#I can assure them that they aren’t the only ones with trauma of this intensity or kind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mandelene · 3 years ago

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≣: hand holding — a 17 year old Alfred is a pedestrian in a bad hit-and-run accident and is brought into Arthur’s ER. Arthur doesn’t find out until they’re wheeling him into the OR.

Love and Rage

Word Count: 1243

“Seventeen-year-old male en route to trauma – should be arriving any minute now. Hit and run on the corner of Lexington and East 39th Street. Patient was walking to the subway after getting food with friends at Shake Shack. EMS says vitals are stable but the patient was briefly unconscious and there’s suspected head trauma – bleeding along his hairline from when he hit the concrete. Patient was also complaining of shortness of breath and feeling dizzy. Bruising and swelling around his left side where he was struck, including his hip, thigh, and knee. Ribs tender to touch on the left side as well.”

Arthur sucks in a breath through his teeth as he overhears the trauma team receive report. Seventeen—that’s the same age as his boys. How devastating for the teen and his family. How could someone hit a child and then drive off? The thought makes him shudder.

He continues his charting, turning his attention back to his own patients. They have a level one trauma center—the boy is in good hands at least and has an entire team of doctors waiting for his arrival.

He doesn’t pay it any more mind…

Until he sees the bruised boy being brought in on a stretcher.

Arthur’s body goes cold and stiff. His knees weaken. He thinks he might vomit or faint, or both. He stands up from his chair on wobbly legs and grips the edge of the counter of the nurses’ station, trying to confirm if his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

The boy on the stretcher is Alfred.

He is reminded of the conversation he had with Alfred two nights ago—he had asked if he could go to the city with friends after school...

For three entire seconds—the longest seconds of his life—Arthur is paralyzed. He watches helplessly as Alfred is rushed into the trauma bay.

And then, he drops everything and runs.

“Alfred,” he gasps as he reaches the trauma team and pushes past them. “Alfred!”

His son’s blue eyes are glassy as they shift over to him. Splotches of red and purple hematomas are scattered across his face and chest, the left side of his forehead is dirty with sticky, dried blood, and he appears dazed and confused.

He takes Alfred’s hand and squeezes it. It suddenly feels so small and fragile—so easily breakable. “Oh, Alfred…It’s going to be all right, love. I-It’s going to be just fine,” he manages to say despite the sudden incredible ache in his heart.

One of the emergency medicine doctors on the team touches his shoulder and says, “We’re going to need you to wait outside. I’ll find you as soon as I can, okay?”

Arthur swallows against the lump of grief in his throat. Of course…He’s just going to be a distraction—too overwrought to be of any use to Alfred right now anyway. Treatment first, emotions later.

He gives Alfred’s hand one more warm squeeze and kisses his forehead before excusing himself from the trauma bay. When he exits, everyone at the nurses’ station is staring at him but trying their hardest to seem discreet about it.

He retreats to the doctors’ lounge and calls Francis.

That’s all he can do right now.

And he hates himself for it.

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

They wait an agonizing four hours before they’re given the full list of damage. Three fractured ribs, a concussion—but no bleeding in the brain, which is a huge relief—fractures to both his patella and tibia with displacement (requiring surgery), a dislocated hip (also surgically treated), and a collapsed lung.

But he should be fine with rest, monitoring, and supplemental oxygen.

It takes all of Arthur’s strength not to break down when he gets the news. He hugs Francis tightly outside of the pediatric ICU, shaking.

“We can go in and see him,” Arthur rasps in a hoarse voice, glancing over at Matthew, who is sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area and looks so pale he’s matching the shade of the wall behind him.

Francis murmurs, “I’ll stay here with Mathieu for another few minutes. It’s…It’s going to be difficult to see him, and I think we both need a moment to prepare ourselves.”

“Okay, I’ll go then. Only two visitors at a time are allowed anyway,” Arthur says, steeling himself. He knows he’s seen worse in the past, but seeing his own child suffering is a different beast entirely.

He alerts Alfred’s nurse of his presence and then enters the boy’s room, inwardly pleading with himself to hold back the intense sorrow washing over him when he sees the oxygen mask on Alfred’s face and the chest tube creeping out from under his hospital gown.

He knows the boy has been through a great deal of pain, and he hopes the painkillers he’s getting are strong enough to at least grant him some reprieve.

Alfred’s eyes are closed at first, but he opens them halfway when he hears his footsteps. He’s still a bit woozy from anesthesia and the cocktail of pain medication—that much is clear.

“…Dad…?” Alfred asks very quietly. A few tears roll down his bruised face.

“I’m here, love,” Arthur replies, hastily taking up the chair by the bedside and grabbing hold of Alfred’s right hand. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through…But you’re going to be all right, and that’s all that matters right now…Don’t cry, poppet. Shhh…”

Arthur carefully pets the boy’s head and wipes away his tears. “I know, darling. I know…”

Alfred rolls his head to the side wearily, and Arthur holds him against his chest very gently, doing his best to console him without causing him any additional pain.

“You’re going to be all better with time,” Arthur promises. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and I wish I could have protected you today…I’m so sorry.”

Alfred sniffles and bites back a sob so as to not irritate his ribs and his lungs. “I’m so tired…And scared.”

“Close your eyes and try to rest. Don’t be scared—I’ll be here should anything else happen.”

“It hurts…”

Arthur can feel his heart being torn in half, straight down the middle. “I know, love,” he sighs, placing a hand against Alfred’s forehead and holding it there—a steady warmth to calm him. “Your Papa and Matthew are going to come in soon. They’re very worried about you. We all are. But we’re also going to do whatever we can to help you get well soon.”

“Are you gonna leave later?” Alfred asks, voice quavering.

“No, no. Of course not. One parent is always allowed to stay. I’ll be here all night. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“…Promise?”

“I promise,” Arthur replies without hesitation, combing a hand through the boy’s hair. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving. Do you think I’d be able to sit at home without you? Worrying sick about you? Never,” he assures.

That’s the thing about children—they never understand how much you love them. How you would give up your entire world for them. How everything falls apart when something happens to them…How you can’t imagine yourself living on without them…

If he could find the driver who did this, he would kill them. Would wrap his bare hands around their neck and make them feel the same pain.

The rage inside of him—it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

When Francis and Matthew take his place by Alfred's bedside, he goes to the men’s restroom and cries.

#hetalia #hws face family #hws america #hws england #hws france #hws canada #drabbles #hurt comfort #hit and run

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lookforanewangle · 3 years ago

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hold on a little longer || spn || 2k || ao3

tags: blood, injury, broken bones, hurt/comfort, and forehead touches! also protective dean and protective cas

Between the spells, and the warding, and the combination of grace and Rowena's power, they thought they had been prepared.

Chuck, however, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

or, Cas's grace is dwindling, Dean is dying, and both of them are too protective of the other for their own good.

a/n: inspired by this post by @letsboldlygomotherfuckers and @rainbowscas

also, I’m also playing in my hci verse here a little bit; all you need to know is that chuck turns to this universe after the show's canon (and yes, I believe in the chuck won theory, it's the only thing that makes sense), and tries to mix things up a bit. cas is introduced when dean is 13 instead of 28? 29? there are a lot of other changes, but those don't play into this scene, so I'm not gonna spoil anything else ;) this bit wouldn't come in until fic four or five anyway. idk if I'll ever write that far, but here's hoping!! (fic one is like.....a little over halfway done. I think. we have a long way to go lmao)

Between the spells, and the warding, and the combination of grace and Rowena's power, they thought they had been prepared.

Chuck, however, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

"How?" Cas bites between waves of pain, arms bound tight behind him. There's blood dripping down his face, a shoulder dislocated, maybe a rib cracked, but his pain is nothing close to what Dean must be feeling.

Dean, who is just a mess of broken bones and skin on the floor.

“Because, see, I already know what’s going to happen,” Chuck says, pacing leisurely around them, tilting down towards Dean's unconscious form as he speaks. His footsteps are quiet in the vast emptiness of the warehouse, but each step seems to pound in time with Cas’s own injuries, pain driving higher at each step. For all Cas knows, Chuck could be doing that on purpose.

“Your brother will come racing in to save you,” Chuck continues, gesturing as he speaks, “and Jack will be there, too. They’ll make some valiant effort to save the two of you, try to beat me at my own game, but it’s not going to work. I’ve written every possibility, every scenario that could ever happen. Each one, I win. It's literally impossible for me to lose!” he says with a giddy grin, arms spreading out to his sides in victory.

Cas strains against his bonds, wrists tied much too tightly against the small of his back, eyes never leaving Dean’s too-still form on the floor.

“Dean,” Cas calls, but Dean doesn’t stir. His limbs are bent at awkward angles, the whole of him a heap atop blood splattered across the ground. Too much blood. Cas would almost think he was dead if not for the wheezing emanating from Dean’s chest at every shallow breath, every minuscule rise and fall. If he could just get close enough—

Chuck’s fist hits his face, and Cas crashes to the ground with a grunt.

“I never did get you figured out,” Chuck says, crouching in front of him. He tilts his head as he observes Cas struggle back into a sitting position. “Whatever changed, whatever you did in the last universe bled over into this one, and now we’re at the same end here as we were there. Well, almost. Close enough, anyway. You, grace failing and doing everything you can to save Dean, nearing death at every second. Dean will follow soon after, no matter what you do,” Chuck says with a helpless shrug. “It’s just how it’s supposed to go. Then again, if you hadn’t broken script…”

He trails off suggestively, and Cas’s blood runs cold. No. No. Dean’s coming death couldn’t— wouldn’t— be his fault.

“Dean’s not dying today,” Cas says, determined, voice gravelly.

“That’s not up to you,” Chuck counters. He reaches his hand out towards Cas and squeezes. Cas’s chest constricts in pain. He gasps, doubling over, feeling his grace ebbing further and further from his reach.

“Dean was always meant to die,” Chuck says, slowly twisting his wrist. Cas cries out in pain, tucking his head towards his chest, trying and failing to pull away from the pain radiating through every cell. “Even if you hadn’t saved him all those times, he still would have gone out in that stupid blaze of glory he was always glorifying.”

Chuck releases his grip on Cas’s grace. Cas goes limp with a gasp, limbs weak and trembling. Chuck hums.

“Wish I could just kill you now,” he says glumly. “But of all the drafts, killing you and Dean slowly in front of Sam and Jack is just...so much juicier. The pain is so much more intense when you make them watch. Especially if you're first. Dean watching you die just never gets old,” he says, fond smile on his face.

Cas wants to throw up.

“Well, then!” Chuck says with a sigh, eyebrows raised. He slaps his thighs and pushes to his feet, turning towards the entrance. “I’ll be back in, oh, however long it takes for Sam and Jack to show up. Depends on how they decided to travel here. There’s six different drafts just for their transportation. So, you know, don’t go anywhere,” Chuck calls over his shoulder with a wink. He snaps his fingers. Cas screams as his shin shatters. The door slams behind him and the sound reverberates through the warehouse, thunderous in Cas’s ears.

Cas takes a moment to get his ragged breathing under control, fighting down the little amount of grace he has left. He can’t let himself heal. He has to get to Dean first.

Dean is not dying tonight.

Cas grits his teeth against the pain, rolling over onto his stomach. He clenches his fingers in their binds and squeezes tight as he uses his good leg to push himself across the concrete towards Dean, biting back a cry as his leg is jostled. His brow furrows and he pushes on, refusing to let the pain get in his way.

“Dean,” he calls out as he draws near, desperate to hear his voice.

Dean doesn’t answer.

Cas pushes the final few feet and rolls to his side, heaving for air. He tugs at his bonds again, but until he’s able to heal his leg there’s no way he’s breaking out of the enchanted chains tying him back. He lets his eyes slip closed and leans forward, pressing his forehead gingerly against Dean’s bloody brow. He channels any scrap of grace he has left through that connection, hoping with everything he’s got that he reached him in time. Broken bones will heal on their own; he focuses his energy towards anything vital—damaged organs, severe trauma around his skull, and whatever else he can heal, remaining grace and breath leaving him in a rush. Dean’s wheezing has gone away at least, his breath steady and sure, and Cas sags, exhausted.

“Dean,” he whispers, voice weak. He pushes his brow against Dean’s forehead just enough to feel the pressure. He doesn’t have the strength for much else. “Dean. Please.”

Dean stirs slowly, and Cas fights with everything in him to stay awake. He has to make sure—

“Cas?” Dean breathes. Dean is still coming to, but Cas can feel darkness seeping in at the edges of his own consciousness, startling him back into awareness. Not yet, he begs desperately, blinking hard. Please not yet.

“Dean,” Cas answers, his voice so weak he’s not even sure that Dean heard it. Dean shifts against him. Cas concentrates on breathing through the pain, waiting for Dean to realize—

Dean inhales sharply and curses under his breath.

Cas is beginning to drift again, but he can hear Dean scramble into a sitting position, grunting against some pain Cas’s dwindling grace couldn’t reach. But he’s alive, Cas reassures himself in relief as the darkness grips him tighter. He’s still alive.

For how much longer, he can’t guarantee, but just for now is good enough.

Dean grabs his face between his palms then, fingers holding him steady, squeezing gently. Cas's eyelids flutter, exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

“No no no, hey,” Dean says in a rush, words quiet. Cas can hear the desperation in every syllable. “Come on, Cas, stay with me, man.”

Cas grunts softly in response.

“‘M here,” he rasps. Dean sighs, tipping forward to press their foreheads together.

“Okay,” Dean says under his breath, thumb swiping across Cas’s cheek. Cas is almost certain that was more for Dean than himself, reassuring himself that Cas was alive. Cas wants to reach up and grab him, intertwine their fingers, and assure Dean that he’ll be all right. But everything hurts, it’s difficult to breathe, and he’s not going to be awake for much longer; draining his grace like that wiped him out. Survivable, but dreadfully exhausting.

“Okay,” Dean says again, firm, shifting to move Cas, “let’s get you up.”

White hot pain explodes as Dean brushes against his leg, ricocheting into every other pain across his vessel. His back arches as he shouts, eyes clenching tight, teeth clenching.

“Ngh! Don’t—”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, voice pained as he changes direction, lifting Cas's head into his lap. He settles and slides a hand into Cas's hair, brushing through slow and careful as he scans him for injuries. Cas is sure his leg is a mess, but the other injuries aren’t as obvious. Cas gasps, breaths shuddering in and out of his chest as he sags, the pain dulling back from the sharp flares at being moved.

“Are...are you all right?” Cas says as the pain fades to the background, eyes slipping closed as he rolls his head against Dean’s thigh towards his stomach. Dean barks a laugh, disbelieving, and shifts the hand in his hair to cup his face.

“Am I all right? Cas, you’re a mess.”

“Are you all right,” Cas repeats, straining through the tightness of his chest. He opens his eyes to look Dean over, searching for any sign that he's lying.

"Yeah," Dean says quietly, sobering as he meets his gaze. He swipes a thumb across Cas's cheek, eyes flicking back and forth across Cas's features. "Yeah I'll live, no thanks to you."

Cas exhales, breath rushing out in relief.

"Good," he whispers. "Good."

They sit like that for a moment and just breathe, pipes clanging in the distance. Cas shifts uncomfortably, arms pinned beneath him.

"Gotta get you up, Cas," Dean murmurs, apologetic, and slowly tugs Cas up and into his arms. Cas fights back a cry as he's shifted, Dean apologizing softly as he goes. Once up, Cas's head lolls against Dean's shoulder. He exhales slowly through his teeth, pushing the pain down and away as best he can. Dean presses a gentle kiss to his hair and turns his attention to Cas's wrists. He tugs at the bindings single-handed, his other arm holding Cas to him. He grunts in frustration as the chains only tighten at his efforts, Cas tensing in his arms. He shifts his hand to Cas's back, rubbing his hand up and down Cas's spine soothingly.

"We're gonna get you out of here, okay? We're gonna make it, Cas," Dean promises. "You hearing me?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas breathes. Everything hurts.

"Just, don't—" Dean takes an unsteady breath, fingers tightening on Cas's shoulder. He buries his face in Cas’s hair, eyes squeezed shut in agony. His voice is hoarse. "Don't you leave me again, Cas. Please. I can't...I can't go through that again. One more time and I'm done. I'm just done."

"Dean—"

"You don't have any idea, man," Dean whispers. "You have no idea what you do to me every time you leave. If I have to go through that again, I—"

He cuts off with a shuddering exhale. Cas's chest aches.

"Dean," he whispers, breathless. He presses his crown to Dean's throat. Dean tips his cheek against Cas's hair and sighs deep. Sam had told Cas in not so many words how hard Dean took each of his deaths and disappearances, but to hear it from Dean himself hurts Cas worse than any physical injury.

"I'm not leaving," Cas promises, voice weak from pain. He's fading again, clinging to consciousness with a death grip. He has to make sure Dean understands. "If we can...can defeat Chuck, I'm not leaving, Dean."

Dean's arm tightens around his back.

"I'm not leaving," Cas whispers again. "I-I want…I want nothing more than to stay by your side."

Dean shudders.

"Cas," he breathes. "I—"

A door bangs open somewhere in the warehouse. The two of them tense, breaths frozen. Dean scans the room for his gun, reaching out with his foot to pull it towards them. Once in his grasp, he pulls it to his lips, murmuring something against the metal, and aims it towards the sound, cocked and ready.

"Dean," Cas starts, but Dean shushes him, pulling him closer.

"We're gonna be fine," he says, reassuring. His eyes are steely as he waits, hand steady on the gun. "I'm not letting him take you away from me.

"Never again."

----

tagging some mutuals who may be interested!! @hashtagbravo @demenior @redriotted @leviathancas @starrynightdeancas

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #supernatural #spn #hci verse #lyss writes #blood tw #broken bones #HERE YOU GO AAAHH #hope you guys enjoy :')#someday I'll finish fic one of hci. we'll get there. hopefully sooner rather than later

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shima-draws · 4 years ago

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At last, here she is...best girl Olivia!

As usual, all of her info is under the cut c:

Olivia

Age: 18

Hair color: White (with pink/purple streaks)

Eye color: Green

Element: Fire

After a lot of debating I decided that Olivia is actually Jasper and Mouna’s daughter--if you don’t know them they’re two older OCs that I’ve had for a while! (I figured I might as well give her parents already existing within the ATS-verse anyway, and I planned on Jasper and Mouna getting together and having a child somewhere down the line so it fits.)

When she was born, Olivia was very weak, and most healers feared that she would not make it—similar to how weak and frail Jasper was when he was born. Because of this, Jasper and Mouna are both fiercely overprotective of her (Jasper more intensely) so she was sort of suffocated by their attention. She grew up within the Spinelrose Guild and was treated more delicately by the rest of the guild members, especially because of how slow her development was and how often she was ill as a child. She originally had a difficult time making friends because Jasper was so afraid she’d get into trouble and get hurt, and the other kids didn’t want to accidentally put her in danger. Olivia was pretty isolated from her peers as a kid, and that frustrated her, because she didn’t want to be treated differently from everybody else just because of her fragility. Unfortunately she was never really strong enough to make her point, and just ended up being coddled by the guild as a result.

As she developed into a teenager, Olivia eventually outgrew her sickly physique and started to become stronger, both mentally and physically. She started to speak up about her parents’ treatment of her more—she knows that they just want to keep her safe, but she feels smothered by their hovering tendencies. Mouna eventually realizes how important this is to her and starts to back off, realizing how strong her daughter has become. Jasper, however...it’s harder for him to let go lol because she’s his only child and he knows how difficult it was to grow up as the weak link, the one who got ostracized because of their general health and well-being. It doesn’t help that Olivia is very clumsy and gets into little accidents all the time, which just makes his stress skyrocket.

Even worse, Olivia is a fire elemental, which is considered to be one of the most dangerous simply because of how destructive it is without proper control. When Olivia was a kid Jasper forbade her from practicing any of her magic, too worried that she’d end up hurting herself. Of course, Olivia has a bit of a rebellious streak, so she tried it once by herself and inevitably ended up burning the side of her face with her magic. (By now the scar is almost faded, but you can still see it.) Both of her parents flipped their lids, and Olivia was so terrified that she decided to never use her magic again, viewing it as a curse. Mouna tries to tell her that her magic is a blessing, something that encompasses life, and that she just wasn’t ready to use it so freely without any training. But Olivia is insistent—scarred both in the literal and metaphorical sense, she refuses to use her magic, scared that she’s going to hurt herself again, or worse, somebody else.

