#I LOVE PRESSURE IVE STARTED HALLUCINATING THE SOUNDS. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 25: Disorientation

CW: Sick whumpee, emeto references, infection, medical whump, some references to institutionalized pet whump. Needles, track mark mention, IV placement (vague, non-graphic). Brief misgendering (out of delirium/not being able to see correctly, very brief/accidental). Includes hallucination referencing parental death.

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Infection

“Blood pressure is 100 over 60. That’s lowish, but not the worst it could be.” There’s a voice. He doesn’t know the voice. The words are familiar, though. Like a show on TV. “You got a temp?”

“One hundred three point four degrees,” Another voice says. They’re speaking so quickly he is struggling to follow them.

“Shit. That’s up from when his guardian called.”

“We need to get that fever under control. What did she say about history?”

“Threw up this morning and didn’t stop throwing up. Says he admitted he’s been hurting for two days - classic symptoms, pain started at navel and moved right and down. His fever was probably present from when he woke up, but.” There’s a pause. Chris blinks his eyes and sees, blurry and bleary, a sense of someone shrugging.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

There’s a snort. “Kev. You know why.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to get fucking blacklisted from EMT work if we get caught, you know. What we’re doing is illegal.”

“We’re not gonna get caught. I’ve been part of lib life since I was seventeen, just trust me on this.”

Chris tries to speak, to ask them who they are, where he is, but his lips move without sound. He can feel the vibration of an engine, hear it rumbling, and the world around him is shaking minutely, bumping along on a road. With each bump and pothole, the screaming pain in the boy’s abdomen crests like a wave crashing the shore inside him, and he can feel tears running freely, blurring his vision when he tries to blink, to see.

Above him there is white inset with tiny round lights and his breath hitches. He tries to sit but there are straps holding him down, and his eyes widen, staring up in terror.

No. No, no, no, they said I wouldn’t go back, they said-

He breathes in shallow whistles he can’t seem to control. His stomach is churning, flipping with new nausea, the pain throbbing through his abdomen, behind his eyes, all the way to his toes and fingertips. “Wh, where, where, where-where, where am, am I-”

“Sssshhhh.” Chris flinches and twists as best he can to look up and behind him, the person he vaguely saw shrugging before is there wearing a dark blue uniform with letters that hurt to look at across a pocket on the front. A plastic-gloved hand presses to Chris’s shoulder to help push him back down. “Hey no, you gotta stay steady, there, kiddo. Don’t move, you really, really don’t want to strain your muscles right now. We’re about to check and make sure Yoder’s guess is right.”

Chris keeps blinking, but his eyes are blurring with tears so quickly he can’t get a clear look at the person’s face. He can move one of his hands, at least, and he lifts it to lay it over the person’s glove, feels the slip-slide of plastic and the warmth of them underneath. He shivers, then whimpers when the pain worsens in response. “Nat? Where… where is… Please-... please, sir, h-hurts-”

“Not sir,” The person says, gently, a bit of auburn hair falling over their forehead. Their voice is low, soft and soothing. “Can you see?”

Chris rolls his eyes back towards the ceiling. The light coming from the little circles in the roof of the vehicle is slightly yellowed. It isn’t cold. It has weight but isn’t cold. There is padded blue plastic lining the walls, something like a bench on one side and a jump seat, like flight attendants sit in on airplanes…

She holds his hands, so so tightly, as they bump around. He clings to her, breathing fast. She tries to smile at him and her eyes are wet. “Just remember, Tris, even when the flight is kind of bumpy, you don’t have to worry about a thing. The pilots do this all the time.” Her face is pale, though, and he sees her looking ahead, where a woman in a skirt is buckling herself into a special seat.

“Mom? What’s, what’s, what-what-what is, is that, why does does she have a different-”

“It’s called a jump seat, baby,” The woman says, and the plane bumps up and back down, and his mother’s breath comes shaky and uneven.

“I love you, Tris,” His mother says suddenly, and her voice catches. “Baby, I love you so much-... l-love you-... it’s okay, baby, it’s okay-” Her voice is getting weird and thick like she’s speaking through water.

His breath catches at red spreading over the front of her shirt, and the plane stops tumbling through the air because she’s sitting with her back against a wall under a photo of the three of them last Christmas and her blood is on the wall behind her in a spray and Tristan starts to scream and he paints with blood on a cold white wall and the plane is hurtling through the air and his mother is gone and his father is gone and his life is gone-

The headache hits him and the thought he was having dissipates under the pain, one more piece of him throbbing. “K-Kind... kind of… can see... hurts-... Mom, I’m, I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t stay, stay hidden, I’m sorry-”

“Sssshhhh. You’re okay, you’re okay.” The person squeezes his shoulder, just a little.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“Rescues do this. Don’t ask.”

“That’s fucking eerie, man-”

“I said don’t ask. We don’t ask them, they don’t tell us. It only makes it worse if they try to keep thinking about it, so just… forget he said anything. He probably already has.”

The headache slips back, and the pain in his stomach is stronger again. Chris hears a low voice from somewhere slightly further, relaying information, speaking in a monotone that is just soft enough that Chris can’t understand it.

The person with the nice voice and pretty auburn hair is talking to him again. “Here we go. Tori’s going to help me get you some paperwork going and we’ve kind of got a system to get you in without the docs picking up on anything. Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not the first we’ve pulled through this.”

“Th’ first…” He can’t keep his thoughts straight. Can’t understand what any of it means.

“Well, one good way to check,” The second voice says, and Chris turns to stare upwards at a man who gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kiddo.” He presses both hands down on Chris’s abdomen, on the right side of his navel. Briefly, the sharp pain fades, and Chris’s breaths slow, just for a second. “All right, let’s check his response.” The man pulls his hands back.

Chris, strapped down to the table, arches his back in a nearly perfect arc as best he can, screaming hoarsely as the pain rushes back in, even worse than before. He is buried in it - he drowns in the waves of agony, like and unlike the pain of the shock collar, like and unlike the worst pain he’s ever felt.

His scream ends, and the two people in uniforms look at each other. “Well, that’s a fucking sign, isn’t it?”

“Check the heel. Okay, kiddo, we need to test one more thing to know for sure, okay?” The hand squeezes, one more time, at his shoulder, and then pulls back. “I’m going to prep fentanyl-”

“I don’t know, that pressure’s low for fentanyl.”

“... no, you’re right, it is, but... it’s our best option for controlling pain until we get there. It’s riding a line, but I think 100 over 60 can handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Confirm first, we’ll decide after that.”

“Got it.” Chris has only just settled back into the swaying nausea of hurt when there’s a flat, blunt impact against his bare heel - and he sobs, whimpering at the way pain rockets through him from his abdomen, spiraling like blades beneath his skin down his leg and up his side, gripping his heart. He jerks away but he’s strapped down too tightly to move. He wants to curl up but they just keep hurting him. They’re handlers, and this is fun, and once again Chris is the trainee and they’ve tied him down so he can’t stop them.

He starts to cry, hot tears running down his face, and the man who hit his heel says something to the other person but he can’t hear them over the rushing of his own blood in his ears, the pain inside him has taken him completely. He isn’t being good enough, that must be why they’re hurting him. He wasn’t good, and he is being punished, and the handlers have something they want he’s not giving, but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t… he can’t see…

“Please,” He whispers, groping blindly as much as he can. “Please, please, please, stop, please, I’ll, I’ll, I-I’ll do anything, please make it stop, I’ll b-be good-”

There’s a pause.

“Christ. Give him the fentanyl, Kev.”

The man’s voice is shaken. “... yeah, let’s do it. Uh, yeah, yeah. Right.”

“You handle the IV,” The first person says, the one who seems to know Nat. “Can you get him set up?”

“Dunham, I-”

“Just breathe, Kev. Let’s get his IV in.”

The Drip. No, not the Drip, no no no no-

Chris tries to beg - they have always loved his begging, and these new handlers will, too, he’s sure of it, he will beg them to let him keep Jake, he can be so so so good for them if they’ll only let him have Jake, if they won’t take his memory of Jake away. He can be so good...

He can’t make his mouth work any longer - it hurts too much, he can’t seem to force his brain and mouth to connect. He can’t do anything but cry, heaving wailing childlike sobs, and he is going to lose more people, all over again, he will never stop losing the people who love him-

Please, don’t take them away from me, please-

Mom, I’m sorry-

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You going to-”

“Hold his hand or something. He’s scared. They’re always scared.” The kind face, hazel eyes and auburn hair, slides back into his vision. Their voice softens and they brush a little hair away from his forehead. “Hey, you. We’re going to get you something to settle that pain, okay? Just hang on for me.” They turn away, briefly, voice raising above the rumbling engine, the low vibration, the rocking and swaying that neither of the two back here with him seem to notice like he does. “Amy, what’s our ETA?”

“Seven minutes,” A woman shouts back from the front. “Seven minutes and I’ve already confirmed Tori has a chart prepped to go. Before we stop I’ll make sure she’s ready to get us inside. She’s called in Mandela to do the surgery and you know the nurses wouldn’t tell WRU a fucking thing. Get that wrist bandaged over and we got this. Tori’s got our asses covered.”

“Gotta love that woman,” The person murmurs, turning back to Chris, smiling kindly down at him. “Look, we got you all set. Yoder-... uh, Natalie’s going to be there when you wake up, okay?”

What good does that do if they give him the Drip and he doesn’t know her anymore?

“Pl-please,” Chris whispers, managing to get his hand over the person’s, holding onto their wrist with the tightest grip of his thin fingers he can manage. Their skin feels blistering hot and he shakes, the world spinning around him. “Please, please, n-no, no, no no no, no needles, please-”

“I’m so sorry,” The person answers, soft-voiced and sincere. Handlers never say they’re sorry, Chris thinks. Handlers don’t apologize for hurting you. Handlers tell you you deserved it, or you wanted it, or you need it because you’re just a slut you fucking love this, but they never apologize. His hand is gently uncurled. He stares up into the person’s face, lost in the look of real compassion there. He has never seen someone who wears a uniform look at him like that. Like thy care. “This is just for the pain.”

“Jesus Christ,” The man says from the other side of him, and Chris turns, trying to see him more clearly. “I cut off the sleeve, Finn, it was too tight to roll up-” Chris hadn’t even noticed. “-and he’s-”

“Yeah, he’s a rescue, we talked about this, Kev, they’ll have a barcode-”

“No, he’s got track marks.”

They both go quiet, and Chris doesn’t know what the words mean together, although he knows them both separately. The silence draws out, and then the first person says, “They drug them. Heavily. You should always expect track marks on your rescue patients.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-... this is the first one for me.”

“No problem. Just keep that in mind. Does he have a usable vein or no?”

“Yeah, these are old. I can get him set. Just… shook me up a little, is all.” There’s a swipe of something cold along the inside of his elbow, sickeningly familiar. Chris is good - he goes very still, waiting for the needle to slide into his skin.

He is a good statue boy.

“I, I’ve lost-... please, please, please don’t make me lose, make me lose them,” He whispers. “Please don’t, don’t take him away from me, please don’t take Jake-”

There’s a sharp pinch, more indistinct voices as they speak to each other, and then his eyes roll up and his body shudders hard, rattling the table.

He feels himself thunk back onto the softly-molded padded plastic, a burst of ache as he bites his tongue. The world goes white around all its edges, he slips and slides inside his mind, breath slowing or going faster and he’s no longer in his body enough to know the difference.

Both of the people in the back of the strange van start cursing low under their breath.

“Shit, shit shit shit, check that blood pressure again-”

“Could be a syncope, Yoder said he’s terrified of needles, could just be a trauma response-”

“It could be, sure, or he could be crashing. Fuck!”

“Don’t be crashing don’t be crashing don’t be crashing, come on kiddo, stay with me, don’t be crashing-”

Kiddo

“Could be the fentanyl, maybe his bp was too low to pull that off, oh shit what if we fucked this up, Finn-”

Little man

“We didn’t fuck this up. Okay? It’ll be okay, he’ll be fine. I’m checking his pressure again. Amy, what’s the hold up, we need to move!”

“Almost there, Dunham, I swear! Just hold him together until we get there.”

“Doing my fucking best, Amy!”

It’s okay, Tris

You’re okay, sweetie

It’s all right, baby, you’re okay, Mommy’s got you.

Chris takes in a breath, and blinks his eyes open one more time as something cool seems to pass through him, the throbbing agony fading, just a little. The world slows around him in its dizzying spin. He looks blearily up at the person, the handler or not-handler, who apologized. “Please… please…”

“I know,” They say, softly. There’s pressure, of some kind, but Chris is drifting now, his eyes moving without focus over the little circles of light. The two people move around him in some kind of strange dance that both of them know but Chris doesn’t, and that’s okay - he wouldn’t be able to dance like this, anyway. He’s dizzy but not sick with it, and that’s kind of funny, but he can’t remember how to laugh or why he thought that was funny at all.

Compression somewhere on his arm. It doesn’t matter.

“70 over 40. God damn it.”

“Okay, let’s get that B.P. stable and check once more time before we get him inside to see if it’s up. Temp check?”

A pause, a sensation Chris can barely understand, and then more swearing. “His fever’s not fucking going down. Jesus fucking Christ-”

“Okay. Keep it calm, Kev.” The voice is even and steady, and Chris feels the barest brush of fingers over his shoulder. “We have got to stabilize this kid. Mandela can’t operate if he doesn’t stabilize. Come on, kiddo, don’t crash on us, come on come on come on-... Amy, confirm with Tori that we’re covered, please?”

“Tori is ready and waiting for us, Finn,” Amy says, a disembodied woman’s voice that swirls in a fog around Chris’s thoughts. “They’re prepping surgery, we can get him straight in. Mandela was close by and she’s already in the O.R. They’ll get him off your hands as soon as we stop, Tori’s got a new team called out to give us a break so you can tell his guardian the plan. Guardians will be in the E.R. waiting room, there’s two of them. They’re wearing-”

“Amy. We saw them when we picked him up, remember? Plus I’ve known Yoder for years.”

“... Right. Sorry.”

“You’re good. Tori really thought of everything, huh?”

“Christ, I love that woman,” The man - Kev - mutters. “Just… love her.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Tori’s on top of it. She’s been doing this longer than I have, she’s actually who got me into it at my last job. I was into the movement young but just, you know, flyers and stuff, little bit of sneaky shit. When I met her was after I got kicked out of the Army-”

“You got kicked out of the Army?”

“It’s a long story. Technically I’m not allowed over the Canadian border anymore, either. Anyway, when Tori got a new job, I just… kind of followed her here.”

“What, you weren’t born elbow-deep in La Resistance?”

“Ha, ha. Oh, here we go. Okay, kiddo, time to fix you up good as new.” The vehicle slows, and slows, and then there’s a hard turn, and Chris’s eyes close.

When the pain fades a little more, he finds he is too tired to open them again. He slips away into a warm and drifting darkness where the pain can’t reach him anymore.

I love you, baby boy.

Hold on.

I’ve got you.

You’re going to be just fine.

He hears something, high-pitched beeping noise that seems to be fading as the world around him fades. It’s all dark now, and warm, and he’s going to be okay.

She brushes fingers over his face, and he can barely hear the voices of the people inside the ambulance with him as he sinks into the darkness.

“Shit shit shit, not again-”

“65 over 35-”

“Fuck, I’m gonna have new gray hair after this-... come on come on come on-”

“Finn!”

“What, Amy?”

“We’re here.”

---

Finn Dunham and Tori (mentioned) belong to @whump-tr0pes and are used with permission. Thanks to Athena as well for her help making this sound remotely realistic!

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

242 notes · View notes

flightlessangelwings · 4 years ago

Text

Protect, Chapter 6 (end)

Billy Russo x Powered!Reader (fem, she/her pronouns)

Word count: 2.2k

A searing pain pulled Billy from his sleep. The first thing he was aware of when he regained consciousness was the sound of a continuous beep, and once he blinked his eyes open he saw the monitors to his side. Billy furrowed his brows as much as he could, but he found he had trouble with his facial muscles for some reason. He let out a soft groan as he looked around the room.

He was in a bright, clean hospital room, and nothing around him seemed to move at all. It was quiet too, very quiet. Once his mind caught up to him, Billy’s immediate thought was about you. What happened to you? Were you ok? The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the pain in his back, your sobs, and your tear-stained face.

