#I had therapy yesterday and she was trying to remind me that I recovered before and I’ll recover again

[voiceshearingyouloud]

I used to think ‘I got over my grief about being disabled a long time ago, I’m past it now’ well, no I wasn’t. Turns out having to take two semesters out of uni will poke all those old ‘I’m a failure’, ‘it’s my fault’, ‘I’ll never be able to study again’ buttons 🙃

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Crown For Two {3}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Tease, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 7.2k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Previous Chapters: {1} | {2} | 

Chapter Three

-Y/N-

When you opened your eyes again, your head felt a lot different. It wasn’t spinning. It didn’t feel congested, heavy, or muddled. You saw everything with clear eyes, alert eyes. Glancing around the room, you took in your surroundings like it was your first time, though you were sure it wasn’t. Closing your eyes, you tried to remember everything that had happened. You remembered walking through the streets, taking pictures, and even watching the locals go about their business. You also remembered going into a bar and drinking that god awful drink.

 When you remembered seeing Henry’s face, you couldn’t help but smile. Your conversation played over and over in your head and how easy it was to talk to one another. Even his smile and goofy laugh had you snuggling deeper into the plush bedding. He was definitely attractive. All of a sudden, the accident flashed into mind. You’d been struggling with the wind and the snow and couldn’t see not even two inches in front of you. The pain of being hit was absent. It was like it happened so fast that you were out cold before your pain receptors could adequately translate it.

 You bolted up as the words “prince” and “your highness” echoed in your head.

 “Shit, he’s a prince.”

You rubbed your forehead, then pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course he is, you thought. Why would you meet some normal person in this clear fairytale country? Leaning against the headboard, you chewed your bottom lip, beginning to wonder about several other things. One of them was your exchange in the bar. He clearly knew who he was. You were not naïve when it came to the attention of men. There was evident flirting going on.

 “Was he trying to charm me into being some royal conquest?”

 Before you could think on the topic any further, there was a knock at the door. You sat up straighter while trying to figure out the right way to sit. You lied back casually but decided that was too casual. You then straightened your back and took note of how your breasts were accentuated thanks to the proper posture.

 “Too much,” you whispered, slouching again.

 The knock came again.

 “Ma’am?”

 Shaking your head, you sighed and said, forget it. You had no idea how to answer, so you said the first thing to come to mind.

 “You may enter.” You didn’t know why you decided to add an uppity British accent. Slapping your hand to your head, you shook it, already tired of your own shenanigans.

When you looked, it was the doctor you’d seen the night before.

 “Good morning, ma’am.”

 You gave him a polite smile as he approached with his black doctor’s bag.

 “How are you feeling today. Better, I hope.”

 “Much, thank you.”

 He nodded, then placed his bag on the bedside table.

 “How did you sleep? Any pain?”

 “No—well, not severe pain. I’m just mainly sore.”

 Dr. Alfonsi. nodded. “You can take aspirin for those aches. They should subside in another few days, as will the bruises.”

 You nodded again.

 “May I begin my examination?”

 Giving him a demure smile as permission, he approached and began doing all the things a doctor would at the beginning of any appointment. He took your blood pressure, checked your reflexes and your temperature. He examined your eyes, listened to your heart, followed along with your pulse and respiration, all the while taking diligent notes on his phone that he held in the breast pocket of his white coat.

 Ten or so minutes later, he closed his bag and then brought over one of the chairs in the room. Once he sat, he softly clapped his hands together.

 “And that is that. I am pleased your vitals are appearing better and better. Are you feeling the return of your strength?”

 “Not really,” you confessed.

 “As I explained yesterday, I had concerns from the results of a few blood tests I did. Did you know that you have several vitamin deficiencies?”

 Your eyebrows quirked. “Uh—n—no. I didn’t. What do you mean?”

 “Well, in an effort to provide a most comprehensive recovery plan for you, as I do with every patient I see in the royal family and elsewhere. I ran a full panel of tests and came back with several alarming finds. You have a deficiency of vitamin B12, Vitamins D, and E, you’re severely low in Iron and Folate. Have you ever been diagnosed with Anemia?”

 Your head swarmed with all the words and letters he’d just flung at you.

 “Uh—no. I don’t think so.”

 “I am diagnosing it now.”

 You watched his mouth move as he explained the dangers of the deficiencies and listed the symptoms one would expect, which all coincided with what you’d felt on and off for some time. The explanation seemed to go on and on. With every word Dr. Alfonsi. spoke, your breathing sped more and more. He must have seen the terror on your face because he reached out and took your hand.

 “It’s all right, dear. Though it is not as soon as I would have liked, we caught it. we now know that there is a serious problem.”

 “I—I didn’t know. I mean, I guess I’ve been busy these last few months and on the go, but—I never--,” you trailed off.

 “Calm down. It’s easy to fall behind on our health, but it is important we catch up. In order to do that, you’re going to have to make some changes.”

 “What kind of changes?”

 “Lifestyle and occupational. You’re going to need to change your diet, incorporate the therapies and medicines I will be prescribing, as well as taking it significantly easier than I suspect you have in the past,” Dr. Alfonsi explained.

 “Taking it easy? What exactly does that mean?”

 “Well, I mild cases I’ve seen in my years, I’ve recommended a month of strict relaxation along with what I’ve said before. That meant decreased hours at work, perhaps a sabbatical, bed rest until the patient begins to regain strength to prevent chances of falling and bone breakage.”

 “Bed rest?”

 “Yes, and that’s just for mild cases. Your case, I’m afraid, is a lot more serious. While I recommended it for others, for you, I would have to insist.”

 You sat up, giving him a look that said he was crazy.

 “I can’t go on bed rest. That’s not just decreased hours; that is complete incapacitation,” you protested.

 “I can understand your alarm, but that is how serious your situation is, ma’am.”

 “God, please stop calling me ma’am. My name is Xari.”

 “Ms. Xari,” he corrected.

 Several moments passed in silence. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yeah, you hadn’t gone to the doctor in almost two years and didn’t take multivitamins and oftentimes forgot to eat, but you worked out, ate your greens—sometimes, and experienced plenty of holistic activities throughout the world. You had no idea you were in this bad shape.

 “Do you understand what I am saying, Ms. Xari? If you do not make drastic changes for the foreseeable future, you may not see the blooming of spring flowers.”

 Your jaw dropped. He was laying on pretty thick, but it was working. You were alarmed. Sighing, you rubbed your forehead.

 “What exactly do you suggest then?”

 “What you’re doing now, bed rest. I will communicate with the staff your dietary needs for the coming weeks as well as instructions for your medication--.”

 “Wait, hold up. What? You don’t mean for me to stay here, do you?”

 Dr. Alfonsi looked at you as if you were missing a few screws.

 “Yes.”

You flung your hands out. “Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t stay here.”

 “Why not? I am more than sure the prince would allow you to remain here until you are fully recovered, especially seeing it was his highness’ royal car that hit you for us to discover your ailments.”

 “No. I can’t stay here. I don’t—I’m a stranger to these people. I am—there’s no way. I can’t ask him or anyone here to wait on me.”

 Dr. Alfonsi smiled. “I understand your apprehension, believe me, I do, but it is unnecessary. I have known the prince since he was a child. He is a kind man and would never dare turn someone who is in need and sick away. You will be safe here.”

 Hearing how highly he spoke of his prince piqued your curiosity. It could have been one of those things where one’s subjects loved them so dearly they had not one bad word to say about them, or one’s subjects fears them so much that they didn’t dare utter one negative thing about them. You wondered which was the real story. Perhaps a little in the middle, you thought.

 Sighing, you leaned your head on the headboard, still adamant you didn’t want to stay here.

 “I have a life to get back to. I’ve already been here for two days too long.”

 “Two days?”

 The question in his voice had your head snapping to him. You cautiously opened your mouth to speak. “Yes,” you squeaked.

 “No. I’m afraid it’s been more than two days. It’s been a week since you’ve been here, Ms. Xari.”

 Your eyes bugged, and you instantly began searching for your phone.

 “What are you looking for?”

 “My things. Where are my things? My phone?”

 Dr. Alfonsi looked around the room then walked to a large wardrobe before he came back with your purse. You unintentionally snatched it from him, digging through it for the desired object. Once you had it, you discovered it was dead.

 “Fuck.”

 You began trying to get off the bed, but as soon as you stood, you dropped back to the bed, your legs unable to hold you.

 “I would caution against doing too much too soon. I’m impressed you were able to attempt an escape once. I doubt you’d be successful a second time.”

 “I need my charger. Where are my things? I’ve been off the grid for a week. I have family, people who will worry. I need—need--.”

 Your chest pounded so fast you could barely catch your breath. As you struggled to get a full breath, you began to panic. Dr. Alfonsi was to you on the other side of the bed in seconds, checking your pulse and instructing you to breathe slowly and deeply. You would if you could and wished you could shout that to him. Before you knew it, darkness was all you saw.

 ~~~~~~~~

When you opened your eyes, you were again tucked in the bed, but you were now hooked up to an IV. You took a deep breath and noted the heaviness that resided in your chest. Groaning, you slowly sat up. Once rested against the headboard, you remembered your mission. Your phone. Kicking off the covers, you used the rolling IV rod as if it were a cane and stood on wobbly legs. After a full minute, you began moving though every step you took felt like you’d fall to the floor.

 What should have taken you seconds took minutes. The steps proved to be more challenging to maneuver with the IV stand. You searched the room, but you didn’t see your luggage. That was when you saw your phone plugged into a charger on the nightstand to the left of the bed. You wobbled toward it then quickly unlocked it. Feeling yourself shake even more, you used the wall as your brace as you scrolled through. You saw the bounty of missed calls, unanswered messages, and emails of alarm. As expected, everyone was worried to death about you.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 You found your sister’s number and dialed it. It didn’t ring; instead, it went to voicemail. Your frustration was evident as you knocked over the small glass figurine on the bedside table. You ignored the shattered pieces and grabbed the IV pole, ready to walk out of the room in search of your things. Once you opened the door, your jaw dropped, seeing another luxurious room similar to the bedroom but decked in different colors.

 You took one then two steps, and your knees gave out. Before you tumbled to the floor, you heard a shriek and your name being shouted; then you were in someone’s arms. You looked up into blue eyes that were framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows.

 “Are you all right?”

 You snorted. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” you teased with a soft smile. It was a smile Henry returned.

“I cannot make any promises.”

 Henry then lifted you into his strong arms and carried you where you’d just come from. As he held you, you couldn’t help but glance over the side of his face that was perfectly in view. If you thought his jaw was chiseled to perfection before, now—you were certain there was not even one flaw about it. When he placed you back in the bed, he hovered over you for a few seconds. They were seconds that felt like minutes, especially with the intensity you saw in his eyes.

 “Xari.”

 Tearing your eyes from his, you glanced to your left to see Anika, your sister.

 “Nika!”

 She leaped onto the bed and scurried across to you, then threw her arms around you.

 “Oh my god. What’re you doing here!? How’d you get here?”

 “I’ve been so worried! I’m so glad you’re okay.”

 Relief filled you, and you found yourself relaxing a little more.

 “I don’t get it. How are you?”

 Anika pulled back with a wide smile on her face. She looked up, bringing your eyes to the man who still stood beside the bed. His arms were crossed across his chest, and a soft smile decorated his lips.

 “Him. He’s how I’m here.”

 You were still confused, and you knew your expression showed it.

 “I couldn’t reach you. I called and called and no answer. A few days ago, I got a call back, and it was the prince,” Anika began giving you a wide-eyed look when she said, “prince.”

 “Henry, please, I insist.”

 Anika smiled and actually giggled before she continued. “Henry. He explained everything and kept me in the loop with your condition. Because of that damn storm, I couldn’t get here. He ended up sending the royal jet for me once the storm passed enough to bring me here, so you’d have someone with you.”

 Wow, you thought, letting all she’d said register. He’d done a lot. You slipped your eyes to him and found them on you.

 “He’s been very kind, Ri,” Anika added.

 You were speechless. What were you supposed to say? Clearing your throat, you said the first thing you thought of.

 “Thank you.”

 Henry nodded and held your gaze. “It was done for you alone and with you in mind.”

 Well, shit, you thought, unable to take your eyes off of his. After a few moments, you heard Anika clear her throat, and it was Henry who looked away first.

 “Right. I was bringing your sister here for you to see. Now that you have her, I will give the staff instructions to see whatever the two of you will need for your stay.”

 “Uh—about that. It won’t be necessary,” you piped up.

 “Excuse me?”

 His intimidating aura increased, making you feel like a disobedient little whose daddy was about to punish her. At that comparison, you had a quick thought about whether or not he was a vanilla prince or one with plenty of shades of grey. Straightening your back, you held your head higher.

 “While I appreciate all you’ve done for me thus far, it won’t be necessary for you or your staff to fuss over my sister or me any longer. We’ll be leaving.”

 Henry cocked his head to the right, then tightly clenched his jaw.

 “Is that right?”

 “Why are we leaving?”

 Ignoring Anika’s question, you decided not to look away from Henry feeling a challenge in how he looked at you.

 “According to Dr. Alfonsi, you’re in no shape to be going anywhere.” He nodded to your IV pole for emphasis.

 “I will stay at the inn that is in town or a hotel.”

 “Nonsense. It was my fault you were hurt, and my responsibility to rectify the damage and harm I have caused.”

 “He’s right, Xari. It’s his fault, and you should let him accrue the expenses,” Anika voiced.

 “Nika!”

 “What! He’s a prince, Ri. He got it,” she replied a little under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.

 “I must agree with Lady Anika.”

 Anika snorted and laughed. “I’m definitely not a lady.”

 Henry smirked at her then quickly looked back to you. “I must insist you remain here. At least until Dr. Alfonsi has given you the seal of good health. I am afraid if you were to go anywhere, something would happen to you, and I would not be able to forgive myself.”

 You studied him for a few moments, taking in the expression on his face as well as the tight clench of his jaws. Your eyes moved down to his still folded arms and the muscles that bulged because of his stance. He was definitely overwhelming like this, and though you hated to feel like a bother, you suspected that here was the best place for now. Glancing to Anika, she gave you a stern eye that said, “just give in already.”

 Rolling your eyes, you nodded. “Fine, but only until I’m well enough.”

 “If that is your wish, just know you are welcomed here for however long you wish.”

 “My goodness, such a gentleman. They sure breed them differently here, huh sis.”

 Henry smiled, then glanced at Anika. “Everything is different here in Brexendor.”

 “I bet,” Anika finished.

 “Since it is settled, I will proceed to advise the staff. Dr. Alfonsi has already given several strict dietary orders as well as health orders. If there is anything you require do not hesitate to speak it. Lady Anika, I have already instructed a bedroom be prepared for you, but I will instruct it be as close to your sister as possible.”

 “Thank you.”

 He nodded, then looked back at you. “I sincerely hope you feel better soon.”

 “Are you leaving?”

 “Unfortunately, yes. I am afraid I have quite a lot to do today. By all means, though, feel free to go where you please. My home is yours, ladies.”

 With that, he curtly bowed his head then walked toward the door. Before he walked out, he stopped.

 “Oh, Xari, try not to escape again. I cannot guarantee I will always be there to catch you.”

 You saw the hint of a smile on his lips and instantly knew he was teasing you.

 “Somehow, your highness, I suspect you will magically appear at the mere hint of a faint.”

 He chuckled to himself then walked out, closing the doors behind him. Once alone, Anika wasted no time.

 “Holy fucking shit, he is hot as fuck!”

 You snorted and laughed as you relaxed into the bed.

 “Wonderful censor you have there, Nika.”

 “Fuck censor.”

 “Well, that last time I said fuck here, I was looked at like I was the most uncouth Neanderthal. I suggest you keep your fucks to a minimum.”

 Anika bounced you. “Will you be able to keep your fucks to a minimum?”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 Anika rolled her eyes. “Whatever! The air hasn’t even gotten a chance to come back down from the sweltering levels your guys’ flirting raised it to.”

 Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me! There was no flirting.”

 “Yes, there was, and it was not on your side alone. He was flirting with you too. What in the world is going on? I need the whole story without even the smallest detail left out.”

 You sighed then proceeded to tell her the whole sordid tale. As instructed, you didn’t leave anything out. You even told her about that exchange between you and Henry before you walked out of the bar. At the end of story time, Anika had a huge grin on her face.

 “What are you grinning at?”

 “You. Leave it to you to get whisked away by a prince and have him fall; for you in record time.”

 “No, no, no. Falling? Nika, you’re imagining things. He hasn’t fallen for anyone. He’s a prince, for crying out loud. They don’t fall for anyone, let alone some commoner. Have you never watched The Crown?”

 Anika snorted and dropped to the bed at your feet.

 “First of all, The Crown is whack. Second of all, this is not England. This place is fantastic. It’s like some Hallmark country where everything is beautiful, quaint, and perfect. You smiled and bit your bottom lip, agreeing fully.

 “Third, I was sitting right here, listening to your banter. I think he could totally fall for you if he hasn’t already.”

 You rolled your eyes, ignoring everything she was saying. Anika loved to play matchmaker, though you hated every time she did it.

 “You’re practically in his bed. We just have to get you there.”

 You rolled your eyes again, shocked at how quickly she’d gotten there. “Okay, down, girl. According to this doctor, I’m falling apart, Nika. Any bed I’ll be in for a while is this one.”

 “Well, now you have me here to encourage you to lap up the luxury and hospitality of his highness the prince of Brexendor. Get the fuck outta here!”

 The two of you laughed loudly. This situation you’d found yourself into was the most ridiculous one either of you could have ever begun to imagine.

 A few hours later, you found yourself alone while Anika settled in her room. Another knock sounded at your door. Being unable to open it yourself, you instructed them to come in. Once the doors opened in walked a beautiful girl about your age with long black hair and features similar to Henry’s. In your head, you suspected she was a family member. She smiled sweetly as she approached you. When she was by your bedside, she dropped onto the mattress.

 “Hi.”

 You returned her warm smile. “Hi.”

 “My god, you are beautiful.”

 You snorted, then pinched your lips together, trying to suppress your laugh. She was insane. You looked the worst you’d ever looked.

 “You’re being kind. I haven’t showered in a week and only today got to comb my hair. You’re being very, very kind.”

 She giggled but still looked genuine.

 “I’m Jemma,” she said, holding her hand out to you. Once you took it, and instantly noted how soft they were.

 “It’s nice to meet you.”

 “I have been trying to get here to introduce myself, but Henry told me to stay away so you could acclimate. Otherwise, I would have been here much sooner.”

 You smiled and assured her it was fine.

 “How are you doing?”

 You shrugged. “I guess I’m okay.”

 She didn’t look convinced and took you in for a few moments. “I’m sure my brother has brought all the best doctors for your care and has thought of everything that would ensure your comfort. With that treatment, I expect you to make a full recovery in no time.”

 “Brother.”

 “Yes. Please tell me you did not think I was his girlfriend or something of the sort.”

 She looked disgusted, which made you laugh.

 “No. I suspected a family member. So you’re a princess.”

 Jemma rolled her eyes as she sighed out as if she was already tired of the conversation.

 “Yes, but I promise it is not nearly as glamourous as you’re thinking. The only nice thing about it is the diamonds, everything else, eh.”

 You smiled, already liking her. she gave off an air that said she didn’t take herself seriously and even liked to have a bit of fun more times than not.

 “The staff is all abuzz with news that you will be residing with us for the next few weeks. Henry has told them to cater to your every whim, and because it came from him, everyone is in a tizzy over it, prepping to ensure you are at your most comfortable,” Jemma explained.

 “What. No, that’s not what I want at all. They don’t have to go all out.”

 “It’s okay.”

 “No. then everyone will think I’m some prissy thing who likes to be waited on when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

 Jemma took you for a little while, then took your hand and squeezed it gently.

 “Not to worry, Xari. I assure you no one will think that.”

 You sighed then tried to forget it because it was too late to change whether or not they thought it. You were sure everyone was already whispering about you and Anika, the two Americans who’d somehow found their way into the palace.

 “Also, we are not as gossip centered as other monarchies. I promise,” Jemma added, raising her hand as if to swear it.

 When she sensed you relaxed, she proceeded to ask a plethora of questions about you, ranging from where you were from to what you did and the all-important if you were single. You felt like you were on a modern-day “Who Wants to be Friends With a Princess” tv show. With every fact, you revealed she revealed a similar one and so on. After an hour, you found that you had plenty in common, something that was shocking for you.

 When Anika came back, the party really stated. Your laughter picked up, as did the stories that Jemma revealed about royal life. Those stories prompted Anika to tell stories of life as a commoner in America as she called it. The only thing was her stories we mainly all about partying, dating, and men. With each story, Jemma’s eyes widened, and you felt like slowly Anika would end up corrupting her.

 “Nika, stop. You’re going to have her on an episode of Princesses Gone Wild,” you joked, which had both of them in stitches on your bed.

 “I will have you know that I am not some innocent wallflower. I know things,” Jemma countered.

 You couldn’t help but laugh loudly. Just the way she said that told you she didn’t know very many things. That was when Jemma proceeded to list the names of the men she’d dated, a list of three men. Anika was the one to ask the nature of these relationships, to which Jemma said she knew in great detail the kind of underwear each man wore. You lost it right then and there, dropping onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

 Exhaustion caught you off guard, dampening the mood of the night. Jemma assured you that she’d keep Anika company and show her around to give you time to take a nap. After thanking her, the two women walked out of your room, leaving you to silence. Once the door closed, it opened again. this time it was the woman named Audrina.

 “Good evening, ma’am. Is there anything I can bring you?”

 “No. I’m all right.”

 She nodded, then closed the door leaving you again. You quickly drifted off to sleep.