As the years pass Olivia starts to feel more and more unsatisfied with her current life—she likes the guild, likes her friends and her family, but she feels as if there’s more she could be doing with her life. Since she’s refrained from using her magic all these years, and because of how much of a klutz she is normally, she’s not really a strong fighter, and is pretty useless on guild missions. Seeing the rest of her guildmates put their all into what they do, and being able to succeed in it, drives her to eventually seek escape and try to start off with a clean slate. When she turns 14, Olivia decides that she’s going to leave the guild and travel to someplace new in an attempt to be more independent and maybe find a purpose for herself.

Of course she realizes that if she tells her parents this they’ll probably refuse her, so she corners her uncle Terrence instead. Seeing her drive, Terrence decides he’s going to escort her to make sure she arrives safely. Olivia initially refuses because this is something she wants to do on her own, but Terrence warns her that the world is a dangerous place, and since she doesn’t know how to fight or use her magic the trip would be near suicidal if she went on her own. Terrence tells her the best option is going to stay with Spinelrose’s sister guild, Amethystus, and receive proper training in order to hone her magic and her fighting skills. That way she’d still have a direct line with Spinelrose in case something goes wrong, but she’d be far enough away to be independent.

Olivia prepares to sneak out in the middle of the night, but she gets caught by both Jasper and Mouna (because Terrence is a good uncle and he told them lmao). Fearing that they’re going to stop her, Olivia stands up for herself and makes it clear that this is something she needs to do. Much to her shock, Jasper and Mouna encourage her to follow her dreams and come home a new woman. It’s a very soft moment when they all hug each other goodbye, and there’s lots of tears :’) Olivia leaves home knowing that her parents are worried, but they’ll support her decisions because they love her.

After their crazy trip (where Olivia second guesses herself a million times and wonders if she can really survive out in a world this chaotic), they finally arrive at the Amethystus Guild! Olivia literally bumps into Ginni and from there, they form an instant close friendship. Ginni respects Olivia’s desire to be independent and is somewhat envious she made the decision to leave her guild in order to become stronger. Olivia admires Ginni’s confident personality and her fearlessness. Together they get into LOTS of trouble lol, mostly led by Ginni who is a notorious troublemaker within the guild, with Olivia just along for the ride.

During all this, Olivia meets the guild’s official blacksmith and, upon seeing the incredible things he can create by using fire magic, starts to rethink her opinions about her own “cursed” fire magic. The blacksmith, normally a very closed off, grumpy, and rude person, notices Olivia’s conflict about fire, and decides he’s going to train her in order to help her overcome her fear. Through a lot of practice and very intense sessions, Olivia is finally able to confront her trauma and move past it—leading to her discovery that she’s a talented natural at using elemental magic, finding that it comes very easy to her and is something she can control without thinking too much. This is a rare skill, for normally it takes an elemental years of practice and training to have perfect control over their magic. On top of that, her fire is very pretty and beautiful to look at, a reflection of her soul. Her master berates her from hiding something so beautiful and pure for so long lol

Olivia finds passion in blacksmithing, and trains under her master in order to create beautiful and powerful weapons. She does get burned a few more times during this, leading to some relapses, but her master tells her it’s part of the job and something that every elemental will come across: they aren’t always the perfect masters of their magic, and sometimes can hurt themselves without meaning to. But being able to understand what went wrong and how to fix it will make her stronger. Within a couple years Olivia flourishes and evolves into one of the guild’s most fiercest fighters, with an excellent handle on her abilities!

Olivia and Ginni grow up together in Amethystus, and are pretty much inseparable. When Ginni gets kidnapped by the Forces and is missing for several weeks, Olivia is beside herself with worry. After Ginni returns with Kaz in tow, Olivia is one of the first people to accept him and trust him fully, because she believes in Ginni more than anybody else. (Kaz develops a soft spot towards Olivia because of this, and is forever grateful for her support.) Over time Olivia starts to realize just how awful Kaz’s life at the Forces was, and grows very sympathetic towards his situation. She understands wanting to start over somewhere new with a clean slate, though Kaz’s circumstances are much worse than hers, because she still has a loving family and home to return to someday. Olivia becomes determined to make Amethystus a home like that for Kaz, as well as Hiro, who they discuss recruiting to their side from the Forces. As Kaz continues to reveal more of his past, as well as Hiro’s, Olivia and Ginni both get very gung ho about going to fetch Hiro LOL because they both want him to be safe (though Kaz assures them Hiro isn’t in any sort of danger, being the colonel, as well as too intelligent to put himself in trouble).

Kaz meets with Hiro, who was actually sent out on a mission to fetch him, and they negotiate Hiro acting as a double agent for Amethystus to spy on the Forces. Hiro had already been planning on leaving the Forces at some point, so he sees this as a perfect opportunity to get back at them for years of mistreatment. Over the course of the next several months, Hiro routinely reports back to Amethystus of the Forces’ plans, their current hideouts, and everything he knows about the higher ups. During all this he and Olivia meet, and at this point Olivia has started to refer to the colonel as ‘Hiro’ in her head, because it’s too confusing for her to call him the colonel, and she reasons that since Ginni gave Kaz his name she might as well give Hiro his. (Also because she believes that he’s a true ‘hero’ for enduring all of that suffering for so long, so it fits ;D) She calls him Hiro by sheer accident, but luckily he takes to the name well haha and they start to grow closer >:’) Hiro comments on how close Kaz and Ginni have become and the two start betting on when they’ll get together lol

Eventually Hiro’s position as a double agent is discovered by Mallary and so he finally breaks away from the Forces (and Mallary’s manipulation) and starts living permanently at the guild. Olivia’s pretty happy about this. She can’t explain why but she feels very safe and at ease around him, and she’s the person he’s the gentlest and softest around—unbeknownst to her, this is because he’s fallen in love with her, but she’s completely oblivious to his feelings. She’s pretty dense when it comes to romantic stuff like this whoops. Olivia finds Hiro’s intelligence incredible and likes that he’s such a skilled fighter despite not being that strong physically. Hiro likes watching her do her blacksmithing duties and always has expert things to say on her craftsmanship. They get along very well! Olivia’s never felt more at home than with Ginni, Kaz, and Hiro, and likes the tight knit little group they’ve formed. She becomes very fond and protective of them and, upon realizing how important they are to her and how much she’s changed because of them and because of her decision to join Amethystus, she decides to cut her hair as another sign of her growth as a person, and as a sign of change! She finally discovers what she wants to do: become a master blacksmith, and work alongside her friends to protect everything they can, including taking down the Forces to set free all of the people forced to work for them, and bring peace to the land.

When the time comes to finally take down the Forces, Olivia starts to develop feelings for Hiro as well, though it takes her a while to figure out because she’s never really been in love before, and mistakes a lot of her attraction for simple admiration. As Hiro continues to put his life on the line for their group and do anything he can to protect them, Olivia starts to discover that maybe she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with him. There’s a point where Hiro gets injured so badly in battle he’s certainly going to bleed out, so he pleads for her to use her fire magic to cauterize his wound. Olivia’s trauma comes crashing back in and her worst fears are confirmed: her magic will end up hurting the people most important to her. Hiro tells her that by doing this, she’s going to save him, that her magic is life itself. Encouraged by his words, Olivia burns Hiro to save him, though it’s an extremely painful thing for her to do :’( But it’s at this moment she realizes that she definitely is in love with him, and would sacrifice anything for him.

Not long after that, Mallary attacks, enraged, and accuses Olivia of stealing everything important away from her. It’s a really emotional battle;; Mallary basically vents out about being the one left behind, the only one who couldn’t find a happy ending, and who had the only people she cared about taken. She says some really nasty things to Olivia about Hiro lol and this really makes Olivia mad, so they basically duke it out over Mallary’s twisted feelings for Kaz and her perceived ownership of Hiro. And Olivia’s just like. Bitch you don’t own him!! He’s not an object or a toy for you to play with!! Yeah. It’s nuts

After the grand battle with the Forces comes to an end and everything is resolved, Olivia decides to confess her feelings to Hiro, but it doesn’t...really go as planned. Hiro gently rejects her, but Olivia takes it the wrong way, still not realizing how head over heels for her he is. Shortly after this, Hiro and Kaz part ways with the guild, deciding to go on their own personal journeys of self discovery. During the year they’re gone, Olivia laments over her feelings for Hiro, miserable that she didn’t realize how she felt until it was too late, and miserable because she might never see him again. Eventually she tries to move on from that, but Ginni repeatedly tells her that Hiro is literally holding a torch for her lmao and that she shouldn’t let it go so quickly. Olivia protests constantly and strives to work harder to become a better blacksmith and stronger guild member, trying to put her feelings aside and ignore them.

Of course, when she and Ginni eventually reunite with Kaz and Hiro, Olivia realizes that shit I’m still in love with him and my feelings haven’t gone away, they’ve just grown stronger during the year we were apart;; luckily for her Hiro’s gone through a lot of self reflection and feels ready to be in a relationship with her, so, after a rocky road of awkward confessions and pouring out their feelings, they FINALLY get together.

The four of them go on a journey together! There’s some problems when Hiro runs into his childhood friend and first love, Lorelai, but in the end he shows he’s pretty damn dedicated to Olivia and it’s super soft. I just. I just love them so m u c h //shakes fists

AND THAT IS ALL FOLKS!! Most of it anyway lol

Extra personality traits:

-Very compassionate and caring about others—she’s a very motherly type. She’s able to get people to open up to her easily because of how friendly she is. She also settles disputes within the guild often, being the mediator between arguments

-A social butterfly. Probably the most social one out of the group, and the one most used to conversing with other people

-She’s got a lot of self-esteem issues because of her upbringing (and really, I promise Jasper is not a bad parent!! He’s just concerned), but she’s learned how to handle it better. She’s definitely way more confident than she was before!

-Tends to be very indecisive when it comes to big decisions, and is hesitant about fighting—though she will put her all into it if the stakes are high. She CAN whoop your ass

-Super passionate about blacksmithing! It’s her true calling, and something she throws herself into fully. She’s very artful with her work and makes gorgeous pieces, and tends to ramble on about the specifics even when nobody understands lol

-A bit oblivious and airheaded sometimes. She’s completely unaware of several of the guild members’ feelings for her, including Hiro’s.

-VERY affectionate. Because she was isolated from other kids as a child, she’s very touchy feely and loves expressing her affection through casual touches. And lots of hugs!

-Since she’s the sweetest and nicest person in the group, she is terrifying when she’s angry. She’s super protective of her friends and won’t hesitate to leap into action to keep them safe, often getting very fierce when she does so

-She hates being alone. Being raised in an atmosphere with so many people around, she isn’t used to being by herself, and her instant source of comfort is being near others

-Isn’t afraid to tease her friends or state her opinion when it really counts

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years ago

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hates/scared of loud noises

How Aizawa, Toshi, Hizashi, and Gang Orca would help their s/o who is scared of and jumps at loud/sudden noises. These are shorter than my usual headcanons. I just wanted to write these because there have been so many thunderstorms lately and five houses around me were using fireworks all damn weekend. It’s exhausting getting startled that badly every thirty minutes.

Aizawa Shouta

He’s a quiet guy. His footsteps are near silent. He doesn’t make much noise when working and walking around the apartment. And he has a rather flat affect. In battle, he may yell. To get his student’s attention, his voice might raise oh-so-slightly. In disagreements or arguments, his voice firms up and deepens but it very rarely goes beyond that. It’s pretty nice to live with, except when you yelp because someone’s suddenly talking right behind you. He’ll start to make a little more noise so you don’t get scared.

He understands being afraid of yelling and other such noises but he doesn’t really understand the fear of thunder and fireworks. It’s only noise. It can’t hurt you. Nevertheless, he is a good boyfriend who will comfort you through the storms.

He’s actually glad you don’t like fireworks because it gives him another reason to stay home (though he doesn’t like how scared you get). During thunderstorms and firework shows he’ll lay in bed and hold you tight to his chest. Any loud booms that make you tense up, he’ll stroke your back and whisper that it can’t hurt you and you’re safe.

If there’s one person at the end of the hallway who always slams their door and startles you, he’d encourage you to talk to them. He wants you to stand up for yourself and never wants you to sit back and just accept things that make you uncomfortable. It’s completely possible that they would change their behavior or may not even know they’re doing it. If you truly can’t do it for whatever reason, he will. Besides, he would also like people to not constantly slam things. It’s just annoying.

Yagi Toshinori

He isn’t particularly loud or quiet in the home. After everything he’s gone through, he’s come to be a gentle man and his movements and sounds reflect that. He’ll change simple behaviors to help you. When you’re engrossed in something, he’ll make some noise so you aren’t startled by him. He keeps the TV volume low so no explosions or yelling scares you. If he’s going to drop something heavy, he warns you in advance.

The accommodations are simple but that doesn’t stop feelings of being needy or high-maintenance from rising. You should be able to handle a door closing or a dog barking without your heart skipping. He’ll notice your worry very quickly. Once you talk about it, he’ll assure you everything he does is so easy he barely notices that he does it anymore. He just wants you to feel comfortable.

At the end of an anxiety-ridden day, hearing a cell phone ring can be shocking enough that you cry. He’s immediately beside you, helping you through any grounding or self-soothing techniques. He knows them well since he’s found them useful for his own anxieties.

Toshi enjoys festivals and fireworks. He likes the community, the colors, the food, and the fun. When he learns you don’t like them, he will be disappointed that he can’t experience all of that with you. If you ever want to go and leave before the fireworks start, he’d be grateful. If you don’t, he understands and hides his disappointment so you don’t feel bad. And if you encourage him to go with his friends, he won’t. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself, worrying about you being alone and scared. The only way he could go and actually have fun is if you’re with a friend or family member.

Yamada Hizashi

His shouting and yelling can be intimidating. Sometimes it’s on purpose. Sometimes his voice booms on accident, notably when he’s emotional. But he hates seeing you flinch/recoil so he pays extra attention to his quirk whenever you’re around.

He’d be a little bummed out if you don’t want to go to any concerts or live music because he loves sharing his interests with you. Don’t worry though. He gets it and would never push you. To make up for it, he’ll want to watch recordings of concerts with you. Even if you don’t like the band or music, sitting through the hour long video is the least you could do. He loves it so much and his smile is worth it.

He becomes very aware of your sensitivities in the environment. Every time a balloon pops or some kid screeches he checks in with you. Different days allow different tolerances. If you’re okay, he’ll be attentive to you from there on out, holding your hand for reassurance. If he turns and sees you’re clearly upset, he guides you to safety.

Those times when something thuds loudly in the next apartment and you can’t calm down even though there’s no real threat, he’s right there to soothe you. It’s the same through thunderstorms. If he’s not home, he’ll call you to talk you through it. If he is home, he’ll give you noise-canceling headphones and curl up with you under a soft blanket (totally not unlike that Ouran High School Host Club moment).

Gang Orca

He makes a lot of noise unintentionally. This guy’s footsteps can be surprisingly heavy and startling. His strength gets away from him every now and then, leading to something getting broken. And, while he’s not clumsy, having such a hulking figure has led his head and arms to get knocked against a wall or machine in a small space. Whenever he makes a sudden and/or loud noise, he apologizes immediately and comforts you. Sometimes you get more worried about his scuffed forehead than the sound. At least it diverts your attention away from any anxiety.

After getting startled, it’s hard to refocus because you’re so on edge, fearing another noise or something worse will come soon. He may not know how to help the first few times it happens. He just knows you’re scared and will comfort you to the best of his ability. Later, he’ll ask if there’s anything you use to self-soothe or what he can do to help you better.

He’s always willing to listen if you need to vent or want to open up about why you get scared. Sometimes there’s a physical or mental cause (hyperacusis, past trauma, high anxiety) and sometimes there isn’t. If it becomes debilitating and interrupts your life, he will encourage you to visit a doctor to see if there’s something out there that would help you.

He loves thunderstorms. The rain, sounds, and smells are all comforting to him. He’s fairly shocked that some people don’t like them. During unusually intense thunderstorms, he’ll prepare a nice hot bath with your favorite candles and music. He’ll join if you ask and it’s possible it’ll lead to more intimate, distracting things.

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yongtxt · 4 years ago

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turn back time [taeyong]

word count: 6.2k words

characters: amnesiac!taeyong x girlfriend!reader ft. doyoung

genre: angst [meant to be just melancholic so no crying !]

warnings: few mentions of a car crash and some wounds. taeyong suffers from amnesia. it’s a couple trying to learn how to love again.

author’s note: yesterday was my first year anniversary here on tumblr and i give you a short angst fic of the first nct member i wrote for as a present. anyway. i need a break from angst after this also i need to stop writing people getting hurt/wounded???? [stream turn back time by wayv later <3] / unedited

Taeyong awoke to harsh fluorescent lighting filling his vision, a throat so dry it could compare to a desert, and the muffled cries of his lover.

His arms ached, muscles extremely sore that it hurt him to even lift his limb. He wanted to reach out to you, to run his fingers through your hair, and to tell you that everything was gonna be okay—he would work it out with you, together.

You had Taeyong’s hospital gown clutched in your hands, soaking the fabric with your weeping. WIth your face buried into his blanket, it took you a second to realize that your boyfriend had already woken up from his deep slumber. Your cheeks flushed at his intense gaze, dropping your hold on him almost immediately as if it was hot to touch.

“You’re awake!” You exclaimed, voice cracking. Fumbling to wipe your tears, you scrambled to your feet. “Let me grab some food, okay? You must be hungry.”

Taeyong did his best to shake his head, “No, you don’t have to. Please just stay beside me.”

A beat passed and you could only stare at him. The hesitance you exuded didn’t pass unnoticed, you sat back on the stool beside him and stayed tight-lipped. Taeyong sighed through his nose, a bubble of nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t even look you in the eye, his attention darting everywhere but to you.

“How are you feeling? Do you think you can move better now?” You asked, soft and wary—afraid of what his response would be and he didn’t like the sound of it not one bit, but he didn’t let it show.

“I can move my head better than yesterday.” Taeyong pointed out, craning his neck enough to prove it to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your face and his chest floods with an unfamiliar warmth. He added, “My joints just hurt since I’m kept on bed rest all day.”

“Well, you’re getting released tomorrow.” You said, subconsciously outstretching your hand to brush off the fallen lock of his hair from his forehead. He blushed at the contact of your fingertips and you immediately retracted it back. “Uh, your doctor wanted me to tell you that you should start walking around again if you can to avoid using crutches.”

“I’ll try to go for a walk tonight.” He nodded his head, staring at his lap as if it was the most fascinating thing in the room. “Can you help me drink some water?”

“I’m sorry, of course.” Your cheeks reddened the same way his were, fumbling to punch in a straw inside a bottle of water as you propped it up for him to sip on. Of course he was thirsty, he had been asleep for almost half the day.

Your fingers were trembling, he noticed. Before he could point it out, the door slammed open and you were forced to draw away his drink. You haven’t been told of anyone visiting so it came as a surprise to see your boyfriend’s childhood best friend panting in the doorway, holding himself up on the frame while he gawked at Taeyong’s wounded form.

Bruises of varying sizes littered across Taeyong’s pale skin and a bandage was wrapped around his forehead, his bleached hair peeking out from the bloodied cloth. A large gash can be seen trailing along his jawline and although it had been healing nicely, a mark remained. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken from fatigue and a lack of nutritional intake, much like you.

He didn’t look well, Doyoung thought with a pitiful gaze Taeyong was already too familiar with.

“Aren’t you gonna come in?” Taeyong chuckled, grinning at Doyoung who frowned at him. He rushed to his side and mindlessly took him into an embrace, cradling his bandaged head into his shoulder. You felt hot tears pool into the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away before they could see.

He berated him, the way he always would when Taeyong got himself into trouble that could’ve been easily avoided if he would just think straight. The blizzard, Doyoung kept bringing it up, he shouldn’t have driven when the weather was too dangerous.

