, making sure I wasn’t missing any doors that could lead to the room my camera was in.  I had no idea where it might have fallen, I would just go through the rooms I could find and then go into more detailed search once I was comfortable with the layout. The patients spent all of their time in this place, skulking through the dark, hiding in the shadows.  No wonder they could track me in the dead black.  With no other option, they had adapted to this way of life.  A scary thought. A wild blaze burned through the room, and for a brief moment I could see figures, men shaped.  One crouched on a table holding bars, fully focused on the world outside, a far away world.  I slunk forward, the second one seemed to be staring across the room directly at me but made no action.  I kept along the side of a bar, or some sort of countertop on the opposite side of the room.  I lost track of the other figure that had been in here, but as the windows pulsed with storm I located a door to the side of the room.   I lurched back and dropped to my side when something flashed in my vision, what exactly I couldn’t be sure.  But I felt nothing, no punishing blow and heard no sound of feet.  I couldn’t even be certain I had seen anything to frighten me, only that I had fallen on my side and felt the warm spot on my back.  I just wanted my camera.  It didn’t matter if I made it out alive, I just wanted my camera back. I crawled pathetically through the double doors that awaited, there was one tall window at the end of corridor, but the oppressive shadows huddled at the very breath of its light.  It appeared to be the connecting hall, where I saw the figure dart through.  I lifted to my feet and held my arms out, unable to see an inch in front of me.  I kept on my toes ready to run at the sound of movement, anything that indicated I was not alone.  I didn’t feel alone, but I couldn’t believe I would miss another living presence in the small space I now occupied.  The concept that this was an error of my thought, terrified me.  I was probably not alone, just kidding myself again. I took a shallow breath as I felt around the edges of another door, a lamp from outside glistened off the metal bars of shelves.  I blinked, and saw red, blood vessels in my eyes as the storm blazed.  My breath was labored and dots evaporated at my vision, contrasting with the shadows.  I blinked but I still couldn’t see. I moved around the shelves trying not to linger long in the light.  Another doorway opened in my path, on the other side windows cut long shapes on the tiled floor.  I crouched down and put my face just far enough past the opening to see what lay ahead, but was met with the invading veil of black.  I thought I heard movement, a voice, but as I bided my time and listened trying to perceive what my eyes failed to, it felt like my mind was playing tricks on me again. Something glint in the corner of my eye, and I drew back to spin on it but saw nothing.  Just the beads of the metal shelves as the light hit their sides.  I took a deep breath, I was shaking badly and my head pounded with the soft prattle of rain.  Or was that the humming in my bones?  Why’d I keep thinking of these things? I forced myself to leave the doorway and scoot away from the wall, into the indiscriminate shadows.  It was some sort of commune room with tables bolted to the floor.  Maybe the patients cafeteria, or some sort of indoor recreational area?  Being in this room right now unsettled me, like being in an orphanage after some sort of catastrophe killed all the children there.  Almost the same difference, if you considered the less violent patients.  Just mentally wrong, and locked away from their families that might’ve been trying to do the right thing for them. The cold seeped through my coat, I had not nearly dried out yet, even so it just seemed to burrow into everything.  It was getting darker as I moved from the windows, into areas of boarded up doors and the suppressive veil tightening over my shoulders.  I slipped over a broken counter, a frame with glittering glass sat before metal slats for trays.  This might’ve been the patients cafeteria, or where medicines was dispensed.  It was the same thing, wasn’t it? I saw something in the furthest distance flicker against the black wall.  I paused to stare and barely believed my eyes.  I blinked.  Was it possible?  On that table beside a large cooking pot? I let out a small whine, it was!  My camera!  Right there, not no more than a few feet away. Okay Miles, keep it together.  There’s the camera, don’t go running over there and tripping and tearing your fingers open again. But…My camera!  I edged towards it, pushing my senses into the wall of black, working to determine if there was anything I could stumble over, anything left lying in my path.  Something clattered to the floor, echoing off the walls in the next room.  I had no idea what that was from.  Might have been the floor above, the broken room my camera fell from still settling in my absence.   I could sense movement.  I couldn’t be sure if this was my paranoia or the unnatural state this room was in, where I was accompanied by a threat.  The big fucker?  I wouldn’t know until I picked up the camera, and by then it might be too late.  It sounded like something was being smashed on hollow metal, or someone was trying to flush something out. I dithered for a moment, debating what I should do. It was getting me nowhere, so I continued forward trying not to imagine what was beyond the black lurking at the edges of my senses.  I was distracted in my elation, finally the comfort of the camera back in my hands.  But I had not reached it yet, I was still vulnerable.  Too vulnerable.  Keep calm, deep breaths.  I was shaking, the nerves in my muscles buzzing into my mind.  Get the camera, it’d clear things up for me. I began to pick up on something else as well.  The typical rot of the asylum, of old bodies left to decompose into the carpet and wood, which was constant in the back of my mind.  But I was sure I smelt the patients.  Don’t think I’m being weird, you can go fuck yourself – but, it was that musty smell they had.  The baked on sweat, filthy clothing and the disregard for hygiene they shared, with this place going to hell.  It was the smell of something alive, and it was getting stronger. I put my hands on the pale light of the desk, where the NV poured out of the visor.  I couldn’t quiet my breathing, I had to get the camera and turn it, locate what it was in the dark.  My hands quaked on the cool wood, and I shuffled around to the backside and set my hands over my camera.   It was like reuniting with an old friend that I thought was lost forever.  Such a strong feeling for an inanimate object, but it still brought tears to my eyes.  I gently picked it up and fitted my ruined finger under the strap, then fixed the visor; it had been jarred before it dropped through the floor.  Slowly, I brought it to my eyes, reveling in the familiarity of seeing the distorted green hue of my surroundings.  The buzzing in my head was thunderous now, and I slowly turned from a solid wall on my right, to the large room revealed through the visor.