  ~~~~~

 -Henry-

He’d never met anyone quite as beautiful as you. he remembered when you’d walked into the bar and sat down beside him like you were right where you were supposed to be. You had no idea that the bar was empty because it was closed for him to be there, had no idea that he was not some ordinary citizen. He liked being a no one, especially if it meant he could sit there with you all night. He remembered wanting just that. If his phone hadn’t run, if he’d had more time, he probably would have tried to hold your hand. If he’d had more time, he would have gotten himself into an even bigger predicament than he was now—attracted to a woman he knew better than to touch.

 Slowly he looked over the features of your face and took in each detail. He pressed the elements of your face to his memory so he could call on them when he was alone, buried in work. A sigh escaped him as a lite feeling filled him. It was an unfamiliar one. He wanted to touch you. It was an urge that was so strong he almost couldn’t overpower it—almost. He balled his fist and sat back in the settee beside your bed, trying to ignore the feelings that washed over him.

 “Remember yourself,” he whispered before he looked back to the work he’d brought with him when he’d decided to pay you a quick visit.

 This quick visit was an hour ago. When he found you asleep, he should have turned around and left, but he couldn’t. He intended to sit here for a few minutes, ten tops, but he still had yet to tear himself away. He mustered what was left of his control and focused on the screen before him and tried to write his speech for the new world bank’s upcoming opening.

 This was one of his father’s pet projects, and he was filled with pride to see it to fruition, but also it made him miss the man more. Sighing, he closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. Every time he thought of his father in the last few months, it brought him added stress. It was this stress that prevented him from sleeping longer than four hours a night.

 “Christ,” he whispered.

 “Are you all right?”

 Jerking his head up, he saw you awake with your head still atop the pillow. You looked like a dream, or perhaps his best nightmare.

 “I am sorry. Was I too loud?”

 “No. I um—just happened to open my eyes.”

 You slowly sat up, allowing the blanket to fall from your chest to your lap. As you adjusted yourself, he moved his laptop to the other side of the settee.

 “You didn’t answer me, though. Are you all right?”

 A smile tugged at his lips, but he fought it. “Me? Should it not be me be asking you that?”

 “Can’t we ask each other?”

 He studied you for a few moments, then nodded. “I am fine.”

 “Liar.”

 His jaw dropped, half shocked you would go there. There weren’t many people in his life that would dare.

 “I take it no one calls his highness a liar,” you teased.

 “You take it right. Maybe Jemma or my mother on occasion and a few of my friends but not many.”

 You smiled, then shrugged. “I call em’ like I see em.’”

 He crossed his arms and leaned back. “Pray tell, what gave me away to make you insult me so?”

 Your smile widened before you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, bringing his eyes right there. He adjusted in the seat he sat and waited for you to continue.

 “Your eyes are red, under your eyes puffy, and one doesn’t just say Christ to say Christ.”

 You had him there. He pushed his fist under his chin and continued to watch you.

 “So you are implying I look bad.”

 You smirked then, and he picked up the change in the air.

 “I mean, I’m sure I look the same as you. So take comfort in that.”

 A chuckle escaped him. “So that is a yes; I do look bad.”

 You looked at him but didn’t answer.

 “I will take that as a yes on my part. however, regarding you, you look far from bad.”

 You snorted then laughed, and it was the most shockingly endearing sound. It wasn’t a laugh he would hear from others in his company. Their laughs would be all dignified, but yours was genuine. It was also downright terrifying, but he preferred it.

 “Now I know you’re a liar. I look absolutely disgusting. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but I haven't showered in a week.”

 He pinched his lips, hiding his smile. You looked so uncomfortable admitting that.

 “Oh my.” He placed his hand over his mouth as if the fact mortified him.

 You pinched your lips.

 “Please tell me you have at least brushed your teeth.”

 “Today was the first day in just as much time.”

 Again he put his hand over his mouth and widened his eyes for emphasis. “Appalling.”

 You snorted again, and the delightful laugh came back. This time the laugh looked to encompass your entire being, and you glowed. When your laughter subsided, you dabbed at your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. He held out his handkerchief to you. When you took it, you used it to replace your fingers.

 “Thank you.”

 When you finished, you inspected the fabric, then looked at him.

 “You must like your women disgusting to still be here.”

 He shrugged.

 “How are you feeling?”

 “After that nap, I’m feeling well.”

 That made him happy.

 “Are you feeling well enough for some dinner?”

 “Uh—I was told I’m to stay in bed.”

 “Yes, Dr. Alfonsi has informed me and the staff as well. That is why--,” he began before walking across the room to the door.

 Once he opened it, the staff rolled in three carts filled with platters, trays, and bowls of plenty. Once the carts were parked, he thanked the staff and let them see themselves out.

 “Dinner is served.”

 The look on your face said you didn’t know what to say, so he uncovered the treys finding the menu items he’d chosen for the meal.

 “I was not sure what you liked, so I had them bring all of it.”

 He took up a plate and brought it to you. It took a few moments for you to take it, but you did. That was when he went back for his to sit back on the settee.

 “Also, do not feel as if you have to eat ladylike for me,” he began.

 You took up your fork and shoved an overflowing fork full of mashed potatoes into your mouth, letting a small glob rest at the side of your mouth.

 “What was that, your highness?”

 That was all it took for his attraction to turn to yearning.

 The two of you ate in silence for the most part. He asked you questions to get to know you better, and every new piece of information he found out only made him like you more and more. When you spoke about your career, he heard the passion in your voice, and it spoke to something in him. It had been a long time since he’d been around anyone who was genuinely passionate about the things they enjoyed. It stirred something in him, something he wasn’t quite ready to uncover.

 “I am sorry that I did not tell you once we met who I was.”

 You paused with your fork in your mouth.

 “It’s okay. To be real, why would you reveal to a stranger your secret identity. That’s like Clark Kent walking around in his incognito glasses with an S on his chest. It defeats the purpose.”

 “Clark Kent. Superman.”

 “Yes, one of my favorite superheroes.”

 A soft smile spread across his face before he nodded.

 “What’s yours? Wonder Woman?”

 He scoffed, then shook his head as he stood and approached the carts, ready for dessert. It wasn’t the Strawberry Cheesecake he truly desired, but it would have to do. When he returned to his seat, he placed your plate in front of you and sat.

 “It’s Wonder Woman, huh, or maybe Poison Ivy, ooh, Catwoman.”

 He sat there patiently, letting you list them off. He couldn’t help but wonder why those were chosen.

 “Before I answer, can I ask why you chose them?”

 He saw the mischievous glint twinkle in your eye as your lips quirked up into a smirk.

 “Oh, this, I must hear.”

 “No reason. They’re just seen as the most desirable by fanboy standards,” you responded while rolling with your eyes.

 He suppressed a chuckle to put a piece of the cheesecake into his mouth.

 “So?”

 “None of those.”

 “Oh, please do enlighten me,” you quipped.

 Resting the fork on the side of the dish, he responded. “Nubia and Storm.”

 He sat there and thoroughly enjoyed watching the emotions wash over your face. Shock was the first, then disbelief, and finally awe. Now you sat there assessing him as if you thought he was pranking you. He was not. You opened your mouth to say something, and he stopped you before you did.

 “I suggest you do not repeat it. I assure you I am not.”

 Your eyes darkened right at the moment you sucked your bottom lip back into your mouth. Losing his train of thought and head for control, he put another piece of the cake into his mouth, licking the back of the fork. Your eyes lowered to his mouth and your teeth sunk into that delectable bottom lip. If he were a weaker man, he would have tossed the plate he held to the side and been on you in under five seconds, but he was not a weak man. As future King, weakness had no place in the monarchy.

 Weakness was not an option until he saw you put the fork in your mouth to mirror his actions, only your tongue swirled around the teeth of the fork in a way that made his pants instantly too tight. Christ, help him.

 He cleared his throat and changed his position on the couch to one that would hide your effect.

“Interesting. I didn’t expect those,” you stuttered.

 “What did—what did you expect?”

 You shrugged and toyed with the fork against your lips. “Something else, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”

 Your eyes met again, and the temptation he felt was somehow more than he’d ever felt. He wanted you. He’d wanted you since you cursed about how disgusting the drink was at the bar. The only thing was, this want had shifted.

 “I am happy it is pleasantly.”

 Again your eyes lingered, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to the heavy cloud of temptation that filled the room.

 “What’re you working on?”

 He cleared his throat again and straightened himself. “Uh—a speech. One of my father’s projects premiers in a few days, the first since his um—” he cleared his throat again. “Since his passing, and I am going to be the one to cut the ribbon on it.”

 “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 Keeping his eyes turned downward, he nodded. The sincerity in your voice touched him. “Thank you.”

 The silence between you stretched for a few seconds before you spoke again.

 “What’s wrong with it?”

 “The speech, um—I do not know. It just does not feel right.”

 “Want me to take a look?”

 “Do you have an aptness for speeches?”

 You placed your place to the side and adjusted your posture.

 “Not speeches in general. I do have a knack for words. I’ve spent the last few years writing about the places I’ve gone in such a way that makes people want to go there themselves. I might know a little something, something.”

 He smiled, put the plate beside him, and leaned forward to hand you his laptop. He watched as you read through the few paragraphs he’d already written and wondered what you thought of it. Every lift of your brow or nibble of your lip had him more and more curious as to the thoughts in your head. After a few minutes, you nodded.

 “This isn’t bad. You sound like you’re on a good roll.”

 “No critique?”

 “How about you leave me with it for a day or two, and I’ll have some notes. Or, you could give it to your royal speechwriter.”

 He chuckled. “What makes you think I have one of those?”

 You rolled your eyes and smiled. “Hello, this is a monarchy. I am sure the monarchy employs people to make sure their dear prince is always PC.”

 You were right.

 “I think I would rather leave it with you,” he replied, making you smile in the process.

 “Okay. I’ll knock your socks off then.”

 “You already have,” he said, standing to take your plate.

 He tried to arrange the empty plates, dishes, and classes on the carts in a way that wouldn’t have them falling once they were moved.

 “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

 He turned in time to see you wobbling toward him, clutching the IV pole with one hand and a plate with the other. He saw your knees buckle and wrapped you in his arms, taking you to the bed in the process. With you underneath him, he couldn't deny how right this felt. Your breathing was heavy, your eyes bright and chest heaving. The way you were looking at him made his next move the only possible one.

 He brought his lips toward yours but right before he claimed them, he hesitated. The tiny sliver of space between your lips made it easy to feel the literal electricity that sparked between you. He was so close, but so far, and he wanted to get closer. The fact that you didn’t look as if you objected to this made his blood bubble with desire even more than it had hours ago when he first walked in.

 “I apologize,” he whispered before he pulled away from you with whatever ounce of strength he had remaining. He stood before you then held his hands out to you.

 “Let me help you.”

 You placed your hands in his letting him hoist you up. He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you back to the side of the bed you’d been this entire time.  When he eased you down, he spread the blanket over you and assured you were comfortable. Being sure to keep his eyes away from yours, he turned to his things and gathered them.

 “I will let you get some rest. If Dr. Alfonsi found out I were here preventing that, he would give me a stern talk.”

 “Thank you for this,” you said.

 He took his laptop from your bed and nodded. “I will email it to you.”

 “You have my email?”

 “I am head of this country; I have multiple resources at my disposal,” he replied, smirking at you. Your smile said you fully understood his meaning and knew he was teasing. You understood him. Yet another thing to like about you, he thought. He quickly averted his eyes then gave you a slight head bow.

 “Good night, Xari.”

 “Good night, your highness.”

  He walked toward the door and poked his head out to instruct the waiting staff to remove the carts. The walk back to his room was filled with several stops as he thought to go back, but when he realized he couldn’t, he carried on his way. He’d never been filled with so many conflicting wants and thoughts before, and he suspected as the coming weeks stretched, this would be just the tip of the iceberg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Andromeda |  Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1865

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 03x05 AND THE SECOND HALF OF SEASON 12, prison Reid, mentions of trauma/anxiety/therapy.

A/N: Remember this post?  I was talking about this fic. Anyways, the concept of both Spencer and Reader being groomed for the BAU was one that intrigued me so I wrote this. One day I’ll get tired of writing for this universe but today is not that day. Enjoy!

GALAXY MASTERLIST (not needed to understand the plot but there’s similar content here if you liked this fic!)

You had seen a lot of bad things in your life, but hands down the worst thing you had ever seen was Spencer Reid sitting on the other side of the partition in the prison visiting room. As always your proximity to the doctor cleared your head and relaxed you in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks, but due to the circumstances you knew it was only because he was alive.

“I don’t like this,” you wasted no time making your feelings known.

“I know, me neither,” even though he was alive, you could tell your friend was in rough shape, “how are you doing?”

You breathed a laugh, “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m the same as I was when Garcia visited last week, and we both know she called you as soon as she left here.”

He was right, Penelope had filled you in on everything he had said when she had gone for her visit the week prior.

“Have you gone back to work yet?”

“Yeah, but I’m still not allowed in the field. My therapist keeps telling Emily I’m compromised,” you rolled your eyes, “I think being back in the field would help me compartmentalize better than doing paperwork in Penelope’s office.”

“What have you been doing outside of work?”

“Has my therapist talked to you too? Yeesh,” you rolled your eyes again, causing Spencer to crack a smile, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Luke, he reminds me of some of the guys from my Platoon. He lets me watch Roxy when the team is traveling, and we go to a veteran’s support group every Tuesday. I don’t think he actually needs the support but he definitely knows I don’t go if he’s not there.”

Spencer sighed, “support groups are good, is it helping?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I already did the work to cope with my time in the military years ago. The problem isn’t my military trauma, the problem is that my best friend is in prison and the constant anxiety is dredging up old wounds.”

Your eyes narrowed, aware that he was definitely doing a light psych eval of you in that brain of his. You half expected him to start spouting exactly what was happening in your brain that was causing the increased frequency of your episodes, but it never came.

“Will you keep going, for me?”

“Sure, but only because you asked. And if Luke says anything about it you can’t tell him I don’t think it’s working.”

“Deal,” the light banter was the most normal thing that had happened to you since bringing Spencer home from Mexico.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I know you’re a super genius and everything, but do you ever feel like you weren’t cut out for the BAU even though you were groomed for it?”  

“Yeah, I had to get waived on every physical part of training and failed my gun certification an embarrassing number of times even after I was hired. I wouldn’t have gotten the job if Gideon didn’t do some serious vouching for me. Do you… do you feel like that?” You thought it was ironic that Spencer was concerned for you when he was the one in jail.

“Out of everyone in my class at the Academy, Rossi and Hotch picked me. There were at least four other agents that were better at profiling than I was, I was not the obvious choice. My entire career has been defined by joining the BAU and yet I still get hit with some serious imposter syndrome, especially since you’ve been gone. Sometimes I wonder where I would have ended up if I hadn’t been picked, what kind of agent I’d be.”

“You would have ended up with the Hostage Rescue Team,” you knew Spencer was a know-it-all, but you were surprised at his confidence and quick response.

“How do you figure?” you questioned, watching the tips of his ears turn red as he blushed.

“Garcia and I overheard Hotch and Rossi talking about you when they came back from recruiting. We did some… ‘spelunking’ and found your file.”

“Anything juicy in there?” you teased, thoroughly amused at the image of Spencer and Penelope huddled around her desk investigating you.

“No. It said you were ex-military and had been psychologically discharged. We didn’t dig deeper into that, but I could see signs of anxiety the first time I met you so it wasn’t really going to be a secret anyways.”

“Fair, so how did you know about Hostage Rescue?”

“There was a note from their unit chief that they wanted you. It makes sense, you passed the field tests in the Academy with flying colors and you’re exceptional in the field. You would do really well on a tactical team.”

“In theory, until I have a panic attack and get thirty people killed,” you joked, “they probably asked Hotch to take me because I’d have the smallest chance of being a liability in the BAU.”

“Actually, Hotch said he liked how you had approached the exercise they had given you.”

You remembered that day like it was yesterday, Hotch and Rossi had come into your class with the bare bones of a case: an abducted child in a mall a week following a prior abduction of a similar nature. As a collective you had to solve the case, asking the right questions to get the information you needed from the two Supervisory Special Agents.

Your previously mentioned classmates that had a knack for profiling were quick to build a few theories and get a bit more information, including a glimpse of the girl on a security camera, but there were still a lot of missing pieces. Something about the whole thing felt off to you, so you finally spoke up.

“What if it was someone in her family?” Your classmates looked at you in confusion, a few of them jumping up to reiterate the evidence against your suggestion. “I see your point, and I’ll support the group if you still think I’m wrong, but hear me out. There’s evidence of the abduction being personal. I don’t think it’s related to the prior case at all.”

“The family has been with us the whole time,” one of your classmates argued.

“The father?” someone else suggested.

“No, not him,” your brain was working hard, “I think it was the aunt, Susan.”

“Well done, Agent,” you heard Agent Hotchner over the clamor of the room at your suggestion.