“I’ll try to remember that next time.” Taeyong said, reassuring him before Doyoung could burst into tears. He wouldn’t know how to handle him if he got too emotional, he doubted you’d be able to.

“Why were you driving, anyway? What was so important that you had to risk your life to travel?” Doyoung huffed and you rose from your seat from instinct, about to insert yourself into their conversation when Taeyong grasped your fingers.

You stared at him and you were suddenly reminded that he must’ve put himself in pain to stop you. You sat back down and he smiled, he wanted to say it himself and you could only respect his wishes. You hadn’t been able to inform Taeyong’s friends about his car crash as it had been only a week since it happened, all of your time was spent tirelessly tending him back to health. You didn’t have the time to share the unfortunate news.

“Apparently, I was on my way back to Seoul from visiting my family.” Taeyong said, gently grazing your skin away from his best friend’s sight. At Doyoung's confused knot on his forehead, he continued, “My mom told me that they couldn’t make me stay because it was the night of my anniversary with my girlfriend.”

“Taeyong, why are you talking like that—”

“The doctor said I hit my head on the steering wheel pretty badly.” Taeyong laughed mirthlessly, and you subconsciously squeezed his hand. “Bad enough that my memory got a bit fuzzy. Retrograde amnesia, I think that’s what they called it.”

Doyoung blinked, lips gaped at Taeyong who only smiled at him. He looked up at you, a sudden onslaught of anxiety coursing through him that you could just see him almost shake in worry. He whispered to you, “Amnesia? How far back can he remember?”

You bit your lip, turning away and loosening the grip you had on Taeyong’s hand, but he held it tighter with a strength you were sure he was only forcing. You said, “The beginning of third year in college.”

“What?!” Doyoung choked on his spit, leaping from his seat in shock. You offered him an unopened bottle of water but he shook his head. “You’re already a working man, Taeyong! We graduated two years ago, man!”

You did your best to calm Doyoung down, much to Taeyong’s appreciation. You knew where his emotions were coming from so you had to explain why it happened in a manner he would understand. You said that the blizzard was so strong that the roads had iced up and due to the speed he was driving, the car had slipped and crashed into a tree. He hit his head and the sheer impact caused trauma to his brain and made him lose his memories.

The doctors diagnosed him with retrograde amnesia, a form of memory loss that occurs from a traumatic brain injury. It prevented Taeyong from remembering what happened prior to his accident. His recovery was supposed to be gradual, it will take time for him to regain the memories he had lost but it wasn’t assured.

Taeyong doesn’t like telling what happened because people’s first reaction to his amnesia was to resort to aggression. As if their anger and frustration could magically make him remember what he had lost. You didn’t think of it that way, on one quiet night you told him that maybe it was just their desperation to bring him back to the person he was.

He thought it was selfish of them, but you kept your lips shut and refused to tell him that losing two years was a big deal to some people. Although he was still himself, quirks and habits are the same as you’ve first witnessed them, little aspects of him were different; some just different enough that others would do a doubletake to make sure it was really him. The person he is now just wasn’t exactly the person he used to be.

A slightly-off Taeyong, he grimly made a joke about.

You wanted to reassure him, comfort him that he didn’t need to try so hard to be who he used to be. You know despite all of his nonchalance and soft smiles, he was hurting. He instilled it in himself that he disappointed his loved ones by being a person they weren’t accustomed to. But you couldn’t, you weren’t in the place to when his last memories of you were when you have only first met during the anthropology class in your third year of college.

“God, that means you can’t even remember your own girlfriend.” Doyoung mumbled, mostly to himself but you heard it clearly enough as if he personally made it a point to stomp on your heart. Taeyong frowned.

“Shut it, Doyoung.” You grumbled, tears threatening to spill again. You and Taeyong have been so emotionally exhausted that having another person in the hospital room usually would lift both of your spirits, but Doyoung proved himself to be a disturbance instead.

Hours were spent lounging around with Doyoung talking Taeyong’s ears off with stories that he had missed in the past two years, how he was the one who had forced him into the class he shared with you and how coerced him into asking you out before he graduated; a bunch of stories that it almost made Taeyong wish that everything could just go back to the way it was.

He wasn’t the Taeyong they speak so fondly off, he was merely just the shell of him. Still, Doyoung had brought out a smile that you had been unable to make and for that, Taeyong gave him his thanks. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and sniffled.

Doyoung left not too long after, but he promised to visit soon. He knew you needed the support. You were left alone with your boyfriend again and the silence envelops you whole. When you excused yourself to grab a much-needed coffee, Taeyong sank to the hospital bed and succumbed to his tears.

This was his last night in the hospital and it had felt like the longest. He was out like a light but you stilled in your chair beside his bed, fumbling with the ends of his blanket in worry of tomorrow. Not much had progressed in your relationship with him. He was still embarrassed, timid in how he acted around you. You asked if he wanted to go home with you and he reassured you that he would be fine with it, but the panic you felt was still prominent.

Morning came and after what seemed like hours of finishing what was left of Taeyong’s documents in the hospital, it was time to finally leave. You hailed a taxi and you couldn’t help but notice your boyfriend’s sudden rigidness inside the vehicle. Swallowing your reluctance, you took his hand and forced his attention on you throughout the entire drive. He was thankful that you were able to distract him.

The apartment you shared with Taeyong was small but humble, the third unit in an old building that you swore was built in an era before the current. Thin walls and a poorly constructed floor, it was all both of you could afford when you’ve decided to move in together fresh out of college. Despite its imperfections, it was home as long as you had him with you.

With the creaky sounds your front door made, you heard the familiar sound of soft thudding of feet run across the wooden floors to welcome your arrival. Your heart leaped at the sight of Lala, the three-year-old Labrador you adopted with Taeyong, bolting towards your direction with her tongue sticking out.

Taeyong trailed behind you, drinking the place in. His gaze kept on darting from one place to another, his lips parted in amazement at the thought that he really had the courage to move out of his parents’ house to live with his girlfriend. It looked lived in, bits of his and your personalities showing in the way it was decorated and cluttered. The clashing of color schemes and wood tones almost made him want to laugh over how it was clearly furnished purely on indecision and compromise.

He was too busy familiarizing himself to notice that Lala had jumped on him. Your heart squeezed at the sight.

You crouched down to your knees, reaching over to scratch the back of Lala’s ear. You chuckled at Taeyong’s confusion on how to approach the hyperactive puppy, “Her name is Lala, she’s three years old. We adopted her on your birthday last year.”

Taeyong nodded with widened eyes, getting down to your level to attempt to pet her. He commented offhandedly, “Good girl, Lala.”

“She definitely prefers you over me, too.” You mumbled, watching Lala cave into Taeyong’s touch. She hadn’t seen him in a while so you wondered if her attachment to him would waver but it seemed to only grow stronger, the same way you were with your boyfriend. “I had my friend take care of her while we were gone.”

Taeyong kept his quiet and you swallowed the lump in your throat. His doctor told you to treat him especially kindly since he was in a vulnerable state, but you should instill a sense of normalcy. You were instructed to treat him as you normally would, he needed to be reminded of the lifestyle he used to have little by little.

The idea of having to consume copious amounts of medicines every day was already exhausting and gruesome, he even had the bandage around his head to deal with. He had a lot on his plate, you wouldn’t dare add to it by pressuring him to become the adult he doesn’t remember that he was. In his mind, he was still twenty years old and was living in a rickety dorm with Doyoung; it will surely take time for him to grow out of it.

You told Taeyong to go sit down on the stool across the island, to make himself comfortable while you prepared dinner—attempt to prepare dinner. Racking all the recipes his mother had taught you over the years, you wanted to cook a meal he would enjoy and reminisce over.

“Doyoung told me you didn’t like cooking very much.” You heard Taeyong’s voice said, a voice free of malice and full of genuine interest. He said, “It makes sense that I should be the one making food for us right now. You know, for all the trouble I’ve caused you the past week.”

You shook your head firmly, turning around so your back faced him. You didn’t want to let him see your ever-growing frown. You sighed, “Don’t worry, I can handle this. Do you want some coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.” He mumbled, pressing his cheek against the palm of his hand. He wished he could do more for you, but you weren’t letting him; you had your wall up as high as he had his.

Shuffling to where your coffee maker was, you quickly fixed a cup of coffee for him as if you moved purely on instinct. Taeyong watched you in amusement as you slid a blue mug to his way. The paint of its design was chipping off the edges and it had a small crack on the handle, it definitely had seen better days but he felt oddly drawn to it.

You saw him eyeing it out and you chuckled, “We went out on a pottery class for a date once and I made that mug for you. You refused to drink coffee without it, but I think it’s time for us to throw it out and buy you a better one.”

“No!” Taeyong interjected almost immediately, waving his hands to dismiss your idea. “I like it. We’re keeping it.”

Your chest ached, but you were unable to pinpoint the feeling that made it so, “If you say so.”

Taeyong was a picky man when it came to his coffee. He wasn’t an avid drinker of dark and rich brews, often preferred the sweeter and creamier side of the spectrum. The drink you made for him tasted just right, the perfect balance, and he was overwhelmed with gratitude. It made him laugh, how his taste in college didn’t seem to change in his twenty-three-year-old body.

“You can go look around while I cook.” You remarked, jutting your chin towards the rest of the apartment that he has yet to see as you run your hands under the running water. He followed your gaze and shook his head. You quirk an eyebrow, “You sure? It’ll take a bit before these noodles cook.”

Lala encircled his feet before cozying herself on top of his shoes, refusing to leave his sight. He laughed, bending down to pick her up and place her onto his lap. With his hands deep into the puppy’s golden fur, he asked, “Is Lala supposed to be a reference to the Teletubbies?”

You turned the stove on and plopped in the boxed pasta you retrieved from the pantry, “Your nephew loved the Teletubbies at some point so we made him name her.”

A visible twinkle appeared in Taeyong’s eye at the mention of his nephew. He’d only seen photos of him recently, the last he remembered of him was that he was only an infant cradled in his sister’s arms. And as if a barrier was put down, he asked if you could tell him more about what he had missed in his personal life. If Taeyong from the past trusted you enough to move in and adopt a dog together⁠—which he couldn’t believe he was able to do in college, he had to trust you, too.

You gladly entertained his curiosities while you prepared a mediocre version of his mother’s Jajangmyeon. As obscure some of his questions were, you were as honest as you could be. From how he managed to pass his senior year to how he got the job at his company, he asked it all while stuffing his face with dark noodles.

In your eyes, he looked like a kid who wanted to know what his older brother did, to follow in his footsteps and be just like him. He wanted to absorb so much information, it almost pained you to look at him listening to you with an expression so clearly resembling envy.

He cut you off and called out to you with a voice lower than before, sadder but still hesitant. You glanced at him in worry that you were rambling too much. He averted his attention away from you, “You’re crying.”

Raising a hand to your cheek, it was wet. You coughed in embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He mumbled, meekly offering his half-empty drink to you.

You hopped out of your seat beside him, carrying your empty bowl to the sink. You stayed a bit longer away from his line of view, wanting to keep your emotions in check for Taeyong’s first night back in the apartment. You didn’t want to scare him away, he was getting more comfortable and you succumbing to your feelings would ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for.

You turned the tap on and cracked your neck, “I’ll clean up here while you can go take a bath. The bathroom is next to the bedroom.”

He let out a breath and nodded, lingering for a moment before ultimately deciding that it would be best to leave you be. He didn’t know how he could comfort you when he was the reason for your distress, it would only hurt you more if he tried to console you of things he didn’t know of.

He spotted a box on the coffee table on his way to the bathroom, a bright red box with doodles scribbled onto its sides. Glancing at you, he was about to ask what it was inside when he clamped his mouth shut. He sat down on the couch and let his curiosity get the best of him, reaching to fiddle with the latch that sealed it closed.

Inside were piles of polaroid films, photos were not only of you and him but also of his friends from college and people he had yet to remember. An assortment of knickknacks filled it to its brim, variations of trinkets that included movie tickets and receipts. It was a box made to help Taeyong remember the memories he had lost, the connections he had with people that he had forgotten.

Taeyong bit the inside of his cheek, it must’ve been your doing. You probably asked around for others to help assemble the box, his heart swelled at the thought. You were working hard to make himself and his environment feel normal after losing a good chunk of his memories, he had to work hard as well.

His fists were shaking, his knuckles turning a shade paler than it already was. Lala snaked into the crook of his arm and whimpered at her owner’s change of composure. He laughed humorlessly, scratching her belly in appreciation.

Shutting the box closed, he sighed. He made his way towards the unfamiliar bathroom and filled the tub. Doyoung always told him that a bath could melt all of his troubles away, and how he wished it was that easy.

Taeyong came out of his long bath with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, blushing as he hastily pulled on the clothes you had prepared for him in the bedroom. You remained unfazed as you waited for him in a change of sleepwear, he realized that you might’ve already seen him naked before and the thought of it only worsened the state of his cheeks. He perched on the edge of the bed once he was finished.

You grabbed his ointment and attended to the injury on the side of his head, a gash that the doctors had sewn back together. You had a light hand, he noted, but the ache persisted. It burned when the tip of its applicator grazed along the stitches. He reached out to toy with the hem of your shirt, to divert his attention from the pain. You wrapped a bandage around his head as quickly as you could.

You mumbled, “It’s all done.”

“Thank you.” He smiled up at you and you returned it halfheartedly. “Let’s go to sleep, yeah? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, don’t! This bed is yours, too.” You said, holding onto his wrists before he could make a home on your busted couch that functioned as Lala’s chew toy half the time. “I know how much your back hurts because of the hospital bed so please, sleep here.”

Taeyong looked at you with a conflicted expression on his face but after seconds of contemplation and mental debate, he relented only if you’d use the bed as well. You sighed and caved in.

He crawled to his side of the bed, making you wonder if there was an inkling of a chance that he remembered how much he preferred his half that faced the windows. You shuffled to your side, mindful to not cross any boundaries. This would be his first time sleeping next to you and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable by being too close for comfort.

You switched to your side, away from his sight. The awkwardness was suffocating you, it seemed like you were the only one affected by it because soon you felt his side dip as he made himself more comfortable while you were frozen like a statue. You were nearing the edge of the bed, so far the end that one wrong move would make you fall out of it.

“Taeyong, are you asleep?” After an hour of silence, you spoke up but in hopes that he was already sleeping.

Unfortunately for you, he hummed in response. You could feel the blankets shift, making it known that he was facing your direction now that you’ve called him. At your lack of reply, he must’ve thought you didn’t hear him so he cleared his throat, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, look. I just want to say that if you want to break up with me, I’ll understand.”

“What?” He slowly sat up in confusion, hefting himself up with his elbows. You refused to look at him, gnawing on your lips and your eyes squeezed shut as if you were a kid caught by your parents awake past your bedtime.

“This situation we’re in, you don’t have to force yourself to be with me if you don’t want to.” You managed to choke out, choosing your words carefully. “I want you to continue living who you are now, I’ll just hinder you from moving on if I only remind you of the memories you lost.”

He called out your name, much sterner and different from the gentle tone he always used on you. You were suffering worse than he was, that he knew, but he didn’t know just how much until you’ve finally cracked—the insecurities and worries you’ve hidden from him, pouring out all at once and he didn’t know what to do with it.

You were sobbing into the sheets and he could only rub circles onto your back as a failed attempt at comfort. He wanted to tell you so many things, to reassure you that he wasn’t thinking the way you assumed he would be.

Taeyong thought of you so highly. You were someone who carried all of his burdens and stories that made him the person that he was, someone who had so much love for him despite not having it reciprocated back, someone who just wanted him to forgive himself for not being who he was and to start living again. You weren’t just some stranger to him, but the world had robbed him of you.

He ignored his hesitance and whispered under the blanket of the night, “You might’ve lost the Taeyong that you love but I promise I will spend the rest of my days proving to you that I’m worthy of the same love you’ve once given to me.”

“Taeyong—”

“It’ll take some time and I can’t assure you that things will be the same as it was but I swear, I will never forget you again and we’ll be happy.”

There were a lot of things to do, but none of those things were as important to him as lying here next to you, to pick up what remained of you from his ruins. He knew full well that he wasn’t the only victim. He was aware that you were also trying your best for him, to hold onto what’s left of the pieces you used to love about him.

“I really want this to work out.” You admitted amid your hiccups and sniffles, his heart broke at the sound of it. “I know I haven’t lost you yet.”

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” He mumbled, running his nimble fingers through the locks of your hair as a serene silence filled the room as you didn’t say anything back. After a week of being in the hospital, your heavy breathing was enough to lull him into his sleep.

You glanced at him for the first time since you had laid down, observing his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. A small smile appeared on your face, he looked tired even though he was already deep in his sleep. You whispered in the dark, “Sleep tight, Taeyong.”

The cold of the night renders you restless once again, your eyes brimming with a bright red hue and utter exhaustion. You swung your legs to the side of the bed, careful enough to not wake your boyfriend who was already asleep. His gentle snores filled the room and you made your way towards the balcony connected to the bedroom with your phone in hand and a blanket draped around your shoulders.

It was another starless sky, you looked up and the absence of the twinkling lights comforted you. You pulled on the blanket closer as you fiddled on your phone, tapping on an option that directed you to a phone call.

“Don’t you know that it’s two in the fucking morning? What do you want?” Doyoung’s voice replaced the monotonous ringing, sounding raspy from what you assumed was his sleep.

“I wanted someone to talk to.” It was your honest answer and you knew he wouldn’t judge you for it.

He yawned, and for a moment you felt a twinge of guilt but it dissipated the second after, “How is Taeyong doing? You brought him back home earlier, right?”

“He’s okay. He’s passed out on the bed right now.” You said, stealing a glance at where Taeyong was sprawled across the bed. A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips, you haven't seen him more at peace. “It kinda sucks, you know? I want to be strong for him but I don’t know how long I will last.”

“You love him, right?”

“I do. So much.”

“Then just be patient, please. You’re the only person he can truly rely on right now.” Doyoung sounded like he was almost pleading with you, entrusting his best friend to you for a second time with the first was when you agreed to be Taeyong’s girlfriend. He said, “The love you shared is very strong, it conquered many hurdles and it will overcome this.”

You nodded your head, but you remembered Doyoung couldn’t see you. You whispered, “I’m scared, Doyoung.”

“Of?” He asked as quietly as you were being as if you wanted the conversation to only be a secret between each other.

“What if he never loves me again?” Your nail was shoved in between your teeth, your leg anxiously bouncing against the floor. It was a thought that had flitted about your mind but you have shoved it so far back in an attempt to ignore it but it demanded your attention, to face its possibility.

He scoffed at the other end of the line, “It’s Taeyong we’re talking about here. If he could fall in love at his first sight of you in college, he could easily do it again.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Thanks, Doyoung. I needed that.”

“Alright, good night. Take care of yourself.” He said, dropping the call when you didn’t return his farewell.

You bent over the railing, tilting your chin up to face the night sky once more. You scoured the endless dark for even just a glimpse of a shooting star, for a chance to wish upon the universe to end this nightmare of yours. Your boyfriend was right there with you, but you have never felt more lonely.

Shutting your eyes closed, you let out another sigh. You were so tired of crying but it felt like the only thing you could do. You wondered just how much an average person could cry, maybe you’ve exceeded their record.

You left the balcony not too long after, padding back to the bed with a heavier heart. You sat on your side and twisted your body to face Taeyong. His mouth was parted and his cheek was pressed onto the pillow he held onto, a chuckle rolled off your tongue. Before you could even think of stopping yourself, you leaned onto him and placed a kiss onto his forehead.

A familiar heat rises to your neck at what you have done, you jumped from where you sat and raised a hand to your lips as if you’ve been burnt. You hadn’t been this intimate to him since the accident happened.

You grabbed your blanket and bolted to the living room, making do with the couch for the rest of the night as you forced yourself to sleep. Lala sleepily watched you in confusion.

Days passed and things have gone relatively the same as the first time Taeyong returned from the hospital, but you noticed the tension has lifted ever-so-slightly. You finally stopped crying yourself to sleep and eventually he has grown enough courage enough to express his affection—discreetly holding your hand and tugging you into his arms late at night to cuddle.