Billy vaguely wondered if he hallucinated the three words you said to him as he faded away…

A faint rustle in the far end of the room caught Billy’s attention, and he turned to see a nurse step into the room. He blinked a few times to focus his vision and he was met with a kind face of an older woman that smiled down at him.

“Welcome back, Mr Russo,” she said in a hushed voice.

He tried to say something, but his throat was still too raw, so all that came out was a soft grunt.

“Shhh,” the nurse hushed him gently, “Just rest. You’ll need some time for your strength to come back,” her voice was still low, and Billy wondered why she spoke so quietly. She must have read the confusion on his face because she added, “Your girlfriend is finally asleep. I don’t want to wake her,” she motioned over her shoulder to the other end of the room where you were curled up on a chair.

Billy followed her gaze and he couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face. You looked a mess, but yet you still looked so beautiful. He wondered how long you had been there, because that chair did not look comfortable at all, and yet you were sound asleep.

“She never left your room once,” the nurse said, which made Billy shoot her a surprised look, “Barely ate, barely slept,” she continued as he checked over his vitals and changed his IV bag, “I need to check your wound, Mr Russo,” she spoke again after a moment of silence.

He gave a single nod and let the nurse roll him to his side to inspect the wound. He hissed when he felt pressure on his back, but it was nothing compared to the pain when he was shot at Rawlins’ mansion. She gave a satisfied sigh as he set him back against the bed and fixed his pillows.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Billy croaked out as he rested his gaze on your sleeping figure again.

The nurse turned to leave, but stopped to say, “That wound was already cauterized when you were brought here. You lost a lot of blood, but whoever did that was just in time,” she left it unsaid that he would not have made it otherwise before she stepped out of the room.

Billy took in her words while he smiled over at you as you started to stir and wake from your sleep. The nurse’s voice must have made you wake up and you looked around the room in a confused daze for a moment before your eyes landed on Billy. Your eyes shot wide open as you gasped and rushed over to his side.

“Billy,” you breathed as you held tight onto his hand, “You’re awake thank fuck,” you didn’t bother to hide the mix of panic and relief in your face as you looked him over.

He let out a soft laugh as he held onto your hand, “I’m awake,” he said your name in a heavy voice. Silence hung in the air as you both looked into each other’s eyes like you couldn’t believe this was real. You raised his hand to your face and placed a soft kiss on the back of his knuckles.

Billy broke the silence first, “How long was I out?”

“A few days,” you replied in a shaky voice. You didn’t want to let him go, as if you were afraid that if you did, he would disappear and this wouldn’t be real.

“Are you ok?” he asked you.

You furrowed your brows, “You’re in a hospital bed and you ask if I’m ok?” your reply was playful but you couldn’t hide the way your voice shook regardless.

He flashed a hint of a smile before he asked, “What happens now?” He rubbed his thumb over your hand as his eyes went from there up to your face. Billy could feel you tremble in his grip, and the look on your face almost hurt him more than his wounds. There were so many unsaid words that hung heavily in the air between the pair of you, and you both could feel it.

You let out a heavy sigh before you spoke, “I had a long talk with Frank while you were out,” you chuckled dryly before you went on, “He’s willing to move on, but he doesn’t want to see you,” you paused and took in a deep breath, “He already left the city. Now whatever you want to do is up to you.”

“What about Rawlins?” he asked in a worried tone as if he could walk through that door at any moment and take you away from him again, “And Anvil?”

“Dead,” you said flatly, “And Anvil is still yours, if you want it.” Miraculously, Rawlins survived the blast from your powers and the fall, and Frank delivered the fatal shot to his head while you stayed with Billy.

Billy looked up at you with a soft expression, “What about you?”

“I’m still here,” you replied immediately, “If you’ll have me,” you looked at him with pleading eyes.

Billy said your name with a sigh, “I’ll always want you,” his voice was so sincere that it brought a tear to your eye. But before you could say anything, he added, “Listen, I’m sorry. About everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” you reached out and brushed the scar on his forehead, “That one was my fault,” the guilt in your voice was apparent.

“What?”

“When,” you held back a sob, “When you got shot, I panicked and I lost control of,” you gestured to your hands, “I accidentally cut you with my energy while I held your face.”

Billy gave you a soft smile through tear-filled eyes, “Then that one I will wear with pride,” he tried to be light-hearted with his comment, but you could hear the sorrow in his voice.

“What is it?” you asked in a whisper.

He let out a heavy sigh, “It’s just… How bad is it? My face?” He hadn’t seen the scars yet, but he could feel the pain that they caused. And if they looked half as bad as they felt, he worried for how you would see him going forward.

“You think a few scars will drive me away? You’re here… alive,” you looked at him wide eyed before you leaned in and kissed him softly, “I love you, Billy Russo,” you whispered against his lips. Truthfully, you didn’t think the scars were that bad, and he was still just as handsome to you. But, you could tell him that later, and you would spend as long as it took to reassure him of that fact.

“I love you too,” he said your name so sweetly as he brought a hand up to up your face and wiped away a tear that had fallen down your cheek.

It was another week before the hospital discharged Billy, and you still rarely left his side. When it was finally time for him to go home, you were there to take him. He leaned against you as he insisted on walking out of the hospital and to the car. You hated to see him like this, but you were so grateful that he was alive and here with you. And as much pain as he was in, Billy had no regret for his actions, and he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant that you were safe.

Billy tried to lead the way into his penthouse, but he lost his strength after a few steps, and you were ready to step in and help him. You rolled your eyes when he insisted on walking the rest of the way by himself, but you refused to let go of him.

“You can let me help you once in a while, Russo,” your tone was low, but there was a hint of humor in it.

Billy let out a short laugh as he gave in and leaned against you, “Look who’s talking,” he waited for you to meet his gaze before he winked at you.

With a huff, you gently set him down on the plush couch in the living room before you went to make him some tea. Billy pouted at you as he asked for whiskey instead, which made you cross your arms.

“You’re still on heavy pain meds. No alcohol until that’s out of your system,” you scolded him playfully. This was a new side of Billy that you had never seen before, and you had to fight to keep yourself from smiling and enabling him. Not to mention the pout on his face almost made you want to cave in to his request.

“That’s no fun,” he tried to give you a pathetic look with his big, dark eyes but you didn’t fall for it. You turned toward the kitchen and soon reappeared with two mugs of tea that you set on the coffee table before you sat down next to him.

“So, what happens now?” you asked.

“I actually have a few ideas,” Billy met your gaze and you could see the wheels turn in his head.

You motioned for him to continue as you listened attentively and took a sip of your tea.

He took a deep breath before he spoke his first statement, “I’m firing you from Anvil.”

Your eyes went wide, “What?!” You set your mug down so you could devote your full attention to Billy.

“And I’m hiring Starshield.”

You raised your eyebrows as you let out a sarcastic chuckle at the name, “Starshield?”

“Phoenix?” Billy offered a new name after a moment of thought.

“I like it, but I think that’s already taken,” you rolled your eyes with a smile. It was endearing how committed he was to this idea, and the fact that you didn’t have to navigate your powers alone anymore warmed your heart.

He continued to list off names for you, “Ricochet? Soteria...”

“Soteria…. I like that,” your eyes lit up at the name and bit your lip before you added, “I wouldn’t have taken you for a Greek mythology lover.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he smiled before he went on, “That way we can be together without a conflict of interest, and you can freely use your powers to help Anvil without being discovered. I’ve got time on my hands right now, I’ll make you a mask and everything.”

You could see the passion in Billy’s eyes, and you could tell how much he really thought about this and how much it meant to him. And as much as you wanted to immediately go along with it, this was uncharted territory for you, “I don’t know…”

“Baby you’re a goddamn superhero,” Billy leaned forward a bit and took your hands in his as his big, dark eyes bore into yours, “You should use it.” There was no hesitation for doubt in his voice; he was completely sincere. He wanted to add that you had saved his life more than once, but he decided that it went without saying and he left it unspoken.

After a few moments to mull it over in your head, you bit your lip and nodded, “Ok,” you said with a smile as you gently squeezed his hands with yours.

“And one more thing,” Billy said as he squeezed your hand as well, “I want you to move in with me.”

At that, you froze.

“You deserve better than some crappy studio apartment. And,” he paused and suddenly looked so vulnerable, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes scanned his face before you met his eyes again. You waited to answer to give him a change to back out or change his mind, but he remained steady and unwavering. Once you made up your mind, you let out a breath before you nodded, “You’re lucky I love you, Russo.”

“I am lucky,” he quipped back, “And I love you too,” his voice was just above a whisper as he said your name before he pressed his lips against yours. The truth was that he wanted you to move in with him because his luxurious apartment never felt like a home until you came along. He wouldn’t mind living in a tiny, dirty apartment if it meant he was there with you. As far as Billy was concerned, you were his home.

Nothing would be the same for you or Billy from here on, but as long as you had each other, you both knew it would be ok. You would both be there for each other, to love each other and to protect each other.

Notes: Omg I’m having emotions about this being done cause I put a lot into this story! What was supposed to be 2 chapters ended up being almost 16k words! Thank you all so much for the support and love with this!! And I actually do have a rough idea for a sequel to this too so this is most likely not the last you see of Billy and this Reader!

Everything taglist: @thirsty-flygirl

Billy Russo taglist: @witchygagirl @runawayolives @morriganwarrior @fictionwillneverdie @thanossexual @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @fific7 @shadow-assassin-blix

#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo x you #billy russo fic #billy russo x y/n #billy russo #the punisher fic #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher imagine #ben barnes character fanfiction #ben barnes character fic

139 notes · View notes

elisaphoenix13 · 5 years ago

Text

Protecting You Is My Calling

They were only running errands.

Sure, it was getting dark, but Quill wasn't worried and Scott and Cassie trusted him to keep them safe. He always did. Tonight was different though. They had to take the subway back to the tower since Tony wanted to add a couple of upgrades to their car, but no big deal. It was a little crowded in the station, but the three of them stuck together while they waited.

Of course that's when shit hit the fan. Some lunatics walked into the station waving around guns, demanding everyone to empty their pockets and bags, and Quill's first instinct was to push Scott and Cassie behind him. If bullets went flying, he was putting himself between them and his family. His second instinct was to slowly back them away and out of sight behind a wall while peering around the corner to watch the thieves.

"Hey Spaceman...now would be a good time to use your powers." Scott whispers.

"That's a terrible idea. Look where we are." Quill motions around them.

"You're choosing now to be the voice of reason?!" Scott whispers incredulously.

"If they piss me off while I use my powers, I could bring the whole station down! If I don't do that, I might turn on innocent people after I take care of those douchebags."

"Shouldn't there be security guards or something?" Cassie asks and Quill looks around the corner again.

That was a good question, but it was very likely these guys took them out before they came down to the platform. They were already having everyone sit on the ground against the wall and taking bags, purses, wallets...anything of value, and the reality was that only Quill could do something about it. Scott didn't have his suit or his portable shrinking and growing discs, and Quill might not have his guns but he did have his powers. He couldn't go into his god mode, but he had enough control over his powers that he could use them in his hands. No light pillars this time.

A hand at his bicep pulls his attention from the lunatics nearby and Quill looks down at Scott who points behind them at what looked like a power box. It was a power box. Well that's convenient. So Quill motions for Cassie to keep and eye out as he moves over to the box and carefully pries it open when he finds it locked. He bites his lip when the metal screeches just the smallest bit and the two of them freeze, waiting for the thieves to come tearing around the corner, but Cassie waves her hand at them. The criminals probably thought it was usual subway noise. Once they get the box open, Scott positions himself at the switch and Quill moves back over to his previous position, moving Cassie behind him again.

"Wait, it's going to be pitch black if we turn everything off." She whispers.

"Don't worry." Quill assures her before nodding to Scott who throws the switch.

As Cassie predicted, the entire station went pitch black and everyone screamed at the power outage and the thieves started yelling at each other. Quill also had enough control over his powers that he could use his galaxy eyes to see in the dark, and when he stepped out from their corner, collective gasps resounded from the hostages and the thieves aimed their guns at him. They couldn't see him but they could see his glowing eyes.

"What the fuck is that thing?!"

Quill didn't give any of them the chance to shoot though. He briefly slipped behind a pillar so they would lose him and then snuck up behind the closest man and grabbed his gun as he knocked him out. With the gun he stole he pistol whipped the next guy, and Quill continued with his assault as grunts (followed by thuds as bodies hit the ground) filled the station. He took down all six of the perpetrators in a matter of seconds and made sure to keep the guns away from them and the hostages. He didn't need a fear driven innocent to get trigger happy.

Quill turns toward the wall that Cassie and Scott are hiding behind after making sure the situation isn't dangerous anymore. "Hey! You can turn the-"

Gunshots echo through the station and the celestial gasps loudly as bullets not only pierce through his back and come out the front, but some even remained buried in his body. Quill grunts and fights through the pain as he turns to his attacker and finds a seventh man that must have been standing guard and then came when he heard the commotion. Quill sends a single orb of light at the thief to disarm him and quickly follows through to grab him by his throat and slam him into the wall. It took a lot of willpower not to lose his shit and let his god side take over, but the man's head hit the wall and instantly knocked him out so that helped Quill keep control. As soon as he drops the body, he makes sure to look around thoroughly while holding his bleeding wounds that were dripping blood onto the ground with every step he took. The wounds caused by bullets that went all the way through were already healing, but the ones where bullets entered and remained stayed open.

"Sh-shit..." He mumbles as he leans against a wall. "It's safe now." He calls out and the lights turn back on.

The hostages murmer amongst themselves when they finally get to see what, who, saved them, and there were more collective gasps that followed. Either because Quill wasn't the monster they probably expected or that there were seven unconscious people littered across the platform. Maybe both. Sirens reach his ears as Quill wills his galaxy eyes away, and then he hears Scott.

"Quill!" Running footsteps approach him and Scott moves close to examine his boyfriend's wounds. "Cassie, call Stephen."

Everything from then on was a blur for Quill. He may have been a god...he may be immortal...but it was still a lot easier to kill him than it was to kill Ego. He could still die from these bullet wounds and blood loss if they weren't taken out soon so his body could heal itself. Noises were a jumbled mess, he was only vaguely aware of Scott trying to keep pressure on his injuries, but he did remember having to slide down the wall so he could sit on the ground because standing was becoming a chore. The floor seemed to fall out from under him but he just chalked that up to him hallucinating from the blood loss, and then more pain followed from being poked and prodded at. That's what it felt like at least.

When he became more aware of reality again, he wasn't in the station anymore. He was in the medbay. So maybe feeling the floor give out from under him wasn't a hallucination. Stephen probably portaled him here and the poking and prodding that followed was the sorcerer digging the bullets out of his body. Quill winces as he pushes his blankets away from his bare chest to check his wounds, and sure enough they were bandaged. The bandages could probably come off since he only felt a little sore, and he knew that wasn't because of drugs. Stephen and Bruce still haven't made any painkillers that Quill's celestial powers wouldn't burn through as fast as they gave them to him, so it always sucked when he got hurt.

He looks to the side at one of his arms and reaches over with his other hand to grab the IV, but a smaller hand stops him.

"Don't. It was helping you stay hydrated while you...regenerated." Cassie pulls his hand away from the IV and Quill instead brushes her hair back.

"Hey sweetheart. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Not even a scratch." She confirms and Quill looks around the room. "Dad's taking a shower. He was covered in blood."

Quill's eyes widen. "What?!"

"It was just yours! He doesn't have a scratch on him either. He was just trying to slow the bleeding."

"Good..." Quill covers his face. "Can I get out of here now?"

"You're officially the most impatient. Peter is a close second." Bruce says as he walks in.

He checks Quill's wounds, and like the celestial suspected, they were completely healed over and only a couple of them left behind a scar. No big deal. Quill thought scars were pretty badass. They were proof of what someone survived. He felt the same way about the scars on Scott's neck, but that was still a little different and it always broke his heart whenever he looked at them. The self blame never really went away. Quill was convinced he could have saved Scott from that whole mess.

As soon as the bandages and the IV were removed, Quill sat up and slid off the bed. He was always voracious after his body healed itself like that, and he was very intent on getting back up to their floor so he could eat everything he found in the fridge. Eat and then sleep for a couple of days. It was a solid plan. Except Cassie had other ideas. She followed him up to their floor, promptly pushed him up to his and Scott's room where he could hear the shower running, and threw one of his tank tops and sleep pants at him. Cassie left him blinking down at his clothes after demanding him to change and take a nap, and promised to wake him up for a proper meal. He wasn't going to complain. An actual meal sounded much more appealing than grazing through the fridge.