“Do you want to back up your theory?” Rossi asked once your classmates had settled down.

“Her husband shows signs of grooming Katie: he knows more about his niece than he does his own kid. If his wife noticed, she might be trying to protect her family. She was probably ashamed that her husband was a pedophile, her son had a record, and her marriage was falling apart. Susan already said she worked retail in a mall, even if she didn’t work at this mall she’d at least have knowledge of how malls work and where she could hide a body. The abduction from the previous week would have given her something to pin Katie’s disappearance on, and Katie would have trusted her enough to go somewhere without an obvious struggle.”

“Bingo, Agent…?” Rossi looked at you for your name.

“(y/l/n),” you offered.

“Susan took her own pain out on Katie. Our agents were able to recover Katie’s body and resuscitate her, and both Susan and her husband were brought into custody.”

Later, as class was dismissed, you were approached by the two men.

“What was it that made you look deeper into the family as suspects?” Hotch had asked.

“I just had a feeling, sir,” you told him honestly.

“What kind of feeling?” Rossi seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying.

“A gut feeling. I know we’re supposed to use the facts, and all the facts were presenting themselves as becoming a serial abduction, but it just didn’t feel right to me. When I started exploring other possibilities the relevant evidence jumped right out.”

“Sometimes we get cases with barely enough information to make decisions from. Following instincts can lead to breakthroughs that solve the whole case. Keep up the good work,” Hotch shook your hand before walking away with Rossi right behind him.

“Yeah, I went out on a limb with that one. I’ll tell you about it later,” you shook your head, knowing you didn’t have enough time to tell Spencer the whole story. He was quiet for a minute, glancing around the room before he spoke again.

“If I can’t get out of here, I think you should look into transferring to Hostage Rescue.”

“You’re not serious, are you? You’re getting out of here. I’m seeing to it personally,” you said it like it was a fact. His face told you he wasn’t kidding.

“Let me ask you this- if I’m found guilty at my trial, how are you going to take it?”

You wanted to tell him you would be fine and continue to fight for his freedom, but you both knew there was a reason your therapist wasn’t clearing you for field work that would only get worse if your best friend had to serve upwards of 25 years in jail.

The BAU without Spencer Reid just wouldn’t be the same BAU you fell in love with when Hotch and Rossi had hired you all those years ago.

“Do you really think the brass would approve a transfer to an anti-terrorism tactical unit when I can’t even get cleared for field work now?” you countered.  

“I do. Your coping mechanisms are well developed. If you separate yourself from the BAU… and me… I think you could pass their psych eval just fine. And everyone knows your tactical skills are off the charts, even after you’ve taken time off.”

“You’re not a very good genius if you think you can get rid of me that easily,” you were quick to point out, “even if I did transfer, I’d still be here as much as possible. Penelope wouldn’t let me cut myself off that easily from the rest of the team either.”

“Just think about it, please.”

You sighed, “I’ll think about it, but I’m still holding out that we’re proving your innocence and you and I will be back to our shenanigans in no time.”

“I’m looking forward to it. How’s my mom doing?”

“She’s been ok, I visit every day and JJ usually comes with me. Cassie’s been really great for her,” you told him.

“Good, will you tell her I-“

“Prisoners line up!” a guard yelled.

“Will you tell her I love her?” Spencer said quickly as he stood. You nodded, watching as he lined up with the other inmates and walked away.

As you left the prison you told yourself you were never getting used to this, and you were going to start working double time on proving Spencer’s innocence. There was no family like your BAU family, and whoever had framed Spencer was not going to destroy that so easily.

[pluralismajestatis]

We're doing alright, everything considered. Just had a therapy session and I'm all out of juice, which feels a little bad because my therapist asked me to write more about the subject we were talking about after the session. I'm trying to remind myself that "after" doesn't mean "immediately" - she has other patients to attend to, too, and her own life, I'm not keeping her waiting. She'd tell me to rest and recover for certain if she knew that I'm having this mood.

Either way, I've run into further troubles with my clinic nurse. Yes, the one who wanted to commit me to inpatient when I came out about my DID symptoms.

Firstly, and this is just annoyance as I understand she knows nothing about the disorder, but she refers to my Others as "characters" and it's driving me up the wall. She did give me a chance to correct her yesterday in our phone appointment by saying "I don't know if this is the right word" but I was way too tired to get into that, and I genuinely don't know an alternative to offer her in Finnish. I don't tend to think in Finnish. I don't know. I feel like this shouldn't be my responsibility, I just wish she'd stop saying "characters" like I'm playing pretend with dolls or something. These are pieces of me, this is my family, stop talking about them like I made them, like they're fictional. Please, for the love of god.

Secondly, she has now taken to disbelieving everything I say. She's decided that I'm delusional and therefore nothing I say is real. She asked about what I've been doing lately, and I told her I visited my best friend for her birthday. She asked what we did together and I described it loosely - watched some movies, cooked together, gave each other a massage, and hung out briefly with her roommate and his friend since, you know, they live in the same house. Nurse then proceeded to tell me it's "shocking" that I've "managed to leave the house" like this is some big new thing that I've never done before.

I visit my friend frequently. I didn't for a year here because 1. we live in a pandemic, Janet, and 2. she joined the fucking army and was tied up, due to the pandemic, most of the year. But the year before and for ten years before then, we've pretty much met up every month or so.

"I find it rather odd that you have never mentioned this friend before". Okay, are you KIDDING me right now? So because I haven't talked about my utterly stable and boring longest-term friendship in the two appointments and two phone calls I've had with you WHILE DISCOVERING I HAVE A DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER THAT FILLS MY HEAD UP WITH OTHER PEOPLE, WHICH MAY HAVE TAKEN PRECEDENCE FOR SOME REASON, my best friend now... doesn't exist? Are you serious?

And what the FUCK do you mean it's unbelievable I made it out of the house??? I travel all the fucking time. The fact that I struggle taking the trash out doesn't mean I struggle in other fronts of my life equally. I like travelling, for the love of - Christ. Jesus. God. You'd know BOTH these things if you'd ever fucking bothered to ask me about what I like to do and who I do it with!!!

Oh, but that's not all. I mentioned I had my first therapy session and she similarly expressed doubts about the legitimacy of the service I'm using (I went with BetterHelp because finding a local dissociative specialist was........ looking impossible and impossibly expensive at once). I gave her the name of the service and translated for her the requirements a therapist must meet to practice with them, and told her she's free to research more on her own, to which she then said - I swear to fuck - "I don't think that I will, but I'll be bringing this up in the meeting with the team later. This doesn't have to necessarily be about you but sometimes a patient will claim to be in therapy when in reality they aren't actually."

What. Do. You. FUCKING. MEAN????????? ARE YOU SERIOUS? I AM VOLUNTARILY LOOKING FOR HELP. I AM IN YOUR CLINIC VOLUNTARILY BECAUSE I NEED HELP. WHY THE FUCK!!! WOULD I BE LYING ABOUT MY THERAPY TRIAL??????? WHY DO YOU THINK I'M LYING ABOUT EVERYTHING. ABOUT MY BEST FRIEND, ABOUT THERAPY, JESUS FUCK I'VE NEVER SAID A SINGLE LIE TO YOU IN MY LIFE BUT I SURE AS FUCK WILL START DOING THAT SINCE IT SEEMS THAT TELLING THE TRUTH ONLY HAS NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES AND IT DOESN'T MAKE A DIFFERENCE ANYWAY.

I HATE YOU. PERSONALLY. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Which one of us is the one with the mental illness? I am so fucking offended.

J wanted to dropkick her in the teeth after the phone call and I don't blame him one bit for it.

[btsqualityy]

Amour Vincit Omnia / 30

Author’s Note: This is the final part of this series! Don’t worry, there is gonna be an epilogue (which is something you guys are gonna want after reading this part lol) and it will be posted once I finish the last three parts of the Second Pregnancy Series! Thank you guys for all the love and support on this story and I hope you enjoy it!

“Will you stop fussing over me?” Akeem whined, reaching out to try and take the spoon out of Akira’s hands but she moved it away from him, making him frown. “I can feed myself Kira.”

“Ah, you’re still recovering and you aren’t supposed to be moving too much,” she reminded him. “And besides, you scared the hell out of me. Let me take care of you.”

“I can’t win against that and you know it,” he grumbled, reluctantly opening his mouth and letting Akira feed him a spoonful of tomato soup. He let her give him a few more spoons before opening his mouth to speak again. “Did everyone get home safe?” He wondered, referring to Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hobi, Cassie, Jimin and Jungkook, who all decided that they should head back home since Akeem had been awake from his coma for the past four days.

“Yeah, and they all told me to tell you that they’re keeping you in their thoughts,” she told him. 

“What about Taehyung?” Akeem asked with a small smirk on his face and Akira rolled her eyes at him.

“He’s still here,” she said. “Still staying at the house.”

“Different room?”

“Different room,” she confirmed. 

“Are you still ignoring him?” Akeem questioned and Akira shook her head immediately. 

“Not purposely, I’ve just been focusing on what’s more important,” she replied.

“Or more like using me as an excuse,” Akeem snickered, making Akira raise her eyebrows at him. “You know he offered to pay all my medical bills, and to pay for my physical therapy?”

“What?” Akira gasped, because this was definitely new news to her. “When was this?”

“Yesterday, when you went home to shower and change clothes,” he told her. “He came in and told me and mom that he knows that stuff can get expensive and that he didn’t want us having to worry about it so he offered to take care of it,” Akeem explained. 

“God, that man,” Akira muttered, shaking her head lightly.

“I know you aren’t mad at him about that.”

“Not mad but come on Keem,” Akira chuckled. “Doesn’t the gesture seem a little weird, given how things are between me and him right now?”

“Sissy, I love you and I’m only about to tell you this because I care about you, ok?” Akeem said and Akira nodded her head. “Stop being such a big bitch and let the man take care of you.”

“How is him offering to pay for your medical bills taking care of me?” She wondered.

“Because we both know that mom can’t afford it with our insurance and Dad sucks so you would’ve taken on the burden of trying to pay for everything yourself and we all know you can’t swing that,” Akeem pointed out and Akira couldn’t even argue with him because she knew that he was right. “And besides, I asked him to look out for you and he’s trying to do that, so I’m not mad at it.”

“When did you ask him to do that?” Akira asked.

“Thanksgiving, after the whole showdown thing with Dad,” he replied. “I know you Sissy, so I knew that you were gonna need someone to look out for you after that whole thing.”

“Keem,” she whispered, a small smile coming over her face.

“And while we’re talking about this, I have something else to tell you,” he said and Akira nodded, motioning for him to continue with her hand. “I called Taehyung after I got off the phone with you on New Year’s eve.”

“What?” She gasped, her head starting to spin from all this new information. “Why?”

“Because you two needed to talk and you’re so damn stubborn, I knew that you weren’t gonna call him so I did it for you,” he shrugged.

“I’ve been called stubborn so much over the last week, it’s ridiculous,” she mumbled before looking up at Akeem. “That’s how he knew to come to Jimin’s house, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “The crazy thing about that is, we didn’t even get super far into the conversation because Mama called to tell me about what happened to you.”

“So you’re telling me that I set it up for you guys to talk and then I’m the one who ruined it?” He asked and Akira laughed while shrugging her shoulders. “Damn, I had one job.”

“Not your fault,” she reminded him.

“I know but you knew what I meant,” he shot back, which she nodded to. “I know that you guys talked a little bit the day that I woke up, but I can tell that you two haven’t really settled things.”

“He told me a lot of things in that conversation Keem,” Akira huffed. “I’ve had to think about it all.”

“And you should go talk to him since it’s been a few days,” Akeem encouraged her. “You’ve been super distracted and since I’m ok now, that could be the only other thing that’s bothering you.”

“Am I that transparent?” She joked.

“Only to me and Mama, since we know you best. Oh, and Yoongi and Cassie,” he replied. “So go and sort your shit out. Even if you guys don’t get back together, at least know where you stand with each other.”

“Alright, I’m going,” she relented, standing up from her chair and grabbing her jacket, shrugging it on over her shoulders. She then stepped closer to the bed, leaning over and kissing Akeem on the forehead. “I love you Keem.”

“Love you more sissy,” he whispered, giving her a small smile before she turned around and walked out of the hospital room.

.................................

After Akira walked through the front door of her mom’s house, she was greeted by the sight of her mom walking down the stairs.

“Hey sweetie,” Tonya grinned, walking over to her daughter and kissing her on the cheek. “How’s Keem?”

“He’s good,” Akira told her. “I helped him eat lunch before I left.”

“Good, good. Well, I’m on my way there now so I’ll see you later, yeah?” Tonya said and Akira nodded. After she put on her boots and jacket, she gave Akira another kiss before rushing out of the door. 

“Tae?” Akira called out and she heard footsteps rustling before she saw Taehyung pop out of the kitchen. 

“Hey,” He greeted her and she gave him a small smile in return. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” she nodded. “I wanted to know if you wanted to talk though.”

“Of course,” he agreed, walking all the way out of the kitchen and following her into the living room. They both sat down next to each other on the couch and Akira turned her body that she was completely facing Taehyung. 

“I’ll start this time,” she said, making Taehyung chuckle and nod. “First off, I just want to thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about your past and your history with your uncle.”

“It was time to,” he shrugged. “And I needed to.”

“It helped me understand a lot,” Akira said. “And I thought about it a lot over the past few days, whenever I wasn’t occupied over worrying about Keem and...I think I know how we should move forward.”

“And how’s that?”

“Tae, I think we should break up,” Akira announced and Taehyung’s eyes widened.

“Why?”

“You telling me everything about your life and your uncle and everything, it just showed me that we moved really fast in this relationship and that we should’ve slowed down,” she told him. 

“But you never said anything about how fast we were moving before,” he said confusedly.

“You’re right, and that’s because it always felt natural,” she replied. “I didn’t mind how quick it all happened because it didn’t feel rushed, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nodded sadly. 

“Taehyung, I love you but all of this just showed me that I had no idea who you really were,” she said. “And I had no idea who you were because you have no idea who you are yourself.”

“You’ve helped me start that process of trying to find myself though Kira,” he pointed out and she shook her head. “I told you that when we were in Jamaica.”

“ I know but that’s something that you have to do for yourself, by yourself,” she explained. “You’ve always been defined by your family by the mistake that you made at 17, you’ve been defined by the public as this creative genius who runs Vantae, you’re all these ideas that have been created by other people and yet, you don’t even know who you really are.”

“I do know who I am.”

“Ok, then how would you describe yourself?” She questioned, quirking her eyebrow up at him. “And don’t say what you think others would say. Really think about it Tae.” A few minutes of silence passed between them before Taehyung huffed harshly.

“Ok so I can’t,” he admitted. 

“It’s not a bad thing baby,” she assured him .”I just think that you should take the time to find yourself, you know? Figure out who you are without your uncle’s influence, or thinking about Vantae 24/7, or even without my influence.”

“But what about us?” He wondered.

“It’s not about us,” she told him. “I want you to be happy, and I wanna be happy too. Not saying that I wouldn’t be with you or that I wasn’t for these past six months, but we both know that I’m too sure of myself and what I want. It would just be argument after argument between the two of us.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be as assertive with myself as you are,” he joked and Akira smiled.

“I don’t expect you to be,” she giggled. “I just want to you to find yourself, like I did. Until you do that, you’re not gonna be comfortable in a relationship with anyone, let alone me.”

“Deep down, I know you’re right but is it selfish that I don’t want to let you go?” He wondered and she shook her head.

“Not at all,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “We love each other, so I don’t want to do this but I think it’ll be better in the long run.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I should probably head back to New York then, huh?”

“I’ve appreciated you being here, but I’m good now,” she told him honestly. “I’ll never forget how you great you’ve been though so thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he replied. “I did it because I love you and I want you happy.”

“Ditto,” she smiled. They both stood up from the couch then and Akira couldn’t help herself as she placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face down before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” He questioned after they pulled away. “A goodbye kiss?”

“Not goodbye,” she chuckled. “Just a ‘see you later’ kiss.”

“Well, see you later,” he said, leaning down and giving her one last peck.

[need-a-fugue]

We Grow Together (11)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

Warning(s): angst, emotional and mental turmoil… the good stuff

Chapter Summary: Ah, the aftermath... Bucky has to face what he’s done, no matter how painful it might be.

He never does show up at Natasha’s. Not later that day. Not that evening. Not the next morning. By the second afternoon of being held prisoner in Nat’s apartment, Tessa feels like she’s going to explode. Which may be, in part, why she reacted the way she did when Tony stopped by – smashing the creepy British tablet to pieces in front of him. Though that was largely about him uttering the words, “He’s right to stay away,” when she lamented still not having heard from James.

“I’m not saying Tony was right to say that to you,” Natasha states calmly as Tessa continues to angrily pace a rut into the floor in front of her. “I’m just saying that he feels that way because he cares about you.”

She turns on her heel and stares the redhead down, her glare so intense that even the Black Widow is a bit intimidated. But before she can say a word, chide her friend for taking Tony’s side, Clint chimes in from across the room. “I don’t think he was wrong at all, actually,” he says as he nonchalantly tosses some more popcorn into his mouth. “He might’ve said it in an asshole way, because, you know… Tony. But he’s right.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows at her friend, a silent what the hell are you doing? look that she’s surely given him countless times before.

“Come again,” Tessa says with a forced sort of composure as she stands still and places her hands on her hips.

Clint cringes involuntarily at the sound of her worn voice. When he arrived about an hour ago, eager to settle in and watch some movies to “take Tessa’s mind off of things,” as Nat had put it, it took everything in his power to keep from losing his shit.

Natasha had called him that morning to tell him what happened the day before. She’d said that between Steve hovering, Bruce going into full-on doctor mode, and Tony being… Tony, Tessa could use another friend. She’d also told him that, “She looks a little rough, so be nice.” He had expected her to be a bit worse for the wear. Being choked by a super soldier surely would leave a mark. But Nat had been so casual when she said, “She’s fine. Don’t worry,” that he was not at all prepared for what he saw.

He had not expected to see her with burst vessels so bad that almost the entire white of her right eye and a good portion of the left would be blood red. And while he assumed there’d be a nice bruise, he did not expect to see her neck almost completely covered in dark blues, purples, and greens. The raised welts that rose from the colorful backdrop being the size and shape of fingers. And he certainly had not expected to hear that gravelly, rasping sound come from her mouth, nor to see the pained look on her face every time she swallowed or choked out a few words.

He sets down the bowl of popcorn and approaches Tessa, places his hands on her upper arms, and looks her directly in the eye as he says, “He almost killed you.” She jerks herself away and takes a large single step back. He throws up his hands in a gesture of appeasement as he continues. “I’m not saying he meant to do it. But he did it. That’s a lot to deal with, Doc. Hurting someone you love, even if you didn’t mean to, especially if you didn’t mean to and never would have in your right mind… it’s a lot.”

“He happens to be speaking from experience,” Natasha pipes up from her perch on the couch.

“That’s right,” Clint nods, dropping his hands and taking a step closer to Tessa. When she doesn’t make a move to back away, he lifts one hand to her shoulder and ducks his head a bit to capture her downcast gaze. “After Loki’s whole mind fuck, it took me a while, a long while, to come to grips with the fact that I wasn’t to blame for the things that I did. Not entirely, anyway.”