He was forced to stay at home for the remainder of the month while he recuperated, family and friends have visited from time to time to keep him company while you returned to your job. All the stories he’d heard about the two years he’d forgotten about, all of them were linked to you one way or another and it sparked a familiar surge of jealousy he had over his own self; that his past self made so many good memories with you that he could not never experience again.

His feelings for you were growing steadily, dare he said that he may have grown a crush on you. He could never admit it aloud for how pathetic it was, to have a crush on your own girlfriend. But it was your soft hair, your gentle hands, and your never-ending love and patience for him—these were some of the things he could not believe he had forgotten the existence of, how loved it made him feel, and he was ready to drown himself in it again.

Taeyong received a package when you were still at work one day, the label of his hometown address stamped at the right-hand corner indicated that it was from his parents. He ripped off the packaging tape with Lala nuzzling into his side.

He looked inside and saw his luggage. When he was rushed in an ambulance after his crash, his parents were the firsts to arrive at the hospital so the nurses had entrusted to them his belongings that were found in the wreckage. They failed to return it to him once he regained his consciousness as they hurried home soon after you had arrived, unable to stay much longer for personal matters.

He supposed that he only had clothes in it for he was told that he came from his hometown for a week-long visit. Rummaging through his clothes, he was surprised to see a velvet box hidden underneath the pile.

He took it out and gaped at it with owl-like eyes, he fumbled to flip it open. A shiny sparkle of a diamond reflected a faint rainbow from the sunlight that poured from the nearby window, he stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. Chuckling softly, he held the engagement ring close to his chest with a newfound source of encouragement.

You returned home that day to a romantic dinner. Candles of different scents were lit up and a torn picnic blanket covered the dining table, you took off your shoes and followed the scent of your boyfriend’s familiar cooking and spotted him in the kitchen. He donned a suit but he had on an apron to protect his front, busy with whatever meal he was preparing to see you peeking in from the doorframe.

“What are you doing?” You asked, and Taeyong swore you had on the brightest smile that he had seen in a while.

He turned off the stove and threw aside his apron, he strode his way to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed his chin on top of your head and said, “I want to get to know you better.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“But I want to take you out on a first date—well, not out out, but you get what I mean.”

You giggled, pressing your cheek against his chest but you suddenly drew back, the worried expression you had taking him by surprise. Raising a hand to his forehead, you asked, “Your heart is beating really fast. Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?”

He stared at you incredulously before bellowing a laugh, a hearty laugh you’ve never heard before. Shaking his head, a small hint of a smile appeared on his lips. He gently pried off your hand from his face and placed a kiss onto the back of your hand. He said, “I’m okay now.”

You were unconvinced that he was, but his sudden affection made it easy for you to ignore it. He leaned down and stole a chaste peck onto your reddened cheek. He put his hand inside the pocket of his suit and nervously fiddled with the velvet box.

Taeyong lost so much of his memories, but he was ready to make new ones as long as he was with you. He will learn to love you again as much as he did before, if not more as long as the universe allowed his heart to.

937 notes · View notes

aquietwritingcorner · 3 years ago

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Writers Month Day 6: Amnesia Word Count: 4761 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Alex Louis Armstrong, Major Miles, Philip Gargantos Armstrong, Armstrong family Warning: Summary: Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong has amnesia, thanks to an attack that caused trauma to her head. Alex will do anything to help her get it back—If its possible. Notes: This will one day be a longer fic. But for now, have this, based off of discussions I’ve had with some friends about this idea! Also, I’ve tossed a few headcanons about Olivier’s past in here—most notably that in her younger days she was taken prisoner by Drachman and tortured for three days. Also, this story gave me the headcanon the her childhood nickname from her father was “rose” because her pink lips reminded him of the pink roses in the rose gardens. AO3 || ff.net

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Amnesia

Major Ephraim Miles stood guard outside of the hospital room. He stood at a resting attention, not letting anyone inside who wasn’t medical and previously approved. Any food that came in, he checked over personally. Nothing was allowed in that wasn’t inspected. It seemed like overkill to many of the hospital personnel, but as far as Miles was concerned, it was a necessary precaution. Someone had to protect the general. Especially since she—

Miles’ train of thought was cut off as he heard a sound coming down the hall—a sound he had both been expecting and dreading. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever, although he had hoped that it would wait a little bit longer, perhaps after he had more answers. Fate was what fate was, though, and at the moment, Miles’s fate was coming in the form of a giant, muscled, mustachioed, worried brother.

Miles sighed.

“Major Miles!” Alex Armstrong’s voice came booming down the hall, more worried than friendly, the man himself only just behind it. A frustrated looking nurse followed behind him. Within moments the large man was there, right in front of him, looking as worried as his voice had sounded. “Major Miles! My sister! I heard she is injured!”

“Major Armstrong,” Miles said, in greeting, although he didn’t move from his place in front of the door. The last thing the general needed right now was her brother bursting into her room.

“How badly is she injured?” Alex didn’t push him aside, but he was clearly, upset. “Why wasn’t the family alerted?” He switched his attention to the door. “Olivier! Are you alright?”

“Major Armstrong!” the nurse finally snapped. “Keep your voice down!”

He startled, as if he had forgotten the woman was there. “Ah—my apologies,” he said to the nurse, lowering his volume and intensity a little.

The nurse just huffed, but Alex focused in on Miles again. His hands took the man by the shoulders and he leaned down, his face close to Miles’s. Miles did his best not to react, although it was a bit unnerving.

“My sister,” he said, his eyes boring into Miles intently, “What has happened to her? I need to know!”

There was no avoiding it. But before Miles could say anything, he heard the door behind him open a bit.

“Miles?”

He turned to look. The general was standing in the doorway, looking out at all of them. Uncertainty—something Miles had become used to seeing—in her eyes. Her eyes traveled over all of them, trying to make sense of the sight.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was uncertain, unsteady, and not at all like the Olivier Mira Armstrong Miles knew.

Alex let go of him. “Sister!” he cried out, stretching out his arms as if to grab her in a giant hug and taking a step towards her. “Sister, I’m so glad to see you up!”

Olivier’s eyes widened, and she let out a little gasp before slamming the door shut. Her footsteps could be heard rapidly retreating from the doorway. Alex froze, looking confused.

“Sister?”

“Major!” the nurse said menacingly, and Alex had the grace to look abashed.

Miles straightened his clothes out. “Major Armstrong,” he said. “Give me a minute to get another guard here, and then I will explain everything to you.”

Alex, his sister’s unusual reaction obviously bothering him, simply nodded. “Yes… of course.”

~*~*~*~

Alex looked down at his cup of watery bland hospital tea, and contemplated what Miles had told him.

“…I see,” he said after a moment. “A complete loss of memory, then.”

“She still has what the doctor called ‘functional’ memory. She still knows how to do things. Sometimes if she’s surprised, she’ll react without thinking in the same way she would before. But all of her personal memories are lost.”

“And is there hope of them returning?”

Miles was silent for a moment contemplating his answer. “So far, the doctors aren’t sure. At first, they said to put her in familiar environments and see if it helped. But she couldn’t navigate the dangers of Briggs, so she couldn’t stay there long. North City wasn’t much help either. Central has many more resources and the added benefit of her family here. It’s hoped that the familiar environments will help, as well as whatever other support Central can give. She also has less enemies in Central that would try to take advantage of her condition.”

“Yes, I see,” Alex said, rubbing his chin. “There are other avenues and options that I can investigate that might help her. And when she’s well enough to move to the Armstrong estate, she can be more closely guarded.”

Miles nodded, and then hesitated. “There is… one other thing,” he said.

“Oh?” Alex looked at him curiously.

Miles reached behind him and handed over a wrapped bundle. Alex took it and started unwrapping it even as Miles spoke, and froze when he realized what it was.

“She said that if anything were to happen to her, to give this to you,” he said.

Alex stared in shock at the sword he now held. The Armstrong family sword. Olivier’s sword. Alex’s heart clenched in his chest, sorrow threatening to overwhelm him.

“I will take excellent care of it and safeguard it until she can take it up once again.”

Miles looked at him and nodded.

“…Can I see her now?” Alex asked. “I would very much like to.”

“Yes,” Miles said. “Just do your best to remain calm. She’s much more skittish now.”

“Of course,” Alex said.

They stood, Alex making sure to gather the sword to him and affix it on his belt, and disposed of the tea. The walk back to Olivier’s room wasn’t far, and the Briggs guard outside of it saluted them as they drew close.

“All normal, sir,” he said. “The general asked where you were a time or two, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Thank you,” Miles said. “Major Armstrong and I are going inside.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied, and stood aside.

Miles knocked on the door, Alex standing silently behind him. “General? It’s Miles. Can I come in? I’m bringing a visitor.”

There was a pause of silence, and then her voice called out. “Yes, you can.”

Miles opened the door and Alex got his first good look at his sister. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She was dressed in a simple white shirt and gray skirt, with black flats. Her eyes, still sharp, but no longer guarded as they had been, looked over them uncertainly. Fading bruising and a healing gash on her head stood out.

“What are you working on?” Miles asked her, as he moved closer to her and looked down at the bedside table she had something spread out on.

Olivier’s eyes stayed on Alex for a moment, but then her attention turned to Miles. “A puzzle,” she said, and her voice was gentle, subdued. “I’m supposed to put the words to these sayings in the right order.”

“How are you doing?”

She glanced at Alex again, but then back down at the puzzle in front of her. “I’m not sure,” there was hesitancy in her voice. “Some of these sayings don’t seem to make sense, but I think I have them in the right order. Others don’t make any sense at all. I liked the puzzle with the numbers and the boxes better. It made more sense.” She sighed. “But I know this one is supposed to help stimulate my memory, because I have to use recall on it.”

“That’s true,” he said. “You’ve got some of them right,” he said. “This one, and this one.”

“Too bad I don’t know what they mean,” she said. Her eyes traveled back to Alex. “You’re the man who was loud outside of my door, earlier,” she said. “Who are you?”

The question was not nearly as demanding as it usually would have been, and it ate at Alex’s heart.

“This is your brother,” Miles said. “His name is Alex Louis Armstrong. He’s a major and a state alchemist.”

Olivier looked over him, considering. “A major. He’s the same rank as you. But it’s a lower rank than me. And a state alchemist… they use alchemy… for the military?”

Miles nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

Alex’s heart broke at all of this, but for the sake of his sister, he kept it together as best he could.

“Why were you being so loud earlier?” she asked Alex.

“I was worried about you, Olivier,” he said. “I’m afraid my emotions got the better of me.”

She nodded. “I’m your… older sister,” she said.

“Yes,” Alex said. “That’s correct.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” she apologized. “Are you here to try to help me get my memories back?”

Alex felt his heart shatter. “Yes. Yes, I’m here to help you in any way I can, Big Sis,” he said.

Olivier smiled at him. “I appreciate that.”

It was many hours later when Alex finally left, Olivier growing tired and having a headache—something that Miles told him was common now. Miles walked him out, and they spoke of arrangements for Olivier. She couldn’t be left on her own, and Miles couldn’t stay here forever. Alex assured him that it would be no trouble at all for her to return to the Armstrong estate. They parted ways, plans in place, and Alex headed towards the mansion, the sword at his side, piercing him with each sound it made.

Olivier hadn’t once asked about it.

~*~*~*~*~

Olivier looked out the window of the car, her eyes wide as they drove through the gates and up to the Armstrong mansion.

“This is… my house?” she asked, incredulous. “This doesn’t look like the other houses I’ve seen.”

“It’s the Armstrong Estate,” Alex told her. “The Armstrongs are an old and well-known family. This estate has been in our family for generations. You are the current head of our family, so it is yours.”

“But what about our parents?” she asked, looking back at him, concerned. “Where do they live?”

“They live here as well, in their own wing. Father takes care of most of the day-to-day concerns. Mother takes care of the social obligations.”

Olivier nodded. “What do I do?”

“Well, you have the ultimate say in anything involving the family. If you wanted to sell this all and give all our family money away, then you could. Or if you wanted to stay here for the rest of your life, you could. Mostly, though, you look at investments being made and sign off on legal documents.”

She was silent. “…I can’t do that now,” she said. “I don’t understand enough.”

Alex rested a hand on her back. “You will again,” he said. “For now, Father will take care of it all.”

Olivier nodded, looking uncertain. The car pulled up to the steps and stopped. Alex got out first, then waited on Olivier. She stayed slightly behind him as she took all of it in. The servants were standing on the stairs, and their family was standing at the top. Alex had the distinct impression that Olivier wanted to duck back into the car and stay there. Instead, he put a hand on her shoulder, and pulled her a little forward and beside him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We can all be a little boisterous, but they care deeply for you. And I won’t leave your side.”

She swallowed, but nodded, and allowed Alex to escort her up.

~*~*~*~*~

The meeting with the family had gone well enough. They had all been gentle around her, trying not to overwhelm Olivier. She had, eventually, relaxed, and many stories had been told of their past. The stories hadn’t seemed to prompt any memories, but Olivier had been eager to learn more about herself and her family. It had gone on for many hours, until she had grown tired.

Alex had noticed first, and had called it a night, showing Olivier to her rooms, as well as how to get to him if she had need of him. He had only left her once he was sure that she was settled in and returned to the family.

The atmosphere after that had been a bit morose, as all of them were worried about Olivier. Still, all eventually retired to bed, leaving the mansion quiet and still. At least, it was until something woke Alex up out of his sleep.

“Alex?”

It was Olivier’s voice, and there was a slight panic to it.

He threw back his blankets and made his way to his bedroom door. He could hear her quietly calling out his name again, the panic still in it.

“Olivier? I’m here,” he said, looking for her.

“Alex.” Her voice was coming a little way down the hall, and he went towards it.

She was just around the corner, and he nearly ran into her. She was, as he was, in her night clothes and robe, but she looked distressed.

“Olivier, what’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I—I… I’m not sure,” she said. “I…”

He put a hand on her back. “Here. Come to my rooms. We’ll sit and drink something hot and soothing, and we can talk.”

She nodded and followed him as he led her in and to a sette, only pausing when he pulled the cord for a maid.

“Here,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a blanket?”

She shook her head. “No. Its warm enough as it is.”

Alex blinked at that. It seemed that she still retained her cold tolerance and preference. Was that a physical thing, or was it more mental? He wasn’t entirely sure.

A maid appeared then, knocking on the door, and Alex bade her come in. She had, apparently, anticipated such a need, because he brought a tea cart with her, the aroma of chamomile tea rising from it. Alex thanked the maid and sent her away, fixing the cups for both of them himself. He pressed the cup into Olivier’s hand, and she gave him a tired smile and murmured her thanks.

“There you go,” Alex said. “Now—what has you so upset, Olivier?”

She hesitated. “I… I was dreaming,” she said. “And there was this man in it. A big man, perhaps as big as you, with black hair down the center of his head and a long, thin, braid. He had a thin mustache, and a metal arm that wasn’t always a regular arm. He had a big smile, one that took up his whole face. And… and for some reason… he made me sad. I would see him with Miles sometimes, but… he made me sad, Alex. So… so very sad.”

Alex felt his heart break again as she spoke. “That sounds like Captain Buccaneer,” he said. “He was one of your subordinates at Fort Briggs. He had an automail arm.”

“Captain Buccaneer…” she murmured. “I don’t remember seeing him. Where is he?”

Alex took a breath in. “He died, Olivier.”

“Died?” there was a tremble in her voice.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you remember me telling you how you and your men helped this country? How you helped stop a plot that would have taken the lives of everyone?”

She nodded.

“He died fighting for that. He was an honorable man, very loyal to you.”

She looked disturbed and upset. “… I know I’ve lost men before. I think… I think I see them in my dreams sometimes. Why does his death make me hurt like this?”

It was like she was twisting a knife in his chest, but Alex wasn’t going to lie to her.

“You two were very close. You never said it, but I think that you loved him, Olivier, and that he loved you as well.”

“I… loved him?” she said, and took a sharp breath in as soon as she said it. “Oh…”

Alex looked at her, alarmed as tears began forming in her eyes. Olivier was never one to cry, at least, not before, but apparently now that was different. He reached out to her, pulling her into his arms, and let her weep for something she didn’t fully understand.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Olivier leaned away from the window, a hand covering her eyes. “Are these sessions really doing me any good?” her voice was tired, and a bit irritable.

Alex looked over at her, reaching over to pull a shade down on the window of the car. “You seem to be gaining at least some of your memories back,” he said.

“Yes, a few. But is it worth it?” She asked. “It leaves me with a migraine for days, and only fragments. I still don’t know who I was before. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever return to that woman.”

Alex paused, looking at his sister. “…do you not want to, Olivier?” he asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know who she was, if I was happy as she was. All I know is who I am now. But I don’t know if I’m happy as I am now, either.”

Alex frowned and put a gentle hand on her back. “It is your decision,” he said quietly.

She sighed. “I can’t think straight right now.”

“Then let your mind rest,” Alex said.

The ride to the estate wasn’t much further, and Alex saw her settled into her room. He didn’t expect to see much more out of her for the rest of the day. The Alkehestry sessions left her with a pounding migraine, and she often spent the rest of the day in her bed. Today was no different.

At least, until that evening.

The family was retired to the sitting room where they often spent family time, when a scream pierced the air, a scream full of pain. They all started, Alex, their father, and their mother taking off towards it almost immediately, military and parental instincts spurring their speed. The scream came from Olivier’s room, and more followed it. Philip didn’t even slow down, throwing open the doors to Olivier’s suite, heading straight for her bedroom. Alex was on his heels, gauntlets already on, fearing the worst.

Olivier was still screaming, but there was no apparent cause for her screams. Philip threw back her blankets, but nothing was revealed by them. Olivier was writhing on her bed, screaming, sobbing, fighting, and Philip reached for her, pulling her out of the bed. He sat in the floor with her, their mother immediately reaching to search her over for anything that could have been causing her pain.

“Olivier!” Philip said, shaking her. “Olivier! Olivier, wake up! Olivier!”

There was a gasp from her and then “…Father?”

“Yes, yes, child, yes, Rose, I am here.”

She was shaking, and grasped at his clothes, looking up at him. “F-Father…”

He held her close, shushing her. “Shhh, Rose, it’s alright, I’m here. What happened? Are you hurting?”

“I…” her breath hitched. “I was… I was… I was in a dark place. I was restrained. There were hands… people… men. And then one man—” her breath hitched again. “—one man… he came… he had a metal rod that was white hot. He… he… There was so much pain!”

“Oh, child, oh my Rose, oh Olivier…”

Their father began rocking her, and their mother put herself around them too, both of them forming a safe cocoon for Olivier. Alex backed up, looking at their sisters, and silently guided them out of the room. This wasn’t a place for them to help her. But if any of the memories were to stay gone, Alex wished that the memories of her torture at Drachman hands had been the ones.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Olivier hit the mat and hit it hard. She looked up at Alex, frustration clear in her eyes and body language. She pushed herself up. “I want to try again,” she said.

“Olivier, I think that it’s enough.”

“I want to try again!” she snapped. “It’s almost there… something is almost there.”

Alex paused. “Why don’t we try something different,” Alex suggested. “Perhaps it will help it come.”

Olivier pulled herself up. “Alright.” She looked around and spotted the training swords. “What about those?”

Alex looked over at them, and then gave a nod. He wasn’t sure that she was ready for them, but if she thought she was, then he would try. He went to them, pulling out one for both of them. He took up a stance, and she, taking the sword, did too, although it wasn’t her stance. She was copying his.

Alex had a bad feeling about this. After a moment, she charged at him. He side-stepped and made a move back at her. He could tell that it took her by surprise, but she raised a defense, which, he could see, also surprised her. It was instinctual, not strategy. They exchanged a few more blows, but the match was over in less than a minute, with Olivier on the ground, her sword slid away from her, and Alex’s sword at her neck.

She laid there, shaking, not saying a thing.

Alex relaxed his guard a bit. “Olivier?” he said. He reached out with his hand. “Olivier, are you alright?”