So he changed, flopped onto the (much more comfortable) bed on his stomach and immediately passed out. He briefly woke up when Scott came out of their bathroom and got dressed, pulling the younger down on the bed next to him so he could nuzzle Scott's neck before dozing off again. Not before hearing him huff fondly and say something along the lines of 'You're such a suffocating teddy bear'.

Quill knew. Not only because Scott constantly reminded him, but also because he lived to have the younger thief in his arms. He lived for that weird scent of mint and oranges that he always smelled on Scott. His eyes that shined gold in the sunlight...his smile. Fuck. Everything. Once upon a time, he loved Gamora...but Scott? Quill lived for him. Scott was the reason he believed in soulmates, and he would do anything to keep him and Cassie safe. They were his family. Not like the Guardians were his family, but family.

When Quill woke up again, it was to Cassie knocking on their bedroom door to let them know that lunch was ready (as he had slept through the night after the subway incident). Scott moved to get up, but the celestial wasn't having it. Not yet. He wanted a couple of minutes to hold him while awake.

"Come on Spaceman. You need to eat...and no, I'm not an option."

Quill smirks as he opens his eyes and pulls Scott tightly against him so he can gently nip at the unblemished parts of Scott's neck. His breath hitches at the attention and he unconsciously tilts his head away to give the god more space to work with. Quill prided himself in knowing just what buttons to press. He knew what spots got Scott frisky, which ones had him turning into a boneless heap, and he knew how to help Scott relax. Giving attention to his scars or just his neck in general always turned Scott into a boneless mess...as long as the scars weren't bothering him.

"Quill..." Scott murmers as he fists his hand in the pirate's hair.

"I've got you Sugar." Quill purrs into his ear. "I always got you."

He slips his hand under Scott's shirt and his hand makes it halfway up to his chest when they're interrupted by a shout.

"NOW!" Cassie yells from the kitchen and Quill huffs.

"She's lucky I love her." He grumbles and Scott laughs as he bats Quill away.

"You do need to eat Spaceman. You can have me all to yourself later."

Quill sighs. "Fine."

He releases his hold on Scott and they both get out of bed, and Quill grabs him around the waist to stop him again when they get to the door.

"Are you kidding me Quill?! You're-"

"Completely and totally in love with you? What gave it away?"

Scott opens and closes his mouth for a few stunned moments before finally deciding to turn to Quill and pull him down into a kiss. When he pulls away, a small smile graces the younger's face, and blush creeps up his cheeks to his ears.

"I love you too big guy."

"You know I would move heaven and earth for you right?" Quill whispers.

"I do now."

#peter quill #scott lang #antlord #cassie lang #celestialfamily #bruce banner

25 notes · View notes

smallerinfinities · 6 years ago

Text

Gin and Juice: Part III

a/n: In which Reader lies, Shawn is gets kicked out of football practice, and the two of them arrange a meeting.

This is a little bit of a setup chapter to get to Part IV...the italic block is a flashback.

|| PART I || PART II || MASTERLIST ||

warnings: none, really. maybe light anxiety? a cute sleeping giant?

You got back to your room just after daybreak. Trying to open the door as quietly as possible, you cracked it open and slowly pushed. Suddenly, the door flew backward out of your hand, putting you face-to-face with Caroline. Her eyes were crazed, bright and wide with exhaustion mixed with panic.

“Where. Have. You. Been?!” she shouted between deep breaths, exacerbating your pounding headache. “Shhh, Caroline, your voice is reverberating in my skull,” you whispered, holding your hands over your ears and squinting at her.

“No, no, no. No, ma’am. You don’t get to storm off in the middle of a huge party alone and then not show up to our room until the next morning,” she was still shouting, bordering on hysterical, “I thought you were coming back to the room! Needless to say, it was a surprise when I got back and you weren’t here!”

You gave her a moment to collect her breath. You started this conversation already frustrated because you had a hangover and you’d been silently reaching a boiling point while she screamed at you. Gritting your teeth, you gave her a serious death glare.

“Caroline, I respect and appreciate your concern, but if you’ll remember correctly, I wouldn’t have stormed off in the first place if you hadn’t been basically forcing alcohol into my hand.” Your voice was low, more menacing than it had ever been. How dare she be accusatory when she was in the wrong too?

She dipped her head, acknowledging that you had a point. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” she said, remorse hanging on every syllable, “I just wanted you to have a good time...and I really was worried when you weren’t here when I got back. Where did you go?”

You cringed internally. You knew she’d ask eventually but you hadn’t had time to come up with a good enough answer. “Uhm, I walked around campus for awhile and then I went to the library,” you waffled, coming up with the first round-the-clock open place you could think of.

“The library?” she quirked an eyebrow, voice dripping with disbelief, “really?”

You worked up your best fake indignant tone, “yes, Caroline, I happen to feel safe in the library. It’s quiet there and I can think, which is more than I can say about this dorm room with you!” Caroline’s eyes widened and immediately welled with tears. She really did care about you and you’d just hurt her on purpose. It stung harder than you thought it would, but you’d felt betrayed.

And more than that, you had to protect what really happened last night. You had decided that no one needed to know. No one could know. Your future depended on it. Hell, you weren’t even sure if Shawn would know, he’d been so drunk. He said he loved the blackout. Even if he did remember, he wouldn’t want to acknowledge it, right?

You were really starting to regret leaving your number.

It was still dark outside when you woke up drooling, the strong scent of gin filling your nose. Your face was pressed against his firm, expansive chest and you could tell the alcohol was still making its way out of his system, practically oozing out of his pores. His soft exhale tickled the back of your neck. At some point during the few hours you slept, Shawn had draped his arm around your back and curled into you. If anyone had walked in, it would have looked like a couple’s embrace.

Oh God. You needed to get out of here. No one could know about this. Not just because one of the university’s most precious assets had come perilously close to admitting he was an alcoholic, but because you needed to protect yourself. Getting an education. Getting a good job. Involving yourself in a college football scandal was not a part of that plan.

You slowly, carefully wiggled out of his arm and crawled to a sitting position beside him. He slumped slightly, but remained a sleeping giant. You studied him for a moment.

He looked so peaceful, so different from the boy she walked in on, passed out in search of escape. His brow was relaxed, but there was just a hint of that charm he used as a shield even in his sleep, a sign that his demons ran deep. Even though you’d never met him before tonight, you’d seen a glimpse of who he might be underneath all the pressure and the anxiety. That person just wanted to play the game that he loved uninhibited—perhaps not without pressure, but free of overwhelming expectation from every person in his life. You hoped he found that balance.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, you gently pulled yourself off the floor, moving to unlock the door. You stilled at the door knob and looked back at him. A thousand scenarios ran through your head, but the most vivid one stuck out—Shawn keeping everything he told you bottled up alone; Shawn at the next party with the next gin bottle; Shawn passed out in the next bathroom; Shawn submerged in the blackness for longer than a few hours, for longer than a night.

You pulled a pen from your pocket, glad you always kept one on you, and crouched down next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you softly scratched a message onto his skin.

* * * * * * * * * *

“MENDES,” Coach Bradford shouted from across the field, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”

Shawn had just overthrown his fourth pass in practice. He was still hungover, his head still fuzzy from the night before. Hustling over to his coach, he braced for the ass-kicking he was about to receive. Coach grabbed his facemask and jerked his head down to eye-level.

“GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS, BOY,” he screamed, mere inches from your face, “YOU THINK I CAN’T SMELL THE ALCOHOL FROM LAST NIGHT ON YOU?” Shawn’s face flamed. Most of the guys at practice had been at the party last night, but their asses weren’t getting chewed. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing such a great job at hiding the fact that he’d been shit-faced. He knew his eyes were practically black from exhaustion and his skin was a little sunken. His head was still pounding, a fact that his coach was clearly exploiting. He closed his eyes against the barrage of sound, Coach still yelling indiscriminate obscenities at him.

“GET YOUR SHIT AND GET OFF MY FIELD,” he finished, pushing Shawn’s facemask away from him in disgust, “I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN UNTIL YOU'RE SOBER.” He called the backup quarterback from the bench, a fifth-year senior who had started before Shawn was recruited. They exchanged death glares as Shawn jogged off the field, hanging his head and feeling all the disappointed eyes of his teammates follow him off the field.

He ripped off his helmet when he entered the locker room, slamming it into the nearest bench. The sound of hard plastic hitting metal reverberated in his skull. He shook out his curls, soaked with sweat, and silently fumed. He’d never been kicked out of practice before. No matter how drunk he’d gotten the night before.

Stripping off his shirt and throwing himself onto a couch in the athlete’s lounge, Shawn roughly scrubbed his face and tried to clear his mind. In truth, it wasn’t the headache or the exhaustion that was distracting him. He’d dealt with those things before every time he drank. This time was different. This time, there was a cryptic message and a phone number burning in his failed memory. He had never wanted to remember what had happened during those lost hours in his life until now. The neat, loopy handwriting suggested a girl. What would he want to talk about with her? What did he already talk about with her?

Normally, he would write it off to a drunken one-night stand, but he definitely remembered entering that bathroom and he just had a feeling that he hadn’t left it until he woke up this morning. There were no outward signs of sex. His clothes had been exactly as he remembered them the night before. Plus, with the girls he’d dealt with before, there would be scare quotes around “talk,” because talking was always the last thing they had on their minds.

Who was this girl?

He guessed he could just text her. Whatever they did, she could piece it together for him. If she was a jersey chaser, that would likely make itself apparent rather quickly—they usually screamed when they saw him—a signal to make a quick exit. Though he couldn’t remember exactly what happened last night, he knew that he would never say anything remotely genuine to a girl just looking to use him as a trophy.

He took his phone out of his practice bag next to his locker and quickly memorized the number off of the picture he’d taken of his hand that morning. Typing it in, his pulse quickened. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It was probably nothing. But, the fact that he couldn’t remember had set off panic alarms like he’d never had before. It was almost like his subconscious was trying to tell him what his brain wanted him to forget. Like it wasn't a hook-up or a superficial encounter. Like he might have told her something real, something he doesn't tell just anyone.

Hey, it’s Shawn.

* * * * * * * * * *

You stared at your phone for five minutes before putting it face down on your desk. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t actually text you less than six hours after you left him in that bathroom. Didn’t he have practice? Didn’t he have a hangover? Didn’t he shower and not notice your note before it washed off?

You picked it up again, hoping you’d had a hallucination, but the screen lit up and there it was:

Hey, it’s Shawn.

You put it down again and went back to your American Literature essay that was due next week. This Great Gatsby essay was much more important. Getting an education. That was part one of the plan. Remember the plan. The plan didn’t include or accommodate distractions like a drop-dead gorgeous star athlete with substance abuse problems.

Your phone vibrated against the desk, startling you, and you scrambled to pick it up again:

Err, Mendes. It's Shawn Mendes.

The corner of your mouth quirked up. Like you needed the clarification after last night. That endearing charm was immediately there, and as much as you wished it wasn’t his armor, you had to admit it was cute.

Uhh, you know you have read receipts on, right?

Shit! You put on read receipts for your mom last night and forgot to take them off! Scrambling to your settings, you turned them off. But, you’d been caught. You had to answer now.

You: You caught me.

Shawn: She speaks.

You: She does.

You: How are you feeling?

Shawn: Like shit haha you?

You: Surprisingly well, but I didn’t drink an entire bottle of gin like someone in this conversation ;)

Shawn: Touché.

Shawn: Listen, you said to text you if I wanted to talk.

You: I did.

Shawn: Well, do you think we could talk in person?

You: (...)

A sinking sense of panic filled your lungs. This wasn’t what you meant when you left your number. Texting kept a safe distance between the two of you. You never had to worry about people seeing you—watching you—with him. He talked about the girls that followed him around and you couldn’t imagine the kind of attention he drew on campus, even among people who didn’t want to sleep with him.

Shawn: I’m on pins and needles here.

You: (...)

You: It’s no offense to you, but I just don’t want to be seen with you on campus.

Shawn: Ouch. That felt like offense.

You: No, no. It’s me. I get nervous when I feel like people are watching me.

Shawn: What if there was a place we could talk where I promise no one would be watching?

You: (...)

Was he about to invite you to his apartment?

Shawn: I’m not inviting you over or anything weird.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

You: Okay, then where?

Shawn: The library. I have connections.

The library. You felt the chains around your heart rattle, straining around emotions you’d tried really hard to keep under control for a long time. What was this boy doing to you?

You: Tell me when.

to be continued...

Next time: A secret library meeting.

Leave me some feedback! I want to hear how you’re feeling about this! Oh, and let me know if I should start a taglist!

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing

640 notes · View notes

queencatherynerhys · 6 years ago

Text

Taken - Part 9 TRR AU

A/N: The hiatus is over!! Shout-out to @captainkingliam, @mfackenthal for coaxing me out of my writer’s block and giving me so much ideas for this chapter and for the unceasing desire to help me with my stories. I was really afraid that I was getting lost in the hole that I dug with this series and that all the twists have gotten so complicated with I was able to brainstorm with them about where to take this series. I would watch these videos to get the gist of the ending of this chapter. I kind of ran out of steam with the fights.

Movie Inspiration: Pacific Rim – A Worthy Opponent Scene

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7i4pNsqnls

The Karate Kid – Six Vs. One Scene (specifically 1:54-1:56)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-wr7dD1n5w

Summary: Is Catheryne going to be all right? Or will she succumb to her situation? How will Liam and the gang deal with all the events that have transpired?

Tag List: @captainkingliam @decisso @devineinterventions2 @madaraism @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @laniquelove @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @trianiasti @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @flyawayblue56 @simplyaiden-blog

Previous Parts:

Masterlist (too many parts to do them individually)

Nothing but a flat line shows on the monitor. Commotion is around the room with Dr. Flint and three nurses rushing about attending to Catheryne’s shuddering figure. Abstruse words spew out of Dr. Flint’s mouth and Liam is too deep in his worry to try to understand. “Attach an oxygen bag. We need to start CPR. Stat!” A flustered nurse hurries to attach an oral airway device down her throat and an oxygen bag valve mask on the other end.

As she does this, Dr. Flint pulls up the sleeve of her white lab coat and prepare to conduct the resuscitation. Liam observes, frozen in dread and bleakness. Drake stands beside him, silently offering support but also with the same rigid body language.

The doctor gives Ryne a set of 30 compressions to the chest. “Come on, Your Grace, come back,” she pants through gritted teeth as she strains with the physical activity and pressure of her job. The high-pitched noise still audible. Liam losing hope by the second. Please, my love, please continue to fight. Fight for me. For us. I know I am asking a lot of you, but I will die if you leave me.

Another set of compressions are met with the same results. Dr. Flint and the nurse across from her glance at each other, silently communicating the inevitable outcome. She performs two more sets of compressions, pouring her last strength to revive her. By now, four minutes have passed. The nurse she mentally communicated with earlier raises his wrist, readying his watch to pronounce her time of death.

“TBD 8:07pm,” she declares gravely as she turns to meet the king’s gaze. “I am truly sorry, Your Majesty. I’m afraid we can’t do anything more for her.” Liam loses all control of his faculties and anger flows through him. “NO! No, you must bring her back. Keep doing CPR!” He grabs one of the nurses by his scrubs and yells at him and begging him to bring her back to him. Drake rushes to him, always being the reasoned one when Liam becomes clouded by his emotions.

He struggles in his best friend’s arms, but desperation wins. He runs beside Catheryne’s lifeless body on the bed. “NO! Don’t you dare take her off that machine! She’s not gone! I’m not letting her be taken from me again. I am not letting her leave me!” He hollers at the nurses who are starting to unhook her from the apparatuses. They look at Dr. Flint and she hesitantly nods, giving the tiny ember of hope he clings on to a chance to spark life. Maybe a miracle will show itself.

Liam cradles Catheryne’s still face. If it were a regular day, she looks just as if she’s sleeping but it isn’t one of those days. Here, it’s up to him to bring her back. He weeps, not caring for the audience he has. He can’t, he doesn’t have the strength to summon his kingly side. In this moment, he just wants to be Liam, a Liam that can mourn and be vulnerable with no judgment. As he holds her, he remembers the recurring nightmares he suffered during their time apart. He recalls the terrible visions of seeing her die in front of him by the hands of his enemies, the blood that surrounds him, the sudden cold temperature of Ryne’s body under his touch, and his desperate screams of distress as he begs her to come back.