“Not at all,” Natasha corrects from behind.

“But he’s already doing that,” Tessa whines. “That’s what he’s been dealing with since he got here. Learning not to blame himself for what Hydra made him do.”

“Good. That’s good. Then he’ll have a head start on making it through this too.”

Natasha gets up and moves over to the pair. “Steve said that he had a really long therapy session yesterday. So he’s trying to figure things out.”

“But you gotta let it happen at his pace,” Clint says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. When an over-the-top pout comes across her face, he asks her simply, “Do you love him?” She folds her arms across her middle, hugging herself tightly, tightening her grip before nodding. A few fresh tears fall from her eyes. “Then let him take the time he needs.”

000

She’s finally released from observation – house arrest, as she and Nat had been calling it – later that evening. Natasha sticks around for a bit after taking her back to her apartment, mostly because she just looks so damn lonely and pathetic. But it’s only a matter of time before Tessa tells her to stop the pity hang and get the hell out. She has to get to bed anyway, there’s a lot to do tomorrow to make up for all of the work that she missed. Nat just rolls her eyes, reminds her that she really only missed one day of work (which isn’t entirely true since she typically works on the weekends too). Plus, Tony already told her to take off this coming week, though he must’ve known that she’d never actually do it.

She does manage to stay clear of the lab the next day, but that’s only because Tony had put it on lockdown to prevent her from entering. But she’s still able to put in a full day in her office, compiling reports and finalizing plans for the new med center at the compound.

The compound… she pulls up the plans for her new apartment – their new apartment – and looks them over once more before signing off on them. James had requested a bigger kitchen. She had asked for a balcony coming off the living room. Tony put a large soaking tub in the hall bath, all so he make a joke about a rusty arm.

They were set to move in at the end of the month. If they were still planning on moving together, that is.

“Fuuuuck,” she moans , dropping her head to the desk with a loud thunk. She lays there for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the smooth, cool wood on her forehead. She can feel a migraine beginning to bloom around her eyes.

All at once, she notices a rather dramatic shift in the energy of the room. She feels the air thrum with a mixture of sorrow and regret, and fear. Amid the terrible pangs of bad energy, she feels him, the signature that is just pure James. Sensing all of it mixed up together is enough to very nearly break her heart. “I can feel you brooding,” she mumbles into the desktop.

She hears him shuffle forward, assumes he was probably looming in the doorway before. “You’re not supposed to be working,” he says softly, his voice sounding so painfully hesitant.

She slowly lifts her head from the desk and watches as his face contorts with an odd mix of shame and rage when he sees her eyes. She threw on a big woolen scarf this morning before heading out, all too aware of how her neck looked. Thankfully, it was 40 degrees outside and she was known for being coldblooded, so no one thought it odd to see her wearing it throughout the day. But she had removed her giant sunglasses once she closed herself in her office.

Taking in the sad, guilty look on his face, she feels a sudden and inexplicable wave of anger roll over her. “Where have you been?” she asks him through gritted teeth.

Again, his face shifts, eyes closing tightly as though he simply can’t bear to look at her. Lips closed in a firm, set line and nostrils flaring as he tries to keep himself together. Hearing her angry, tired, broken rasp is almost too much for him, and all at once he realizes that this was a bad idea. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before turning to head back out the door.

She jumps up from her desk, the crash of her chair against the full boxes lining the wall of her office stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t you dare leave,” she nearly shouts at him. She’s not entirely sure where the anger is coming from – she may have been feeling it all along – but it’s certainly bubbling to the surface now. “Where were you?” She asks again, barely controlled rage lacing the carefully uttered words.

He doesn’t turn to face her when he says again, “I’m sorry,” this time louder.

“Stop saying that,” she tells him firmly. “Where were you?”

He takes a deep breath. “I just needed… I was at Steve’s,” he says finally.

“Well I was in a hospital bed on the med floor,” she says, voice full of hostility. He winces as she speaks. “I was hurt.”

His shoulders drop even lower, eyes pointed down, concealed by the dark hair draped over his face. “I know.”

She shakes her head and moves to wipe a few stray tears that had only just begun to fall from her eyes. “I needed you,” she says plainly, as though that should be more than enough to make him see. “I was hurt. And scared. And I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

He turns then, not quite believing what he’s hearing. “You were hurt and scared because I hurt and scared you,” he says, a hint of anger now in his voice too.

“You didn’t mean to –”

“That’s not the point!”

“Yes it is!” Her words are barely audible, her voice giving out and cracking as she tries to shout. When she opens her mouth again, the words come out as a mere whisper. “I needed you.”

They stand in silence for what seems like an eternity, neither looking at the other. Some chatter can be heard from down the hall, so Tessa walks over, pressing herself against Bucky as she leans past him to shut the door. Before she can get back to her desk, he makes a move to grasp her hand. Realizing at the last moment that it’s his metal hand trying to take hold of her, he lets her fingers drop. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out into the small space between them.

She looks down and sees him open and close the metal fist repeatedly. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” she tells him. “I just want you to be with me.”

His lets out a shuddering breath when he says, “I don’t know if I can.”

She reaches down and takes hold of his hand, peels the metal fingers apart so it’s no longer tightly fisted. He makes a move to pull away when she brings the hand up to her face, but relents when she grasps his wrist with her other hand as well. “You can,” she says before kissing his open palm.

He watches her closely, watches as she kisses each one of his metal fingertips, slowly, softly. He can feel the warmth of her hands on his wrist, the slight pressure of her lips on his fingers. “Stop it,” he says finally, harshly tugging his hand from her grasp.

She looks up and they meet eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s never seen eyes so red. With blood pooled into the whites like that, she looks like some sort of B-movie zombie. His gaze travels over her face and he takes note of the other sparsely spaced red marks that pepper her skin, more tiny broken vessels. He brings his right hand up to touch one near her temple, the mark thin and windy, tracing the line of the capillary.

Then he lets his hand drift down to her cheek, her chin, to the very top of the woolen scarf. His fingertips work their way under the fabric and begin to tug it down. She closes her eyes and reclines her head back so that he can better see the bruising beneath. “I could’ve killed you,” he nearly sobs.

She reaches up and removes his hand, replaces the scarf and says simply, “But you didn’t.”

When she looks up at him, he’s shaking his head slowly, tears seeping from his tightly closed eyes. In a thick voice he asks her the one question that’s been playing over and over and over again in his mind. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

She’s momentarily stunned, and he knows it. Hearing her breath catch, he opens his eyes and looks down at her. Her mouth is agape, ticking at the corners as though preparing to form words, but never quite getting there. She looks confused, lost even, and he has to fight the urge to wrap his arms so tight around her. “I…” she finally manages, but nothing more comes out.

“I’m sorry,” he issues out hurriedly. “I’m not… I’d never… blame you.” He shakes his again, hating that he can’t do anything right, can’t even apologize. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she ekes out, taking a step back, then another. She backs into her desk and leans onto it, both hands gripping the top firmly. “No, you’re right. I should’ve –”

“I’m not saying that,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not saying that you should have done anything. This was my fault.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It was a night terror, James. Would you blame yourself like this if you had a seizure and accidently hit me?”

He gives her a confused look. “It’s not… that’s not the same thing.”

“You had a physiological reaction to an emotional stressor. Your body reacted to a stimuli without the knowledge or permission of your conscious mind. It was not your fault.” She speaks with such determination, such authority, that he almost believes her. They gaze at each other for only a moment before she drops her head and stares down at the floor in front of her “And I should have stopped you,” she says quietly.

“Tessa,” he tries, but she’s quick to interrupt.

“I told you that you were safe with me, that you couldn’t hurt me. And I could’ve stopped you. It would’ve been so easy…” She looks back up, meets his eyes and gives him a small, sad smile. “I froze,” she says with a shrug. Tears glisten in her eyes and she sniffles as she nods her head. “I froze, and I’m sorry.”

He wants to tell her again that it isn’t her fault. He wants to tell her that everyone freezes up sometimes. He wants to tell her, more than anything else, that he loves her. But he can’t find the words to actually say any of these things. Instead, he moves forward in two long strides and sweeps his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, tilts her head up as he drops his lips down onto hers. It’s only a breath of a moment before she releases her hold on the desk and wraps her arms around his middle, pulling him in closer.

She slips away from the kiss and nuzzles into his neck, whispers to him as hot tears fall to his shoulder, “I didn’t want to feel like this. I didn’t want to… need anyone like this. But I do. I need you.”

He inhales the sweet scent of her shampoo as he twines his fingers deeper into her thick hair. “I need you too,” he tells her, slowly bringing his metal arm up and wrapping it loosely around her hips.

[name-me-regret]

If The World Was Ending 8/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Eight: Til The Morning

Read on AO3.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Take me home, take me home I'll be yours till the morning Then leave without warning So take me home

Call me please, call me please Oh I can't wait forever You know better So call me please

Leave me be, leave me be You had your chance already Someone else, I go steady So leave me be…”

~Til The Morning - Bahamas

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Tony groaned as his eyes opened, frowning as he tried to remember when he’d gone to sleep. The last thing he recalled was frantically looking—

He shot up in the bed he was laying in as he suddenly remembered Evan, looking around frenetically for the man. The room was dark but sunlight was starting to come in through the partially closed curtains. Where the hell was he anyways?

The billionaire decided that was something for later as he swung his legs out of the bed, fumbling with the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed he was in. When the semi-dark room was bathed in light, he was met with the room that could only belong to a teenage boy. Well, what he imagined it would look like for a normal teenage boy, since his room had looked nothing like this. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been normal. Besides, by the time he was fifteen, he was living in the MIT dorms with Rhodey as his roommate.

He quickly spotted his phone on the same nightstand as the lamp, as well as his Bluetooth. Tony quickly shoved it into his ear. “JARVIS, you up?” He wasn’t sure if it still had any battery, since it had been a terribly long day yesterday. At least, he hoped it was yesterday, since there was no telling how long he’d been out.

‘For you, sir, always,’ the AI’s familiar voice spoke in his ear.

He sighed as some of his panic subsided, but there was still the matter of Evan’s whereabouts. He’d be worried about Maddie, but she’d been perfectly unharmed, and wondered if she’d been at a hospital away from the affected zone. Tony was ashamed to admit that he’d never thought to ask Evan about what she was doing, he’d just sensed that it was something Evan had been hesitant to mention. Although he knew why she was in L.A. without Doug, whom was dead.

“How long have I been out, J? Where’s the suit, and where the hell am I?” he stood and stretched, feeling sort of rested, but not much. Well, he was use to it, since even after the Mandarin incident, he didn’t sleep too well. Even if he’d told Pepper that he would do better, that didn’t stop the nightmares, the panic attacks, and he knew it was PTSD. After all, if it walked like a duck and all that, well...

He’d just never been one to do the normal thing when one had trauma, which was go to therapy. Tony could just see his business slashed all over the newspapers. It had always been like that, even as a kid and now being Iron Man, it was ten times worse. At times he wished he’d just done what Colson (and Fury) had wanted and kept his identity as Iron Man a secret, since things would have been so much easier. Then he’d thought of the destruction that had happened, the fighter jet he’d destroyed, the vehicles that had been damaged in his fight with Iron Monger, and knew he couldn’t hide. He had to take responsibility, be held accountable for his actions; both in and out of the suit.

‘It is currently 5:25am Pacific Time, and you’ve been asleep for three hours, sir. The Mark 33 is stationed in the backyard in sentry mode and every other suit besides Peacekeeper which is still helping the police, have been charged and helping rescue workers mostly recover the dead at this point. Also, you are located in Robert Grant Nash’s residence.’

Tony paused as he was looking for his shoes, stopping as he’d bent down to search under the bed. “I’m at Cap���s house?” he asked incredulously. He bet there was a story there, but he had more pressing matters. “J, where’s Evan?”

‘Mr. Buckley is asleep at this very moment in the room next to this one.’

Tony forwent looking for his shoes and padded out of the room in his socks and headed into the room next to the one he’d woken up in. If he was at Bobby’s house, that meant the beds belonged to his kids. He hoped he hadn’t taken anyone’s bed from them.

For now he walked to the door next to the one he was in, knocking lightly in case Evan was asleep. When there was no response, he cracked open the door and peeked inside. He knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, but he just wanted to see that Evan was there and unharmed and then he would go. Whether that was back to the room he’d woken up in or not, well, he hadn’t decided yet.

He saw the man’s 6’2 frame on a bed and what he could see of the sheets and the rest of it room, this was a teenaged girl’s bedroom. From here he could tell he was sleeping peacefully and he sighed in relief. He knew about nightmares after a traumatic experience and it was good that Evan didn’t appear to be having any.

Tony quietly closed the door and moved away from the room, and finally decided that he wanted some coffee. He realized that this was because he could smell it, and it was gourmet too. Oh, someone in this house knew what good coffee was and wasn’t afraid to spend the money for it. Apparently some people were satisfied with that cheap instant kind, the uncultured fools.

He hoped he didn’t look too ragged or smell rank after spending the all yesterday and last night in the same clothes. Tony told JARVIS to order him some simple clothes to be delivered to Bobby’s residence. His AI told him that it, as well as some toiletries would be delivered within the hour. Hopefully he’d be able to get a cup or two of that coffee and perhaps beg off their hospitality for a piece of toast and some eggs.

Tony came into the kitchen to find Bobby Nash leaning against the counter, looking exhausted in his grubby LAFD uniform. There was a cup of coffee in his hand and his eyes were closed, and Tony wondered if he’d fallen asleep like that. Poor guy was likely ready to collapse, especially if he’d just gotten in.

“As much as I hate to wake you up, because you look bone weary, but I refuse to let you waste good coffee,” he told him, since the cup looked moments away from slipping out of his hand.

Bobby jerked awake as his fingers tightened on the coffee cup, and it was either not too full or already halfway drunk, but none of it thankfully sloshed over the side to spill on the man’s hand. “Tony,” the man greeted, but was interrupted by a face cracking yawn before he could say more.

“You look how I feel most mornings after a forty-eight hour binge in the lab working on a deadline for SI,” he chuckled. The man sighed as he ran a hand through his short hair, and was, as always, reminded a little bit of Howard. This man exuded the sternness the man had possessed, but none of the coldness. There was a softness that tempered the steel underneath, and Tony found himself liking Bobby more and more.

“You shouldn’t be awake,” he told Tony. He waved him on when he asked if he could have a cup of coffee. “It’s only been three hours since you collapsed.” He could feel the man’s eyes on him as he found a cup with his instructions and then poured himself some much needed coffee.

“Yeah, well, one learns to live on little to no sleep when we’re in this line of work,” he said, taking a large gulp of the coffee and not caring as it burned his tongue. That was definitely some great coffee. “What about you? You look like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, threw up, and then chewed up again.”

Bobby chuckled as he nodded. “I feel like it too,” he admitted. He took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, and Tony wondered how long he’d been leaning against that counter, battling his eyelids that kept trying to close.

“Well, is there any particular reason you’re not heading up for a shower and some much deserved rest?” He lifted the cup and took a more measured sip. “Or is it the unexpected guests in your home that’s preventing you from getting some rest?”

He knew some people would likely not feel comfortable sleeping while there was a stranger in their house. Tony would happily leave if that was the case, with no hard feelings. Bobby Nash was a man Tony could learn to respect, did respect after seeing him in action last night, so wouldn’t hold it against him if Tony was making him uncomfortable. The man had likely not intended for some strange billionaire to take up one of his kid’s beds.

Bobby blinked at him confused for a moment until his sluggish brain caught on to what he was saying. “No, that’s not it,” he said firmly. “I offered my home in the first place, and it would be pretty hypocritical to then have a problem with it.” He paused to yawn once again. “I’m actually waiting for my wife to get off her shift before turning in,” he admitted. “I told her that you were sleeping in Harry’s bed, but I’m not sure she quite believed me. So, I’m glad you’re up and she can see you with her own eyes.”

“Or, we can take a selfie together and send it to her?” Tony said with a mischievous grin.

Bobby straighten and stretched with a groan as he checked his watch. “No, she should be home in the next few minutes,” he said. As he grabbed his phone, it gave a tweet and Tony gave it a curious look.

“Is that her?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being nosy.

“No... it’s... a reminder,” he mumbled. “But I don’t know if I’ll still be expected to go. The hospital was in the flooding zone.”

“The hospital? Are you sick or something, Cap?” The thought of a man like Bobby Nash could be sick, who risked his life every day for the people of this city didn’t sit well with him. He quickly typed out a message to JARVIS to make a new fund for service women and men that were battling cancer, as well as other physical and mental illnesses.

“Oh no, I uh,” he paused and looked down like he was embarrassed by something. “I donate blood once every three weeks. I’m, um, part of the rare donors program.”

Tony blinked in surprise, since he was expecting anything except that. “Oh yeah? Like, you’re O negative or something?”

Bobby shook his head from side to side. “Uh no, rare type of blood that has the ability to cure rhesus disease, actually,” he murmured.

Tony had a few doctorates but none of them were in medicine. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

The older man shook his head. “It isn’t. I read up on it and... it’s, well, not many fetuses that are affected survive.”

Tony leaned against the counter with his cup in hand with a bit of a crooked smile. “So, your blood has the ability to save babies? And you’re a firefighter?” He shook his head and drank the rest of his coffee and reached for the pot again. “You’re full of surprises, Cap.”

“If you say so,” he told him, grunting in affirmative when Tony offered to top off his cup once again. “But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go with the hospital being in the flood zone, and after the shift I’ve had, I’m likely to sleep for a whole day I think.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can help you with, let me know. It’s the least I can do for the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

They drank their coffees in a comfortable silence, and maybe Tony was too tired to ramble as he usually did. It could be that he just felt at ease in the man’s presence, which would be something unheard of for him when it came to someone he’d just met the other day.

“I meant to ask,” Tony said, remembering one of their meetings. “Did you ever find that Captain... Cooper?” He hoped he got the name right, since last night had been one long hour after another for him to be able to remember everyone’s names.

Bobby sighed and once more ran a hand through his short hair and Tony feared the worst, regretting having brought it up. “Yeah, they found him,” he said, voice sounding weary. “He was brought in before either of us got there... minus one of his arms, unfortunately.”

Tony grimaced and looked down at his coffee, wishing he had his sunglasses with him. One of the reasons he always wore them was that he’d been told that his eyes were very expressive. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused as he remembered the female firefighter that had been rescuing people at the Ferris wheel. “The woman that was with you at the peer where we first met, she’s from his firehouse, isn’t she?”

He couldn’t remember the station number at the moment, but he did remember that it had been a different one from the ones Bobby and Diaz had. Bobby nodded. “Lena Bosko, a firefighter of station 136.” His lips lifted a bit in slight amusement. “A stubborn but very capable firefighter.”

The shorter man’s eyebrow lifted in question. “I could tell she was pretty capable from the little I saw her work, but why stubborn?”

“She had two broken ribs, and still wanted to keep on going.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, continuing to enjoy the coffee. “Yeah, I know about continuing on with broken ribs... it’s not an experience I hope to repeat.”

There was what he could be shock, or maybe horror, on his face and he opened his mouth to say something. However, before Bobby could respond, they heard the door open and then footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Bobby?” Tony heard a woman’s voice. “What’s this about Tony Stark sleeping in Harry’s bed?” He heard the amusement in her voice, but then saw that same amusement fade from her face as she came around the corner and caught sight of Tony, who gave her a cheeky little wave with his fingers.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Sadly, that is true. I’m the terrible person that took poor Harry’s bed.” He took another sip of the coffee, resisting the urge to moan, since it wouldn’t be proper. It was just that he loved good coffee. “You already know who I am, but I don’t know your name.”