She batted his hand away, and let out a yell, slamming her fist into the mat. “I can’t live like this anymore, Alex!” She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. “I can’t keep doing this! How am I supposed to live like this! I’m not who I was, but there’s enough of her in me that I can’t be someone new! I can’t be anyone anymore! I don’t know who I am, and I can’t live like this! How am I supposed to be who I am, when I can’t even remember things central to me!”

Alex took a step back in surprise. Her temper had been flaring, but she hadn’t had a break down like this yet. “Olivier, we can find a way to work through this. We’ll find more doctors and—”

“No!” she stood up. “No, no more doctors, no more anything!” Her hands went to her head. “I can’t do this anymore!”

“Olivier—”

She looked up at him, eyes blazing. “Get out! Get out, Alex! If I’m truly the master of the house, if I’m truly the head of this family, then get out! Get out of this room, get out of my house! Get out! I want everyone out!” She seized upon the training sword and threw it. It flew across the room and shattered on the wall. She seized the mat, and Alex backed out of the training room as his oldest sister lost her temper, all her frustrations finally coming to a boil.

The next morning Alex returned to the mansion, having honored Olivier’s request to leave. She had an appointment that day, and, if she would allow it, he would accompany her. No one was at the door to meet him, but a maid did escort him to the sitting room. Oliver was waiting in it, looking up at the sword that was on the mantle. Alex didn’t say anything, just stood, waiting. Finally, Olivier turned back around. She looked at him, then looked down a little, shame in her face.

“Alex,” she started. “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.” She paused, taking in a breath. “You have every right to be upset with me. But… if you’re still willing, I would like your help.”

Alex waited a moment, and then spoke. “You do not need to apologize, Olivier,” he said. “I did some thinking last night. Everyone has been pushing you to return to who you were. None of us have asked what it is you want to do. That isn’t fair of us. If you want to stop your treatments, then I’ll stand by you. And if you want to continue them, then I’ll stand by you as well.”

She looked back up at him, a little relieved. “Then… would you help me through them? I meant what I said about not being able to live like this. I don’t feel whole. I want to. And I think the best way to do that, is to keep trying to regain who I was.”

Alex nodded. “Then I shall stay by your side through it, Sister.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I think we’ve done as much as we can,” the doctor said.

Olivier frowned. “Are you sure?”

The doctor nodded. “Our alkehestrist says that your chi paths are as clear as they can be. He doesn’t feel that further sessions will provide any benefit.”

“What about the memories that are still missing?” Alex asked, knowing that’s what his sister was thinking.

“Those will just have to return on their own—or perhaps they won’t at all. But from what we can tell, you have about 95-98% memory return. Your recall for current events is excellent, and your mental acuity is some of the sharpest I’ve seen.” He closed his charts. “General, I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t be able to function normally. I would suggest a rest period of about a month before a return to duty, but I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to resume normal life again.”

The room was quiet for a few moments, and then Olivier nodded. “Thank you, Dcotor.”

“Of course,” he said.

They stood, shook hands, and then Alex and Olivier headed out. They were quiet as they walked down the hall.

“…This seems like wonderful news, Sister,” he said.

“It is.” There was a pause. “I was hoping for all of it back, though.”

“I understand,” Alex said.

Olivier just hummed.

The drive back to the mansion was silent, Olivier clearly lost in thought. The minute they arrived, though, she was out of the car, and looking back at Alex. “Come with me,” she said.

Seeing no reason not to, Alex complied and followed her all the way to the family gym. She shed her jacket and walked over to the swords and pulled one off the wall.

“Olivier?” He said. “What are you doing?”

She nodded to the sword on his hip. “You said once that you would keep that until I could earn it back.” She unsheathed the sword she was hold, tossing the sheath to the side. “I’m ready to take my sword back, Alex.”

He blinked at her for a moment, standing there with her hair pulled back, a white sleeveless shirt tucked into a long navy skirt, heeled boots on her feet. Not the Olivier of the past in her uniform. Bot not the sacred, nervous woman who had arrived at the mansion nearly a year ago either. She was some combination of the two.

“Hmph,” Alex tossed his shirt aside, leaving him in his gray trousers and dress shoes. He pulled the sword from its scabbard. “Then let’s see you try.”

She smirked at him—and then the battle was on.

This fight lasted longer than the other one, and Alex was pleased to see his sister’s unique style return. Her spins, her grace, the sweeping motions that she fought with, reminiscent of her talent on the ice—it was all very Olivier, and all very right. Still, Alex wasn’t about to throw this fight—she’d never forgive him if he did—and with the two of them knowing each other’s styles so well, it wasn’t a quick fight.

Olivier was more skilled then him in swordplay, though, and within minutes she had him down, her sword on his neck, her foot on his chest.

“I win,” she said cold eyes staring down at him. “Give me my sword, Alex.”

Without saying a word—as she still had her sword on her neck—he took the sword, and flipped it around with a throw, offering her the hilt. She took it, removed the sword from his neck, and then reached down, unhooking the scabbard from his belt. She stepped back, and Alex set up, watching as she attached the sword to her side.

And as he looked up at his sister, standing there with her fierce pride and the sword back at her side, he couldn’t help but feel like the world was right again. Olivier Mira Armstrong was back.

#writersmonth2021 #Olivier Mira Armstrong #alex louis armstrong #major miles #philip gargantos Armstrong #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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ruby-whistler · 3 years ago

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Srry but i noticed in one of ur dream posts u Referred to tommy's cat as hope. I must correct u, that cat was born pussbou and died pussboi. /lh Also tommy killing that cat was nothing compared to dream killing mushroom henry in exile btw just wanna say Also for ur posts about dreams trauma or wilbur manipulating him can u provide links to vods or other proof? Srry if i seem rude i mean that in a "genuinely curious way"

Aaa sorry if my ask came off as rude im just genuinely curious :(((

hi! dw, you don't seem rude at all, and i'm extremely happy someone with a different perspective has found my blog! i really appreciate that sort of attitude and am happy to answer :]

/dsmp /rp

the cat was called pussboy by tommy, but dream only called it "the cat" and then said that "it was hope", which is why it sort of became a symbol (his hope is dead, basically) - that's why i kind of made its name capitalized, because it was more of a metaphor than anything.

most c!dream fans call the cat hope because it's just really nice and really symbolic, and also really sad when you think about it. that's why the name was used in the essay, just to clear up the confusion!

tommy killing that cat was nothing compared to dream killing mushroom henry in exile

i don't really think so? mooshroom henry was entertainment more than anything, and even if it was bad, when watching the stream i don't remember seeing him mourn that much - on the other hand, dream was very quickly and very obviously attached to the cat, with it being his only companion in months of isolation, along with the hope that even when tommy left it would keep him company.

keep in mind c!dream has been deprived of stimuli and human contact for so long it's officially classified as psychological torture at that point.

i don't mean to compare trauma or even compare deaths - because honestly, what c!dream and c!tommy have gone through individually is incomparable and i think neither should be diminished in favor of the other since they're both terrible situations.

that's why i disagree that it "was nothing compared to" - it had an obvious effect on c!dream, and was still c!tommy killing an animal specifically to hurt him, no matter what reasons he had.

when i'm talking about effects people's actions have had on c!dream, i'm not talking about those people. i'm talking about him. :) /lh

as for the trauma, a lot of people agree that a lot of the things he says or does are trauma responses, and hence it's very possible that he's had trauma before he went into prison!

this includes being repeatedly called a tyrant via propaganda by about half of your friends who decided to betray you, trying to keep peace and being pushed deeper into villainy instead, repeatedly being put in between a rock and a hard place in order to make sure the people you care about don't start killing each other, then being betrayed by your closest friends after merely trying to keep peace (sapnap & george) and just in general having no control over your life or image and grasping at straws to gain it back.

i know a lot of people with trauma who heavily relate to certain trauma responses, which aren't always just shaky breaths and flashbacks, but trauma often also manifests itself in extremely ugly and destructive ways, both inwardly and outwardly.

trying to control the people around you is also very often a response to going through trauma, as well as emotional repression which is... rather evident on c!dream during season two. it only seems to get worse with repeated abandonment.

in the end, during the vault scene, the way he acts really just isn't at all the way a healthy person would act, and a lot of his really bad mindsets come from the way he was taught by the world around him.

the character is very reserved however, and since we don't have his pov we can't really say for certain - a lot of people claim it in good faith because they have a lot of evidence for it, and i think they're certainly valid in that.

that is just before the prison, however. from what happened during the prison arc? there is no denying he's traumatized at this point.

he's been emotionally and physically abused by c!sam since the very beginning of being imprisoned, and being in solitary confinement for over two weeks is generally considered psychological (and maybe also physical?) torture. that alone shows up in a lot of symptoms of his mental deterioration while in pandora's during people's visits, and quackity's "sessions" just absolutely drove the point home.

what he's gone through during this arc is absolutely incomparable to anything others charactes have faced before, and it's just plain suffering being endured by someone who is, despite everything, still a human being.

as for the wilbur manipulation thing!! it's talking about the whole vassal scene (though even beforehand a lot of their interactions are pretty iffy), and here's a post about that :]

I also have a small question about the analysis u last reblogged cus it says "why dream needed lmanburg gone rightfully" and like. The house analogy is poor because for one cus the land is infinite. And 2 cus punz's yard was literally larger then lmanburg. And also stuff about dream being a mediator? Can u provide examples?

i wouldn't say it was poor. dream's said a lot of times that he didn't care in the slightest about the land - a lot of his problems with l'manberg arose with the fact that wilbur basically built it on lies and tried to disallow half of the server to come there. c!dream was mad about the division and the fact that wilbur wanted "freedom" to have authority in his lands - over others, as can be seen in this post also.

the table analogy was fitting not because dream was some overlord, but because these were literally friends he invited to hang out and live in a place he wanted to call home. claiming a part of it for yourself and saying people of a certain nationality can't come in is directly opposing those goals.

in the early days of the smp, dream's always been a mediator between his friends - sapnap and george, who would often get into fights and go around killing each other! he would always do his best to stop the conflict, which continued after tommy joined when he took him to court and then later tried to mediate conflicts he was a part of, which resulted in tommy killing him unprovoked, stealing his gear, and starting the disc wars when dream was trying to get his stuff back. later, during pogtopia, he is also most concerned with peace over everything, and this seems to continue indefinitely after.

Today i was thinking about how messed up the final control room was. Like. Dream arranged the betrayal and punz and sapnap killed tommy and tubbo who like. Were literal children and their pals (because the author, wilbur soot, is dead/j but srsly if u take the streamers words tommy said he was 9 during the revolution sooo)

Sorry im gonna ramble about how dumb canon ages are for a second cus like. Streamers can say the characters are one way or another (wilbur saying he is mentally 30-something, etc.) But in the end the characters act like they(or at least their streaming personas) do.

i... honestly don't find it that bad? they were in a war, and the final control room was basically just supposed to end it quicker. the l'manbergians made it clear they were going to fight to the death, so they really left c!dream no other choice. and it's not like he didn't give them chances to give up.

also yeah the 9 year old thing was retconned, because in that case c!dream would've been 14 and i don't think that's true.

c!tommy and c!dream were both young and once again, in a war. the final control room was an attempt to assure victory, which both sides would've taken if possible, but only c!dream saw he had the option.

i do agree the whole child soldier thing was bad but... complain about that to c!wilbur, methinks. he talked naive kids into fighting for his personal power. however, the age argument isn't really valid either way. they had enough agency to sign up for it, and whether or not c!wilbur pushing the intense nationalism onto them had something to do with that is another debate entirely.

Bacl to final control room cus like??? Also fun fact punz took 2 of wilbur's canon lives. And like that probably is what started wilbur's paranoia which later lead to his spiral and i. Many thoughts full of lmanburg today.

i'm pretty sure cc!wilbur said what lead to c!wilbur's spiral was a "dark, twister view of possessions" and "disregard for his fellow citizen whom he claimed to love so much", but i really wouldn't say it was the control room; if anything the sudden loss of power after the elections seems to me like the trigger for his spiral.

I watched the exile arc live and. I feel dirty almost for feeling little to no sympathy for c!dream (srry ive been forgetting to add that aa) because of his actions toward c!tommy and like. The whole probation was so humiliating and unfair and c!dream was planning to frame him for the crimes he and puffy did under the the guise of "pranks" and c!quackity was planning to seize the vice president role.

i mean... to be fair, if you didn't watch the prison arc much yet or only watch tommy's perspective i understand not feeling that sympathetic - however, i encourage you to maybe watch a few prison visits, since they could help you see the whole picture better!

i also watched it live, and i also thought it was terrible, but i share very much the same sentiment for the prison arc because. absolutely no one should have to go through either of those things, you know?

i don't think probation was that humiliating? he was just. being asked to not start conflict with the other factions for two weeks. of course, what happened as a result is in no way justified, but i don't think probation itself would've been bad at all. either way yeah the framing and c!quackity's behaviour was. very yikes, i agree.

Also c!tommy antis are dumb because they say "he deserved exile angry emoji" i dont see u saying that about ranboo. Just say you hate cc!tommy and go. Also people say c!tommy was just as toxic to c!dream and i??? No. One is the victim and one is the abuser and like. :/// man. This part is rambly srry

i wouldn't say they hate cc!tommy? cc!tommy has a persona who people think is annoying at first ( but then they subscribe because he is super entertaining big man! ) but a lot of c!tommy's actions are straight up toxic to certain characters, such as c!funndy and c!jack. he has a very dismissive attitude towards others and their trauma and it does affect the people around them very negatively.

examples; his repeated bullying and behavior towards fundy:

Tommy: “Fundy, I’m just here to kinda let you know that I – if you weren’t Wilbur’s son, you would be out of L’manburg, alright? Just remember – you need to keep that relationship with your father. I saw how asshole-y and bratty you were acting in the courtroom the other night. You need to pull your shit together young man.”

......

Fundy: “I’m wearing glasses…are you making fun of my eyesight?!”

Tommy: “Yes.”

Sapnap: “Your father would be very disappointed.”

Fundy: “Wh – disappointed for wearing glasses?!”

Tommy: “You got glasses, like what are you wearing…”

Fundy: “What do you mean?”

Tommy: “Sapnap, Sapnap, over here. Fundy, Fundy, Fundy, I’m really sorry to say this – I’m just here to publicly denounce you.”

Fundy: “…What?”

( credit for transcript: @/findingjoynweirdstuff )

he's also responsible for a big chunk of c!jack's trauma, both with actions and words, and that's why i think certain people might dislike the character, and i don't think that's wrong of them. anyone can dislike any character they want if they don't attack people for liking them, in my opinion.

also c!tommy was most definitely toxic against c!dream in the cell. it's of course understandable but that doesn't change the fact he was constantly hitting and insulting him (without dream doing anything back for a long while until he snapped) which is toxic behaviour.

i wouldn't say he was "just as" though, so i agree with you on that. they're different and they behave differently.

i made a dream blob keychain today. Is it possible to send images if u wanna see? Idk cus i havent used tumblr before. I think that's all for now. Thx for letting me talk :D peepoShy -curious anon (but fr a connoreatspants c!dream redemption arc would be cool)

yooo that's cool! i don't really,,, know if it's possible to send images? try it out and if it isn't i'll try find a way to turn it on.

also, no problem! just please remember this is a c!dream sympathetic blog, and me as well as my followers are uhh,, oftentimes emotionally attached / personally relate to the character, so if you could avoid sending hate on the character (not that you have or that i expect you to, just a friendly reminder) in the asks that would be great! we already see a lot of it unwillingly so, i'd rather not see more, but as long as the discussion is civil i'm absolutely ok with you asking more and with me answering more questions if you'd want to! :)

if anyone else would like to reblog this and add some things i might've missed with my answers, feel free to, just go easy on her (she uses she/her pronouns!) and keep it factual.

i hope u had a good or at least ok time at school today :D

thanks! i gtg now because exam tomorrow but i'm going to try write the redemption essay tomorrow as well because ohhh boy i have a lot of ideas about what all i could write around the concept.

also sorry this was long, i can't keep my tongue on the leash :[

#c!tommy critical #c!wilbur critical #my asks #curious anon #long post #history #tw torture #tw manipulation

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fairlyspnfanfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Ties That Bind Us - Part 5

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old. The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do. But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests. I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2328

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

My toes had been resting in the sand, fully submerged in the ocean saltwater, for hours. The chair I lounged in had sunk to the point that my seat was resting on the sand and was just beginning to cover the side rails. I could feel the warming rays of the sun on my skin, and I basked in the comfort of my parents sitting on either side of me.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and lazily dragging my fingertips over the surface of the water. I planted my feet and began pushing myself up to a standing position. Having been sitting so close to the ground, it took no shortage of effort to get myself upright.

“So, what’s it gonna be, baby girl?” My father questioned me from his seat in the sand. Running my hands through my salt-air blown hair, I took a deep breath.

“I don’t know.” Looking out over the water, I crossed my arms over myself, hugging my elbows. I looked over at my mother, her ever-smiling face looking up at me.

“They’ll be here before you know it,” she said soothingly. I scrunched my eyebrows together quizzically, confused once more. “The boys. The Winchester’s.” Her answer was matter of fact. I hadn’t considered them, having been too elated to immerse myself in the bubble of happiness and relief that was my family being given back to me.

“Dean,” I whispered, drawing my eyes back out to the water as the pit of my stomach dropped out.

I heard my father chuckling behind me. “That boy’s a good nut. A little marred on the outside, mind you, and completely oblivious at that. But he’s a good nut.” My arms loosened and I felt my shoulders relax as I allowed myself a laugh.

“He really is.” My words were tinged with a hint of sadness. I could picture his face. The panic that was etched into it, his wide green eyes staring at me, pleadingly, assuring me that I was going to be fine.

“Hummingbird,” my mother’s voice pulled me from my thoughts of him. “I’ve known you for your entire life. From the first fluttering of your feet in my belly, and every second since. I’ve seen you grow into this beautiful woman, inside and out. But honey,” she paused briefly, taking a breath. “I’ve never seen you as happy as you are when you’re with that boy.”

Her kind eyes seemed to be able to see right through me and directly into my heart, if not my soul.

“But mom,” I whined. “I just got you back.” She reached out and held her hand open, gesturing for mine. I placed my hand gingerly into hers, feeling the prickling of tears coming to my eyes.

“I know, Y/N. I know. But you’ll never lose us.” She looked over at my father, her smile growing. “We’re always with you. And we’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

I knelt into the wet sand in front of her, the waves lapping at my legs as my jeans quickly soaked through. “What if I want to stay?”

“Then you stay. But it’s up to you, baby girl,” my father answered nonchalantly.

“I think I’ll just go for a walk. Clear my head a little, okay?”

They both nodded back to me in response, as I began walking down the beach, my bare feet pressing into the sand with every step.

“Trap a reaper? Dean, are you insane?” Sam was yelling, his voice full of incredulity.

Dean gave no answer, just stared at his brother expectantly.

“No, Dean, this is crazy. We aren’t doing this!”

Dean stepped quickly over to his brother, gathering the front of his shirt in his fists as he pushed Sam against the wall behind him violently.

“Insane?” Dean’s voice was shaky and manic. “This is what we do, Sam!”

“No,” Sam responded calmly. “It’s what we’ve always done, and it never ends well.” He kept an even keel, ignoring the rage and sadness that were circling within him. He understood his brother’s actions but didn’t want to encourage them if he could help it.

“It ends with our family together, Sam. That’s all that matters here!” Dean’s fingers relaxed as he released his grip on Sam’s shirt and took a step back.

Sam’s face dropped. “Y/N wouldn’t want this, and you know it.”

“Well, she’s not here, is she?” Dean’s yelling attracted the attention of the nurse that had been sitting at the computer at her station. She looked up at them with judgmental eyes. “Sir!” Her voice rang out with authority.

“Sorry,” Dean answered, calming his voice down slightly but not breaking his eye contact with Sam.

They stared at each other, neither willing to back down. “I’ll do it alone,” Dean stated softly. He grabbed the bag that he had set down on the chairs and stormed down the hall. Ducking into the first bathroom that he could find, he closed the door behind him, quickly throwing the lock.