His nightmares finally catch him. He never thought the day would come that he would have to truly live it, but here he is. There isn’t blood, but everything else is there. His own cries sound foreign to him, “Catheryne, listen to me. I am begging you. I will do whatever I need to do. Just come back to me, please! If there is a God out there, please, bring her back. Bring her back!” He rocks her unresponsive body as he trembles from his frantic sobs of pain and utter loss.

A lifetime passes in the span of two minutes. Nurses and the doctor clear out after she informs Liam that it’s crucial that they disconnect her from her tubes. Her IV and adrenaline tube are taken off as well as other multiple conduits are removed. He refuses to let her go out of his hold as they work around him to attend to her.

His peripheral vision catches the sight of Maxwell and Hana’s tear-stricken faces by where Drake stands at the window. He must’ve called him during all the disorder. He knows he should give a turn to say their goodbye, but he is not ready. He doesn’t know if he can really let go of her, physically and emotionally.

Not once in his life has he been this broken. My enemies are dead, but it doesn’t matter. We only won a battle. Even through the grave, they managed to win the war. The last piece of himself he had kept intact for the moment he and Catheryne are finally reunited again after her coma shatters and he physically feel the effects of it. His body slumps forward and wraps his arm around her and rests against her motionless form.

He whispers ever so quietly, “You guys, if you could, I would love a few minutes with her alone. I just want to say a proper, private goodbye.” He hears them shuffle out of the room and the door click. He pulls away slowly and stands up beside her bed to finally truly get a look of her. She is truly beautiful, even in her current…condition. He takes one of her perfect hand and wraps it in his own, bringing it to his lips.

“I remember the first time I saw your face in that bar, Catheryne. I remember the light you emitted. Oh, the joy you had in you. You were such a free spirit. I had only spent an hour with you, but I knew in that moment of time that you were an astonishing woman. Oh, my lovely Ryne, how I beg to change back those events. I would change it, so you don’t come to Cordonia. We don’t fall in love, but at least you’d be alive. Safe and alive. Happy. I am so in love with you, my beautiful perfect Ryne. The only thing I wanted to do was spend the rest of my life giving you the world, but it looks like I just took you from it. I am so sorry, Catheryne. I am so sorry that even now I am begging you to come back and keep fighting even if I know that’s the harder and more painful choice.” He falls to his knees and touches his cheek with the back of her hand, still holding it.

“I’ve been bred to be a selfless leader, but right now I want to be selfish. I am a selfish man, begging you to come back, but if you can hear me now or if anything or anyone at all in the whole universe can hear me, I am pleading with you…please…please…” he whispers as fresh tears roll out of his eyes to her hand. He squeezes it as he clings to hope for life itself.

What follows comes to him as complete shock when he feels her hand imperceptibly squeeze his back. If he wasn’t concentrating, he is sure he would have missed the feather-light touch, but he is confident of the definite gesture. He slowly looks up and smiles the widest of smiles when he sees her big, brown eyes again. Open and alive. Miracles do happen.

“Oh, my god, Catheryne!” he wraps her in his arms tightly, not worrying if he attacks her again. His happiness overweighs the subconscious threats of his presence around her. She just died and with the current situation he’d be a fool if he lets anything get in the way of showing his joy and relief of having her back.

He wraps her in his arms and cries tears of joy as he hears and feels her grumble underneath him. “Ugh…L-Liam…I…I can’t…breathe…” she struggles to voice out as he clings to her. The deities heard his pleas and granted his desire. He pulls away to see her face, life and color filling it again.

“Oh, my love, I thought I’d lost you,” he says by her ear. His shattered world feels almost complete again as he feels her chest rise and fall underneath his touch. He never wants to let her go but he knows he should or else he endangers hurting her. Slowly, he tugs himself away from her and reluctantly looks into her eyes, hoping he sees his Catheryne in them.

When he does, he loses all control and cries. Right now, it’s just Liam and Catheryne and no one else. In this small hospital room, it’s just them. He buries his face in her hands and kisses it. “Oh, Ryne, I love you.” He sobs, letting all the pain and burden he’s been carrying all this time as king and as just Liam.

Quietness pass between them for several minutes until finally Catheryne speaks up, “I hate to break the moment, Liam, but you’re breaking my stitches.” Liam looks down and see a bloody bandage on her arm, instantly he feels a pang of guilt for squeezing her so hard. “Oh, I am so sorry, my love.”

Liam rushes out of the tiny room to fetch Dr. Flint and inform his friends of the news. “She’s awake. She’s alive!” He breathes hard as if that action exasperated him. Drake, Maxwell and Hana all glance at him as if he is hallucinating. They didn’t believe him. He briskly walks back to her room with his friends and Dr. Flint in tow.

When they see her awake, they all start to rush around her bedside, but the doctor stops them, “Everyone let’s give the duchess some breathing room. She just came back from the dead. Let the professionals do their work before you do anything.” She walks beside Ryne and greets her, “Hello, Your Grace. It’s good to see you up. I must say I already knew you were a fighter, but to come back like this is truly a testament to you. Now if you can look and follow my finger while I check your vitals.” She flashes a light at Catheryne’s pupils, and she responds by squinting.

Dr. Flint reattaches her to the IV tube and heart monitor. “Looks like you reopened one of your stitches. I’ll bandage that up for you straightaway.” She grabs some materials in the cabinet and her friends stand beside her.

“You scared me to death, little blossom. You’re not allowed to do that again, okay. You’re not allowed to die again until a very, very long time from now,” Maxwell complains.

“I am so relieved to see you awake, Catheryne. How are you feeling?” Hana inquires with concern in her voice.

“That was one hell of a feat to come back from the dead, Knightely. You make my gunshot wound look obsolete,” Drake gruffly says.

She looks at her friends and faintly smiles. She is tired, and she doesn’t reply to any of their comments. She just offers a warm smile and apologetic eyes. She feels different from all of them. Now that her past has been brought to the light she cannot escape it. She sees it behind the eyes of all four of them – the fear they have of her. Will anything ever be the same again?

Dr. Flint ordered that she stay in the hospital for one more week after being woken up before releasing her. All of her wounds have almost healed. Scars left in their wake. Her back is full of diagonal, jagged scars from the whips and flogging. A big knife scar sits right above her chest where her heart is. She hates mirrors now. She hates looking at the imperfections that cover her. She doesn’t recognize herself anymore.

Her hair is disheveled; she didn’t have the energy to fix it. Hana would come into her room everyday after she showers and fixes her hair in a French braid while Maxwell and her talk about their day and sometimes noble gossip that she tunes out.

Drake comes in after them and tries to get her to talk about anything, but most of the time they just sit by the window in quiet. The only thing missing is their mutual friend, whiskey. The hospital wouldn’t let him carry liquor. He leaves right after they watch the sun set together. He always tells her that he’ll be back the next day. Sometimes, he’ll try to talk about Liam, but she tunes that out too.

During the week, he’s only been by once to visit her. She doesn’t know if she was grateful. She didn’t really know how to pick up their relationship after this. She was informed of her episode and what she did to Liam. The guilt that she feels eats her alive slowly inside and she doesn’t know how to cope with that.

When he came by to see her, it wasn’t for personal reasons. He was there as King Liam not her fiancé. He came to see one of his subjects is feeling ok and to inform her that her duchy is finally ready, but since she’s still recovering she is ordered to stay at the palace. It was a brief, cold, devoid of emotion meeting.

After he delivered his message, he left without a goodbye or any sign of affection. Again, she doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Would he ever be able to look at her the same again? Would they ever be the same? Could he see her as the Catheryne he fell in love with? Or will she always be Catheryne the spy? Catheryne the heartless, cold killer? The woman that has the drive to kill him.

When her discharge day came around, Dr. Flint comes to her room to do one last vital check before releasing her. The stitches on her arm were removed before she left. “Now, Your Grace, I am prescribing you one hour of exercise every day. When we put you into an induced coma, it weakened your body and internal system. So, good exercise and good diet for three months. Then, you come back for a check-up. I’ve already talked to all your friends, and they will help you through this process. Just remember, be patient with yourself.”

She hands her a folder of papers and bid her farewell. The travel to the palace was quiet. She feels alienated and a bit nauseous from the fresh air, having been in a sterile, secluded hospital for three months. When they arrive at the gates, reporters and photographers swarm the gates. Thankfully, the guards were instructed to bring the limo to the back, so she doesn’t have to deal with them.

Events pass in a blur. She is ushered to her room with an excessive amount of guards surrounding her. Don’t they know she can protect herself? She figures this is Liam’s doing. His overprotectiveness always shining through, but she finds it annoying. She doesn’t need all this protection and if she chooses to she can disarm all 5 guards very fast.

Her stay at the palace becomes monotonous and boring. Everything feels routine. She gets woken by Maxwell who drags her to breakfast with Bertrand, Hana, Drake, Savannah and Bartie. After, Hana walks with her to the lake she showed her when they returned to Cordonia. Sometimes, when she’s not available Drake or Maxwell will walk with her around the palace grounds, always staying in the back away from the demanding eyes of the press.

In the afternoon, they dine together and sometimes they gather in her room and turn on a movie flick. But tonight, she just didn’t have the energy to accommodate them. She hasn’t been alone since she’s been released, and she is craving that time, so she politely asked them to leave her alone for the afternoon.

She wanders the long corridors of the palace in her sweats and a hoodie over her tank. She lets her feet carry her through the hallways. She zones out her surroundings and she come to an unfamiliar wing. She hears noises in one of the rooms, and her curiosity gets the best of her.

She cracks the door open and immediately recognizes a dojo. She quietly opens the door and slip inside stealthily. Everyone is preoccupied with the sparring men in the mat.

Her eyes roam the impressive room. Training equipment and various stimulator stands are scattered along the fighting mat. An impressive collection of martial art weapons line the left wall. She moves closer to it to get a look. She observes a particular gold-trimmed black bo staff propped on a stand along with regular staffs, several nunchakus, ka-bar knives, daggers, sais swords, katanas. But what catches her eyes is a pack of stainless steel willow leaf throwing knives.

They look just like the set that her father had given for her 7th birthday. She thought how peculiar it was to give a seven year old a set of knives, but her father said that throwing knives helped him clear his mind sometimes. She was able to master knife throwing by the time she was 8 and used it as a calming mechanism just like her father taught her.

Her fingers touch the smooth, cold, steel blade and she picks one of them up. She twirls it in her hands, precise and elegant. Familiarity seeps in through her and she notices a target hung on the wall across her. She holds the blade by the tip and let it fly off her grip, landing straight in the middle of the target. She’s never missed.

The sound of the blade burying itself in the wall pulls the men away from the spar, but she doesn’t notice that they are watching her. She grabs the set and one by one flings it to the target. All 6 fitting on the small dot is the bulls-eye. She smiles to herself. Her first genuine smile through this whole ordeal.

She is pulled away by the sound of applause beside her. She finally notices the crowd that has gathered around her. Liam’s face appears from the group, and he strides up to her. It’s the first time she’s seen him since his visit. He looks a little rugged like he hasn’t gotten any good sleep. He appears to have lost a little bit of weight, but not enough for a random person to notice.

“That was impressive,” he steps in front of her. He’s wiping his brow with a towel and Ryne remembers being so head over heels for him that this simple action would have her wanting him. She observes him and he’s attire. Like her, he’s wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt stained by sweat.

“Thank you,” she replies with a shy whisper. She watches as the crowd disperses and do their own spars. She watches as they practice a certain style of fighting; she recognizes it as krav maga. “So?” she awkwardly says, not really knowing how to spark conversating. How did they get to this place when not long ago they could talk about anything? They were so comfortable around each other as if they’ve known the other their whole lives, but now they’re so close but so far away.

“Were you sparring?” she asks him. “Yes, I realized after these…events that I have to be more prepared and well-versed in fighting, so Bastien and Mara have been teaching me these last month. My philosophy used to be utilize whatever technique keeps you alive, but it seems that hasn’t worked quite well for me as of late.”

The guilt in her heart grips tighter because she knows he’s talking about the time she almost killed him. She frowns and looks away. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes for she was afraid of what she might find there. A wistful gloss comes over her eyes as she watches the guards spar each other. She misses the adrenaline and the intense exhilaration from a fight or just spar. She recalls the plenty of memories she has of her parents. Though they weren’t the role model parents she wanted, the experiences she’s had with them are irreplaceable. She hated being bred for a certain lifestyle, but her parents gave her all the attention and love that she needed. Maybe through normal eyes it was odd to teach your child such things, but her parents knew they had enemies and they gave her the tools she needed to stand and fight for herself. When she was growing up, she hated it, but as adultness settled in she sees in hind sight the importance of this side of her.

She would have never survived in the tunnel if it weren’t for her parents. She is slowly coming into acceptance that she will never escape this side of her. This is who she is whether she wanted it or not.

Liam breaks her reminiscing and says, “Care to join me?” He inclines his head pointing to the center of the room to the fighting mat. He must’ve seen the look in her eyes, but her mind starts to think over the offer. Is it safe? She hasn’t had an episode since the last time, but she doesn’t know how severe it can get. She doesn’t know if she can take it if she hurts him again.

“I don’t think that’s a very smart idea, Liam. I’m unstable,” she reasons with him. “Come, Catheryne. It will be alright. Guards are here to watch us if anything happens. Besides, Dr. Flint said you need to have your exercise every day and I doubt you’ve done any kind of physical exertion for the day.” He flashes a tiny smirk and holds out his hand for her to take. She knows there’s no way he would take no for an answer, and as long as he’s the one offering who is she to refuse him.

They walk down to the middle of the room and they split directions. Liam goes to the right while her to the left of the mat. She strips of her hoodie and suddenly she feels very exposed with only her tank top and sweats. She removes her shoes and step onto the mat. She looks across to Liam who matches her, but in the span of few seconds he’s managed to lose his T-shirt.

Clever tactics targeting my emotional weakness for him, but I don’t think he realizes I have years of training in my side. She grins and takes a few steps to the middle of the mat. The foam sinks slightly under her feet, but she doesn’t mind it. She’s been trained to fight in every terrain. Liam meets her in the center and she informs him, “I don’t think you realize just how many years I have against you, Liam. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Ryne. I’m tough and you can never hurt me. But just in advance, I’m sorry, I forgive you and I love you,” Liam assures her. She is caught off guard with the last three words he hasn’t uttered to her in three months. Another tactical advantage because the next thing that happens sends her on the floor. He knew she would be distracted by it, so he used to his advantage and slammed her down to the ground.

It was sudden, but not hard. He’s careful with her just like always. After, he stands back up giving her the chance to recover. “Liam, one. Catheryne, zero,” he boasts. By this time, most of all the guards have their eyes trained on them.

Alright, I guess I need to kick it up a notch and actually mean it. “Nice touch with the distraction there. You should’ve saved it cause you only get once chance to knock me off my feet,” she speaks as she shrugs her shoulders, loosening her muscles.

She stands still in place watching Liam’s figure with laser focus. She’s not the duchess right now. In this moment, it was just her and Liam in a casual sparring session. She observes Liam as he starts to advance to her. He throws punches, powerful and full of control. She steps back with each punch thrown at her, not for defensive tactics, but she’s observing how his body moves finding any opening in his defense.

Finally, she sees it. When he throws a right jab, he angles his body too forward exposing a bit of his side. When he throws that punch, she spins from in front of him to beside him where he’s exposed side is and strikes it, knocking the breath out of him.

“Oof,” Liam holds his side as he bends down putting his hand on his knee. “I didn’t see that coming. I’ll give you credit for that,” he admits his small defeat, but the war isn’t over.

They admit their stances back across each other, gearing up another round. This time there are no smiles only intense stares. They were both competitive in their own right. Liam will be damned if he didn’t put up a show especially in front of his guards. He always could get a little prideful and egotistical.

Catheryne is an embodiment of calm before the storm. She stands with her hands clasped behind her back waiting, testing out the waters. Liam attacks first again, but this time she meets him head on throwing a blocking strike to the punch he throws. Her reflexes are muscle memory to her. Before he throws the left jab, she’s already preparing to block it.