“Ah... Athena Grant,” she said, and saw as she and Bobby shared a look. “Well, Nash now.” Tony sensed there was a story there, but knew it wasn’t one he was entitled to, so he didn’t ask.

“Well, I am very charmed to meet you, Mrs. Nash,” he said.

“Please, call me Athena.”

“If you call me Tony.”

Bobby looked between them. “Should I be worried? I remember Buck saying you flirt with anyone.”

Tony nodded with a bit of a smile curving his lips. “Well, Evan is right,” he supplied easily. “I see attractive people and I just... flirt.” He looked like he wanted to shrug, aborted the movement half way and cleared his throat. “I can admit it’s gotten me into a fair share of... altercations.”

“How is their 80-year-old grandmother attractive to you?”

Tony snorted a laugh, having forgotten that Evan had brought it up... or had that been Maddie? He was a bit fussy about what had happened after he arrived at the field hospital and assured himself of Evan’s safety. “Their grandmother was a nurse during World War 2 and knew my dad. He was like eighteen at the time, and it was nice to hear about him being that young.” He refrained from saying that he wanted to hear about a time when he wasn’t such a cold human being. The stern, unforgiving man he’d grown up with.

His head titled as he looked at the woman. “You’re a police sergeant, right?” he asked the dark skinned woman. The short hair style she had suited her face very well.

The woman eyed him carefully, her stance changing to wariness. “Has my husband been talking about me?” she asked him instead of likely demanding how he knew that.

Tony shook his head negatively. “Uh no, Evan told me, actually. He mentioned you during the incident where Maddie was... kidnapped by that abusive asshole. He actually called me just before he went off in search of her with you and kept me updated through text messages.”

“So that’s who that boy kept texting during that time. I’d always assumed it was Eddie,” she chuckled.

Tony gave that aborted shrug with his shoulders as he lifted his cup to his mouth. “Well, he could have been texting us both,” he suggested, not voicing how much that thought bothered him. Tony didn’t have the right to be bothered, since what he and Evan had at one point was over. Besides, at the time of this, he’d been dating Pepper, so he had no right to feel... well, whatever he was feeling, it certainly wasn’t jealousy.

Not at all.-

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 12 - Coolest Dad

Author’s Note: Double update, like I said! I'll be back Saturday as usual, though. Reference slide for akuma here! 

Chapter Summary: Ladybug deals with an akuma at Marinette's new school.

First | Previous | Saturday

Marinette woke up much later than normal. She could immediately tell that her fever had gone down some. Her memories of the day before were hazy at best, but she was pretty sure Allan, Claude, Allegra, Felix, and Adrien had come over. Maybe Chat Noir too? 

Her parents had clearly decided to allow her to stay home from school, which was probably for the best. She sat up, drawing the attention of her Kwami.

“Marinette! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Tikki flitted up to her face.

“Uh, a little tired? But I think that’s just from the cold…”

Tikki handed her a thermometer so she could check her temperature. As they waited for the reading, Tikki crossed her arms and looked at her disapprovingly, “Marinette, you overworked yourself on Saturday. You probably gave yourself a fever. You have to take care of yourself more!”

The thermometer beeped and Marinette looked at it, 37.7 (100℉). Her fever wasn’t as serious now. That and the heaters that seemed to have been set up probably contributed to the fact that she is lucid now.

When did the heaters get set up?

“Speaking of taking care of yourself…” Tikki draws the girls attention back to her, “Chat Noir told me what you said when you got hit.” Her voice is serious.

“W-what did I say…” How much of a disappointment did she end up being?

“A bunch of nonsense, that’s what! Marinette you are a wonderful and talented girl who deserves every opportunity you’ve gotten! How long have you felt like this?”

“L-like what?”

“Oh Marinette. You called yourself useless. You said all your old friends treated you the way you deserve and are right to hate you. That’s not okay Marinette.”

“O-oh.” Marinette had been dedicated the past few weeks to committing those things into her mind as fact. Tikki might as well have been trying to convince her that 2+2=5. Something just doesn’t add up. “But-”

“Marinette. None of that is true. None of it. I think you should talk to someone.”

“But they can’t know about Ladybug…”

“You still need help.”

“It feels wrong to keep something like that from a therapist. They’re supposed to know everything right? I don’t like the feeling of it…”

“Alright. If you don’t feel comfortable with therapy at least speak to your friends. They care about you.”

“I don’t know…”

Their conversation is interrupted when Sabine opens the trapdoor carrying a tray with a small lunch of soup and water - with some cookies because her parents have noticed her sudden hunger for the treat. Tikki hides behind a pillow.

“Hey sweetie, are you awake?”

“Yeah. Uh, what time is it?”

“Time for you to eat lunch. What’s your temperature? You were pretty out of it yesterday. Your friends were really worried about you.”

“37.7 (100℉).” Marinette accepts the tray, setting it safely on a flat surface. She hears a ‘ding’ from below. Her Maman looks over to her desk. 

“Oh, you’ve got messages from your friends! Here!” She handed the phone up as well, “It’s good that your temperature has gone down. Be sure to eat!”

When she’s exited the room, Tikki floats back into view, looking at the phone, she gives Marinette a meaningful look, “You should talk to your friends!”

She floats to sit beside the bowl of soup on the tray. She munches on a cookie and watches the girl.

“Okay…” She opens her phone. There hadn’t been much activity in their group chat because it was a school day. Beneath Claude’s good morning text was another message from the actor. Another appeared just as she opened the chat.

 Kid Mime: hey mari are you up yet

Kid Mime: its fine if ur not but we misssss uuuuuu

 Patisserie Princess: I’m up

 Kid Mime: yayyyyyy!!!!!!!!

Kid Mime: allan sayd to ask wat ur temp is

 Patisserie Princess: 37.7 (100℉)

 Kid Mime: thats better! 

Kid Mime: hey can we facetime? Itll be easier

Kid Mime: neither of us can eat if were typin

 That’s a good point. She’s got nothing against it, but maybe she should warn Tikki.

“Hey Tikki, I’m going to facetime them. Is that alright?” “It’s okay Marinette. I won’t show up on camera and they won’t be able to hear me either!”

Right. She’d forgotten about that. She nods, and starts a call. It doesn’t take long for Claude to pick up. She props her phone up so that she doesn’t have to hold it.

“Yay! Hi Mari! Alright I’m at the table now, so I’m going to prop- oh no you fell over - okay there you are!” 

The camera clears as Claude moves back. She can see Felix and Allan there too, Allegra is probably still in line.

“Hi guys!” She waves at them in view of the camera.

“Hi! How are you feeling?” Allan sounds concerned, which, given what had happened last he’d seen her, made sense.

“Uh, a little better. I’ve got food, and the fever isn’t as bad as yesterday. I’m a little tired but that’s normal.”

Allegra arrives at the table halfway through her talking and waves at her when she notices the girl.

“What do you mean by that? I recall Adrien mentioned something similar yesterday, but did not have a lot of information.” Felix looks up questioningly from his lunch.

“Oh yeah. I meant to tell you guys when it became more relevant, but uh, then I kind of overworked all my stamina away? Heh. Basically, last year I got diagnosed with a ‘yet-to-be-identified’ medical condition’” She scoffs at the air-quoted words, and the others get the distinct feeling that there’s an inside joke that they’re missing, “The general gist of it is that my body tries to go into hibernation? I get hungrier in the fall and once it gets around November I get really tired - the colder and later into winter the worse it is - and forget to eat and stuff.”

The others look a little alarmed at this and she quickly adds on,”I mean, it’s really not that dangerous for me. As long as I have food I uh, generally remember. And the tiredness isn’t really a problem as long as I stay warm. I probably won’t actually hibernate unless I fall into a snowdrift or something-”

Just as she finishes speaking a school bell rings. It’s from Françoise Dupont, and it’s a reminder of the consequences of staying home today. She tenses immediately, thinking of all of her old classmates who are right there. Right across the street and heading out for lunch. They’re probably with Lila and-

“What would happen then?” Allegra’s voice draws her back. She blinks as she jolts out of her thoughts.

“W-what?” Oh, right, the snowdrift thing…”I would uh, probably just fall asleep and stay there. My parents don’t really want me to go outside alone after there’s snow on the ground.”

“Can’t blame ‘em.” Allan jumps in. So far none of them have mentioned her little ‘moment’ after the school bell. “We can keep an eye on ya’. Don’t want you to freeze.” He sounds distressed, probably at the prospect of Marinette freezing to death.

“It’s really not that likely! I’ll just be really sleepy, so I’ll probably fall asleep on at least one of you by the time winter is over - whichever of you is the warmest in the room. Sorry in advance?” She says the last part sheepishly and shrugs apologetically. She hates to think that she’ll be such a bother to them, but there isn’t much she can do. She’ll try her best to avoid it.

“It’s all good! As long as you’re not in any danger, we don’t mind!” Allan speaks again and the rest nod in agreement.

“Mariiiiii! You haven’t been eating!” Claude calls her out as he swallows some of his own food.

She smiles in apology as she brings her tray into her lap. She can see that, as Tikki reminded her, the Kwami doesn’t show up on camera. Her phone dings as she sits back. Squinting at it as she reads, she flips it away. 

“Adrien says he can’t get away, so he won’t be joining us. Uh, do you guys still need his number?” She looks at them questioningly as she starts on her soup.

“Nope!” Claude chirps, “I got it yesterday!” The others give him some odd looks, but she brushes them off. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Yeah, sorry about yesterday. I don’t really remember much. I know you guys came over - I think?”

“Yeah, Adrien thought we should check on you because it was November, and when we got to your place you were pretty out-of-it.”

“You didn’t like we were interrupting your sleep, it took some convincing to get you to actually drink something.”

“Are the heaters set up now? I recall that we did not do so because Allan feared it may cause you to be too hot.”

She nods, though she isn’t entirely sure when that happened. Maybe her parents? Her fevered mind clearly didn’t think it was important enough information to remember.

Their conversation continues as they all eat theirs lunches together. After a little bit she starts to droop. It’s a clear reminder that she isn’t entirely recovered, and that winter is on it’s way.

She doesn’t plan on saying anything because it would be rude to cut off the conversation. Marinette tries her best to seem alert, but the others aren’t fooled.

“‘Nettie, you doin’ okay? You’re looking a little sleepy there.” Allan smiles at her, cocking his head.

She shrugs and any words she was going to say get cut off by a yawn. She blushes.

“We’re going to let you go now. You need some rest.” Allegra flutters her fingers at the camera.

“Rest well my priceless pigtailed pal!” The group waves as the call ends.

Tikki floats up to her,”Marinette, I know you’re tired but you can’t sleep with the tray on your lap.”

“...right” She moves it safely away before she lays down again. It doesn’t take long for her to doze off.

 ---

 Marinette manages to arrive at school the next day at a reasonable time. She gets to their regular spot in the library and lays her head on the table. The only problem with so many heaters in her room is that it makes the outside seem that much colder, especially when she’s still got a (very) slight fever. She isn’t in her heaviest winter gear because she doesn’t want to seem weird and it’s only November anyways, she’ll manage. Her mom gave her a doctor’s note to show all her teachers to remind them of her ‘condition’.

Honestly the most annoying part of it not being that cold is that she feels tired, but she isn’t sleepy to the point where she can actually sleep. She just feels like she didn’t get enough sleep, even though she spent plenty of yesterday resting.

“Oh my good golly gosh, did Marinette beat us to school?” She hears Claude as he approaches the table and forces herself up to look at him.

“Hi guys.” She can’t muster up the energy to add in the appropriate excitement. Maybe they won’t hate her if she’s still friendly. They put up with her through September…

“How are ya’? I wasn’t sure we’d see you today.” Allan sits at his usual spot and the rest follow suit.

“Yeah. I’m basically back to normal. Just tired.”

“It is good that your fever seems to have passed.” Felix says as he gets out his book as usual.

“It is good to have you back!” Claude gives her an excited hug. He glances at Allegra who is finishing her math homework, “Hey, why do you think math books are so sad?”

Marinette is too tired to try and stop him, but Allegra glances up. 

“Don’t you da-”

“Because they have so many problems!” He finishes excitedly, giving no heed to Allegra’s pleading.

Allegra drops her head onto the table and sighs heavily. Felix pats her on the back consolingly.

“Did you hear about that guy who got his left side cut off?”

Marinette sighs. At least when she was feverish she couldn’t remember the puns.

“He’s all right now!”

“Claude.” Allegra pleads, “I can’t do homework in the midst of this.”

“What gender pronouns do you use for chocolate bars? Her/she!”

“Marinette I’m sorry that you had to return to this. There’s no end to his madness.” Allegra has yet to remove her head from the table. Claude’s grin only continues to grow. Allan is smiling as he watches. Felix is focusing intensely on his book.

“Ah, ‘legra. Look on the bright side. At least your music class is your last hour.”

The braided blonde finally sits up and glares at him suspiciously.

“That way you can end your day on a high note!” Claude’s looks at her, the pinnacle of innocence.

“No. Nope. I’m done.” She pushes herself up and packs up quickly. Felix glances at his watch and follows suit, “It’s close enough to first hour. Come on Mari, let’s leave these crazies to their insanity.”

“Let’s.” Marinette pushes herself out of her seat, and waves as they leave the library.

 ---

 Allan and Marinette arrive at the lunch room together and claim the group’s usual table. Felix joins soon after.

“Greetings my great, glorious, and grand group!” Claude and Allegra arrive together, taking their seats.

“Please spare us the puns.”

“We’ll see…”

Marinette is about to say something when something catches her eye. There seems to be a girl in a heated argument with her father. She turns from him and returns to her seat, but that’s not what drew her eye initially. She could have sworn she saw…

There.

A purple butterfly floats near the man’s head. Before she can say anything, it makes contact with his glasses.

Marinette stands immediately, drawing the attention of her group.

“Is everything o-”

“Ineedtogonowbye!” With that rushed excuse she hurries off to be out of sight. As she transforms she hears the screams as people realize what has happened. She sends a text to her partner and heads to the roof to await his arrival. It would be strange for Ladybug to show up so soon, especially when there had never been an attack here before. 

It would also be for the best. Akumas in smaller spaces could be extra difficult, especially when the duo didn’t know anything about their powers. It may be for the best to just wait for Chat Noir.

“Hey Bug!” Speak of the devil, here’s her partner. He seems tenser than usual. Probably because the last time they’d spoke- no, that isn’t for Ladybug, that’s for Marinette. Ladybug doesn’t need to feel.

“Hey Chat, I haven’t seen much of the akuma yet. I figured it would be best to wait for you-”

An explosion shakes the building they’re standing on. They meet each other’s eyes and move to enter the building. When an akuma causes damage they prefer to finish it quickly to lessen any risk of injury.

They arrive in the mostly empty cafeteria to see a hole blown in the wall and a few… interestingly dressed stragglers wandering about. Some have leaked out into the street. The akuma is in another part of the school, they can hear his voice echoing down the halls and follow the sound. Soon enough, they find him.

The man Marinette saw earlier has doubled in height, and has had an extreme outfit change. He’s donned an oversized hoodie covered in various emoji prints. He’s wearing rainbow tie-dye converse shoes that double as pants and seem to be denim. There are rips in various places up the pants but the lace cross over them, tying near his hips. On top of the shoe-pants he’s wearing Shrek crocs, and is wandering around on a gold light-up hoverboard. Around his neck is a glowing set of headphones with lights and animal ears. He’s got airpods in and pizza hat on his head. He’s wearing oversized glowing neon shutter shades that shift between different colors - much like the other light-up pieces of his ensemble. The source of the explosion becomes clear when he makes finger guns at the wall and an emoji shoots out and explodes it easily.

They remain some distance away, and he hasn’t noticed them yet. Ladybug sighs tiredly, she almost wants to cry looking at this mess, “Sometimes I wish Hawkmoth was some sort of fashion designer because these designs are just…they’re honestly almost the worst part of this.”

“My eyes.” Chat stares, “As a teenager, I don’t know if I should appreciate the effort or feel insulted someone thinks that is an accurate summary of my age group.”

The emojis that are being used as projectiles don’t just get rid of walls though. Ladybug and Chat Noir watch as an unfortunate student get hit by a fire emoji and and gains the akuma’s ridiculous sunglasses. He announces he must go hunt for ‘pokey-mans’ and heads off, passing a group of bottle flippers.

A teacher gets hit and gets an even worse makeover. She gains ripped jeans and a black hoodie that says ‘I didn’t choose the dank meme life, the dank meme life chose me’ and has a dabbing hot dog on it. She has the same headphones as the main akuma but is actually wearing them on her ears. There’s a golden light-up fidget spinner in each of her hands, matching the gold light-up heelys on her feet. Some of the affected students notice her and begin following her around.

“We must stop this.” Ladybug nods at her partner’s statement, immediately moving to get the akuma’s attention.

“Ah! Ladybug and Chat Noir my broskis!!!! It’d be very dank of you to hand over those swag miraculouses you’ve got!!!1!”

“Sir-”

“Why so formal??? I’m the Coolest Dad - so lit!!! No need to call me anything but your bestest bro!!1!” he gestures around him, “Look at all these Cool Dudes!!! Aren’t they sooo hip with the kids now?? IKR!!! So great! Look at all these savage Broskis, so happy to have people who understand!!” 

“Oh dear Kwami what is this?”

“Anyways, if it’s all good with you fam, I’m just going to be on my way!!!” a purple butterfly mask appears over his face, “Nah, chill my mothy pal!! These hip teens will get with the program eventually! It’d be very uncool of me to take from them!!! I can get you your Gucci jewels in a moment!!!! For now I’m going to spread this fetch coolness around Paris!!!! #SquadGoals!!!1!!1”

As he rolls away they hear, “Paris will be the fleekest city around!!!”

“Uh, Is that it…?” Chat Noir turns to her.

“Yeah. I think so.” Ladybug hops down to the ground, looking around. There are several ‘Broski’s around, and some ‘Cool Dude’s. She sees a few dabbing and doing Fortnite dances and turns to see if there’s any civilians left in the area.

“Ladybug…?” She turns at the voice, beside her Chat seems to relax.

Allegra stands in the doorway of a classroom, she’s glancing around nervously, but when she can’t see the Coolest Dad she decides to take a few steps toward the heroes. Behind her are Allan, Felix, and Claude. Chat seems to look at the doorway as if waiting for another person. His worry returns.

“Yes? Is everything alright?”

Allegra nods, leading the duo back to the classroom. Inside are several students and staff, hiding from the akuma.

“We helped all of these people to hide, and we were wondering if it’s safe for them to come out now.”

“It is, though the akuma is still around the school, so it would be best to stay close to a hiding spot.” Ladybug assures her. Chat keeps glancing around at those in the room, seemingly checking for something.

“But, actually we had another question. Our friend disappeared just before the attack and we were wondering if you’d seen her.” The worry of the group is clear and Ladybug wonders who they’re talking about. Marinette didn’t see anyone else when she was sitting with them.