It didn’t take him long to get everything set up. Trap symbol painted, crucifix in the bottom of the mortar, ore, hemlock, what else? What am I missing? Dean went through the recipe in his head making sure he had everything just right. Finally, he dragged the blade of his pocketknife across his left palm, letting his blood begin to drip into the concoction as he threw a lit match down into it.

“O theris tes, caleo se cai deo.” He chanted the incantation and held his breath, praying that he’d done everything correctly.

“Really, Winchester? You’re summoning us into a washroom now?” The reaper who Dean recognized as Jessica was indignant. “What is it this time?” She threw her hands up in the air, disgusted, and attempted to walk away from him. Her foot faltered, hitting the edge of the symbol he had painted on the floor.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Her irritation was tangible.

“Not quite,” Dean answered with just a hint of casual jest. “I need your help.”

“You usually do.” Jessica was full of indignation. “What is it this time? Running from some big bad? Need to take a stroll through the land of the dead? What could it possibly be now?” Her anger was blazing, and though he would never admit it, Dean found himself intimidated by the reaper.

“Y/N,” Dean said by way of explanation. But the reaper gave no response, simply shrugged her shoulder and lifted her palms to the ceiling.

“What about her?”

“I need you to bring her back. Work a miracle, pull her back from hell, I don’t care.” He swallowed, his throat closing with pent up emotion. “Whatever it takes to bring her back. Just do it.”

“There’s always a price, Dean.” Her amusement was clear, both in her speech and body language, as she was now standing with one foot to the side, propping her right hip higher than the other as she stroked her chin.

“Name it. I’ll pay it.” His caramel-apple eyes began to tear as he struggled to hold them back.

“Oh Dean, Dean, Dean. Always so willing to die for those you love.” Jessica smiled, a devilishly delighted grin.

“We have a deal or not?” His gravelly voice enunciated his seriousness.

“I haven’t even told you what I would require,” she droned. “Have some patience,” she spat at him in staccato as her grim smile quickly fell into a severe and intense glare.

“I told you to name it, I don’t care. Just tell me what you want!”

She hesitated, lightly pacing across the two or three feet that she had been granted. Suddenly, she stopped in the center of the mark, her head snapping up to Dean and that same devilish grin slowly drawing itself across her face.

“What?” Dean’s demand was loud, hoping to show her the urgency of the matter.

“Nothing,” she said, succinctly and sweetly, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Nothing? You’re saying you want nothing in return? What’s the catch?”

“Call it a get out of jail free card, Dean.”

He looked at her incredulously. “I don’t get it, why would you do it for nothing?”

“Because you, Dean Winchester, will be in my debt. And I will hold that debt until it is paid in full. You can count on it. But for now,” She held her hands up, opening up her fingers as if demonstrating their emptiness. “For now, I want nothing. But you will come when I call,” she looked down at the trap before making eye contact with him again. “And I will call.”

Dean paused, considering the offer and turning it over in his mind. “Done.”

There was a knock at the door, startling Dean momentarily. “In a minute,” he yelled, waving the would-be-intruder off.

“We have a deal, then?”

Dean nodded in response, leaning down and scraping away the edge of the painted symbol. By the time he stood back up, Jessica was gone. He could only hope she would make good on it.

I walked down the beach, enjoying the feel of the warm sand between my toes and the water lapping at my feet. But internally, my mind raced. Getting my parents back was life changing. Or I guess, afterlife changing. I hadn’t seen then in decades, and yet being with them felt so natural. As if no time had passed at all. Each time my mother called me Hummingbird, the nickname I’d had since I was just kicking her bladder around in-utero, my heart soared. Each grunt or chuckle from my father sent delight through me. And yet, I felt as though I was in an impossible situation.

The Winchester’s were there. Undoubtedly working through the job, or on their way to another. Could I leave them? Could I really be truly happy knowing that I may never see them again? May never see Dean again? The thought brought a sob from my mouth as I moved my hand up, running my fingers over my mouth.

A seagull flew past me, cawing as it went, drawing my attention back behind me. I had walked farther than I had realized. I could just make out my parents as they sat in their chairs, their silhouettes small and distant. Taking a moment, I faced the ocean again, feeling the slow drag as my feet sank into the sand more with each caress of the water. I could remember my mother taking me to beaches as a child. We would both sink, giggling at the loud smacking sounds that were created when we pulled our feet out.

Smiling to myself, I looked back over towards my family and began walking again. But out of seemingly nowhere, my path was impeded by a person. A woman with long red hair and defined cheekbones stared at me, her face unreadable, wearing a long black trench coat.

“Let’s go,” she said, matter-of-factly as she pulled her black gloves off her hands, one finger at a time.

“What?” I shook my head, confused.

Her deep sigh did nothing to endear her to you, let alone to explain who she was. “You’re not the easiest soul to find up here, ya know. It took no shortage of effort on my part. Effort I should not be extending to begin with.” Both of her gloves were off now, as she looked me in the eyes, unblinking but the corners of her mouth seemed to draw up, as though she wanted to smile but thought better of it.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Jessica.”

I waited for an explanation that clearly was not coming voluntarily. “Jessica who?”

“Y/N, we really don’t have time for this.” She sighed through her sentence, obviously irritated.

“Maybe you don’t, but I have all the time in the world apparently.” My aversion to authority had kicked in and being pushed around by a stuck-up stranger did not bode well for it ending anytime soon.

“Jessica. Reaper. Here to whisk you back to the land of the living as instructed.” She rolled her eyes, clearly resentful.

“Instructed by whom?” She looked at me blankly, as if to tell me that my question as asinine.

“He didn’t.” My eyes were wide and felt as though they might burst out of my sockets.

“Like I said,” she began. “We don’t have much time. It’s now or never, kid.”

My eyes drifted over to my parents, my heart feeling as though it would break, as I felt Jessica’s cold hard fingertip press against my forehead and my vision went black.

To be continued….

Part Six

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624@waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy @carissime72 @deans-baby-momma @formulafun @woodworthti666 @yetanotherreader @crashlyrose @hobby27 @gabby913 @jxackles @polina-93@supernaturaladdictsblog @fandomoverdose666 @deans-baby-momma @deanwanddamons @tazzi-baby @acertainhero @lilulo-12

(Desperate attempt to get my faves to notice me) @thinkinghardhardlythinking @smol-and-grumpy @wonder-cole-reads @watermelonlipstick @that-one-gay-girl @waywardbaby

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whumpcollector · 3 years ago

Text

Project CHIMERA Pt.1: A New Age

Hey everyone. I’ve had this little project stewing for a long while. I’m experimenting with the writing style and such so please give me any feedback you have! (Also formatting this thing has been a nightmare so if anything comes off as difficult to read please lmk and ill fix it)

TW: Dehumanization. Themes of imperialism. Descriptions of blood and injury.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 1

Date: Celendor 3, 991

It is a glorious day. Truly it is. Today marks the beginning of project CHIMERA. I have been assigned to lead this project by Emperor Vystlat himself, an honor I intend to prove myself worthy of. The equipment is still being set up and the facility brought to full function, but within the week we will be able to begin the production of the first batch of clones. All going well we will have our first subjects by the end of Celendor.This will be a new age for the empire.

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 4

Date: Celendor 12, 991

The first batch of clones are growing better than anticipated. Within two days they have already passed the embryonic stages and have reached infancy. If this rate continues they will be juveniles within three days at most, and we will be able to begin the initial stages of CHIMERA ahead of schedule. This is better than I ever could have hoped for. Soon the need for the empire’s children to die in order to spread our prosperity will be gone. Soon, the glory of the empire will go uncontested.

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---Security Clearance Level: 5---

Official Report of Progress: Project CHIMERA

Date: Celendor 12, 991

My glorious Emperor Vystalt,I am more than pleased to report that project CHIMERA’s progress has been greater than I ever anticipated. The first batch of clones have reached the juvenile stage and are being awoken as I write this report. After a day of acclimation we will be able to begin their training. Initial physiological tests have revealed that cell growth rates and immune system responses are greatly enhanced compared to the average human’s. With further research we may be able to adapt these properties to other medical fields. While I do not wish to get ahead of myself, the prospective avenues of research are truly promising.

I shall personally inform you of any and all major developments.

May our glory shine upon the world,

-Dr.Archimedes Yarru

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 6

Date: Celendor 13, 991

It appears that our genetic manipulation has worked a bit...too well. These clones are not the blank slates that we had anticipated, but have managed to develop personalities during their time in incubation. The good news is that the information we imprinted them with during the incubation phase has stuck as well. We won’t need to teach them the basics. In theory their training can continue as normal, but some issues have reared their ugly heads. We are already receiving resistance to the idea of training from some of the subjects, and an alarming amount of them have developed dispositions that aren’t exactly compatible with being a soldier. Still, this is a minor setback at most and I have been assured by the training staff that things will progress as intended. I hope they know what they’re doing, but the emperor chose them personally so they must be good at their job.

Despite this hiccup I can’t help but be hopeful for the future. Every other aspect of CHIMERA has gone off without a hitch. I’m already seeing promising results from my initial tests of the clone’s blood and muscle cells. I will have to study them closer to get better results, but that will come in time.

Damn it's been 22 hours since I last slept. I should probably do that now.

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Celendor-15-991

To: allstaff

Subject: Plans going forward and clarification of CHIMERA details

It has come to my attention that there has been some confusion throughout the staff, both due to the unforeseen personalities of the clones and with general project protocol. Allow me to rectify these issues here.

[1] The classification of all subjects are as follows. Please remember this to avoid any failures of communication in the future.

Stage gamma: Subjects in the initial stages of testing. They will physically resemble adolescents, generally ages 12-15.

Stage beta: Subjects that are through initial training stages and have been curated into specified roles to receive specialized training. They will also reach physical maturity, resembling 20-22 year olds before their biological development and aging slows.

Stage alpha: Subjects that have finished training and are capable of being sent into the field.

Note: The ages attached to each stage are to provide a reference point to help identify subjects at a glance. Subject’s early rapid aging and the subsequent cessation of said aging makes any attempts at estimating age past a certain point futile. Please refrain from doing so

Addendum: This also means that there will be no attempts at assigning or recognizing birthdays. Yes Arthur, we mean you. Sate your addiction to cake on your own time

[2] Despite the unintended development of personality within subjects all current training protocols and methods will be utilized. The head of the training staff has asked that I pass along this message

*[While I understand that these new developments may be difficult to handle for some of you, it is imperative to remember that these clones are not people. They are more akin to automatons or even puppets. There will likely be many attempts to resist our training, do not waver. These clones are meant to be the bulwark of the empire. They need to be forged and tempered into weapons of war. If that requires us to break them first we must accept that. Use a heavy hand, accept not disobedience, and do whatever it takes to ensure the compliance of the clones.

Taskmaster Grestin]

[3] Remember that project CHIMERA is still in experimental phases. The genetic makeup, physiology, and even mental development and reception to training will vary from batch to batch and even subject to subject. Adapting to such differences will be crucial to ensuring progress of the project. If you happen to notice any abnormal physiological phenomena or behavioral anomalies please report to me. While these subjects are meant to be made into soldiers for the empire they also provide a plethora of opportunities for other fields of research. Within that vein, please refrain from killing the subjects. I understand that taskmaster Grestin’s previous statement emphasizes the importance of discipline but please, do show some restraint when possible. Creating these subjects is currently an expensive and, quite frankly, unreliable process despite our initial success. There is a reason this first batch only consists of 10 subjects. Please do not lower that number.

-Dr. Archimedes Yarru

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Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 9

Date: Celendor 19, 991

Well Grestin has definitely earned the title taskmaster. I get that any training intended to produce super soldiers is going to be intense but, damn. I’m almost worried that she’ll kill the subjects long before they get into stage beta. Hopefully I’m just being overly anxious. I trust that Grestin won’t push them too harshly too quickly.

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Medical Report: Subject Gamma-A-8

Date of Admission: Celendor-20-991

Subject Gamma-A-8 was submitted to the facility infirmary at 8:26 AM on the 20th of month Celendor, year 991 by staff member Jules Armidin. Subject Gamma-A-8 was admitted due to severe injury and physical exhaustion. A complete list of afflictions has been attached to the report.

After initial treatments Subject Gamma-A-8 has been stabilized and is currently recovering. It is estimated the subject will be fully recovered within 10-14 days with no long term injuries or afflictions.

Attached - Trauma_Report_GAMMMAA8

[ Subject Gamma-A-8

Muscle tearing located in the left and right biceps, triceps, and pectorals

Hairline fractures located in the left ulna, left and right radius, and sternum

Compound fracture located at the tibia

Eye spasms indicative of long term sleep deprivation Mild concussion

General bruising located across the arms, legs, and abdomen

Lacerations across the back ]

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

Dr. Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 10

Date: Celendor 20, 991

At least the subject didn’t die. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr Yarru’s Personal Log.

Entry 11

Date: Celendor 21, 991

Well if anything at least I have been able to study how the subject’s body responds to physiological trauma. The results are nothing short of remarkable. Almost all of the major injuries have been healed to the point of not impairing the body's functions, including bone fractures. I was as shocked as the doctors when a compound fracture seemingly mended itself overnight. It hasn’t fully healed, but the subject is capable of moving the leg to a degree, which is still nothing short of amazing. Accelerated Healing was something that was coded into their base genetics but this is more than what we could have ever expected.

I wonder if this trait is shared by all subjects or if Gamma-A-8 is a special case. Perhaps Grestin’s methods will prove fruitful in more ways than one.

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Dr Yarru’s Personal Log

Entry 14

Date: Celendor 28, 991

It has been less than one month since the beginning of project CHIMERA and the results are already beyond my wildest dreams. Despite my initial reservations almost every subject has taken to the training regimen, no doubt due to Grestin’s expertise.

Note to self: Don’t piss her off

Subject Gamma-A-8 has had a difficult time keeping up with the other subjects. Despite the subject’s remarkable natural healing it seems unable to match the raw strength and speed the other subjects possess. I am hopeful that it will be able to catch up, or at least be able to function adequately in whatever role it is assigned. If not, well, 90% success rate is still more than acceptable given the circumstances.

I feel as if I have gathered as much data as I can working on the peripheries. Blood samples and medical reports are all well and good but they can only get me so far. I haven’t had a chance to interact with any of the subjects thus far. I think it's about time that I change that.

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Tags: @haro-whumps @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

#whump #sci fi whump #dehumanization #Dr. Yarru

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years ago

Text

a sickly satisfaction (ch.3)

pairing: jason dean/reader

summary: who knew doing homework in a dusty old supply closet could be so much fun.?

warnings: discussing childhood trauma, abuse mention (very VERY brief, it’s more implied than anything) , murder (not detailed)

notes: this chapter is kiiiiind of a little bit shorter than usual but goddamn it has some Stuff In It. good chapter i think

taglist: @stuckysdaughter

I had barely crossed the threshold of the Snappy Snack Shack when tommy began hounding me.

“I heard there was a fight in the Cafe at Westerburg between two jocks and punk-ass-- are you alright? What the hell happened? Do I need to follow you around to make sure you don’t get your ass kicked?” He frantically asks. “God, I don’t have the time nor energy to be your personal bodyguard,” He groans.

“Relax, Geller, I’m fine,” I jump over the counter. “Kurt and Ram pushed me over and I hit my head, but that’s about it.”

“What? Someone told me Kurt and Ram got their asses handed to them,” His eyebrows furrowed.

“They did,” I assure. For some wild reason, I’m almost embarrassed to admit that JD came to my defense. Tommy looks at me expectantly. “Uh, Jason stepped in when he saw things were getting out of hand.”

“Oooh,” Tommy grinned. “So Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome decided to defend his girl, huh?”

“I’m not his girl, Tommy, don’t be weird,” I bite my nails. The thought of being “Jason’s girl” made my cheeks heat up a bit. That doesn’t sound too bad.

“Whatever,” There’s a lull in conversation, the constant soft hum of the slushie machine making the store feel comfortable.

“Is it alright if I do some homework? If I miss another due date Professor Landman might kill me,” I inquire. Tommy nods.

“I think I left my book in the back,” My backpack hangs loosely on my shoulders as I walk to the backroom. My copy of To Kill a Mockingbird sits on top of a shelf on the wall, and I quickly snatch it and flip it open. I made a habit of leaving items in the back room; I’m here more than I am at my house. I tend to keep myself detached from wherever I live-- I move too often to actually plant roots.

On my eleventh birthday, my dad died. He got into a fight with my mom, and it got heated. I remember sitting on the living room couch with my new Disney coloring book and trying my best to make a pretty drawing so mom and dad would be happy again. I remember when things got quiet. Too quiet. I remember walking into the kitchen with my pretty drawing and seeing my mom standing in the middle of the room. I can see my father’s corpse when I close my eyes-- I remember the blood and the knife and exactly where each stab wound was. Then the cops showed up and they took my mom and my dad away.

Now it’s just me and my Aunt Maria. She’s my only living relative, and apparently that’s the only qualification for taking in a suddenly orphaned child. Problem is, she sucks. She tries her best, she really does, but dear old Aunt Maria moves us across the country every few months. I usually have to remind her to eat and drink and pay bills. It usually falls on me to clean the house and get work done and provide for us. Her endless slew of shitty boyfriends don’t help, but they seem to make her happy for brief blasts. The Snappy Snack Shack always seems to be there for me; a shitty chain of convenience stores is my only sense of permanence in my chaotic life.

I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping my book until it rips at the spine. The split pages flutter to the floor and my head hangs. I have a nasty habit of destroying things in the midst of strong emotion. Apparently that’s “unstable behavior”, according to my 7th grade counselor. Whatever. My counselor didn’t know shit about me. I press my foot into the cover of the novel at my feet. No one knows shit about me. I grind my foot into the ground. I am an island. My jaw clenches.

“Am I interrupting something?” Tommy’s voice draws my out of my head. I collect the pages from off the floor.

“Uh, no. I was just… thinking.” The tall man in the doorway knows not to ask more, so he doesn’t.

“Well, you have a visitor,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m gonna send him back here, s’that alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy turned to leave but froze. He turned back to me and lowered his voice.

“These walls are not soundproof. Just wanted to alert you now.” Tommy laughed mischievously before darting out the door. I rolled my eyes.

Jason walks in, and instantly I’m aware that something is wrong. There’s a dark bruise forming under his left eye, as well as a small cut on his eyebrow. These aren’t from his run-in with Kurt and Ram, though, these are different. Immediately, I’m on my feet and examining his injuries. He winces a bit, backing away from my touch ever-so-slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason looks at me for a moment. He shrugs.

“It’s no big deal, darlin’, it’s just Kurt and Ram and their damaged pride,” A wave of anger washes over me, but I quickly push it away.

“One of these days, they're gonna get what’s coming to them,” I say softly. JD nods, a ghost of intrigue flashing behind his pupils. “It’s good to see you, though. I never got to thank you for, uh, helping me.”

Jason takes a step closer. “I’d do it anytime, darlin’. What kind of person would I be if I let someone like you get hurt?”

“‘Someone like me’?” I cocked my eyebrow.

“Mhm. Someone so intriguing and interesting. Someone so original and tough. Someone so… extraordinary.” My face is on fire, Jason’s unrelenting eyes staring into mine without mercy. Tommy would probably scream that this is the perfect time for me to grab his face and kiss him. He would be right if he did.

“Awe, c’mon. I’m not all that,” I attempt to deflect the compliments. To be honest, I never learned how to accept kindness from others.

“You’re all that and more, trust me,” He insists, taking another step towards me. I feel my heart rate picking up slightly.

“Well, thanks, Jason. You’re pretty great, too. There aren’t many people on Earth that would treat me like you do,” My lips curl upward into a small smile. My back hits the small table behind me, and Jason takes another step forward. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin, his arms resting on the table and encasing me in with him. His face is tinted bright pink.

“Th-there’s gold in your eyes,” My voice is a low whisper. I’m not exactly sure why I mentioned that, but hey, can’t take it back now.

“What?”