She headbutts Liam with force. She immediately thinks, I hope that doesn’t leave a mark. Liam takes one step back, disoriented for only a moment. He shakes his head and throws his hands up on a guard. I need to think smarter if I’m going to beat her. He eyes the weapon wall and the staff catches his attention.

Liam and Ryne circle each other like two predators hungry for action and thrill. When he makes it to the wall, he grabs the black staff and arms himself with it. He swings like how he was taught with strength and control. He drives Ryne out of his reach, but she doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he catches a little glint of amusement in her eye, but it disappears with the blink of an eye.

He holds the staff confidently with both hands as they continue their circling. Liam doesn’t give Ryne the chance to reach the wall and moves forward slashing towards her aiming directly at her chest, but she performs an impressive bend backwards. She does a series of back flips putting distance between them.

She steadies herself by widening her stance. Her body language changes from loose to rigid in a matter of milliseconds. She’s done playing around. Her training kicks in and propels her forward. Liam gears for a swing at her feet but she does a no hands cartwheel to her right, avoiding it and subsequently putting her close enough to grab a staff her own.

She spins it in her hands striking a hard stance with her hands outstretched and the staff tucked in behind her back. They perform a dance in front of each other. They attack with aggression and precision. Catheryne steps away from the defensive and attacks first. Using the staff to lift her, she aims a flying kick aimed at Liam’s face. He blocks with his staff, but her momentum is greater and knocks him backward.

He regains control and strikes her with a series of slashes and swings. She responds defensively, ducking every attack and using the weapon as a shield. Ryne notices that Liam likes to burst his attacks and that he gets very tired quickly when he exerts all the energy in his reserve.

“You know you really should save your energy,” she gives him a tip as she tucks in for a roll knocking him to the ground while catching his leg in her hold using the staff to lock his leg, but she practices control and reels her adrenaline back in before breaking his knee.

“Ah!” Liam exclaims. “That’s two-to-one. I think you need to step up your game, Liam. Or just abandon the staff since you don’t really know how to use it,” she haves fun taunting him. For some odd reason, sparring brought their old relationship back. They didn’t mind being rough with their moves. They both know they’re competitive and they don’t mind it.

He obeys and throws away the staff. “Alright, I’ll give you a fighting chance,” she says with a smile as she lets go of her weapon. Another round starts. Punches and kicks, both blocking and attacking hoping to get an advantage against the other.

Catheryne slaps Liam’s forearms away leaving his torso completely open and she uses her chest and body as a weapon again knocking Liam backwards. By now, he’s learned her techniques. He feigns a punch but ends up sweeping her leg under her.

Catheryne is caught off-guard but not enough to disorient her. She uses her downward momentum to propel her kip up back to a standing position. When Liam throws a roundhouse kick, she catches it and flips him over her head even with the weight difference. She aims a punch for his face but stops an inch away. “You lose,” she smiles in her glory and the guards who have been watching breaks in an applause.

“I concede. You win fair and square,” Ryne holds her hand out and helps him up. They face each other, hands still intertwined. Sweat covers Liam’s face, but Catheryne looks as if she wasn’t even exhausted. They smile, and Liam says, “It’s nice to see you smile, my love. I haven’t seen you this happy and playful since the Homecoming Ball.”

Liam watches as his carefree Catheryne retreat into her guard. He watches as her eyes shift from happy to cold in an instant. He notices her posture, guarded and fierce. Her eyes are dilated and hazy. “Catheryne?” What’s wrong?”

Her grip of his hand tightens, and her nails dig his skin. “Ryne, my love? What’s wrong?” He asks again moving to touch her cheek, but she slaps it away.

“You’re an enemy. You are an enemy and you must be stopped. I must kill you,” she growls.

Liam is confused on what is happening. One minute she was happy, and he was talking to her, but now she’s in her episode. Ryne pushes him on the chest and her punch connects to his face this time. The metallic taste of his blood fills his mouth and he begs for her to come out of her episode while ordering his guards to stay away while he tries to coax her out of this hallucination.

“Catheryne. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. It’s Liam. I am Liam. I am not going to hurt you. I am not the enemy. I promise. The enemies are gone. They will never hurt you again. Not as long as I am living and breathing. No one will hurt you again.” He backs away from her reeling composure.

He remembers the advice Dr. Mallon gives him of trying to remind her of who she is while she’s in her state, “Please, remember who you are. Your name is Catheryne Knightely. You are loved. You are safe. Your favorite color is blue. Your favorite place is the beach. You grew up in North Carolina and moved to New York. You live in Cordonia now. You are a duchess. You own a duchy named Valtoria,” he continues to list facts about her, praying and hoping it works.

She throws a punch again but he’s ready this time. He restrains her against him, “Please, my Ryne. Please remember me. I love you. I love you so much. Remember our trip to the secret cove when we first met. Remember our trip to the Statue of Liberty.”

Having her close, he can see the turmoil in her eyes. He sees it, he sees Catheryne, his Catheryne behind the rage, fighting for control. With that he’s assured that his tactic is working, and he continues to list their adventure together.

He knows that she is still there and that she will never stop fighting. After a long five minutes of restraining her and her struggles, she finally takes control and she falls unconscious from the strain and fatigue. Liam carries her back to her room and sits beside her sleeping form. He recalls the events leading to her episode. He was talking to her about how their relationship felt normal again and how she looked happy.

He can’t figure it out and decides to call Dr. Mallon and ask him for advice. He relays the whole conversation and mentioning how he hasn’t seen Catheryne’s old self since the homecoming ball.

“Liam, did you use the word homecoming specifically?” Dr. Mallon asks through the phone. “Yes, doctor, please. Just tell me what you think it is.”

“Well, when we were in the tunnels. After I’ve administered the chemical into her system and the clips, Amir would recite words to her and I overheard some and one of them was the word ‘homecoming’. I believe, if I am correct, it is a trigger word for her. A word that can spiral her back to an episode almost instantaneously. While she was in the hospital, we were able to remove traces of the hallucinogen from her system, but anything in her memory. We can’t do anything but try to avoid those. I would be very careful about the choices of word you mention around her. I believe they used traumatic moments of her life and the words have a connection to those. I’m so sorry that I can help you more that this, Liam. But good luck.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mallon,” Liam replies before hanging up the room. Again, the guilt in his heart overwhelms him. It’s because of him that she has to continue fighting and go through so much pain. He lays down beside her. Right now, he just wants to feel peace. He just wants to mourn his old Catheryne.

He whispers by her ear and make a promise, “I promise, Catheryne, I promise that I will fight beside you through all of this.”

#taken #playchoices #choices you play #choices the royal romance #choices trr #trr3 #choices trr3 #trr liam #liam x mc #dark angst #liam rys #king liam

58 notes · View notes

deactivated4179291 · 7 years ago

Text

Star Crossed- Part 23 (H.S AU) - “Hold On, I Still Want You”

Possible trigger warning

A/N- this is gonna be hella dramatic but stuff like this normally is I feel like, so? idk but I hope you like it.

Harry’s POV

“Here,” Margot shoves the earpiece toward me, “put this in your ear.” I do as I’m told sliding the small device into place. They do a test-run, speaking into their wristbands to make sure I can hear all of them through the small speaker. I nod giving them a brief thumbs-up, and Margot announces that they’re about to shut the power down, and tells me to get myself ready.

Using the computer to control the entire building, the power is literally in their hands. The back gate leading to the building opens itself for me.

“Go,” I hear Margot shout, and I take off like I’m running a marathon. I don’t stop until my legs nearly give out as I reach the entrance for authorized personnel, throwing the door open.

Maddie’s POV

I had never known what it was like to experience such pain. I had never experienced torture in my life before, but I knew that’s exactly what this was. This was punishment. Punishment for not being who they say I have to be. They poked and prodded at my memories like they were chunks of meat, and filled my mind with nightmares while I was under. They planted seeds of doubt inside of me that I couldn’t shake, using their technology to create heartbreaking images before my closed eyes. I didn’t blame him. They pushed and pushed and dug so deep into my mind that I couldn’t fight it. I gave up.

The truth is, they didn’t have to pull a trigger to kill me. The pain of seeing all that I had ruined was enough to kill me on its own. And it did – everything from the night I met Harry, and found out what his sign was, to the night he told me he loved me. Knowing I had torn all of these happy memories apart cut me down to my bone. They had taken them from me, and I felt empty.

My ears were ringing when I finally woke up again. The officers rushing all around me, carrying equipment, and shutting machinery off were frantic. They were rushing as if the world was ending, and if they didn’t turn everything off the building might explode. Given how much equipment there was attached to my head, and the probe in the back of my neck, I wouldn’t be surprised if the building did have the potential to explode.

The fluorescent lights flickered, causing my eyes to ache, as I tried to figure out exactly what was going on. My eyes found their way to the screen inside the room beyond the small glass window. On each of the screens was a memory that they had stolen.

“What’s happening?” I asked so weakly with my dry, crackly throat, that no one heard me. Or maybe they just didn’t seem to care. With every tired blink, one person had filed out of the room, leaving me behind. It was a strenuous effort to even tilt my head from one side to the other. I don’t know why I acted so surprised that they just left me here to fend for myself, knowing damn well that I couldn’t do anything. I tugged my arms up against the restraints with every bit of strength I could muster, but it didn’t seem to be enough no matter how hard I tried.

My head fell back to the rest on the chair as my muscles went slack, and I gave up. This was it, I thought. This was how it was going to happen. They were going to leave me here to overdose on the shit that they were pushing through my veins. I felt a single tear slip from my eyes as I started to cough, while my body tried to fight off the drugs, but they were too strong. My body starts to break into sweats, and I swear I’m hallucinating when I hear loud bang of the door being knocked down. I turn my head to see the door on the ground, knocked clean off of its hinges. And there he stood, in its frame.

“Harry?” I don’t believe my eyes. How was he here? Why would he come to find me?

“Hey, Angel,” he says quietly with a relieved smile. He rushes over and starts to undo the restraints while the man accompanying him pulls the IV out of my arm. My body instantly starts to relax, not having to resist the effects of the substance.

“What the hell did they do to her?” Harry growls to the man who checks my pulse, while he yanks furiously at the constraints around my ankles.

“They tried to overdose her, her pulse is there but it’s weak, we have to get her out of here,” the man with red hair and blue eyes says. He had an accent similar to Harry’s, only his voice was slightly more high pitched. No one seemed to have a voice as raspy and deep as Harry’s, though. The man looks down at his watch swiftly before flicking his eyes up towards Harry, who was undoing the belt around my torso that held me down. “We’ve got five minutes mate, we gotta go, now,” he said urgently. Harry only nods quickly in response, before sliding his arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me with ease. As gravity pulled my body down, and he pulled me up, I winced, feeling the pain in my neck. I’m complete frail and limp in his arms.

“Stop!” the man helping him yells, “she’s still attached…” he mumbles “Fuck!” he shouts angrily.

“What? What does that mean?” Harry asks, tearfully. I had only now noticed he was crying. I wasn’t sure if it was out of relief, or something else was toying with his emotions.

“Hold her still,” he replies grimly, walking behind my head. I feel anxiety deep in my chest as my heart starts to beat faster, not knowing what he’s about to do, or how bad it’s going to hurt. I feel two cold fingertips press into the tender aching skin on my neck making me wince before they begin to pull back. I feel a cold metal rod being retracted from within my head, as the man's strong hand hold my head tightly in place. I whimpered and groaned as he pulled further and further.

“You’re hurting her!” Harry’s voice boomed throughout the small room.

“If I don’t get this out, she’ll be in a lot more pain, trust me!” the man snaps. I feel the piece slip out of my skin, and gasp in relief as it’s gone, turning and leaning my head against Harry’s chest. I feel him place a cold hand against the wound it’s left behind, and apply pressure surely because I was bleeding.

“She’s bleeding, why is she bleeding so much?” I could only hear the worry in Harry’s shaky voice.

“We gotta move, Harry!” He yells, ushering us all towards the doorway, and down the corridor and maneuvering through the maze of halls. As we continue to navigate through the various twists and turns I feel dizzy, and the drugs aren’t helping. I feel like any moment I could wake up from another round of digging and Harry won’t be here, nor his accomplice.

“Harry..” I say, sounding so fragile that one wrong move could break me. It probably could.

“Shh, love, don’t try and talk right now,” Harry looks down to me shaking his head as we continue to walk. I ignore his order and continue to ask my question.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” I ask coughing violently in his arms, as he tries to steady me. He looks utterly terrified, he doesn’t know what to do, he’s completely beside himself.

“Harry, keep moving we got to get her out of here we only have one minute!” The redhead yells from behind me.

“Harry,” I muttered weakly, closing my eyes. I swallow thickly, trying to stop the burning sensation in my throat that’s been brought on by both the feeling of wanting to cry and the fact that I feel like I can hardly breathe. “Harry, you shouldn’t be here,” I shake my head sadly, “this isn’t real,” I sob, starting to cry once more. I’m so sick and tired of crying. “just leave me here, I don’t deserve to leave. You hate me, you’re not really here. They’re still playing tricks on me. You're not here,” I continue to chant.

“Hey! he cuts me off and I open my eyes, looking up at him sadly, ” You think I could ever just let you go?...Never,” He says, shaking me once in his arms to snap me out of it. There’s not a single trace of apprehension in his tone, nor does he hesitate to tell me he’s not giving up on me. He has complete jurisdiction over his words, and they come from his heart.

“Harry, she’s losing too much blood, get a move on!” the voice belonging to the hand on the back of my neck screams. The loud bang of gunshots goes off and a bullet flies to the wall behind us.

“Shit,” Harry murmurs before they both start taking off towards the door. Once through its frame, they slam it shut and make a run into the dark. I try my best to keep my eyes open and fight the desperate need to close them. I’m fading quickly, when Harry slides into some sort of car, with me in his lap. The car speeds off as bullets pelt the concrete around us, sending another wave of fear through me.

“Shit! Flip her over, Ed, we got to do this now!” A female voice hollers from the front of the vehicle.

“Margot, we don’t have what we need here!” The redhead – Ed I’m guessing – responds.

“Do what? What’s going on?!” that deep voice with the British accent rings through the car, and I feel the vibration of his voice rumbling from his against my body. My vision is blurry, but I can make out a hand reaching for something in front of me, before I am placed in the isle of the two back seats so that I’m lying on my stomach, torn gently from Harry’s grasp. “can someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on?!” my boyfriend cries out.

“She’s losing a lot of blood, from where Ed pulled out the device they used to steal her memories.” Harry gulps at her words, looking down to me.

“Wh-what can I do? Just tell me what I can do, I’ll bloody do it,” he throws his hands up, and I watch them shake, as he is stricken with sheer panic. I feel a firm hand press some form of cloth to the back of my head tightly, and yelp at the contact.

“There’s nothing we can do right now Harry,” the female voice almost wavers, “all we can do is hope that we get her back in time,” her voice grows monotone as she pulls it together. Harry shakes his head as he's faced with more tears. Just as I did before, I gather up all the strength I could, and reached up a palm from off the floor of the car, reaching it up, to grasp his hand. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and watched as he clenched his eyes shut tightly. The way his bottom lip trembled so visibly, I knew he was trying with everything he had to strong, as I did the same for him.

Harry’s POV – A/N this part is inspired by the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet so, check that ish out. It’s a beautiful song.

I clutched onto her hand tightly, with everything I had. I wanted her to know I wasn’t letting go. That I would never let her go. She didn’t believe I could still care for her after what had happened. She couldn’t have been more wrong. I knew she was doing her best, but what I needed more than anything was for her to beat this. I needed her to make it, and I needed her to hold on. Another wave of panic shot through me when I felt her hand go slack inside of mine. My head whipped around to look at Ed who leaned forward and pressed two fingers to the side of her neck.

“She’s fine, she’s just passed out,” he says, reassuringly. My head smacked against the headrest of my seat in relief as I let out a breath I didn’t notice I had been holding. It feels like hours pass even though they’re only minutes, as the car finally pulls to a gate. Margot sticks her head out the window and yells something I can’t quite make out before the gate opens, and the car drives into a tunnel…underground. The small black SUV pulls to stop in a large open space like a road. Huge overhead fluorescent lights reveal what hides in the dark of knight within the underground space. It’s a large road, surrounded by houses – like some sort of underground city.