Claude speaks up, “Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’ve only known her for a few months, but I’ve already fallen deep in platonic love for her!” His usual theatrics do nothing to hide his clear anxiety over- wait.

She’s their friend?!

They considered her their-

Focus.

Chat has stiffened beside her, and she jumps in before he promises to find the ‘damsel in distress’,”I’m sure she is fine. After the cure you can find her.”

“She’s hasn’t been answering her phone. We just don’t know if she’s ever been in an akuma attack before.”

“Oh, she has, though I typically don’t see her much.” She really doesn’t want them to be worried about her alter ego. How can she reassure them? “If I recall correctly, she went on a date with an akuma once so I’m sure she is perfectly capable-”

“She what?!” Allan speaks for the first time.

“Wait you know her?” Allegra sounds surprise. Ladybug doesn’t know how to explain, but Chat helps her out.

“Oh that class…” He has a point. Even if she hadn’t been a student in it, her old class has a concerningly high rate of akumatizitions. The school as a whole really, “My partner is correct. Ma- Ms. Dupain-Cheng is a perfectly capable individual, I’m sure she’s fine She took over City Hall one time, so I trust she’s safe.” He sounds as though he’s trying to convince himself along with the group.

Yelling is heard near the front of the school, “I’m sorry miss, but we have to go now.”

They nod uneasily, and the heroes jump away. At the front of the school the Coolest Dad is shooting emojis at several passer-bys. Alya has arrived, but remains out of sight.

When the akuma notices them, “Sup my dudes!! I have got to ask, have you seen my hip daughter??? I wanted to show her how swank I am!!!!”

“No, uh, we haven’t

“Well let me know if you do!!! I’m like high key worried, and that’s the tea!1!!!”

“Oh I forgot how bad it was…” Chat looks so done already, and this akuma hasn’t even been around an hour.

“I will just have to finesse my search!!!! I feel so uber-not-blessed with her missing!!! I wish she hadn’t yeeted away!!1!!”

As he rolls away, Ladybug is suddenly struck with an idea. She catches up to him, grabbing his attention.

“Uh, actually, TBH, my dude-” The akuma looks to her patiently.

“Oh Bugaboo not you too. Please.”

“-I was thinking that your glasses were just so lit. They’re, uh, so swag my guy, could I maybe get a lit-er look at those, um, dope shades? It’d be very chill of you...”

The man looks delighted, and takes them off and sets them near her. Chat lands nearby, not wanting to leave his partner alone so close to an akuma. 

Up close they’re nearly blinding, and Ladybug avoids looking at the Akuma’s face, fearing what his eyes may look like under the glasses. Turning slightly to her partner, she hisses, “Chat, now!”

He nods, and before the akuma can do anything, he rushes forward touching the shades, “Cataclysm!”

A butterfly is released, and Ladybug wastes no time in purifying it.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” 

As the Ladybugs wash over the city, Ladybug hears a call of “Ladybug! Care for an interview?” The voice says more, but Ladybug can’t hear.

Alya. No no no.

Not here. She’s not supposed to be here.

This is where Marinette came to get away from her.

No no no nononono…

Chat’s ring beeps, bringing her back to reality. The two fist bump quickly, and leave to detransform. Ladybug doesn’t see where Chat goes, solely focusing on getting back to her school. 

To her friends.

She lands in an alley, and after a minute of making sure there is no one around, she speaks, “Tikki, spots off!”

The Kwami groans, landing in her purse to eat a cookie. Marinette spots her group and is about to join them when she sees her. 

It’s not really a surprise, she knew Alya was here, but she didn't know that Alya isn’t alone. She brought her.

She brought Lila.

The pair are talking with her new friends and nonononono. Now they’ll like Lila too. They’ll turn on her too. She’ll be alone again, she’ll have to leave, just as she was adjusting. Oh they’ll hate her, they’ll hate her.

They hate her, they hate her, they hate her nonononononono.

 ---

 Adrien is standing in Chat Noir’s place. He knows he’s not allowed to miss school and should really be on his way back, but he needs to check on Marinette.

It was worrying enough to have Ladybug tell him that there was an akuma here, but then he saw Alya, and she brought Lila.

She probably thinks bringing the heroine’s ‘best friend’ will land her an interview.

If either of them see Marinette here- oh he hates to think what will happen.

Just when things were looking up for her too. If only her new friends knew what happened, this wouldn’t be so bad. He understands why she doesn’t want to tell them, but he wants her to realize that they care about her and won’t be upset at her for what happened.

“...but actually we’re looking for out friend-” He hears Allegra talking as he approaches the front of the school.

“Come on! Just a quick interview! A first-hand account of Ladybug’s first battle here!”

“No, we’d like to find our friend.” 

“What’s her name? I used to work with an international search and rescue group, I could help!” 

Before any of them can answer that question, he hops in, “Alya, Lila! I didn’t think you’d be out of school.”

He can see the confusion of Allegra, Allan, Claude, and Felix. They have no idea what he’s doing over here in the middle of the school day. Lila and Alya on the other hand look delighted. Lila latches onto his arm as usual, he stiffens slightly, but she only continues to hang off of him. Allegra’s eyes narrow.

“Adrien, what are you doing here? I thought you had a photoshoot?”

“It was in the area - got canceled ‘cause of the akuma attack.” He scratches the back of his neck. Lila rests her head on his shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots Marinette and oh she’s seen Alya and Lila. She looks like she’s having an attack. He can’t do anything without alerting the girls in question, but she is not okay.

“Well, if you’re out of school then you can hang out with us!” Alya seems delighted by this stroke of brilliance, “Nino can skip and we can all go on a double date!”

“Doesn’t that imply that I’m bringing a date?” Adrien knows where this is going.

“She means me, silly!” Lila giggles and runs her hand through his hair.

“Lila, for the last time, we’re not dating-” He tries to pull away, but she’s got an iron grip on his arm.

“Sureee, lover-boy~” Alya winks at him, dragging them away. 

He manages to extract himself and sends a couple texts to the OMMAM chat, before excusing himself and heading back to school. He hopes Marinette will be okay.

 ---

 Allegra is seething beside him, “Did you see how she was clinging to him?! Who does she think she is?! He was so clearly uncomfortable! Ugh that little-” Claude drowns out her angry muttering when his phone dings.

 Adrien: You guys need to check on Marinette.

Adrien: Now.

 He sees that the others have noticed the message. They’re looking at each other in confusion, worry clear. What’s happened?

“Oh dear, look.” Allan is the first to see the girl. Claude turns to where he points, his heart stops when he finally spots her.

The girl is crouched in an alley, her hands digging into her scalp, and breathing erratically. He could see her tears from here. The akuma attack hadn’t been that long, but in the time they’d been separated something had happened. 

They all rushed to her immediately, crouching by her side.

“Marinette, hey, can you hear me?” Allan speaks clearly, gently resting a hand on her shoulder.

To their surprise, she reacts immediately, looking at all of them panicked.

“I’m so sorry!” 

“What?”

“I don’t know what she said, I don’t know what she told you-”

“Marinette, hey-”

“Just- just- just- tell me and I’ll-I’ll-I’ll”

“Just breathe with me okay?”

“Marinette, we don’t know what you mean dear. Everything’s okay.”

“I’ll find sources, I’ll back it up this time, I’ll-I’ll I’ll call Jagged, please believe me-”

“Marinette-”

“Please, oh no no nononono.” She covers her eyes with her hands, finally breaking her frantic eye contact. Curling into herself tighter, “Oh please, not again, not again no no no-”

Her nails are digging into her skin, and Claude worries she’ll draw blood, but she doesn’t even seem to worry. She entirely distracted by whatever has consumed her.

“Marinette!” Allan stresses her name, gently trying to take her hands off her face before she hurts herself too bad. She doesn’t even notice what she’s doing, “Marinette, listen, it’s alright, just breathe okay? Do it with me…” 

Marinette doesn’t seem to notice initially, but eventually her breathing evens out. She looks around at them tearily, wiping at her face. She opens her mouth, but Claude beats her to it.

“Don’t apologize Mari. You were upset, nothing’s wrong with that.”

“But-”

Allegra hugs her gently, “No. No buts. It’s okay to be upset.”

But she’s a hero. A hero who fights akumas. Being upset means failing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Talk about it? Then they’d know. She wants to trust that they’ll believe her, but that’s what she did last time. They don’t hate her currently, so she shouldn’t do anything to risk changing that. She shakes her head.

She feels her purse move strangely at her side. It’s subtle enough that she isn’t worried that they noticed, but when she hears a tiny cough she begins worrying for Tikki.

“Could I, uh, have a moment? I need to, um, call someone?” They nod at her and walk a little ways away. She ducks out of sight to check on her Kwami.

She opens her purse to see Tikki curled up in an uncomfortable ball.

“Tikki? Are you okay?”

She coughs, “Sorry, Marinette, I think I’m sick again. The Revealer…” she trails off into a coughing fit.

Right. If there are consequences to Marinette overworking herself for an all-day akuma, then the same can be expected of Tikki.

“I’ll go to Fu’s…”

Tikki nods at her, quieting herself as best she can. Marinette doesn’t want to delay helping the Goddess, so she prepares herself to lie to her friends again. She hates to think what they’d say if they found out just how much she lied to them.

Stepping out of the alley, she approaches them carefully and they turn to her patiently.

“Hey Marinette. How are you doing?” Claude speaks to her attentively.

She holds up her phone, pasting on a sheepish smile, “Uh, I have to go talk with my, um… mentor? If I come back late, can you let the teacher know?”

“There is no need to rush yourself. They have cancelled the remainder of the school day due to the akuma attack. Take your time.”

“O-oh. Okay.”

“We’re going to my place now, so you can come over when you’re done!” Claude holds up his own phone, “I can text you the address again if you need it.”

“No no. I’ve got it saved.”

They say goodbye, walking in their respective directions.

---

Author’s Note: Poor Mari. So, uh, that akuma... I, uh, it's... unique? Reference slides here? Suspension of disbelief means believing a school's wifi would allow for a glitch-free facetime call. It also allows me to tweak the climate of a major city somewhat. Thanks for reading, and constructive criticism is welcomed in the comments below! See you Saturday!

First | Previous | Saturday

[jokerfan99]

Insult to Injury (RWBY/RVB) by Necroceph

*RVB Opening Theme*

On the Blue Base's roof

Church: The fuck are they doing over there?

He's right, what on Earth are the Red's doing. Through his rifle's scope, he sees the Reds building something on their roof what appears to be, a signboard?! First the stink formula, now this? Who's giving them these stupid ideas anyway? Hey don't look at me, I'm just the narrator!

Caboose: Hello!

Out of the blue, no pun intended, Caboose pops up into Church's view.

Church: Aaaaah! Goddammit, don't scare me like that! Caboose: Sorry. Whatcha watching? Church: Check this out.

Church gives Caboose a peak through the scope.

Church: I don't know what they're building, but it looks like a signboard. Caboose: Signboard? Aww, not another highway advertisement! Church: Who knows what they're using it for. My guess is Sarge just wanted to write something to mock us, that's for sure. Caboose: Or maybe they're planning to advertise their products so that they can earn a quick profit. Church: What? Who the fuck would be buying their junk? Not us of course. Caboose: Maybe Sangheili's passing by in the atmosphere? Church: Guess we'll have to find out ourselves. By the way, what are you doing up here? Caboose: Oh right! I'm here to tell you that Weiss is awake! Hooray! Church: It's about time that Ice Queen wakes up. Here take the rifle, I'm going to have word with her. Caboose: Uhm, Church, what about me? Church: I don't know just... spy on the Red's construction I guess. Call me out if anything new comes up.

At the Blue Base, Weiss' Room

I'm never going near another trash bin for a week. Weiss thought to herself as she takes another sip of her coffee, specially prepared by none other than Kaikaina. Weiss gotta hand it to the Grif, this is one hell of a caffeine.

Kaikaina: You want Dr. Kai to get you some meds? Weiss: No no, I'm perfectly fine. No need to concern yourselves over me. I've been through worse situations before. Tucker: Schnee, you passed out since yesterday! I doubt you're still fine. Kaikaina: Yeah. Plus you even puke while you slept. Weiss: I beg your pardon? Kaikaina: Nothing!

The door opens as Church enter to see Weiss fully recovered from her sixteen hour coma.

Church: Good to see the Snow White has awaken from her deathly slumber. Tell me, did the 'Prince of the Holy Sword' kiss you? Tucker: Wha-? No way I wouldn't do that while a chick's old cold! Though I would if she wants to... do you, baby?

SMASH!!!

Weiss hits Tucker with her mug, shattering it in the process. Even with his helmet on, he somehow felt the pain in the side of his head.

Tucker: OW! I was just saying! Weiss: At least learn how to shut that perverted mouth of yours, Lavernius! Hmph. Church: Not as perverted as suggesting a tight bikini wrestling match yesterday. Weiss: *shiver* Don't bring up that idea again. Tucker: So, Church. I'm guessing this isn't just to check up on her, is it? Church: Nope. In fact I'm here to talk about her fight with the Red yesterday. Tucker: Oh that one. Man it was awesome! Church: I'm not talking about that! From what I saw, she and that Red seem know each other. Is that right, Schnee?

Everybody turn their heads to Weiss.

Weiss: I don't want to talk about it. Church: Well too bad, we are going to talk about it whether you like it or not. So what were you two before, best friends? Tucker: Rivals? Kaikaina: Lovers?

Everybody looks at Kai.

Kaikaina: What, was I really the only one thinking that when they were fighting? Tucker: Speaking of lovers, were you two bisexu- Church: Shut the fuck up Tucker! Look just explain from the beginning, don't care how long, just say it. Weiss: ... Fine if that's to prevent you guys from asking me again and again in the future, so be it. Did I told you guys about the a military academy I studied at before I came to Blood Gulch? Everyone: No. Weiss: Of course. Anyways, me and... that girl, were for a lack for a better word, partners. Kaikaina: Hell yeah, I knew you guys were lovers! Church: She's not referring to that kind of 'partnership'! Weiss: Our relationship was somewhat great if you could say that. Not the brightest girls I know, but she was alright once you get to know her more. Kaikaina: Kinda reminds me of this girl I knew before coming here. Tucker: She a friend? Kaikaina: Nah we fucked, literally. Tucker: Woo baby! Weiss: Would you mind? Tucker: Sorry. Church: So how did your relationship go downhill? Weiss: Oh you would not believe what I've been through. One day, we were posted at this base on a planetoid as part of our final assignment. I think it's called Amity. Anyways the job was simple, follow your superior's orders and make sure no unathorized personal gets in. Everything was fine for the first week. Soldiers talking around, complaining about the weather, you name it. Tucker: Is it me, or does this story sounded familiar? Church: Shh! Weiss: Me and my partner weren't together most of the time there cause we were given two different orders. She patrols around the base while I sit in the server room, keeping away not only unauthorized intruders but 'undisciplined' hands as well. I mean who would be watching porn in a state of the art archive machine? Not only are they disgusting like Tucker,- Tucker: Hey! Weiss: -but they have arrogantly ignore their duties and- Church: Schnee? Hate to remind you but, this isn't a therapy session. Weiss: Sorry. Anyway, I kept away undisciplined hands from the server room.

Transition fade to flashback

Amity guard 01: Oh come on honey, just one download. Pleeeeaaaassee! Weiss: No. Amity guard 02: Look kid. There's nothing to do but standing around here and talk all day. Some of us have already died of boredom! Weiss: And since when did that happen, 'sir'? Amity guard 02: Uhm... last Tuesday. Weiss: That incident? He didn't die of boredom! He just slipped and broke his neck upon impact. Plus he's still alive! I can't believe you all here. You're supposed to be soldiers fighting for your government and still you act like conscripts from the past! Amity guard 01: Hey don't blame us, blame human nature.

And that's when the base shooked. Space pirates. One of the guards I talked to started panicking.

Amity guard 02: OH MY GOD, WE'RE BEING ATTACKED! WE'RE DOOMED!!!

Every guard in the room rushed out until the commander called me. He ordered me to collect all the data to prevent them from falling into enemy hands, so I did what I was told. Once I got the data, I was to rendezvous at the landing bays to be evacuated. On the way to the bay, I came across my partner along with some guy she's carrying over he shoulders.

Weiss: Ruby, what's going on? Ruby: I don't know! Some guys just came out of nowhere and start blowing up the place. Command ordered us to fight back before reinforcements arrive. Weiss: Well go and stop them. Ruby: We can't! These guys are heavily armed and we're loosing a lot of men! Our top priority now is getting everybody out of here! Weiss: Command's new orders? Ruby: Nope. Weiss: Then who's order is that? Ruby: Uhm... mine? Weiss: WHAT?! Ruby: Look just help us out and we'll explain to command later. Weiss: I can't, I have to get out of here! I'm carrying the base's data and is highly important that I evacuate immediately. Ruby: What?! What about everyone here? We can't just leave them to die here!

That's when I got shot in the arm. My partner started fighting the intruders back while I run off to the landing bays to keep the data safe. It was miracle the landing bay wasn't attacked yet and so I manage to escape safely. The data was secured but the base, not so much. We've lost half our men that day and everything stored there was either looted or destroyed.

Transition slide out of flashback

Tucker: So... what happened afterwards? Did you get a medal? Weiss: I did. They gave me a Colonial Cross for my bravery. But after what happenedback there... sigh... I didn't manage to get the scores I needed. THANKS TO HER THAT IS! Church: Is that why you're pissed at her? The scores? Weiss: You have no idea how important it was to get those scores and our pride! If she hadn't just followed her orders and stop those pirates. Things would've gone smoothly! But nooooooooooooo! She just had to disobey her orders and started evacuating people as many as possible. If she had rally them to fight instead, everything would've gone different! DAMN HER! I'M GLAD SHE DIDN'T GET A MEDAL OF HONOR! AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S WORST? SHE CALLED ME A DESERTER. DESERTER! I WAS ONLY DOING MY DUTY! ARRRGH! I'm sorry I got carried away again. Once I recovered my wounds, she renounced our partnership right at my face! Well that's good for me. Hmph! Church: *whistle* This is a lot like my relationship with Tex. So what will you do now that you and her saw one another? Weiss: Something I've should have done long after we split. DESTROY HER!

Weiss pulls off her most angry face, but not as fierce Ruby's demonic anger but still... *Suspenseful stinger music*

Weiss: Nonono, that method is just too simple. Hmmmmm... or maybe!... nonono, torture's too barbaric. Tucker: Wow she really is pissed with that Red. Church, if you're still pissed at Tex, would you guys try to forgive each other? Church: Yeah right! That bitch isn't the type of girl to say 'sorry' to anyone, even me! Kaikaina: Plus she's a Red. Tucker: And your brother? Kaikaina: Wha? I won't kill him. Weiss: But he's a Red. Caboose: Psst! Church?

Church hears Caboose's voice as everyone else were busy talking to each other. He turns to see the private peeking behind the door. Wonder why he isn't coming inside, no matter at least he may have some update on the Red's construction. He leaves the room and hears what Caboose has got to say.

Church: What's the update on the Reds? Caboose: Oh it's fine, but it's just... let's not let Weiss see it. Church: Why? Caboose: Well the thing is... do you know those times when teenagers drew something about their teacher just to mock them? Church: Yeah kids have become total assholes these days. Wait what does this got to do with the sign... Caboose:... Church: ...You're not saying what I think you're saying? Caboose: Weiss won't like it! She'll cry if she sees it! Church: Why would she cry... look wait here and give me back my sniper rifle. I'm going to take a look at it myself.