“There’s a ring of gold around your pupils. It’s, uh, really nice,” I hear the Earth sigh beneath my feet. Jason smirks. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before. You’ve got cool eyes, ya know that? Really, really cool ey--”

Jason jerks forward, gently pressing his lips against mine. His arms remain on either side of me, keeping me in place. Our lips move in sync, each second that passes allowing the kiss to grow more and more intense. Slowly, my hand reaches up to gently cup his jaw, my thumb languidly running over his smooth skin. My heart is racing, an onslaught of emotion coursing through my veins as JD moves closer to me. The world around us fades away; all the pain and the suffering and the anger and the sadness melting into an obsolete puddle. All that matters is this. As fucked up as the world may be, this is what’s right about it.

Jason pulls away after a minute, presumably stopping to breathe. He grins a big, dumb grin. I can’t help but allow a similarly big, similarly dumb grin grow on my face. He rests his forehead on mine.

“You really are extraordinary, you know,” His voice is raspy. It sends a shiver down my spine.

“And you’re a really good kisser,” I quip. Sure, the outside world is a shitty dumpster fire full of insecurity and anxiety and hate, but as far as I’m concerned, none of that matters. The most important place in the entire world is the back room of a Snappy Snack Shack in Sherwood, Ohio, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

#jason dean x reader #jason dean #heathers #heather duke #Heather Chandler #heather mcnamara #a sickly satisfaction series #irl dont look #irl don't look #Veronica Sawyer

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

Route 66

(done right-- welcome to my version of Route 66 with angst and whump because I like to beat Hotch around... cause I love him. Buckle in, fasten your seat belts, and, for the love of God people, remember to keep your hands and feet inside vehicle at all times...)

Aaron Hotchner sits bolt upright in his bed. For a moment, all he knows is the cold sweat drying on his skin and the scent of musky settled dust. Noticeably, this isn’t his house or even his bed. The sheets across his bare legs are scratchy, irritating his skin. He can’t focus on the sensation eating his legs up, too busy trying to keep his measly dinner down.

His racing heart and nausea tightening his throat are making it a difficult feat.

“Hotch?”

The bed lamp on the nightstand beside the other bed clicks on and slowly, his brain strings together the course of the last few days. Tennessee, three dead kids, and another missing. No cooling-off period. All dead within the first 24 hours. The hotel.

“Hotch, are you okay?” The other figure-- not Dave, which is weird because he remembers talking to Dave before he fell asleep. The older man had asked something similar to the voice now but inquiring if he needed anything before they went to sleep. “Hotch?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, grounded by the hand placed on his shoulder.

It’s Prentiss.

He throws the blankets off of his legs and appreciates when she stumbles out of his way. His knees buckle underneath his feet but he throws a hand out and catches himself on the nightstand. For a moment, Emily reaches out for him. Wanting to allow him to lean into her but she hesitates. He manages to stand on his own even if his knees bow from his weight.

She gives him space and he manages to get to the bathroom by himself. Sparing her the sight of him falling limply to his knees as he expels the contents of his stomach into the inside of a hotel toilet. She can still hear his weak gags from the other room.

As much as she would like to invade his personal space and smother him with remedies, she has to fight that. Hotch cares about his personal space and while it will make her feel momentarily better that she’s helped him, he’ll carry around the guilt of being weak for a month or better. So, instead, she slips a cardigan over her tank top and waits for him to either stop vomiting or for the knock on their door that signals someone else has heard the noise.

Whichever comes first.

He falls silent. Too silent.

Whatever part of her brain that screams for his personal space is overpowered by the intense fear that births itself in the form of panic and a tight uncomfortable feeling in her throat. “Are you okay?” She knocks her fist against the door before peeking her head around. Relief flooding her body as she finds him propped up between the toilet and the bathtub, his head leaning against the cold off-white walls.

“Do you need anything? Water?”

At just the mention of putting something near his mouth, his stomach twists bitterly. He shakes his head.

She leans against the doorframe, “is there anything I can do?”

He shakes his head, unable to trust his voice.

That was Wednesday.

Emily tells Dave, her hands shaking a little as she explains the whole situation. It feels like a betrayal of his trust. People get sick and it’s not like they’re an exception to that. If anything, they sick more often that normal people. Stress suppresses the immune system.

“It’s probably nothing,” she admits, head ducked from his peering eyes. She picks insistently at her nails, which tells Dave all he really needs to know on the matter. It isn’t nothing. Whatever Emily saw, and whatever she hasn’t told him in full, bothered her. Given Emily and Hotch’s strange relationships-- at one another throats and then the best of friends-- he reckon, it is bad.

“I’ll talk to him,” Dave says with a sigh. His head already hurts just thinking about the loops that boy is going to make him jump through. He chuckles to himself. Boy. Aaron Hotchner isn’t much of a boy anymore. Although, it’s not hard to see that knuckle-headed recruit from twenty some years ago.

Unfortunately, Dave, also, knows exactly what she’s talking about. Just yesterday he’d followed a nose-diving, clearly distraught Aaron Hotchner into the men’s bathroom.

“Aaron?” Dave gives him a moment. Waits until the gagging stops and he hears the sound of lazily, uncoordinated movement as Hotch tries and fails to pull himself back to his feet. Calling the younger man’s name out again, he pushes the stall open so that he can see in better. “You okay, son?”

Hotch is curled into himself, head tilted back against the cool plastic of the stall wall. His dark hair is haloed out around his head, sticking up in every direction. Slowly his eyes drag up to Dave, surrounded by the dark bags and the light brown of his iris’ accented by the aggravated vessels of his eye. That answers one question: he sure as hell isn’t sleeping.

“Fine,” Hotch rasps, voice cracking around the soreness lodged in his throat. “I’m fine.” He pulls himself upright. With an audience, standing is mandatory. He’s not going to be on his knees in front of anyone. With a muffled cough, he throws out a fumbling hand to connect with the commode handle. Flushing the meager ex-contents of his stomach.

On his feet once again, he leans into the door for a moment. The world attempting to give out from beneath his feet.

Dave reaches out and touches his elbow, wrapping his hand around his arm. He’s a little too worried to leave just yet. “You sure about that,” Dave asks. “You don’t seem alright. “The glare that comes his way is concentrated and while it doesn’t scare Dave into leaving Hotch alone, it does assure him that Hotch is already doing better.

As it turns out, “doing better” was temporary.

“I told you,” Hotch states calmly, his voice the picture of calm and steady. Controlled. “I’m fine.” He keeps his gaze on the whiskey he’s gently spinning around his glass.

“You’re getting old,” Dave brushes it off. He pours Hotch another two fingers of the whiskey, not really asking just leaning over and pouring. Hotch doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t validate the statement. “We’re not as young as we once were,” Dave sighs. There’s a melancholy that settles over the room. Dave thinks about that lanky kid he picked up in Seattle. He had no way of knowing that kid would turn into the man in front of him today. A trusted friend. A son.

Dave lets the heavy taste of the whiskey settle on his tongue, shaking his head as he fails to think of anything but the last few years. Of the trouble brought into their lives.

Hotch cups the tumbler in his hands, looking down into the amber liquid. He’s not sure how to say it, really. The thing is, he knows something is wrong. But… he glances at Dave, the older man smirking as he raises his glass to his lips, maybe it’s just in his head.

He’s having nightmares. Not the usual ones, although, those aren’t all that normal either. The thing is, he’s dreaming of Haley. He hasn’t dreamt of Haley in years. He never dealt with those emotions and that trauma the right way but that typically reflects itself more around the anniversaries of the attacks. Not now. Not without reason.

He’s right. He just doesn’t know that yet.

“You okay, man?”

Hotch sticks to a very predictable routine. When he deviates from it, it’s still not that crazy. It’s 11:30, and like always, he comes down from his office for his third cup of coffee. Today, his fingers are digging into the pale flesh of his temple. More alarming than the pallor of his skin is the blatant pain etched across his forehead. Completely out of character.

“Hotch?”

It’s like he doesn’t even hear Morgan the first time. Now he startles slightly, flinching as Emily and Morgan both step into the breakroom beside him. Absently, he watches as Emily pulls the mug of coffee from his hands. Nothing more than a grunt of annoyance gracing his lips when she pours it down the sink.

“You’re going to give yourself an ulcer,” she states, filling it, instead, with cold water from the tap. “Besides, you look like you need a nap.”

Morgan envies the relationships she has with their boss. Dying Hotch wouldn’t let Morgan anywhere near his coffee. “When was the last time you slept anyways,” Morgan asks, tucking his arms against his chest. He’s preparing for a pushback. For shields and that steely look in his friends eyes.

Because that’s what’s normal.

“Last night,” Hotch says instead, taking his mug of water from Emily with a frown.

There are no shields.

“For more than a few hours, man,” Morgan amends. “Seven or eight hours not four.”

The water still taste like coffee-- so like shit. However, it’s probably better on his empty stomach. Besides, water isn’t as cruel coming back up. As far as Morgan’s question goes, he can’t remember. Not recently, that’s for sure. “Don’t you have work to do,” he grunts, raising an eyebrow.

That’s Hotch.

Morgan looks him up and down one last time before nodding.

Emily eyes him a moment to long and Morgan shakes his head, his suspensions confirmed.

“Drink the water,” Emily states, following Morgan out.

Wednesday he spaces out during a meeting.

It’s not pressing even though it’s at the round table. They’re just bored and looking for something interesting to do-- so Dave drags him out of his office. He’s been hiding out there, only coming out when he has to. Secluded to the dark cool space.

His eyes seemed glassy and if he were anyone else, they might jokingly inquire about his sobriety. It’s insensitive now, wrong. By now, it’s impossible to deny that something’s wrong.

“Hotch?’

Palm pressed into his eye-socket, he’s trying to swallow down the nausea creeping up his throat. “Hmm,” he grunts, clenching his teeth tightly to refrain from wincing.

“Are you alright?” Reid. He’s sitting beside Hotch, leaning close to the larger man. Nearly pressed into his side, his sore side. Reid watches a vein in his forehead jump so he puts some more space between them. Shying away for a moment. “I can…” he clears his throat nervously. “I have, uhm, I have Tylenol.” He stutters, eyes catching the other’s now that the low hum of their voices has cut through the mostly silent room. “If you--If--If you want that.”

Hotch gently reaches down and knocks a knuckle against his thigh. They meet eyes and Reid feels himself calm immediately. “That would--” Hotch has to stop and clear his throat. “Please.”

Reid nods his head, standing ducking his gaze from the other’s. He’s got a mission, a way he can help, and he’s content for the moment.

Hotch knows the Tylenol isn’t going to help, nothing has, but it’ll make Reid feel good to have something to do. That, within itself, is good enough.

Until it isn’t.

He wakes with a startle. The breath in his lungs effectively knocked out. A whimper leaves his lips, twisting in agony at the pain down his sternum into his abdomen. Slowly, the black of his vision patters out but he’s left covered in a cold sweat and shaking.

Panting, he sits up, holding his side with his hand as he does so. Shit… and it’s ten o’clock. “J-Jessica?” he’s shaking so bad that he has to lean back against the couch. “Hey,” he rasps. “Is, ugh, is Jack up?”

He’s not but that just leaves more time for Jessica to fret. She’s noticed things are off too and after Hotch promised to be home last night… he’d worried her. He’s still worrying her.

“I’m okay,” he rasps. “Just…” his lip twitches as he just stares into the carpet of his office. It’s getting so hard to keep up this ruse. To keep lying. He wants to cave. For someone to just take care of him so this madness can end but… he doesn’t want to burden anyone. Not when Jessica already does so much. “I just lost track of time, Jess. I’m sorry. I, ugh, fell asleep on the couch in my office.”

He closes his eyes, head tilted back. He’s still exhausted which is too exhausted to say anything when Jessica lays into him about spending too much time at the office. “It’s gonna be the death of you Aaron,” she whispers, the fear in her voice thick. “You can’t do that to this boy,” she adds. “Not to any of us.”

Us.

He… He hadn’t considered that.

Us.

“I--” he squints at his phone, frowning at the Amber Alert he sees. “I gotta go, Jess.” At least he feels guilty about it. “I’ll talk to you later…”

Thin ice but when isn’t he?

Standing is… it’s really hard. He keeps one hand pressed to the wall as he walks, each step a little too unsteady. Pulling in a deep breath he straightens his back out and walks into the conference room. The other’s glance up but no better than to look for too long.

Mercifully.

He starts to struggle to breath, his body shaking against his will. The room is freezing, leaving his skin tight and pained with the goosebumps raised across his arms. He needs to sit down but if he sits down he won’t be able to get back up. He can’t know for certain, his breathing is labored and his vision is swimming-- he’s got to get out of this room. “E--Excuse me.”

His shoulders slump and his roll back into his head.

“Hotch!”

part 2 is in progress but you can still yell at me about the cliff hanger down below if you’d like :)... I mean, a comment is a comment

#criminal minds #route 66 #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #you know you love me #even when i do this #hey #i didn't kill him #did I #so it's not that bad

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years ago

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Danganronpa 1 Girls: adopting an abused child - Headcanons

Request: If it's okay, the DR1 girls with an adopted child that was previously in an intensely abusive living situation? The kid is extremely traumatized by the experience, and is very quiet, fearful and suffers frequent breakdowns and nightmares.

Part 2: Oh! Adopted abused child for DR1 girls anon here... To specify, headcanons.

Of course! A unique request. I’m gonna write this assuming they’ve had the child in their home for a while, maybe a few years, and you can headcanons the girls’ partners versus if they are single moms on your own. This will just be how the DR1 girls treat their adopted, previously abused child. - Mod Kokichi

WARNINGS: past child abuse implied/referenced. Trauma/panic attacks and anxiety

Aoi Asahina:

The queen of three things: sweets, sports, and positive attitudes.

She would definitely use these three skills/interests of hers to help the previously abused child she adopted.

First of all, she’d chosen this child in particular because she saw their profile and asked about them. Her big heart wouldn’t allow her to abandon a child that’s clearly been through a lot of suffering, especially not after her own experience in the killing game.

Despite whether or not she had a partner, she’d want kids when she was able to responsibly care for them. Also, her experience as a big sister would prepare her for kids a little better than an only child.

Sweets: having a panic attack? Here’s some home-made cookies. Bad day at school? Let’s strap on an apron and bake together tonight. Stayed up late with insomnia or nightmares? Well good news, doughnuts for breakfast the next morning!

Sports: being athletic and active herself, Hina would encourage her child to enter team sports to get better at socializing and just learn important motor skills, but she wouldn’t force them into it, knowing crowds or loud noises may overstimulate them.

Maybe she’d have them start small. Table tennis or private swimming lessons. When and if they were ever ready, soccer or lacrosse on the school’s team.

That’s not to say she wouldn’t love and appreciate a more artistically or mathematically inclined child. Sports or not, she’d find a way to use their inherent skills to better them. She’s not one to give up on the people she cares about.

Positive attitudes: slip-ups and panic attacks are nothing to get discouraged about! She would stay up all night with a child going through anxiety, assure them that this too shall pass, and use positive reinforcement.

Sakura Ogami:

Another mom who would seek out sports as a way to ease her child’s suffering.

But unlike Asahina, she’d see sports as more of a way to teach perseverance and self-discipline rather than social skills.

She would want them to learn some type of martial art. It would teach balance, strength, inner-peace, and erase self-doubt.

Plus, learning martial arts would help teach self-defense. She would never want her child to go out until the word helpless and not knowing how to defend themselves should they absolutely have to.

She would enjoy reading to her child at night, and talking at length with them about what was bothering them. She would let them cry onto her strong shoulders, and offer stoic wisdom. She’s like, super good at giving advice.

Loves them unconditionally, is fiercely protective and loyal. A very supportive and loving mother.

Shells out the cash for any and all therapy they need, physical and psychological. She doesn’t see mental illness as a weakness.

Celestia Ludenberg:

This mom, instead of teaching a child to ignore trauma and bullies - be they internalized and metaphorical or external and corporeal - would teach her child how to face their obstacles head on.

Bullies at school? Well we’ll handle that. “They won’t be a problem anymore, trust me.”

PTSD and past trauma? Well we will sit here and talk about these weaknesses until they become our strengths. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and you’ll be undefeatable after all you’ve been through.”

This child will be spoiled, but not in a bratty way. They will simply wear the best clothes, eat the most expensive food, and attend the best schools.

Celestia would play endless card and board games with her child to keep their mind off of darker thoughts.

“Moooom, you cheated again!”

“Oh? Did I~?”

“Yes!” A disgruntled but reluctantly amused smile.

“Well~ I think it is simply that you don’t know how to play this game yet. But one day, you will.”

Kyoko Kirigiri:

At first, it may take her a while to open up and truly be the best mother she can be.

But she understands wanting more from a parent-child relationship, and after a while of doubting herself, would buckle down and do what she needs to do.

Wouldn’t be as pushy with talking about triggering subjects, or entirely comfortable giving advice either.

But is a terrific listener/observer. She walks in after work and sees her kid crying alone in their room. They’d remembered something scary, something they didn’t want to think about, they said.

“I see...well, do you want to talk about it?” And she’d sit there by their bedside until she was sure they didn’t need her any longer.

If single: definitely has a big house, a reputable maid, a nanny, a nice car in the driveway, but still insists on personally packing her kids lunch with a little encouraging sticky note inside.

If she has a partner: can be convinced to be more involved and slowly but surely becomes more hands-on and soccer-momish, minivan and all. Sees her partner’s own parenting skills as a challenge to step it up. Kyoko has all the makings of a great mother, she just won’t let herself see it. A partner would be just the push she needs: a Watson to her Holmes.

Toko Fukawa (I watched the anime and played the three main games so if her personality changes drastically in ultra despair girls and I’m way off I apologize):

Toko knows childhood regret, trauma, nightmares. She understands feeling isolated and different. She would be a very clingy and coddling mother.

If you ever touched a hair on her child’s head, you better just execute yourself before she does.

Sure she’s not the most confident or kind person on her own, but we’ve seen how devoted to and possessive she is of people she cares about.

She’d read to her child nightly, but only what she deemed to be the best children’s literature, of course.

Would love her child more than she loved her own partner. She would feel needed, like someone depended on her for once instead of her tagging along behind someone else.

I think as she boosts her child’s confidence and social skills, her own would grow along with them.

I know she’s getting better every day at controlling her inner demons, and her other half, Syo (I watched like two hours of UDG gameplay so I know this much) but I think she’d be extra careful and determined to have full control once becoming a mother.

Sayaka Maizono:

I think she would see music as an outlet for a hurting child.

Another girl who would have hella money, so she wouldn’t hesitate to get her kid lessons from the best instructors, be they voice or instrumental lessons.

And when her child mentions feeling uncomfortable about leaving the house for unnecessary reasons, especially for going to a public, noisey studio, she would pay extra to have the instructor come to them.

To her, music heals the soul.

When they have nightmares, she’s the most likely of the girls to sing lullabies, being the most talented and confident in her singing voice.

She would definitely want to be a mother one day, but with her time-consuming job, might find adoption easier and less compromising to an idol’s “flawless” body (her manager’s opinion more than her own ugh).

She’d use her intuitive “psychic” abilities to sense when her child was having a particularly rough day, or having more depressing thoughts. I think she’d be one of the ones more suited to deep conversations and true motherly advice.

Junko Enoshima:

I honestly don’t think she’d adopt a child for any wholesome or selfless reason.

She’d adopt a child with PTSD or past trauma in order to feed off of their despair or to teach that already hurting child to hurt others.

She’d be drawn to the more chaotic and/or mentally unwell children, but it would be a mistake to let her near them.

Junko is selfish in every way and would only adopt a child to carry on her evil lineage.

It may not even go that far. She may get bored of them or decide they aren’t worthy of becoming her protege and just dispose of them like an old play thing.

(Sorry Junko stans but I’m not about to pretend she’s just a bratty, preppy rich blonde mean girl type. She’s a selfish and abusive psychopath lmao)

Mukuro Ikusaba:

Another one who probably shouldn’t be a mother.

I do feel bad for her though. Much like Korekiyo, I think their siblings both abused and manipulated them from a young age. They never learned any differently. Still she’s responsible for her bad choices in the series.

Without Junko’s influence, I believe she would be fiercely protective of a child, much like an obsessive mother bear once she retired from mercenary work for good.