“Get her to Martin, stat,” Margot orders Ed before all of the car doors swing open. Much to my dismay, Ed insists that he carry her where she needs to go. We walk straight to the building the car has parked outside of, and I open the door for Ed as he rushes Maddie inside.

“We’ve got a case of OD and BL from the Dalton facility, which room?” Ed asks the woman behind the desk assertively. She points to the right, and Ed nods seeming to understand exactly where the destination is.

“Where are we taking her?” I ask, pulling my jeans up to keep my hands from pulling on my hair, wiping my sweaty palms against the tight denim.

“She has to go to the OR,” he says flatly. Just then, Margot rushes up next to us and is walking at my other side.

Maddie’s brought into a small room and placed on the metal table the stands in the middle of the small room. They roll her over quickly so she’s lying with her face down, and they slide a pillow under her head so she’s not uncomfortable. It’s only now that I notice the large hole that resembles a bullet wound directly in the middle of the back of her neck. A man with gray hair rushes in, snapping on a pair of latex gloves, and walks up to where she’s lying, before talking to Margot and Ed – no one’s bothered by the fact I am witnessing the girl that I love potentially about to lose her battle with death – no one apart from me, of course.

‘What are we looking at here?” he asks, as he tilts her head to view her next more clearly, flicking the overhead light on, and pulling it down to inspect the wound.

“OD, and major BL,” Margot, says, snapping on a pair of gloves herself.

“Not just that, apparently,” he points out to her, running his finger over a small bump just bellow her hair.

“A trackers,” Margot nods with a defeated groan, kicking the nearest wall.

“What? Can’t you get it out?” I ask. The doctors look at me sympathetically as I run my hands through my hair tucking them behind my head staring forward at him. He goes to speak, but Margot interrupts him.

“She’s already lost so much blood-“

“She and I are the same type,” she nods yanking her long black T-shirt sleeve up.

“How do you even know that?” The doctor looks at her bewildered.

“I just do, okay?! Now do whatever you have to do, and work your magic. Save her Martin…please.” She begs. It’s the first I’ve seen any kind of emotion escape from Margot’s face since we met all but hours ago. The doctor nods and ejects blood from her veins as quickly as he can while Ed hooks up the IV for Maddie.

“Listen, mate, you’re not gonna want to be here,” Ed starts to speak but I shake my head, cutting him off.

“Don’t even bloody try it, ‘mate’,” I spit in anger, “ ‘m not going anywhere,” I kneel down, and grab Maddie’s small, cold, now fragile hand, and press a kiss to her knuckles, rubbing over them with my thumb. I hear skidding, and turn to see Margot has kicked a stool in my direction. I mouth a quick thank you and nod to her, earning an understanding nod in response. I turn back to where she’s resting against the cold metal table, looking up with tears in my eyes. If she didn’t make it out of this alive – if she couldn’t hold on, how was I supposed to?

Margot appears lightheaded, but nevertheless, rises to her feet, and walks over to where the doctor has handed Ed the blood and left him responsible for that, as he grabs what he needs to stitch the gaping hole shut. His gentle, but graceful hands suture the torn flesh perfectly. Once that’s done, his stare turns to me.

“I’m gonna need you to hold her down, tightly. She’s unconscious but this sure as hell won’t allow her to stay that way.” He says warily reaching to the tray behind him to grab a scalpel. My heart falls to my stomach as I know he’s about to cut into her. He’s about to cause her pain. “Edward, is it ready? We don’t have time to numb her,” his thick, gravely southern voice calls across the table to Ed, who nods tilting the plastic back of blood upside down, holding it up in the air with his arm. I watch as it slides through the clear rubber tube all the way down to where the need has been carefully slid into her vein.

“Okay, opening now,” the doctor murmurs. I stand, and push down on her shoulders, holding her to the table tightly. I’m trying to desperately not to cause her more pain right now, but I know there’s no way around it.

The second the doctor glides the blade horizontally across the bump on her neck, an ear piercing scream escapes from her, sending an ache to my heart. She tries to thrash underneath my hands, but she’s too weak to even move much right now. I want to tell her to calm down. I want to tell her that it’s going to be okay, but I can’t because I don’t know if it will be. I can’t ever lie to her again.

Her screams grow quieter once the blade stops moving, only the return when the doctor shoves the wound open with a small metal separating device. She sobs loudly as he sticks a small metal pair of tongs down into her blood covered flesh, clamping onto something and pulling his hand back up to reveal a small bullet-like piece of plastic with a blinking light. He places it into a metal bowl of what looks like water, before cleaning up her neck.

“How’s her pulse looking, Ed?” He asks, grabbing his sutures again. He nods at me as if to tell me to keep holding her in place. She whimpers quietly now, her body shaking every now and then as she lets out a cry.

“She’s doing alright, Doc,” Ed nods, upon inspecting her neck with his two fingers again, “it’s getting slower, though, you need to close.” He adds.

The doctor nods, “Already on it, Margot, how are you feeling?” he asks as he begins to stitch the cut on her neck.

“I’m fine, Martin,” Margot pants from where she’s holding Maddie’s head in place.

“Alright, it’s done,” the Doctor nods at his work, placing his tools back on the tray. “Keep her here for the next hour or so, then bring her to recovery. I want every drop of that blood in her system before I see her next. She needs all the clean blood she can get,” he sighs, pulling his gloves off his hands and disposing of them.

“What do you mean clean blood?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I return to my stool, and repeat my actions, taking Maddie’s right hand in both of mine, clasping onto it like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hold her hand.

“When she was in the Dalton base, they drugged her really heavily. Her body made it through the surgery, but there’s still a chance that the overdose can kill her,” Ed murmur sympathetically. I only nod understandingly, as I watch her puffs of air brush hair off of her pale, sweaty face over and over in her unconscious state. Fresh tear stains cover her cheek, leaving a trail behind. Please, just hold on, I silently pleaded, I still want you, no I still need you. I promise.

#harry styles imagine #Harry Styles #harry edward styles #harry style au #harry styles au meme #hs au meme #hs fanfiction #hs fan fiction #hs fanfic #harry styles preferences #harry styles romance #harry style zodiac #harry styles aquarius #harry styles story #harry styles fiction #harry styles smut #harry styles love #harry styles love story #harry styles mature one shot

22 notes · View notes

dragonbagel · 8 years ago

Text

Retrograde - Part 10

the nerds finally reunite, but shit stays shitty. [read on ao3 here]

"Rhys?" Jack called, fitting the key into the appropriate lock and opening the door with a sharp click. "You in here, pumpkin?"

There was a strangled cry, and that was all the confirmation Jack needed before bolting through the doorway.

"Rhysie?" he said again, glancing around to find himself in some sort of observation room. The stench of a rotting body assaulted his nose, and he turned to see a bloodied bandit corpse lying in the corner. In front of him, there was some sort of control panel. Some of the multicolored buttons had no labels, but the ones that did made Jack feel nauseous. Electrodes, extreme temperature gauges, oxygen level controls-- God, he couldn't wait to get his hands on Vasquez (or, more specifically, around his throat).

"I did it! I k-killed them, just like you asked!"

Jack looked up to see there was a slightly tinted window, which he easily identified as one-way glass. And beyond that window... Jack felt his heart shatter in his chest.

"Please, please no! You've taken everything from me!"

Rhys' body looked even worse than it had on the video feed, and Jack quickly located the button that would allow him to enter the other room. Rhys was crumpled in a corner, a Loader Bot holding his flailing body in place.

"Rhys!" he called again, hurrying to disable the Loader Bot's viselike grip. But Rhys didn't respond, looking in the space beyond Jack in panic.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he whimpered, and it took Jack a moment to realize that Rhys wasn't talking to him. What had Vasquez done to him?

A small part of his brain remembered what Tim had discovered earlier, and he searched Rhys' body for any sort of injection site, which proved difficult with the way the man was thrashing about, still pleading with nonexistent enemies. Jack finally located a small needle lodged into Rhys' exposed skin just below his neck, the skin abnormally cold and clammy. It looked like some sort of IV, connected to a port on the wall behind the Loader Bot.

Jack carefully slid it out from beneath Rhys' skin as he flinched, the point of entry now dotted with blood and a purplish liquid. He then went back to trying to get the Loader Bot to release Rhys, who was still begging for his life. No, not his life-- his parents'. Jack thought back to what Sasha had told him, about what that bitch Vallory had done to Rhys and his family. He felt sick at the thought of Rhys having to relive that again, even if it was only in his mind.

Rhys screamed all of a sudden, wrenching himself free from the Loader Bot's now-loosened grasp. His left hand, which dangled from a crooked and probably broken wrist, attached itself to his empty right shoulder socket, clawing at the marred flesh where his arm used to be. He was crying now, yelling nonsense, his nails drawing blood from the half-clotted scabs.

"Rhys! Rhys, look at me!"

Rhys didn't seem to hear him, didn't seem to register that what he was experiencing was nothing more than a drug-induced hallucination.

He grabbed Rhys' wrist to stop him from hurting himself even more, and Rhys howled in pain. Yep, Jack thought to himself. That wrist was definitely broken.

"Rhysie, it's me, it's Jack," he said soothingly, brushing a few strands of Rhys' hair from his sweaty forehead. "Come back to me, baby, please."

Rhys recoiled at the touch, trying to push himself away from Jack despite already being pressed against the wall. "Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me!" he snarled, his features contorted in anger despite the clear fear and pain in his non-bloodied eye.

Jack took in Rhys' shaking form, noting with another wave of anger that Rhys was naked save a now blood-speckled pair of boxers. He could barely handle the thought of Vasquez beating Rhys physically; if the man had so much as thought about touching Rhys sexually...

"Th-that was different!" Rhys said, his voice wavering. "I-it was just a j-job!"

He was trembling more violently now, his speech lower. "P-please," he said again, his voice weak and sounding defeated. "I-I'll d-do it, just l-let them go."

His body went rigid for a moment, giving Jack enough time to wrap his arms around him before he started to flail again. "Shh, I've got you," he said as he gently pressed Rhys' face against his chest.

He didn't know how long the drugs would stay in Rhys' system, so he did the one thing he knew how to: he held him. Rhys tried to struggle, but the torturing had made him weak. His breathing was unsteady, and the stench of blood and sweat was overpowering as Jack pressed a kiss to the top of Rhys' head. He didn't care, though; finally, finally he could keep him safe.

Rhys began to let out pained moans, although Jack's chest absorbed most of the sound. He tightened his grip, providing the pressure and tactile comfort that usually calmed Rhys down after he had nightmares.

"It's okay, Rhysie. You're safe, it's not real," he said softly. But from the way Rhys was continuing to struggle, it was clear Jack's words hadn't sunk in.

"I-I'm sorry," he said again, this time with less force. "I-I let you down. I w-won't l-let her get away w-with this."

He continued to stammer out apologies until his voice faded out, his shudders lessening in intensity until his body went limp. Jack felt a wave of panic wash over him before he felt the warmth of Rhys' breath, irregular as it was, ghost across his collarbone. He hummed as he ran his fingers through Rhys' hair, not caring that it was sticky and matted with blood. Once he was through with every last bastard that had taken part in this little operation, some scarlet on his fingers would be the last of his worries (or, rather, the worries of his dry cleaners).

"J-Jack?"

Jack looked down to see Rhys staring up at him from his lap, his functional eye less glossed over than before. His voice was hoarse, and he looked like he was about to slip back into unconsciousness at any moment.

"Hey cupcake," he said with a smile, although he couldn't help but glance over all of the cuts and bruises littering Rhys' body.

Rhys must've noticed, because he shifted so that less of his skin was in view of Jack. "Is it really you?"

Jack nodded. "Of course it is, pumpkin."

Rhys sighed in content, although he winced at the sudden deflation of his lungs against what were clearly broken ribs. Jack had to hold back a shudder at the thought of what else Rhys might've seen while hallucinating, especially involving himself.

"I thought you'd never come," Rhys murmured, pressing his face against Jack's chest again.

"And leave you here with that psycho?" Jack asked, laughing, as he put his arm around Rhys' back.

Rhys just shrugged, curling into himself more tightly. The distraught look on his face made Jack itch even further for some sort of revenge, for retribution against the damage done to Rhys' mind and body.

Rhys let out a whine, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his fist as he wrapped his arm around his knees, which he'd brought up to his chest.

"Rhys," Jack said, placing a hand on his shoulder; it reminded him of how Vasquez had done the same thing no more than an hour ago, and he felt sick. "Babe, I need you to stay with me."

"It hurts," he said quietly, sounding far more vulnerable than Jack could ever remember. "It hurts so bad."

"What hurts, Rhysie?" Jack asked, shifting to carefully inspect the bruises and contusions littering Rhys' skin.

Rhys didn't respond, slowly rocking back and forth.

"Please, let me help you," Jack said as softly as possible, refraining from touching Rhys despite how badly he ached to do so.

Rhys shook his head, scrunching his face in the way Jack knew he did on those rare occasions when Jack caught him crying.

"Did he touch you?" he asked, swallowing hard. He didn't know what he would do if Rhys' answer was yes.

But Rhys simply shook his head again, and Jack felt a sense of relief flood him. It was short lived, however, as Rhys started to speak again in a trembling voice.

"Th-they did. They a-all did."

"Who, Rhys?" Jack said, his voice low and defensive. "Who put their hands on you?"

"I didn't want to!" Rhys said frantically as Jack stared at him in confusion. "I never wanted to."

Jack hummed as he looked Rhys over, his gaze landing on his panicked hazel eye and the blood coating the other half of his face.

"P-please don't go, Jack."

Jack huffed, gently pulling Rhys into another embrace. "I'm not going anywhere, cupcake."

"But he's right," Rhys said, his voice cracking. "He's right about me."

"Who?" Jack asked, nestling Rhys' head in the crook of his neck. "That asshole Vasquez?"

Rhys flinched at the name, and Jack reached to run his hand over his back, soothing him.

"I fucked up, Jack," Rhys said, his voice hitching. "I fucked everything up."

Jack pulled back from Rhys, looking into his eyes as he softly brushed his thumb over Rhys' split lip. "None of this is your fault, Rhysie. I promise you, once I finish with him there won't be anything left to airlock."

Rhys felt his lip begin to tremble, averting his gaze. "He knows," Rhys said, choking back a sob. "He knows everything."

"Shh," Jack said, rubbing his back again. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."

"B-but it's not," Rhys said, trying and failing to untangle himself from Jack. "You don’t know w-what I d-did.”

Rhys’ chest felt unbearably tight, and his surroundings were flickering in and out of existence. He was in that disgusting, muggy torture chamber, and then suddenly, he was back on Pandora, in the cold air and the red dirt and the--

“Rhys,” Jack said, seeing the man in his lap starting to fade out of awareness again. “I don’t care what you did, okay?”

Rhys tilted his head slightly to the side, not completely comprehending Jack’s words. Jack’s lips on his forehead, however, was something he understood.

“I love you Rhys,” Jack said, pulling him as close as he could without agitating his broken limbs and bruises. “I’m never letting you go again. I’m so, so sorry.”

He could feel Rhys smile against his chest, the hand that he still had left cupping Jack’s cheek lightly. He grimaced at the pressure it put on his wrist, but the reassurance that Jack was real and Jack was here and oh God Jack loved him was all he cared about.

“You think you can stand?” Jack asked, meeting Rhys’ gaze and shuddering slightly at the sight of his missing eye.

“Uhh...” Rhys tried to push himself up, and with a generous amount of help on Jack’s part, he was able to shakily stay on his feet. Jack took Rhys’ arm and gently draped it over his shoulders, supporting him as they hobbled towards the door.

“We’re almost there,” Jack reassured him, painfully aware of the mental torment their surroundings were somehow still causing Rhys.

Rhys nodded, clenching his jaw at the pain shooting through his limbs. He watched as Jack reached out the arm not supporting Rhys to grab the wall and hoist them through to the observation room.

But then Jack froze, looking to Rhys in confusion. Rhys tried to reason out what was going on, but the combination of drugs, lack of sleep and overwhelming pain were quickly turning his brain into mush. Rhys saw Jack’s lips form the words “it’s locked” before the world was spinning around him, turning black around the edges as his cheek was met with something hard and cold.

There was a loud, reverberating laughter, one full of self-satisfaction and pride. This time, however, the laughter wasn’t just in Rhys’ head.