Church leaves Caboose and heads straight to the roof. With him gone, it's time for our beloved Caboose to check on Weiss.

Caboose: Hi, Weiss! Weiss: Hey, Michael. Where's Church? Caboose: Oh he just needed to take a potty. A potty! Hehehe. Weiss: At least he should tell before he left... so you're saying you won't kill your brother? Kaikaina: Duh we're family! If Mom finds out I shot him, I'd be in serious trouble. Tucker: How is she gonna find out? It's not like she's can hear her son's scream light years away, that's physically impossible. Kaikaina: Actually she can. Tucker: Wait she can- Caboose, you okay buddy? Caboose: What? Tucker: Dude, you're staring at the ceiling. Is there something wrong? Caboose: Nothing! Nothing involving the Reds and Weiss won't have to be devastated. Church from the roof: Pfft-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Caboose: Uh oh. Kaikaina: Holy shit! What is that?! Tucker: Giant hyenas? Weiss: As if! Get out, I need to change immediately!

On the Blue Base's roof

The Blues arrived to the scene to see Church collapsed on the floor. He is laughing uncontrollably like a madman from an asylum, why is he laughing? This put a lot of confusion to the Blues, except Caboose who knows what Church has seen at the Red Base.

Weiss: Church, what are you laughing at? Church: Oh Schnee, you're here. Hehehe... nothing to worry about, there's totally nothing to see... pfft! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HOHOHOHAHAAAAA!!! Tucker: Is Church alright? Caboose: Oh yes, he's alright! He's... uh... infected with laughing disease. Very contagious but not lethal. Tucker: Laughing disease? I've never heard of it before. Caboose: That's cause you're dumb!

Weiss, curious to see what's on the enemy base, take out her binos and see this signboard. To her disgust, the first thing she sees through the binos was a familiar red colored rifle and brunette hair look straight at her. Ruby is looking back at her. She lowers her gun to reveal her angry expression before pointing at something out of the bino's vision. Weiss zooms out and finally sees the 'so-called' signboard and something drawn on it. The first sight of it widened her eyes. It was a drawing her except... it doesn't match her beautiful petite physique. The drawing of her is an ugly round doodle with the writing, 'BIG FAT MEANIE' next atop. As if she really looks like that! Then there's another drawing of three stickmen with stink-lines above them, still being drawn by Donut, with the title friends is added above them. This must be represent Ruby, and her two other teammates. Oh my she's gone too far.

Caboose: Oh no. Weiss seen it. Tucker: Seen what? Church: Hahaha! Take a look.

Tucker looks through the sniper's scope and starts to instantly laughing upon seeing the signboard.

Tucker: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Big fat meanie! HAHAHAHAHA, that's priceless! Kaikaina: Big fat meanie? Let me see.

Kaikaina gets the same results.

Kaikaina: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Tucker: I know right? HAHAHAHA! Caboose: Uhm, guys? Weiss is still here. Church: HAHAHA- Son of a bitch. Tucker: HA- Oh fuck me. Kaikaina: HAHA- Whoops.

Weiss was standing still. She may have heard the commotion behind. The first thing that came in the Blues' head is Weiss screaming at them like the banshee she is till their ears popped and bleed. However to their relief she still keeps her composure.

Caboose: Weiss? Are you okay? Weiss: Get the rocket launcher. Caboose: Okay. Church: Hold on, what are you doing? Weiss: Giving her an example not to mess with me.

At the Red Base

Grif: Will you hurry up? This isn't Ancient Renaissance! Donut: Patience. Art need to be clean and refine, so you can't rush it. Grif: I doubt that's art. Sarge: This ought to give that psychological attack to that Blue. Once she sees this, the guilt will force into her and break her from the inside. Ruby: Thanks, Sarge. You didn't have to do this for me. Sarge: Ah don't mention it. And besides, what that Blue did is UNACCEPTABLE! Hehehe, I wonder what kind of reaction that Blue's going to get when she see this. Simmons: Sir. I think you take a look a this. Sarge: Looks like she's pissed off already.

Ruby and Sarge approached Simmons who had been looking at the Blue base. Simmons hand the rifle to Sarge and the rough Sargeant looks through the scope to see the results of the deserter. To his disappointment, Weiss hasn't gone barmy and it looks like she just fired a rocket... A ROCKET?!

Sarge: CRAZY COWBOY ON A NUCLEAR BOMB, GET DOWN!!!

Everybody ducked following a loud WHOOSH passing them by. That was close! Had that rocket hit the concrete, it would've cause a lot of dama- never mind. The drawing, which Donut had worked so much on, is now a large ripped hole!

Donut: NOOOOOOO!!! I haven't painted it yet! Ruby: GGRRRR... WEISSSS!!! Sarge: Dagnabbit, you destructive vandals! You may have spared the signboard but you should never have taken out the drawing!

Back at the Blue Base

That shot put a smile on Weiss. Sure the rocket didn't exploded as predicted, but at least the rocket got rid of the tarp.

Weiss: That's what you get, Rose. Okay so who's up for breakfast? Everyone but Church: Me!

Caboose, Tucker and Kaikaina rush down the stairs, leaving Weiss and Church alone on the roof.

Weiss: Did I just provoked the Reds and caused another attack? Church: Kind of, though I doubt most of them have the mood to attack today. Heh, you know you sure kinda remind me of Tex. Weiss: Who? Church: My girlfriend. The way you acted and talked is somewhat like her, except she more of a crazy bitch than you. Weiss: Girlfriend huh? I don't hear you talking to anyone through the lines. Church: That's cause she's dead. Weiss: Oh... I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to. Church: Nah it's alright. We broke up a long time ago. Sigh, I still miss our arguments. But enough of that, let's get some grub. So you can cook? Weiss: A bit. My butler back home taught me a thing or two about making steak. If you got the meat of course. Church: Well hate to break it you, but we only have canned food. Wait you're rich?! Weiss: Yeah but not the life you'd expect.

A/N: That's the end of this story arc, now that you know why Ruby and Weiss now hate each other. Sorry it couldn't be longer.

[id-on-parade]

A New Day

This will probably be a pretty long post. I’m gonna put the positives at the front, then i’m gonna exorcise some demons from my mind. This exorcism is to remove them from my head, not to put them into someone else’s, so i’ll go ahead and put an end to positives notice, and i guess read on at your own risk.

I am currently waiting on a list of approved Mental Health care providers in my area from my insurance company, I’ve just gotten off the phone with them and they said they would send it to me and I should pick one. After picking one and confirming they are accepting patients I should call the insurance folks back to get approval for a number of appointments. They close at five, so hopefully I’ll get the list soon so i can get this rolling - hopefully i’ll get this sorted today. Its funny that I feel this sense of almost giving up on doing it myself, this outdated cultural stigma at the same time that I feel a strong sense of hope that this will be a turning point in my mental health. I look back and wonder with a decent sense of awe how different my life might have been had I received mental health care as a teen when this all started.

I had a pretty heavy depressive episode yesterday, and am happy to report that today feels more like my standard levels of depression, i’m me again today - the me that most know, not the me that’s falling and can’t seem to catch hold. this information that today is a new day, i’ve survived, and the pit appears to have closed is the end of the positives for this post. here on in will be an unloading of a very stressful and difficult week, read on if you wish, but i gotta get these demons out somewhere, so here they go.

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I guess i should start at the start. I returned this last week from a week of sick leave wherein I had some Covid symptoms, my wife had some Covid symptoms and at the start of that sick week, that was majorly stressful.  I got tested, nasal swab, x-ray, and found to be negative for covid, or pneumonia. my wife’s insurance, however, had her do an online appointment, she answered some questions, the internet told her it was likely viral sinusitis, and wrote her a note to take the week off as well, no seeing a doctor, no actual tests. now, luckily, we both seem to have gotten better over that week - but boy was that frustrating.

When I returned to work, my boss and I had a bit of a disagreement about what a sick note through Saturday meant, he thought i should have come in Saturday, I thought i shouldn't. I even called Saturday and someone over the phone told me i was not scheduled Saturday. at the end of the conversation he had basically made it seem like i was dumb for thinking about it the way i did, that it didn’t matter about the call on Saturday, and that i might get in trouble. then he said “so, for next time, you know - come in on the day that’s listed.” So far, no trouble has come down the pipeline about that, but he’s been much less jovial with me of late.

That’s probably a decent bit of paranoia, we’ve all been less jovial of late, at my work. Providing mental health care to inpatient teens is hard. there’s a lot of secondhand trauma. (more on that later) there’s a lot of firsthand trauma. (more on that later). These kids are quite ill, and they are trying so hard, often put up against a life that’s honestly too difficult for even most adults, my whole heart goes to them. Right now, With the pandemic, and the rioting, they have more stress than ever, and less access to their loved ones, and anyone who knows anything about mental illness, knows what that means for their mental health. And with all of our patients having suddenly much worse mental health it means not only that my coworkers and I are dealing with more unsafe situations, and absorbing more trauma, but on the back-end we’re watching these kids backslide through months of progress, and sometimes that’s so heartbreaking. It’s normal, to backslide, and it doesn’t mean anything negative about the kids, but it doesn’t make it less heartbreaking. so yeah, coworkers are all in their stressed out, panic, survival modes, and its pretty visible right now - which means sometimes we are not as awesome to each other as we could be.

One of my coworkers was especially not awesome, to himself, this week. I really looked up to this  guy. takes heart to be openly flamboyantly queer with these kids, and he was, and he was always honest with them as far as accountability, a real no-sugar-coating type guy. when things got rough, it wasn’t unusual to hear him say “look at your life, look at your choices” to these kids, where other staff might handhold, and walk them through an analysis of what they’d been doing. Well, this week he must have finally snapped from the stress, as about 5 cop cars and a firetruck arrived at the neighboring cottage to retrieve him from the bathroom, where he had sequestered himself to huff aerosol mid shift. He won’t be returning, and he was damn good at this. he’ll be missed, and I hope away from the job he can recover.

Stream of consciousness, this brings us to kids and trauma. To avoid trauma, as the kids also care about that coworker, I ushered the kids I was outside with into the building. well, all but one. This is a fairly new patient, AFAB NB, spent a long time homeless before coming to us, family ain’t about the identity. As the cops rolled up, they were hurling insults, flipping them off, and generally saying things that I had to remind them to watch their language for. not that i reminded them very loud, because honestly, mood. But then they got silent as the cops sent to work, and they got real still. they stopped responding to me, and that was when i decided to walk around in front of them and force eye contact. they were on the verge of tears. I said “They aren’t here for you, you’re safe here, let’s go inside - it isn’t helping you to watch this.” they said It’s just --- the last time I saw the Cops they were hauling away my boyfriend”. - “that is extremely traumatic, if you come inside with me we can work on some coping, and help you to get the thoughts out, will you come inside with me?” -- “I wan’t to, But I just Can’t, I Can’t Make Myself.” - “Can you take my arm and we’ll walk together?” --”NO! I Can’t Have Anyone Touch Me Right Now, PLEASE” - “Absolutely, you’re safe here, how about if we take it slow, and I walk beside you instead?” -- “o-okay” it took us roughly 5 minutes to walk the 20 steps to the door. Once inside, they wept in a ball for some time, before beginning to work on coping skills with me. In processing, they let me know they were having such trouble because the boyfriend they were remembering had been very abusive, and the cops were hauling him off because of the beatings he had heaped upon them. that they hated the cops because they thought they loved him at the time, even though they now know he was not good for them, but knowing that hadn’t made them hate the cops less. And that seeing the cops had put their mind firmly into memories of being abused, and that they were having trouble breaking free of that thought trap. eventually we were able to get them involved in group activities and somewhat distracted, at least.

There’s a kid who reminds me of me as a teen, he’s depressed, and angry. unlike me as a teen he’s also very slow to process, and to avoid falling behind when he fails to process things he either makes cruel jokes, or explodes with anger. His dog is dying. His family barely sees him normally, but with the virus they don’t do much at all. His only contact is family therapy, and when he remembers to call them. he often doesn’t remember to call them until after phone time is over. then he wants to scream and shout and tear everything apart when he doesn’t get to make the call. This story though, is about a day he did remember to call. And his family let him know about the riots, all across the country. He’s trying hard to understand, but he doesn’t. He thinks, his being here, after drug and assault charges, has something to do with whats going on out there. that maybe his case is also unjust. but he also knows he needs this care. but he also sees himself backsliding and feels hopeless about progress, due to the depression. This is when he decides to try to recruit his peers to escape with him. All of his peers, to their credit, stayed the fuck out of it. but it did mean convincing him of the value of treatment, and the potential risk of breaking down a door - while he was trying to break down a door. he’s one of the few that I honestly don’t know, if i’m alone with him and he swings on me, if i could defend myself well enough until support arrived. he didn’t that day. but boy was that A Lot Of Stress.

The kid who has assaulted the most staff and peers, physically, verbally, sexually. started a plan that had him out of Low Stim and with peers in Close Attention this week, because we were receiving a new kid this week, at six foot, straight from juvie, a known fighter, and an off-meds psychopath. and, even though Low Stim has 2 rooms, we’re trying to get sexually assaultive kid out of there so there isn't risk in the dual occupancy. i’ll talk about new kid later, for now lets talk about the more long term patient. this patient has trouble with building relationships, an echo of the abuse he experienced in younger life, frequently he gets sexually explicit, physically assaultive and perhaps fecally oriented while doing so, especially when he is worried about relationships, or feels “too silly”. the trouble being of course, our counseling works best when we build strong relationships with patients, and even regular jokes can push him into the “too silly” category. He did well for the first bit. after about three days the back to back escalations began. a peer told a joke, he laughed too much, the staff pulled all the other kids inside and away from him to protect them. he whipped out his dick, pissed all over the place, tried showing it to staff, then began throwing sidewalk chalk everywhere, windows, doors, the roof, towards other buildings, whatnot. when the support staff arrived and 12 of us asked him to proceed to a quiet room, he did so of his own volition, rather than us taking him, and due to that, my coworker did not lock him there. no sooner had the extra staff gone than he came out banging around.we went hands on and locked him there. at the end of an hour and a half, my coworker deemed he had calmed enough to rejoin his peers. no sooner had he made his way back into the milieu than he began trying to hug and grope various staff.we again hauled him into a quiet room and locked him there. as the shift neared its end, we called security and had them help us get him back to his room in the LSA, not wanting to leave night shift with a kid in a QR. once back there, he tried to show staff his dick, again, and eventually settled into refusing to go to his room, when it was clear staff wouldn’t interact with him anymore for the night and expected him to go to bed, he went in his room, drug his mattress to being half down in the doorway, looked at me and said “is this in my room enough?” before laying down to try to sleep. he was scared, after everything he didnt want to be alone, and would rather not follow directions and potentially be in trouble, than be by himself in his room. I let him stay there. More of the same throughout the following day, and the day after that is when his story intersects with new kids in just about the most traumatic way.

New kid is over six feet, muscular, dead eyed, and arrived wearing a juvie orange jumper which he refuses to change from. developmentally, it is hard to distinguish this mustachioed individual from a fully grown man. in all of his dealings with staff, he was robotically polite. out of staffs sight he could be heard screaming angrilly, wailing in dispair, cursing out people who aren’t there, and then pleading “ oh no, no no no, NO NO NO NO” like you would expect to hear from a prone person while someone with a bloody knife walked towards them. I know because for a lot of the week i sat and listened to this. i listened to him strike himself after the pleading as well. and while I personally was not threatened in any way by his actions, it was still extremely stressful and distressing. Throughout the week, whenever the longer term patient overheard these things, he would should “would you stop, damn” to the new kid, and less polite versions. I tried to remind the long term patient that everyone struggled with different things, and that it would be better to ignore his peer, or at least make politer requests. no such luck. it seemed, throughout the week as though new kid simply did not hear long term patient.he proved that wrong on saturday afternoon, when he marched out of his room and began wailing on long term patient. after long term patient fell, new patient grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into a room, where the beating could be heard to continue. By the time we had enough staff to safely go in, new kid was standing one foot on long term kids throat, looking him in the eyes and repeating “i’m going to kill you” but, dispassionately.

I think thats it for work stress, I covered viral stress earlier. I am stressed by the riots. it makes me profoundly sad that it must come to this, but i also find myself firmly believe it HAD to come to this. that this rioting is righteous, and the only road to social change. I’ve been a punk since I was a teen, and I feel like i should do more for this movement, but honestly all of my energy is being spent keeping me going and treating these kids.

My depression has picked my relationship with bestie to fixate on in these trying times, and I fear I may have damaged that relationship because of it this weekend. bestie has just started a new schedule which is excellent for her. I’m so happy that she is now on a schedule that works for her needs, and will allow a healthy amount of sleep, and time at home, and for her to sleep close to the hours she’d prefer to be sleeping. I had been very lucky in that her last schedule was very close to my own schedule, and so our time at home nearly entirely overlapped. she chose to spend a number of mornings, and late evenings after the rest of the house just hanging out, her and I, and I absolutely love that time. I don’t want to sound entitled to it, at all. it is a gift she gives to me, that I am so happy to receive and which i am so glad she wants to give to me. With the new schedule she will have to leave early enough that the morning hangouts will not be an option, and because of this likely ought to go to bed early enough that the hangouts while the house slumbers aren’t a healthy choice. My depression tried hard to have me believing that this meant those times were just gone. After work saturday, bestie and wifey were listening to an excellent, but extremely despairing/sad audio drama.It was very enjoyable. It was probably not a mentally healthy choice for me to partake in that, and had I requested a different hangouts activity, they might have been a little sad, but probably would have swapped. instead, rather than be an even minor inconvenience I joined because i wanted the hangouts, and had a great time listening to a great story and felt like while the despair was growing in me, in resonance with the story, i’d sleep on it and it’d be alright sunday. I woke up sunday honestly too depressed to get out of bed. just laying in spiral. I asked bestie to join us in bed, when i heard her going to get her phone charger, hoping extra cuddles would help me get through, i don’t know why i couldn’t ask for what I wanted, I had the opportunity and I’m sure it would have been fine, now, in hindsight. I felt like at the time I was so certain something would go wrong. eventually everyone came to the bed and there was a semi-cudllepuddle. people didn't want to fall back asleep, it makes sense not to full cuddle puddle for that. as people set in on their various phone activities I started to get that feeling like i wasn’t part of what was happening (despite being there. I know, I don’t know why, but when the depression gets going it gets harder to fight.) and rather than grab my phone and to the separate activities together thing I just withdrew. i recall someone commenting on it, and I thought i said something confirmatory about it. The blondes (wifey and besties husband) went to the store, and I could tell bestie might fall asleep, so i tried to get her to stay awake, she needed to for the new schedule. in interacting i’d asked to hold her hand, and she observed i was sad to relinquish it when she wanted it back. admitting that made me sad, led to just an outpouring of all of this stuff sans work stuff. and the worry about time to spend. I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on her, she didn’t consent to listening to that, and she certainly had a stressful enough time. I hate that when I’m in the throws of this damn disease I can’t seem to stop this. I don’t want to hurt the people I love. I don’t want to push them away. She reminded me I ought to go to therapy. I worry I may have offended her by talking about worrying about time we’d get to spend together. That voice in my brain is trying to convince me that her response means that those times mean so much more to me than to her. thats a damn lie. its a damn lie and it needs to get out. I’m exorcising it with the lot.