But unfortunately, she’s given her life to her abusive sister.

If she had a child, they would either be neglected because she spends all of her time serving Junko or away on dangerous mercenary missions.

Or they would be trained to be an abused slave to their aunt Junko just like Mukuro is.

Junko may manipulate Mukuro into adopting a child, saying things like: “you’re more of the mommy type than me!” Or, “yeah I totally think a despair filled child would be good for you! You could teach it to like kick ass and shit!”

This of course, was all a way to get Mukuro to do all the work of actually raising the child, while Junko warped both of their minds to her cause.

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browniefox · 4 years ago

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The Spectral Turnabout 2/?

Chapter 2! Last chapter was about Phoenix when he got introduced to the spectral world, this one is about Miles :D

oOo

Miles passed out in the elevator with a scream ringing through the air, one that will haunt his dreams, haunt his footsteps, haunt his every moment for the next fifteen years.

When he woke up, his world had been turned on its head.

When he’s a little older, Miles goes through the events over and over and over until the story makes sense, until he knows the events forwards and backwards. It goes like this:

Miles got into the elevator with his dad and Yanni Yogi. There was an earthquake. The elevator became stuck. The oxygen ran low. Yanni Yogi started attacking his dad. Miles threw the gun. A shot rang through the elevator, and the scream chased Miles in darkness as he passed out. And Miles goes crazy.

The days after The Event are a blur, are foggy, and they tell him it’s from the trauma mixed with the lack of oxygen. What Miles does know is that when he’s capable of forming memories again, he sees things that aren’t really there. Creatures, monsters that lurk in the corners, brightly colored mist coming off of them. An energy that Miles could see coming off of himself in muted purple waves.

They said Yanni Yogi’s lawyer had him plead insanity. Brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. There was a precedent for it.

Miles was an orphan for six months before Manfred von Karma adopted him. Miles’ used those six months to perfect ignoring what he could see. He didn’t want to think about how he’d be treated, how people would look at him, if they knew something had snapped in his head from The Event. Even more so once he was under Von Karma’s roof. Imperfection was not tolerated. So Miles would be perfect. He was perfect.

He was a perfect child, who most certainly didn’t see things that weren’t there.

oOo

Pess was the first spirit to ever speak to Miles.

It’d been an entire year since the accident. It wasn’t always easy to act completely normal. When the figments of his imagination actually come into contact with him, he felt phantom pressure, and a time or two they’d run into him with enough force to bowl him completely over. No, that was wrong, they didn’t run him over. Miles tripped or something, and for some reason his brain had decided to place a make-believe monster as the reason.

Pess had slipped into Miles bedroom in the evening, straight through the walls. She had landed on the floor, curling up into a tight little ball in the corner. Miles hadn’t thought much of her at first, aside from allowing himself to openly track her movement. He was in the safety of his room, he’d allow himself to look.

This one imaginary monster was shaped like a very curly-furred greyhound, if greyhounds had tails longer than their bodies, three pairs of legs, and wings instead of ears. The back two pairs were bird feet instead of paws, and there was another set of wings tightly closed onto the monster’s back.The colored mist coming off of her matched Miles’ own to a ‘T’, but something looked off about it.

Miles shot a look to his door, making sure it was still closed, and then for extra good measure he locked it and pulled the curtains shut over the window. Then, he got a little closer to the creature that wasn’t real, staring. The mist usually came off of things like steam off of warm water, but for this creature it was also coming from spots that closely resembled would. She had gouges in her sides and bite marks on her legs, long scratches down her snout.

The hallucination opened one of her eyes and then flinched back at how close he was. Miles responded in kind, head whipping around to check the door once more. He felt like he’s standing at the precipice of something dangerous here, of showing so much acknowledgement to something that isn’t really there, but his curiosity still has a hold on him.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize a spectral lived here, I-I’ll, um, I’ll…” The thing got to her feet, all six of them, and shook her coat.

“Wait…!” Miles whispered, and then slapped a hand over his mouth, going bright red and shame filling him. This was too much, talking to her was a step too far. But then, she actually stopped, and turned her big and warm brown eyes on him. “Wh… what did you call me?”

“A spectral? You are one, right? In fact, we match.” She said. Miles couldn’t deny that.

“I don’t know what that is.” He admitted, sitting back. Why would a hallucination use a word he doesn’t know?

“It means you can see us.” She explained.

“‘Us’?”

“Spirits.”

Miles looked at the door again and raised a hand to bite one of his nails before yanking the hand down.

“Come on,” He said and crawled underneath his bed and the hallucination - the spirit? - followed after him, “Tell me more about spirits.”

The spirit introduced herself as Pess, and she explained how spirits weren’t ghosts, really, but more like the conglomerations of leftover energy from dead things. Spectrals were people who were still alive but could see them. There were very few of them, to the point that Miles was the first one Pess had ever met.

It seemed like far too convenient an explanation. Oh, yes, Miles wasn’t crazy, he was just special, like a character out of a book his teacher’s used to read out loud to the class before he switched schools.

“I don’t believe you.” Miles told her right to her face. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Oh.” Pess rested her head on her front paws, looking over at him sadly. “Well, why can’t they?”

“If they did, then…” Miles trailed off. He opened his mouth and closed it, unable to form the words. He didn’t like thinking about The Incident, and definitely not talking about it. But… but if spirits were real, if ghosts were real, then why did Yanni Yogi get proven innocent? Why would Misty Fey claim to have channeled his dad, and his dad to have said it was Yanni Yogi.

No, Miles needed to remember to focus on what was real, what was physical, what he had evidence for.

Pess seemed to understand anyway. The wings on her head closed up tight and her tail swept over to rest on Miles’ hand. It felt soft and warm. No, it was the heater kicking on somewhere, a gust of warm air, and the broken part of his mind had decided to make the hallucination align with it just so.

“I need to go to bed.” Miles said out loud. He did not say it to Pess, because Pess wasn’t real.

“Okay,” Pess asid, and while Miles crawled out from under the bed, she simply phased right through it to sit on his bed and then settled on top of the blanket. She didn’t so much as rumble the comforter, because of course she didn’t. “Uh, Spectral, I don’t want to bother you, but…?”

Miles knew he should set himself straight again. He’d been working on ignoring what wasn’t there for a year now, he should be better than this. And yet, Miles found himself sighing and looking at her.

“But?”

“Spirits can heal on their own, but they heal faster around a spectral with a color that matches their own. C-could…? Could I stay here? Until I’m better?” She begged. She had the puppy-dog eyes down pat.

Miles cast another look to the door, clenching his hands into fists until his fingernails were embedded into his palms.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Just until you’re better.”

oOo

Pess didn’t leave after she was healed up.

Sometime between that night and the time wounds had closed up, Miles had become used to her presence. One would think that having a figment of his imagination that he did acknowledge at time would make things worse, and that was what Miles had feared at first, but he’d found he didn’t deny the comfort of cuddling close to her at night, and she never complained if he ever hugged her too tight when he had nightmares. She followed him everywhere, at first so she might heal up quicker, but Miles found himself enjoying her constant presence at his side.

It certainly made him feel a little less lonely at school. He hadn’t had much luck yet making friends. Manfred von Karma insisted that Miles didn’t need to think about things like that. Miles nodded to that in perfect agreement.

Pess was very soft, very nice, and very excitable. She always seemed able to pick up on when Miles was starting to get anxious and would come over and rub her face against his hand. He couldn’t say anything to her, or look at her, or purposefully try to touch her. At least, not out in public. He only allowed himself to indulge in that sort of thing when he was sure nobody else could see him, and even then he only ever talked to her in low and quiet whispers both he and pess could barely hear, let alone anybody who might try to listen in.

He asked her, once, if she’d ever wanted to leave. She must’ve done something before being here, being with him. She’d stopped chasing a smaller ‘spirit’ around his room and looked over him, cocking her head, a doggish grin on her face.

“Why would I leave? I have you now.”

He wondered if she’d been alone before she’d met him. He didn’t ask. He felt he knew the answer.

He tried to convince himself over the years that he was passed needing her there for him. She was nothing more than an imaginary friend. He got older, he shouldn’t need it her, he shouldn’t like having her there. A couple times he’d even managed to find somewhere far and secluded and yell at her to go away, to leave, to let him finally be closer to perfect.

Both times, Pess did leave, tail between her legs.

Both times, it hadn’t sat well with Miles and he’d gone out late at night searching the city and calling her name until he found her.

The older he got, the more he realized he didn’t ‘leak’ spectral energy constantly. It surged particularly when he had intense emotions. He seeked that out, stifling his emotions, burying them so he came off self-assured. He asked if there was a big reason for the energy, telling himself he was just curious of what his mind would come up with to explain it, and pess told him she wasn’t really sure. She knew spirits were made of it, and she’d heard rumors of spectrals being able to do something about that, but again, he was the first spectral she’d ever met.

The habit of her accompanying him to court came about naturally. Where he went, Pess went, and where did he need her more than during a case?

Miles found a balance of almost-nearly perfect that he told himself was Perfection.

It had to do.

#paranatural #pnat #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #pess #au #browniefox writes #the spectral turnabout

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hellowkatey · 4 years ago

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Febuwhump Day 26

Prompt: Recovery

Part 2 of Day 25: car accident (read part 1 here!)

Read on AO3

I Will Always Be Here: Part 2

The smell of antiseptic is making Obi-Wan dizzy. He stands in the doorway-- not of Anakin's room in the Hall of Healing, but of the door to the halls itself. From here he can watch the bustle of healers and padawans running about, all too pre-occupied with treating the sick and injured to pay attention to the bystander with red-rimmed eyes.

Except for one. A Mon Calamari in olive green and white robes, her silver eyes immediately falling onto him as she exits a room. Bant Eerin crosses the busy floors with ease, scanning over him in the usual healer fashion as she approaches.

"Hello Obi-Wan," she says, giving him a warm but tight smile. She moves to stand next to him, her back against the wall he's leaning against. "How is he?"

"Broken leg, dislocated shoulder, four cracked ribs, a hefty concussion, and lots of bruising and superficial wounds to go around."

She sucks in a breath. He can feel her gaze on him, but he stares forward.

"He's lucky," she says.

"No such thing," Obi-Wan sighs. "He shouldn't have even been there in the first place. I canceled our meditation for today because I had a headache. If I had just..." he lets himself trail off. Bant seems to take it upon herself to finish his sentence for him.

"You can't blame yourself, Obi."

"I don't blame--"

"But you do."

Obi-Wan draws in a slow breath through his nose and then lets it out again.

"You weren't there, Bant. I tried to stop the speeder as it fell but..."

"That takes enormous strength to overpower an out-of-control projectile. You did all you could."

"I couldn't stop it," his voice cracks like it did when he was a young padawan. Though his oldest friend is no stranger to seeing him shed tears, he isn't keen on drying in the middle of the halls.

"You did what you could," she reassures him, slipping her hand into his and squeezing firmly. "I saw the accident report. The height he was falling... Obi-Wan you very likely saved his life."

"We won't know that until he wakes up."

They told him Anakin's body is processing the trauma. He may sleep for a few hours or a few days, they aren't sure. It's the not-knowing that has Obi-Wan on edge. Though the reasonable part of his mind is telling him Bant is right-- Anakin would have perished in that ancient without his intervention-- he also is haunted by what could have been if he was not there. A shiver goes up his spine, reminding him of how numb he feels.

Bant's commlink goes off, paging her to her next task. She looks at him, as though asking permission to leave and do her job.

"I'll be okay," he says, giving her a small smile.

"I'll come to check on you in a bit," she promises. Bant pushes off the wall and starts to walk off to one of the rooms, but then she stops, turning around slowly. "I heard a rumor."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "The Temple does love spreading those."

"Two Trandosians walked into the Coruscant Police..."

"This sounds like one of those jokes--"

"They confessed to causing a horrible crash that a young boy was involved in. They were arrested on sight."

Obi-Wan stares back at her, nodding. "It sounds like they did the right thing."

Bant clicks her tongue, nodding back. "Though, I also heard they looked like they themselves were in their own accident."

"The Force works in mysterious ways."

"Hmm," is all she vocalizes before turning back around and continuing to her destination.

Obi-Wan watches her disappear into another room. Beneath the billowing sleeves of his robe, he rubs his thumb over the tender flesh of his swollen knuckles.

__________

Anakin woke up almost a full day after his accident. He woke up, surprisingly, not in pain, and to his Master sitting at his bedside looking as though he didn't dare sleep for the entire twenty-three hours. He was wrapped in so many bandages it was difficult to move but was assured even without them, his range of motion would be limited.

"This is going to be a long road, Anakin," Master Kenobi had told him while rubbing circles over the back of his hand. With all the drugs coursing through his system, even that was a hazy blur.

The pain came.

A few days later, when he was released from the halls.

He woke up in the middle of screaming while his mind replayed the progression of him falling hopelessly into the ground. He woke up feeling as though his body was being crushed, and as it turned out, it had been. Somehow seeing his leg in a cast and nearly every part of his body wrapped in bacta strips hadn't quite processed in his brain as being painful yet. Obi-Wan ran in in his night pants and undershirt twisted halfway around his body.

"Anakin what is--"

"It hurts," he bellowed, feeling like a baby for his childish whines, but his leg felt like it was being broken all over again and every cut and bruise on his arms, legs, and torso seemed to be on fire. Though his master is an adult with a beard and sixteen years of life over Anakin, he can see the inexperience and uncertainty in his tired face. He isn't sure he's ever seen Obi-Wan seem so lost, but his eyes flickering around the room searching for an answer that isn't going to be in a teenager's bedroom shows the mild panic.

"Script.. where's your medicine, Ani," he says, with feigned calmness.

"Fresher," he says, screwing his eyes shut. He hears quick footsteps to their fresher, and the water running. The next thing he knows there's a glass being pressed to his lips and a cool cloth wiping away the sweat that has beaded on his forehead. Anakin swallows the pills, hoping for immediate relief despite knowing he will have to wait. Obi-Wan leaves the cloth on his head, brushing his hair from his forehead.

"Breathe, padawan," he whispers. "I'm here."

It's words he's heard before, he realizes. When he was lying in the wreckage, somewhere in the in-between of consciousness and unconsciousness, he heard his Master's voice. It didn't make sense before. How could his master have been there?

But as his wreck has flashed before his eyes many times since it happened, something occurs to him.

"You turned the wheel." Anakin rasps.

"What?"

"You stopped the spinning. I heard you, Master." His room is shroud in darkness, only the dim light from the fresher to illuminate Master Kenobi's face, but it's enough to see the way he looks past Anakin instead of at him. "You were there."

"I really tried, Anakin. I was-- I wasn't strong enough to stop it."

The feeling of his pain melting away is a drastic shift. Anakin's eyelids grow heavy as sleep tries to pull him under. Before he does, he grabs his master's hand.

"I'm glad you were there, Master," he says, his words slurring into one another, but it's coherent enough. Sleep takes him.

Anakin still has a week before he's cleared again. A month out on medical, and he still has one more week. Though he's done four weeks of this already, a whole seven more days feels like forever. It's been a long month.

A very, very long month.

For all intents and purposes, Anakin thinks he's better now. He can walk on his leg, even jog if Obi-Wan isn't around to scold him for it. His bruises have all but faded, as has the pain. Why he has to wait so long to get back into his training is beyond him, and his master has offered no better answers than 'healer's orders, Anakin' or 'you may feel healed but some things take time'

Training to be a Jedi knight also takes time, but he doesn't seem so concerned about that, now, does he?

Anakin feels fine, and he won't fall behind for the sake of caution. Jedi take risks. When Obi-Wan leaves to go spar with Quinlan Vos, Anakin declines the invitation to come watch them, claiming he has some homework to finish. His master leaves--hesitantly. Anakin should have known homework was a poor excuse to pass up watching him spar, but he couldn't risk saying he had a headache or something and potentially push back his clear date.

He leaves the apartment, choosing the training sala that's the furthest from the knight's one. There are only a few other padawans milling about, most of them older that Anakin doesn't recognize. He chooses a station on the end that is difficult to see from the door.

The hum of his lightsaber is a sound he missed. He waves it around slow and steady to hear the buzz of the air around it getting caught in the energy field. Anakin raises it up into the first kata of form I and then moves through the different motions.

He moves through the motions, his body a little stiff but he remembers the positions well. After a few rounds, he fires up the training droid and turns it up to his usual intensity. Anakin bounces on the balls of his feet, feeling the first shot from the levitating droid before it emits from the electrodes. He moves his lightsaber to block it, imitating the second position of the form. Within seconds, the droid is sending out another shot, and then another.

While usually, this intensity is a warmup, Anakin quickly finds himself becoming overwhelmed by the rapid firing of the droid. His form quickly dissolves into frantic and sloppy blocks that send the shots in every direction. His cheeks burn a dark crimson, half from embarrassment and half from exertion at how hard his heart is beating right now. This was never so difficult! It's going so fast he doesn't have a moment to free his hand and grab the remote he stupidly left on the bench beside the sala. A few of the shots manage to break through his blocks, and he winces through the sharp jolts.

Come on, he thinks as he tries to concentrate on levitating the remote to him. The training bolts and electric shocks are distracting though, and the remote only shakes. He groans in exasperation, finally letting go of his lightsaber with one hand and stretching it out toward the remote. He is immediately bombarded with a rain of shocks that makes him stagger back.

But the remote finally soars from the bench, flying across the sala. Too fast. Anakin's eyes widen as it shoots toward him. He reaches out his hand but it sails past him and into the outstretched hand of Master Kenobi.

The training droid shuts down immediately, and Anakin drops to his knees, panting hard. He stares down at the ground, letting his too-long hair hang over his eyes so he can't see the disapproving look he is probably receiving right now.

"Padawan... what do you think you're--"

"I've done that level a hundred times," Anakin interrupts, staring at the deactivated droid. He has the sudden urge to cut it in two.

"You did that level when you were at the peak of your fitness," Obi-Wan says carefully. His voice is softer now. Anakin still doesn't look at him, but he hears him lower himself to the ground and sit across from where he kneels. "You are still recovering."

"I feel fine, though."

"Perhaps, but you must let yourself fully heal and then ease back into things. You will not be at the level you were before the accident. It will take practice, Anakin."

He finally looks at Obi-Wan. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. Where I could train and spar and stuff without feeling like a weak youngling."

"You will get there, Anakin. I know you certainly have the motivation to work hard and gain your strength back," he cocks his head to the side, his blue eyes looking over him carefully. "But you must also listen to yourself. Recovery from such injuries is not going to happen overnight."

"It's been a month!"

"Or even a month. There may be things you can never do as well again, and some things you will find could be easier now. Either way, you just have to adapt to the way things are now."

He sighs. His heartbeat is finally returning to normal and he slides down from his knees into a sitting position.

"There will be things I can't do anymore?"

"Well yes, take speeders out for joyrides being one of them."

Anakin rolls his eyes. "So I'll never fly again, is what you're saying."

Obi-Wan smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not an imbecile, Anakin. I know how much you like flying and I know you've been doing this for a while... thinking I don't know."

His eyes widen. "You knew?"

"Yes. Just like I knew you certainly weren't doing homework this afternoon. You'd be surprised the things I let you get away with."

"Let me?" he echos in awe.

"Beside the point. You can still take the speeders out, Anakin," Anakin jumps back to his knees with glee, a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Really, Master?"

"But you must tell me when you're going."

"Okay!"

"And always answer your commlink and keep your beacon on."

"I answer my--" Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. Anakin trails off, his cheeks flushing. Okay fine, "I'll answer my commlink."

"Good. Then we have a deal." The Jedi Knight rises from the ground, looking down at Anakin with twinkling eyes. "Care to practice some Ataru katas with me, padawan?"

"You mean--"

"I figure some simple katas can't hurt more than the electroshocks from the droid," he smirks. "And I won't tell Master Che if you won't."

The padawan grins and jumps to his feet. Already, he feels a new pool of energy filling his body. The Master and Padawan ignite their sabers and synchronously them back into the starting position of form IV.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday27 #recovery #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #bant eerin #part 2!#because it was much easier to do a continuation than to make up another reason for needing to be recovering #work smarter not harder

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