#rhack #rhack fic #rhack tftbl #rhys the company man #handsome jack #retrograde #trash writing

22 notes · View notes

solified-chanyeol-lover · 8 years ago

Text

Missing 9 - by Solifiedjaporeanist21

Rating: Mature

Main Members: Lee Yeol (Chanyeol EXO) x (Y/N) (Reader/You)

Pairings: Lee Yeol (Chanyeol) x Reader (You), Seo Joon Oh (Jung Kyung Ho) x Ra Bong Hee (Baek Jin Hee), Choi Tae Ho (Choi Tae Joon) x Ha Ji Ah (Lee Sun Bin)

Words: 3,886

Warnings: Character Death, Language, Heavy Angst, Explicit Death Scenes, Plot Twists.

Summary: Based on the TV show Missing Nine. Yet instead of nine survivors there are ten. I truthfully did not enjoy the ending so this is my take on how it should have gone.

(A/N): This is my version of the show and how the reader (you) would react to the tense situation of the plane crash. In this they will remain on the island longer than four months.

This idea is mine completely, though the plot belongs to the original writers so credit rightfully goes to them.

However I do focus in the reader and Yeol's POV but eventually I will switch to the others if needed. Mainly on Ra Bong Hee since she tells what happened on the island.

Main Survivors:

(Y/N) (Age 20): Youngest of the group. Yeol's girlfriend and co-composer. Among all only the Dreamers know of (Y/N) and Yeol's relationship. Holds a shocking secret. (Will be revealed in chapter 4).

Lee Yeol (Age 23): Former member of Dreamers. Solo-artist and song writer. (Y/N)'s protective boyfriend.

Joon Oh (Age 28): Leader of Dreamers. Leader of the survivors. Ra Bong Hee's love interest.

Ra Bong Hee (Age 26): Witness. Only survivor. Joon Oh's stylist and love Interest.

Choi Tae Ho (Age 27): Former member of Dreamers. Notable actor. Carries a conservative nature. Ha Ji Ah's boyfriend.

Ha Ji Ah (Age 26): Rising actor. Choi Tae Ho's girlfriend. Close friend of Lee Yeol and (Y/N).

Hwang Jae Gook (Age 27): President of Legend Entertainment.

Jung Ki Joon (Age 39): Joon Oh's loyal manager. Only one that knows of Ji Ah's condition.

Tae Hang Ho (Age 36): Jae Gook's secretary. Head of Legend Entertainment.

Yoon So Hee (Age 25): Top actress.

…

I stirred awake, furrowing my brows in pain, feeling a massive tightness around my lungs that grew threatening. I opened my eyes to figure out why, only to be surrounded by dark blue horizons. Immediately I gasp, feeling myself choking on the water that entered my mouth. I hissed, closing it soon after to save what little breath I had left.

Frantically I swayed my arms up, kicking my feet to reach the light of the surface above my head, but as I grew near the liquid in my chest felt as though it was weighting me down, Before I hadn’t realized how far away from the surface I was.

In the end I kept swimming in hopes of survival, but as my oxygen begin to deplete so did my vision. Clearly my body was losing its energy to move and I grasp above me with what strength I had left, longing for the air that seemed so far away.

Misfortune was on my side however as my consciousness begins to fade at a rapid pace and I start to see the darkness. ‘No, no I can’t die, not now, not with him…’ Painful thoughts roam my brain and as much as I wanted to rid of them, couldn’t. Gradually I begun to sink, my body growing limp from exhaustion. I choked on the water, grabbing ahold of my neck in one last ditch effort of salvation. A silent scream escaping my lips at the thought of my demise.

Its quiet for a what felt like a eternity before I finally hear it. “(Y/N)!” Someone was calling my name, the water beneath their feet splashing as they frantically run through the heavy water towards me. However, when there is no sign of the alledged person I think that maybe I’m hallucinating.

I cough in agony, my eyes growing heavy and tired. I really only wanted to close them for a second, though a second ended up two, then three, then four. Eventually withstanding was futile and I fell still, my last breath finally leaving my body. When all seemed lost a hand grabs mine, pulling me up into their arms, as they hurriedly rush to the surface.

My ears rang when I finally got out of the water, the dim light of sky outside my eyelids bright. Land envelopes my back, my savior hastily rushing to wake me out of my state, to rid of all the water in my lungs. And as much as I wanted to say something, knew I couldn’t. My throat just felt so dry and constricted. It was as though I was half asleep. I could hear and feel almost everything though my body was numb. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, I felt lifeless. And maybe I was.

Essentially my hearing returns and I pick up the groggling sound of my rescuer. It was faded and hollow but I could still make out what they were saying. “C'mon (Y/N), wake up…” There’s tears in their voice, I notice. They sounded just as scared as I was. “Don’t die on me, please wake up!” I swore that I’ve heard this voice before.

The pressure subdues as I felt their lips on mine, filling my lungs with lost air. Only then do I begin to feel my forgotten strength returning. I tried to gasp, to breathe in the air but the water that I swallowed was clogging what I tried to get in. After a couple more tries I finally managed, coughing up the liquid. Turning on my side, I spit up the water, gagging violently as it came up, the burn scorching my throat.

Regaining my sanity I looked up towards the voice that cries my name, easily recognizing it now. “(Y/N), are you okay. Talk to me baby, please.” I met the eyes of my beloved, my voice broken as I muttered his name. “Yeol.”

Instinctively my boyfriend pulls me into his embrace, letting out a sigh of graditude. “Don’t scare me like that Jagiya, I thought I lost you.” I returned his gesture, my heart warming at his words. When he pulls away I get a good look of him, furrowing my brows. “Baby your face, you’re so beaten up.” I pointed out horrid, gingerly cupping his cheek in my shaken palms. Yeol circles my hand with his own, guiding me up from the cold ground.

My boyfriend hisses when i lean on his side, and only now do i realize just how fucked up he really was. Yeol grips his left arm in pain, explaining that he was fine. I shake my head at his protest. “No, you’re not, your arm is most likely broken.”

Yeol rests his hands on my shoulders and i knew if i wasnt as short as i was he’d most possibly be hurting from it. “I’m fine really, I’m far more concerned about you.” I sighed. “What am i going to do about you? You’re bleeding and broken yet you’re worried about me?” Yeol nods and i cant help but gawk in his cuteness. “Well if i were to be honest ive been better, however physical wise I’m alright.”

“That’s a relief, i never felt so scared in my life, i thought i lost you.”

I look around us weary. “You think we were the only ones that survived?” I wasn’t too enthused about the subject but i could rightly deny it either.

Yeol grabs my hand, “Let’s go find out then, Jagiya?” Though surprised by his sudden rush of energy i merely nodded, following behind him.

Flashback: On the plane.

“Wow, this is nice. You got it made, baby.” Yeol chuckles at my amazement, watching as I turn in circles to capture every inch of the plane. “It sure is, isn’t, President Hwang sure went all out for this. And what do you mean I have it made, you’re just as important as me. You’re my personal co-composer, half the lyrics of my songs are yours too, you know?” I grabbed my boyfriends arm, “I know, but still I don’t sing or anything like you do. You’re far more talented.”

Yeol pulls me forward, into his arms, his lips far too close for comfort. I feel my heart beat speed up. “What are you talking about, you too are talented, but only I’m allowed to see just how.” I gasped in shock, pushing him away. “Shhhh! Yeol, there are people who can hear you.” I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed at the comment.

“Its nothing to be embarrassed about, Jagiya.” My boyfriend murmurs. Walking back over to me. Lightly he pushes me back, my bosy hitting something. I look only to find out it wasn’t a wall like i assumed but the bathroom counter. Without hesitation Yeol lifts me up on it, placing himself between my spread legs. “We shouldn’t be doing this, baby, someone could find us.”

He holds me against his chest, tracing his fingertips down my spine, forcing sparks of excitement throughout my body. “I doubt it, everyone is doing their own business, besides this might be the last time I can hold you like this. You know when we land we have to go back to a professional relationship.”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste, wrapping my arms around his waist, my head on his chest. “I wish we didn’t have to. I love you Yeol, I love you so so much and I hate not being able to express it outside the studio. I want more than anything to be boyfriend and girlfriend, not boss and co worker.” I let out a shuttering breath, listening to the steady breathing of my boyfriend.

Yeol rests his chin atop of my head. “Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll make it up to you I promise. One day we won’t have to be so secretive about our relationship.”

I smile. “You better, I work my ass off to please you, whether it be sex or composing.” I paused meeting his eyes. “Of course not that I mind.” Yeol grins, running his thumb across my cheek before he places his lips on mine. I giggled, acknowledging his endearment, kissing him back, my arms around his neck.

Yeol helps me down from the counter once our kiss ends, my mind hazy and clouded with pleasure. “C'mon (Y/N), lets go see what everyone else is doing.”

I nod too speechless to even make words.

“Let’s have a toast, everyone, to celebrate this wondrous occasion.” President Hwang announces, holding up a bottle of wine.

Standing next to my boyfriend I noticed that Joon Oh wasn’t around. “Where’s Joon Oh?” I asked, tugging on my boyfriends sleeve. “Um…” He looks around, “I don’t know, must be with Bong Hee.”

“Ji Ah I found this bittersweet recipe and I instantly thought of you,” Ji Ah just laughs, accepting it. “Just a little, please.”

“(Y/N), how about you?” I look over, eyes wide. I nervously chuckle. “Uh…no thank you, water will be fine with me, thanks.” I say holding up my glass. President Hwang notices my discomfort, but says nothing regarding it. Thankfully. Luckily Joon Oh comes in, knocking the awkwardness of the situation over to him.

“Hyung!” Yeol greets, waving him over. Joon Oh just throws a nod standing himself right next to my boyfriend. “Where have you been?” Joon Oh begins to say but Hwang interrupts. “Here you go Yeol.” Yeol smiles politely, accepting the offer, disregarding the disrespect.

I watched everyone with mild interest, sipping down my water. It was somewhat peaceful I guess. Well until Joon Oh spoke. “President Hwang I’d like a drink as well,” Hwang just looks at him, hastily bringing his attention to my boyfriend instead, purpously ignoring Joon Oh. “You’ve been working on it for a year, right? You should mark all the music charts in no time.”

I felt bad for Joon Oh, my boyfriend told me what had happened with Jae Hyun but he never really went into details, maybe because it was too hard for him too. I personally never pryed nor would I judge. “I’ve written many songs, too.” Joon Oh beams, and he has too, Yeol listens to them the majority of the time, and they were really good too.

Hwang smiles “Is that so?” He lets out a deep breath, turning back to my boyfriend. “Can you play your new song?” My boyfriend visibly hesitates looking at me then to Joon Oh almost though he was asking our permission. He smiles, nodding. “Okay, I’ll play it.”

Hwang smiles, Joon Oh too as my boyfriend readies his song. I knew what it was, but I doubt those smiles of theres will stay once he shows. I leaned on Yeol’s side, looking up at him with my supportive smile. He knew what I were trying to do and it makes him confident that they will to.

“Next is Tae Ho.” President Hwang reaches for his glass. “How are you?” Tae Ho looks up, “I’m a leading actor, so please get me a new stylist.” I could easily tell that the comment was directed to Joon Oh personally.

“Arent you close with Jeong Yoon Gi? Do you want Jeong Yoon Gi? I’ll hire him for you. Its not a big deal.” Hwang suggest. “Once Tae Ho gets the lead the bad reputaion of dreamers that you all had in the past will all be lost forever. I bet once you sign a new contract and release a album it’ll be a good gift to your fans.” Yeol and Joon Oh stop their actions, looking up at his words, pain of the thought written all over their faces.

Ji Ah and Manager Ki Joon exchange glances, uncomfortable with the whole tense subject. “President Hwang, the song is ready.” Yeol speaks up. Hwang excitedly claps. “Okay let’s hear it.” My boyfriend looks at me with a worried smile and I nod, resting my hand on his arm. Yeol presses the song on his playlist, watching everyones faces intently and how they immediately grow dark; especially Joon Oh’s.

“It sounds similar to that jerk’s song, doesn’t it?” Everyone grew silent, the memory seemingly clouding them. There was a massive amount of dread in the air and it made even me feel distraught. I grip the sleeve of Yeol’s sweater harder, not too welcoming of the looks they were giving my boyfriend. Of course Yeol was persistent and ignored their dirty looks. “Its not the album’s main song is it?”

Without hesitation Yeol nods. “I’m thinking about it.” Joon Oh immediately looks his way. “Yeol.” He pleads. “I’m sorry, Hyung. It’s the least we can do to remember him.”

Joon Oh shakes his head. “President Hwang.” He throws him a pained fake smile. “Please escuse me.” I furrowed my brows, watching his retreat, this wasn’t how I envisioned this to happen. Suddenly the plane shifts and the waiter who comes bearing one’s drink spills it on Joon Oh. He lets out a exasperated breath, though he doesn’t yell at her and just passes by, removing his wet coat.

Yeol sighs heavily, watching as his best friend leaves without explanation or hearing him out. He looks down, sadness in his eyes. Regrettably I feel bad. “Go talk to him.” This was the least I could do, it was partly my choice too.

I honestly couldn’t bear to see him this torn, not when all he wanted to do is remember someone dear. Yeol smiles, leaning down placing a light kiss upon my cheek. “I will, thanks Jagiya.” Hastily he follows after Joon Oh.

“Passengers this is your captain speaking, we’re crossing a zone of turbulence.” I look up at the voice. “Please return to your seats. And please keep your seat belts fastened.”

I sighed when the intercom shuts off, saying fuck it and chase after him. I wouldn’t ever be able to forgive myself if they got into a fight.

It didn’t take long before I hear Yeol’s voice. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, Hyung. Don’t misunderstand.” Joon Oh paces against the room, catching glaces at him every now and then. The bewilderment was clear on his face. “Why? Why did you do it? Why did you write a song like that?” My boyfriend sighs, looking from him to the floor, contemplating if whether he should tell him or not.

“Yeol. Just tell him.” We all look towards the newcomer. Tae Ho pushing past me rudely, making his way through. “Ugh asshole.” I muttered, under my breath, sitting myself down next to them. “That song. You wrote it,” Tae Ho smile was devious, could tell he was doing everything in his power to blame Joon Oh. Causally he plays with the leader’s suit, “-to make Joon Oh live with the guilt for the rest of his life, right?”

It was quite, unbearably quiet and as much as i wanted to open my mouth and tell them that my Yeol didn’t write that song to make Joon Oh suffer, couldn’t. It just wasn’t in my place. I stand up, my hasty actions making me wobble from the turbulance. We all watched the chandelier rock back and forth from the plane’s sudden rising, the lights flashing dim. A rush of anxiety builds up inside me. This atmosphere was extremely dangerous.

“Tae Ho that’s enough, you’re drunk.” Tae Ho swings his hand, stopping Yeol in his tracks, yelling in his face. “Cut it out! Did I say something wrong? Why did we disband?” He stops himself, laughing. Rephrasing himself he says, glaring at Joon Oh. “Why did we get disbanded? Whose fault was it?” Quickly my boyfriend buts in, not liking his tone. “Tae Ho, let’s talk about this another time, please.”

Joon Oh stops him, matching his tone. “No, its okay. So…what is it that you want to say?” Tae Ho scoffs, a grin rising on his face in disbelief, pushing him aside as he walks to the bar. He reaches for a strawberry. “I heard you’re tagging along on this trip to extend your contract.” He pops the fruit in his mouth. “And you’re mooching off the company to release a album. And for what, to write a new song?” Yeol visibly fliches, not entirety loving Tae Ho’s point. “Do you think just anyone can write a song? You just love leeching on people don’t you? You’ll never seize to amaze me.”

Yeol finally gets fed up with and he reaches for his arm, putting him back in his place. “You’re out of line!” Tae Ho angrily rips out of the others hold. “I’m not! Have you forgotten what this jerk did to us? He killed a person! Jae Hyun died because of this scum, Seo Joon Oh.”

“Stop! Enough! This has gone too far!” I couldn’t stand to watch this anymore, friends shouldn’t ever fight like this. “Shut up bitch, what do you know!” “Tae Ho! Don’t-” “Yeol I advise you to keep your women in line, one day that pretty little mouth of hers will get her killed.”

I just cross my arms. I wasn’t scared of this jerk. “Enough is enough! You guys are brothers yet your fighting, get a grip.” Tae Ho scoffs, walking over towards me but Yeol grabs his wrist, “I said don’t!”

The turbulence was getter rougher now, just what was going on outside. “All passengers on the plane, please stay seated.”

“You know you’re girlfriend is almost as cocky as mine, too bad her mouth overshowers her beauty. Unlike Ji Ah she is full of beauty.”

Yeol opens his mouth in regards to the hateful comment but Ji Ah comes barging in, stopping him short. “What the hell are you guys doing!? You better sit down, now!” We didn’t bother asking why and just did as she demanded, we all holding onto something. “Whats going on?” What wrong?“ Questions filled the air now and as much as none were answered I had a feeling we all really knew deep down.

I watch worriedly as Joon Oh stares eyes wide out the window, his mouth agape with shock. “I said sit down!” Ji Ah screams. The plane shakes again and I hold onto the railing tightly, closing my eyes in terror. “Just what is wrong with this plane!” I hear Joon Oh yell. “Sit down already, fuck!” I could sense the fear in Ji Ah’s voice and to comfort her I carefully scoot over towards her, wrapping my arm around her shaken shoulders. “Ji Ah, we’ll be okay.”

“What is happening!” I cry out. “This is happening because there is a unwelcomed guest on board.” Joon Oh let’s Tae Ho’s comment slide, looking over towards us. “Ji Ah grab onto to something!” “Where are the seat belts!” Yeol asks frightened. “There are no seat belts, here!” Ji Ah waves her arm around. “Just stay seated!”

“Stop overreacting! The plane won’t crash!” Tae Oh raises his voice over everyone else’s. You watch horrified as the chandelier swings around, the weight bounding to fail if the turbulence continued. “Guys sit up straight and hold on tight!” “Mind your own business, Joon Oh! This is your fault! If you wasn’t on the plane none of this would be happening!”

Joon Oh looks over towards me and Ji Ah. “Girls please hold onto something!” “What do you think we’re doing.” Ji Ah was beginning to cry and my grip tightens around her. “Stop that you idiot! (Y/N), why is she acting crazy!” Ji Ah screams and Joon Oh grabs a nearby pillow, throwing it at her. “Be quiet!”

All of a sudden the plane goes down, throwing us us all across the room. “Holy shit!” Help!“ "Hey seriously.” We all began to panic and me and Ji Ah end up behind the couch. I pick up Yeol’s voice crying my name while Joon Oh screams Ji Ah’s. Tae Ho yells after Yeol when he scurries through the shaking to get to us. I was starting to lose my control of the situation. And Ji Ah wasn’t waking up.

When my boyfriend reaches us he hastily looks up and down my body, making sure I was okay, pressing his hands against my cheeks. “Jagiya are you okay?” I nodded terrified, eyes wide. I look over. “But Ji Ah…” He brings his attention to her next, shaking her in hopes of waking her.“Ji Ah wake up! Wake up!” She’s out cold.

I look up to see Joon Oh grab a pillow. Glancing up I notice the light above us was loosening. I grab my boyfriends shoulder and before he could register what was going on Joon Oh runs over to us, sheilding the glass light with the peice of furniture. “Ji Ah, fuck open your eyes!” He shouts, seeing that no one was hurt.

I could hear the screams of the other passengers and my heart raced with fear. Without any warning the plane dove into a dive, breaking the chandelier above the bar completely, throwing us all again. I moaned in pain when my head hitting the window. I rushed to grab onto something, holding for dear life, catching the cries of Yeol saying my name. Everything in the room was in disarray, and with Joon Oh on the floor it couldn’t be safe for him. “Hyung!” My boyfriend shouts, gripping onto the seats.

I screamed when the plane flew to the ground faster, the impact harsh against our bodies. I could hear everyone screaming in panic and tears stung my eyes. “What is going on!? If this is a prank its not funny!?” Tae Ho manages to get out, his voice strained from fear.

“Ji Ah!” Unexpectedly Manager Ki Joon comes running in, catching her state on the floor. “I got injured.” I hear her say weakly and Manager Ki Joon cries her name, holding her close.

Joon Oh rolls on the floor, attempting to grab onto something but the plane was shaking too much he couldn’t get a good grip. Yeol looses his own and falls to the ground. On reflex I move over towards him, holding him to my chest. “What’s going on, seriously!” “Ji Ah!!”

My boyfriend helps me up, guilding my hand to the railing behind the seat. He wasn’t too far behind as he hovers above me, his hands beside my own, hanging on with what strength he had left.

Joon Oh too finally grabs onto something and we all look out the windows of the plane, our reactions the exact same. What we see will never leave us and I hear Yeol scream above me, terrified at the sight.

Blue.

Blue is what we saw and believe me that was enough. We all knew what it was.

This was the end.

Impact was harsh as it struck us, knocking everyone around, giving us whiplash, our backs and sides hitting the flying debris of the broken plane. I hissed as one hit me and before I knew it that was all I remembered before I blacked out. The muffed screams, the sounds of water splashing throughout the plane, echoed in my head. They all seemed like a distant dream one we wished would wake from but instead it was our tragic nightmare.

…

Ending Notes:

It’s a lot shorter than I anticipated but I hope it reaches expectations. I really tried my best to make it as good and suspenseful as the show. I got inspirated while watching it and I really couldn’t help but get another pairing in there. With Chanyeol being my UB I said why not.

Let me know what you guys think in the comments, it would really mean a lot to me. Also let me know if I should add more or need to be more detailed. This is a experiment for me and while this may only be a rough draft I might go back and add more depending on your feedback.

Lastly this story has no relation to EXO, none of the members are once mentioned nor do they show, It is only tagged under it because of Chanyeol.

Thank you all for reading.

#missing 9 #chanyeol fic #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol smut #chanyeol angst #mine #solifiedjaporeanist21 #reader #chaptered fic #based on the tv show missing 9 #this story is written by me and only me #i hope you all enjoy

42 notes · View notes

interrum · 7 years ago

Text

June 22nd, 2017

Tried playing some video games today; Ultra Street Fighter IV. Kind of worked well, prior to that I was trying to abate the sadness I was feeling over a whole bunch of things. I demonstrate sadness pretty reasonably I think. There's not a whole lot to it I imagine, you tell the person you are sad or demonstrate somber feelings comparably equipped with disengagement and sorrow. Sometimes I cut myself but I have to have the energy to do that, today I didn't so I didn't bother. I like to feel that people sometimes view me as a person with only two emotions: joy and anger. If I'm not feeling one, I'm occupied with the other; this is a coarse debasement. I enjoy the full range of emotions afforded to normal people, I cry, I laugh, I shriek and feel great levels of intrigue; I even have moments where I am in love. For the most part I feel that I am pushed and pulled constantly under the stresses of these two emotions until I am exhausted and unwound, like a wire ready to fray under the slightest nick.

Anyway the day has only just started and I'm finding lots of new ways to keep myself interested and free from suicidal behavior. I took reading back up, much more voraciously than before and I even have a little journal that I like to write in, so as to make sure my handwriting does get better, even when it's not necessary. There used to be a lot of heroes back when I was a kid, people who would draw from their sadness and seek virtuosity in combat instead of fueling themselves with rage and wild abandon. With me, I think I can be like that, but I feel my sensibilities are really high energy, so there probably is confusion or dissonance between what I am feeling and what my activities suggest. I had this problem before when I was a small boy. Then it happened again when I was a teenager, and now it's been happening more frequently in my twenties. I feel like one of those sociopathic people who go to nightclubs and have a brooding aura that no one wants a part of, when really I am just sad and desirous of something humbling and cathartic. It was because of this problem that I took up writing and reading much more seriously, depending on the two to express sensibilities I was otherwise incapable of communicating effectively with other people.

I used to go to school with a lot of people who had this sort of mentality: "if you are feeling down it's because you're weak and unable to substantiate your abilities in the real world," the immediate response to sadness was not to get cucked or some other vagabond humiliation, lest you spiral further into sadness. So no one really ever learned how to overcome sadness, and eventually became prioritized by it and fueled by other fearful emotions. I wasn't really raised like that, I was always taught to express myself fully and wholly no matter what I was feeling, so I guess that left me emotionally capable as a person, this would probably explain why have such an eclectic social circle. When you feel sad you are supposed to express the feeling and fully. People win awards for being able to do this, many people are awarded great sums of money just for honestly expressing the sadness they feel inside. Would a pauper run from an opportunity to make money? Or does he no longer feel sadness and fears that his financial ruin is his own doing?

I'm an INTJ for the most part. I've taken the test over a handful of times and I seem to be introverted very excellently. I keep to myself and am on top of my emotions with high acuity. My ability to plan and derive results from these plans is also highly efficacious. One thing I am bad at is playing with others as a team, I've since been trying to fix this problem and I have gotten a lot better at it. I can understand the emotions of others and use them to propel problems into places where solutions can be applied, but I am by no means an ENTP, I am most formally an INTJ; and if allowed, a silent ENTP. I'm not scary, very few people are afraid of me. I feel at home most anywhere, even if I get homesick very quickly I can maintain myself and my comfort. Maybe my personality would be good for sightseeing. I've tried sightseeing before, it didn't suit me very well.

Right now, my penis hurts. I don't know why, it's been like that for a long time now. It shouldn't really hurt this much, but every time I get an erection it is painful. Maybe there is a problem with the blood flow or something. I get to feel sad sometimes because of piety, other times it's because of simple failures in productivity. Sometimes I am forced into exchanges which are neither prolific or exhaustive, but I must participate or else things will only get worse. Kind of like how you could explain the fruitlessness of fighting with someone, and they still charge you, and even if you knock them out it doesn't bring about resolution or any sort of commendable answer to the disagreement. I've been known to cut myself, bike ride intoxicated, dangle in and out of oncoming vehicles such as trains, cars and buses, and I was often quoted to have done these things because "I wanted the attention." I probably did, but I don't really remember why or how. When I was young I used to cry for it, but as I got older it kind of became redundant and I'd only expect the worse, wishing for death or anything close to it. Sometimes people think this is a dark way of thinking but it really is a plaintive kind of logic. Not hopeless, but exhausted; confused but not bewildered. I could be attention seeking, but I fail miserably at getting other people to be concerned about my well being, probably because it's not the first thing on my mind when I am thinking about anything suicidal. That sounds selfish, well it ought to be. I wouldn't want to worry about the fragility of the economy if I were pressed upon a knife.

Oh, I hear voices a lot more now. I hear them outside, in the street, when I'm at the store, sometimes when I'm getting my bike repaired I hear voices dictating my actions or commenting on what I should be doing. I used to think it was just someone playing a prank on me from my computer but now I have certainty that I am in fact experiencing hallucinations which is ranked mildly schizophrenic. The voices don't really tell me to do stuff, they have small insouciant comments like "shit," and "are you serious?" I feel like these things nudge me in directions I am not comfortable, which would explain why I feel a lot worse lately than I should, but I haven't the slightest clue what I had done or have done to other people to deserve any of this. I suppose I am to feel a deep sense of betrayal and remorse, funded by anger in hopes of revenge, but an exhausted person is not a cooperative one. Even if I wanted to cooperate with the things I'm hearing, I have frequently run into the problem of not having enough energy to carry out each and every whim. So I'd end up more exhausted than I were originally and forced into creative submission. This type of thing was bound to happen anyway. The amount of pressure I get between home and anything occupational is insane. I went to this community college once and I remember the look on my professors face when I told her I was rescinding the class, as if I couldn't let her down because I was "too smart to fail," which was exactly the reason I was dropping the class in the first place. I can't stand being like that. I can deal with some pressure, but when the ends are undermined by the causes then I really just drop everything. I just don't see the reason in pursuing solutions that are created by the problems themselves. It used to be frustrating but now I just don't do anything anymore. If at the least, I'll try to give advice in the best way I can; which is to set an example of what I would do or what is preferred.

Back when my brother beat me up the first time, he recommended I take rispiridone to help with the anxiety, but I hadn't told him I was hearing voices (at least I don't think I was). After looking up the drug, it's something they offer people with autism and schizophrenia in order to alleviate the symptoms. It's an anti-psychotic drug, not a anti-depressant. Looking back I should have taken the prescription but I wasn't really hearing voices then. I was spacing out a lot more then. And then to make matters worse, he beat me up a following four times over those next three years, for situations that had nothing to do with him. I still feel he isn't all okay in the head, I know I am not but there's nothing sensible about that behavior to me. Remembering it would make me angry, but now I just don't care. I'm entirely saddened by the thought and just choose to distance myself from it. I used to look up to him for a while because there weren't many people I could, but now I wish I never had crossed paths with him in the way I did. Whenever he does beat me up my mom just kind of watches and expects the worst only after I've resigned myself to the beating. One time he just kept punching me after I stopped fighting back for a whole two minutes, the headache was unreal. Then I had to be taken to a hospital and spend the night there because my family was "worried" or something. I've been to the hospital by parsons three times now I think. The first time was the worst. The second time I went, I got a totally different evaluation which said I had nothing wrong with me. I don't remember the third time so it probably hasn't happened. I wanted to talk to the doctor about my cutting and suicidal behavior but they kind of carted me out of there on my own volition. As soon as you say you're ready to go they go back to their work and find you an ambulette. I still have the papers from the hospital visit, and the report is still with the precinct that took me so I could file a complaint if I wanted, but I figured it would iron itself out somehow.

I grew up being a misfit, I was a misfit at home and at school and at summer camp. I went into high school not quite fitting in and made friends on the bias that pushed us together. I don't think there's a better way to explain that people are forced into sociable circles, but that was the way I had developed. Even after expressing a very reasonable range of abilities, failing to excel in those that people cared about made me less of a interesting person to talk to; then again people who naturally excel in these areas aren't very interesting to talk to either so I guess that's the kind of game being played. I don't think I'm really bad at making friends. I have a hard time keeping them but as I get older I think it's less to do with my inability and failings as a person. I used to think I couldn't keep friends because I was always so quiet and only watched others, but that wouldn't change the way people depend on me. Maybe it's because they expect me to say something, even during something idle like walking home, and I'm content with just saying hi. I know what that feels like, but it's really not going to get either of us anywhere by being insincere. It could also be a guilty meditation that forces me to feel like these relationships fail, but I have been trying to feel less guilty about stuff that isn't my fault. For the most part I feel no remorse for anything I've done, partly because I did it in full belief and also because there isn't anyone else to blame. I used to regret everything: asking girls out, requesting money for food, buying food for friends, talking to friends, hanging out with friends. Everything came with regret and at some point I just gave up trying to categorize it all and told myself it didn't make sense. It wasn't worth it. Neither the blame or the fatigue. Now I live more guilt free and have nothing to fear, but it's also an empty life. Nothing shines in its original color anymore, all my favorite events are dulled out and less enjoyable than they used to be. Regret shouldn't have that kind of power over me but it did establish a great deal of roller coaster relationships, most of which were imparted on me and forced me to behave like one, a roller coaster.

My brother would always say there are three things he doesn't like to talk about: sex, politics and love (or something to that effect). I think he was saying those are touchy subjects. Politics are touchy because they can put you in places that you don't want to be. Even if you're not doing anything wrong and participating exactly how you should be, you are a force that others will find disparaging and offensive. Simply talking about politics is another hurdle in itself, imagine being offensive and having the gall to communicate about how offensive you are; it's heretical. I think that was predominantly the point, but I could be wrong. Anyway, politics to me is a topic that bears no weight. I'll talk about most anything because it's just who I am, but more and more I find myself unable to comment on anything effectively. Simply concluding a small matter in sociological development doesn't fix the problem, no matter how biting the comment. Eventually I got into the mode of trying to fix these problems with large sums of examples and argumentative practices, which both proved very useful. I was never good at teaching other people how to do things, but apparently I was really exceptional for setting an example for how things should and shouldn't be done, so I used this to my effect without much effort. I think I may be destructive to my environment because I'm like this. Due to my inability or refusal to commit to pithy events that don't fix the problem, I'm causing the problem much more exposure which makes people upset a lot of the time. But I don't want to whine and complain the problem away, I want to fix it. There's nothing to be gained from expecting life to bend over for you. It sounds really pious and noble which is another failure of my personality but I'd rather not fix problems that were created solely for the solutions existence. Can you imagine a problem that's been engineered solely to bring about a convenient solution or worse, a profitable one?

#june 22nd #2017

0 notes