I’ve just received the list. I’m ending this here, and moving forward with that productive enterprise

[kpopfanfictrash]

Angel (IV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jackson

Rating: 18+ (mentions of sex, depictions of medical trauma)

Word Count: 4,466

Summary:  You’re a medical intern, always a perfectionist and used to being the best at everything you do. Jackson Wang is the male nurse beloved by everyone and constantly on your nerves. When you two are brought together, it could be the best or the worst thing that’s ever happened. [ THIS IS A REPOST ]

You laugh at his expression. Twining your fingers about his neck while pressing his body to yours. “I don’t,” you admit, voice lowering. “I don’t see you as just a friend – I was scared. Scared you were avoiding me. I thought maybe you regretting taking care of me.”

Jackson’s eyes widen. “What? No,” he counters. “I thought you were mad at me, that I took advantage of you somehow. I wanted to give you space, I wanted … Ah, shit.” Jackson exhales, closing his eyes. “I did this all wrong.”

When you poke at his cheek, Jackson opens both eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you smile.

Jackson smiles back at you, slightly dazed. “It doesn’t, does it,” he murmurs. Nudging your nose aside with his own when he kisses you.

You melt into him, skin tingling as for the first time in a long time – you allow yourself to be happy.

“It’s just mind-boggling.”

“What is?” you muse, adjusting the IV drip with one hand.

Mr. Ronstein smiles at you from his bed, eyes bright. “That you’re not yet married.”

You snort, grabbing a pillow from the couch. “Mr. Ronstein – I’m only twenty-five.”

“Nonsense,” he huffs, as you readjust his position. “People younger than you get married. In my day, you would have been considered a spinster.  A beautiful one,” he corrects, grinning at your expression.

You arch a brow, trying not to laugh. Mr. Ronstein is one of your favorite patients. He came into the ER about a week ago with a mild stroke, and is now just waiting on final approval to go home. He’s older but not old, at least not in your terms. Early sixties, fit and healthy – no reason he shouldn’t fully recover. He had an Ischemic stroke, like most strokes are – meaning a blockage in his arteries, not a rupture. Not even a full blockage, so the important thing now will be therapy and lifestyle change.

Mr. Ronstein fully agrees with this, although he likes to wriggle his eyebrows when the doctor’s not looking and say, “Except for the occasional cigar.”

That’s when you groan, saying no. Then Mr. Ronstein nods, pretending to be serious while simultaneously throwing a wink. It never fails to make you smile, mostly because despite the situation, Mr. Ronstein is always positive. He talks about this entire thing as a wake-up call, an order to de-stress his life. Eat better, drink less, see his kids more. That sort of thing.

It’s one of the best parts of your day to check on Mr. Ronstein – which is why you’re here, taking a break between patients. “People younger than me are not in medical school,” you remind him, grinning over your shoulder.

Mr. Ronstein looks up suspiciously. “Your next retort is usually that you aren’t even dating. Does this mean you are seeing someone?”

You remain silent, but a blush creeps over your cheeks as you grab his chart from the couch.

Mr. Ronstein starts to laugh. “You are! You’re dating someone! That was fast,” he chortles. “Come on, tell me who. If he’s not up to code, I’ll snuff the guy.”

You shake your head, about to retort when Jackson pops his head into the room. “Greg!” he grins, slapping the door frame. “I hear that you’re going home! Thank god, we need some actual sick people up in this place.”

Mr. Ronstein chuckles. “Jackson Wang,” he shakes his head. “I will miss seeing your face.”

Jackson looks your way. “How’s your car?” he asks, managing to keep a straight face.

You blush, remembering the fervent make-out session of last night. Jackson’s hands in your hair, hips pressed to yours, lips on your throat – your cheeks must be tomato-red.

Mr. Ronstein looks suspiciously from you to Jackson, then back again. “Jackson?” he repeats, startled. “You’re dating Jackson?”

Freezing in place, you find you can’t say a word.

Mr. Ronstein starts to laugh. “Well, I’ll be. You two have been mooning over each other for long enough now. Good going, man,” he stage-whispers at Jackson.

Jackson grins back at him, giving a huge thumbs-up.

“Hello?” you glare, watching both adopt guilty expressions. “I’m standing right here.”

“Right.” Jackson blinks innocently. “That’s why I’m saving all the dirty bits until you’re out of the room.”

Groaning, you grab the charts from the couch. “There haven’t been any dirty parts, Jackson. You only kissed me yesterday.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jackson complains, eyes wide. “I would have asked you out sooner, if you hadn’t been ignoring me.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you announce, shaking your head. “Rounds.” On the way out though, you gently brush Jackson’s elbow. “See you later.”

“Well, aren’t you kids cute,” Mr. Ronstein deadpans.

Jackson looks indignantly back. “I am not cute,” he frowns, placing a hand on his heart. “I am chic and sexy.”

“Yeah,” you snort before leaving. “Okay, Jackson. Bye, Mr. Ronstein!”

Jackson is still protesting when you go, smiling as you move down the hall. Last night was – well, the word amazing comes to mind. You kissed until you couldn’t breathe, until your lips were numb and you forced yourself to pull away. Then you just stood there, leaning against your car and staring at Jackson.

He asked you out on a date, asked you out for this Friday – the first night off the two of you happen to have at the same time. One of the perils of working at the same hospital. Despite this, Jackson manages to find ways throughout the week to let you know he’s thinking about you. Sending texts, grabbing coffee or lunch.

The strangest part about dating is Jackson seems genuinely interested in getting to know you. He flirts, sure – but then asks you questions about your day. Listens to the words that you say, remembers them later. It’s a change from your previous relationships. Guy after guy who just wanted an accessory. Someone to point at and say they’re dating, all the while not caring about the why’s or how’s.

Admittedly, this is one of the main reasons you haven’t dated anyone in so long. When you’re in a relationship, you want things to mean something. You want to be with the person, just that person – a feeling which doesn’t happen often, for you. It’s nice, having someone who takes care of you, who asks about you – it’s nice, having someone to do the same. The more you get to know Jackson Wang, the more you like him.

An entire week passes, with your nerves growing and growing the closer Friday gets. It’s been a long while since you went out with someone you cared for. With someone you liked and wanted to impress. It’s enough that come Friday, you spend a half an hour that morning picking out your outfit. Trying on and discarding dress after dress in a heaped pile on your floor.

That one is too girly. That one too serious. That one is yellow; it doesn’t work with the shoes you want to wear. That one has a weird bow, a rip in the hem. Slowly, the pile grows – along with your nerves. It’s around the twenty-fourth dress you fall down on the pile. Staring blankly into your closet and spotting your skirts. Yes. You scramble upwards, pulling out one you bought weeks back, in case you had a fun night out. The price tag is still on, but it’s perfect. Fun, flirty – sexy enough to make Jackson’s eyes widen.

You place it in your gym bag, along with a top and heels. Slinging this over your shoulder, you head out the door only a few minutes late. From the moment you enter the hospital, it’s chaos. People are rushing back and forth, a sense of urgency in the air while you hastily throw on your scrubs.

“What’s going on?” you ask, skidding into place beside Marie.

She turns to look at you, lips white. “Accident,” is all she says – but you understand.

Your heart races as you nod. “Where are we short-staffed?”

Marie glances down the hall. “I think Dr. Banshin could use help, in room 211.”

You glance to where she’s looking. “Dr. Banshin?” you repeat, wishing she’d said anyone else. You haven’t seen or spoken to Dr. Bashin since the incident. Not since you botched that lumbar puncture and were sent awkwardly away. All the feelings of that day come flooding back. The embarrassment, the inadequacy, the sure, sinking feeling of not being good enough.

But then Jackson’s speech enters your mind. The words he reassured you with, his rather high opinion. He thinks you have what it takes to make it here. Everyone messes up, you remind yourself – it’s what you do after, which counts. Thinking this, you square your shoulders. “Alright,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I’ll go help.”

Entering the room, Dr. Banshin looks up. His gaze flicks briefly over you, before adopting an expression of neutrality. “Y/N,” he nods, looking back down. “Are you just going to gape, or will you begin the procedure?”

You smile, remembering the last time he said this to you. Then you square your shoulders, shutting the door behind you. “Yes,” you nod, hastening over to the sink. “I’m ready.”

The day is a small miracle.

Everyone involved in the accident manages to pull through. It’s one of those rare good days, where everything seems to come together at the right time in the right place. The accident itself was brutal – a slippery road, sudden mudslide and a driver who spun into oncoming traffic. It was amazing no one died upon impact. Instead, one car was clipped to be sent careening into the forest. It broke through several fences before eventually colliding with a tree.

The other car wasn’t so lucky, hitting the median straight-on. A family was in that car – mother, father, two teenage daughters. The daughters were lucky enough only to sustain minor injuries. Bruised ribs, light concussions, external cuts and bruises. None of which necessitated surgery. The father and mother though – one had a punctured lung, the other internal bleeding. After emergency surgery, twelve hours later, things are finally starting to stabilize.

The man who hit the tree was trickier. Broken femur, severe concussion and a fractured shoulder. Made all the more difficult by the fact that he was anemic. You’ve spent all day running between various rooms, helping in whichever way you can. Doing paperwork, watching over people’s shoulders and holding instruments. Watching as one by one, multiple doctors’ faces fell in relief. They stare down at their charts, hardly daring to believe when they see everyone will make it.

Everyone got here in time. There was nothing so life-threatening you couldn’t help. You end up staying several hours later than you mean to. The place is just so chaotic, you barely have a moment to breathe – let alone think about your night out. You’re trudging towards the on-call room, pulling your hair out of your ponytail when you see Jackson rounding the corner.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “I – Jackson, I’m sorry. Our dinner reservation,” you pause, down glancing at your watch. “It was now,” you wince. “Wasn’t it?”

The two of you meet in the middle of the hall and it’s then you notice that Jackson, too, looks exhausted. “It’s okay,” he offers, smiling feebly. “I’m late as well.”

You exhale, glancing up at the changing rooms. “Okay. Just give me twenty minutes. I’ll wash my face, put on a dress and,” you pause, tired just thinking about it. Today has been satisfying, but draining. If you’re being honest, you’re completely wiped.

You look up, as Jackson’s hand touches your arm.

“What about,” he raises an eyebrow. “You come to my place. Or I come to yours. I’ll cook, we can order pizza. We can watch a movie and relax.”

“Well,” you pause, then nod. “That sounds amazing.”

A grin lights up Jackson’s face. “It’s a date,” he announces. “Let’s change and then – my place?”

“Okay,” you agree. “But Jackson – there’s no way you’re cooking. You’ve been here just as long as I have. Let’s get that pizza.”

“Okay,” Jackson pushes open the door to the men’s changing room. “Not that me cooking was going to be fancy, Y/N. Just two really spicy ramen packets.”

The door falls shut behind him, and you hurry to get your things. On the drive to Jackson’s, you lean your head against the window. Stomach fluttering at the thought of what him driving means. Jackson said he can drive you back tonight to get your car, if you wish. Or you can stay, and he can drive you back in the morning. The second option is the one giving you butterflies. Just the thought of spending the night, with or near Jackson.

You’re wearing your skirt and heels, slightly out of place but unfortunately, you didn’t bring anything else to change into. Not that Jackson seems to mind – he keeps glancing sideways, shaking his head before looking back at the road.

“I’m glad we’re going to my place,” he mutters, one hand firm on the wheel.

“Oh?” you turn your head. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Jackson smiles, profile lit by the streetlights behind him. “If I had to sit across the table from you wearing that for two hours – I might have gone crazy.”

You laugh, facing forward. “It is fairly uncomfortable. Do you have sweatpants I can change into?” Jackson shifts, quiet for so long you poke his arm. “Is everything okay?” you ask.

He groans, one hand tightening on the wheel. “I can’t decide if that’s better or worse,” he admits. “You in that skirt, or you in my clothes.”

You laugh, pushing him gently. “Get over yourself,” you snort. “I just want to wear sweatpants.”

“Fine, fine,” Jackson nods. “But I’m not responsible for how often I kiss you, then.”

“What a line,” you grumble, glancing out the window – but your reflection smiles back at you. From far behind, Jackson sees as well and smiles back.

His apartment is cleaner than the last time – Jackson grins, ushering you inside.

“Did you do this thinking I would come home tonight?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you lower yourself onto his sofa.

Jackson flushes, moving into his bedroom. “No!” he calls, voice growing further away. “I would never, ever think that!”

When he comes out, he tosses you a piece of clothing. “Thanks,” you murmur, brushing past to go change in his bathroom.

“Pepperoni?” Jackson calls out, already dialing.

“Yes!” you yell, shutting the door and leaning your forehead against the frame. Exhaling deeply, you turn to strip from your clothes. You fold them into a neat pile, pulling on Jackson’s sweats and t-shirt. They smell just like him, cozy and warm while you take a long breath. Feeling only slightly creepy as you sigh, pushing open the door to the living room.

Jackson sits on his couch, also dressed in sweats. He peers from over the top of the fabric. “Come here,” he demands, patting the seat next to him. “I saved you the best spot.”

“What,” you joke, coming around front. “Your lap?”

Jackson winks. “If you like.”

Snorting, you settle beside him. “You wish.”

Jackson just smiles, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you close. You lean into him, even while he turns on his TV. “What do you want to watch?” he asks, flipping through channels. “I have to admit – I was a sucker and bought the most expensive cable package. Name a show, I probably have it.”

You nestle into him. Pleased, when Jackson tucks you closer. “What about Chopped?” your eyes light up. “I have a weakness for cooking shows. I love to work out and watch them.”

“Masochist,” Jackson mutters, changing the channel anyways.

When the pizza arrives, he turns down the sound. Sitting cross-legged while your conversation winds and turns. Jackson finds a bottle of wine from somewhere, pouring you both a glass.  

“I knew you could do it,” he grins, taking another bite of pizza. “You nailed that lumbar puncture – er, so to speak.’

You snort, nearly choking on your soda. “I have you to thank for that. Before I went in, I reminded myself of what you said. It really helped.”

“Mm?” Jackson chews, looking thoughtful. “Which part?”

“The part where everyone messes up. That I likely would again – and that sometimes, there might be no one able to help me.”

Jackson stares, setting down his slice. “That part helped?’

You laugh at his expression, nodding. “Yeah. It made me feel like I’m not alone. That everyone has been in my shoes – which was comforting, hearing my thoughts voiced out loud.”

Jackson stares for a long moment, before then smiles. “I feel the same way.”

A long silence passes, one where you draw your knees onto the couch. “Jackson,” you ask, gaze flicking to the TV. “What made you get into medicine?”

Jackson is silent for a long moment. “Do you mean – what made me want to be a nurse, and not a doctor?”

Your gaze moves sideways. “No. Well – maybe. You’re smart, talented, well-liked. Not that nurses can’t be all those things, but it is a very specific job to choose.”

Jackson exhales, looking down. “I did my Undergraduate at Stanford. Did you know that?”

Your eyes widen, shaking your head. “No. I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he admits, gaze finding yours. “I thought often about applying to medical school, I really did. Every time, I just couldn’t. Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to be a nurse.”

You set your wine down, before quietly lacing your fingers with his. Jackson smiles at the gesture.

“Why?” you continue. “Why did you want to become a nurse?”

Jackson’s eyes are dark. “When I was young,” he explains, voice soft. “My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She went through intensive chemotherapy and radiation,” he sighs before falling silent, remembering. “My dad worked a lot. My parents were both immigrants, it was hard for both not to work at the same time. I spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals with my mom.”

Your hand tightens, lump suddenly rising in your throat.

“It was hard,” Jackson admits. “But the part which made it bearable, the part I really remember are the nurses. They took care of me. They explained things, in the best way they could. I remember thinking when my mom got discharged, that I wanted to do the same. I wanted to offer people, especially children, the same kind of hope I was given.”

It makes sense – so much. It explains Jackson’s demeanor, his strong desire to help. His selfless personality and when your lift your gaze to his, he’s looking back.

“What are you thinking?” Jackson asks.

Shaking your head, you lean closer. His hand slides to your hair, pushing strands away from your face. “I was thinking,” you say, letting him pull you near. “That I think you’re wonderful.”

Jackson’s face softens, thumb brushing your cheek. “That’s funny,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the side of your mouth. “Because I feel the same about you.”

He kisses you fully, sinking backwards and drawing you on top of him. Wrapping himself lazily around you, nudging your lips with his own. Your hands wander softly as his own trace your back. His hips finds yours, cupping you to him. You arch upwards, letting his mouth open beneath yours. The touch of him is hard, his motions soft and you don’t protest when he turns you over.

Drawing both your hands over head, Jackson slowly tugs his shirt from your body. This hits the floor, along with his own. You see then, that all his time in the gym is paying off, since Jackson’s body is just as perfect as you thought it would be. The way he stares though, makes you feel like maybe he’s as excited as you are. His gaze traces, followed by his hands, unable to stop himself.

He groans when you lift your hips to his, eyes dark with desire. “Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You don’t respond though, pulling him back down. Not objecting when he lifts you up, obediently wrapping your legs around him. Jackson brings you into his room, lays you down on his bed to tall quickly beside you. You arch into him, barely registering how the rest of your clothes disappear. Jackson asks you a question, one to which you nod yes. Nod again, when he drops between your legs. Groan out loud, as your head falls into the headboard.

You say yes again, when he covers himself to thrust into you. Jackson gathers you close, stilling as he kisses you softly. Moving his hips again, pace increasing with each thrust, hands finding yours to come apart at the seams. You hold onto him, since he’s the only thing solid. The only thing you can think about. You hold on to him, even after he pulls away. Even after he falls, happy and exhausted, beside you and lies with you in his arms.

The two of you sleep that way.

Your next shift is Saturday evening. You arrive happy and buzzing, still on a high from last night. Memories of the morning cloud your thoughts – Jackson making you breakfast, driving you to get your car before changing his mind mid-drive and taking you on a walk by the river.

You move slowly, almost dreamily entering the hospital. It’s so unlike you, but you can’t help how you feel. Every time you think of Jackson, you smile. His touch, his laugh, his eyes – it’s impossible to think of anything else, with those thoughts in mind. Jackson doesn’t work until tomorrow morning, so you’ll probably only see him again when you leave.

As you grab your clipboard, you quickly scan the names of your patients for today – and freeze. Reading again, then a third time. It makes no sense. Squinting closer, you shake your head before looking back up. Walking quickly, you grab the arm of first person you see.

“Hey,” you ask, wincing when you recognize Jordan.

She seems tired, as though nearing the end of her shift. Her eyes flick to yours, then away, clearly disinterested. “What?” she asks. “What do you want?”

“I,” you pause, gritting your teeth. “Why does my sheet have Mr. Ronstein’s name on it?”

For the first time you can remember, sympathy enters Jordan’s gaze. It’s this, more than anything which convinces you this is not a mistake. That you haven’t been given last week’s chart in error, haven’t received a misprint of some sort.

Jordan swallows. “He’s back,” she explains. Her hand tenses, as though to touch you before lowering it. “He – well, he had another stroke.”

The hallway grows fuzzier. “What?” you repeat, ears ringing. “No.”

She nods. “It was worse, this time. Hemorrhagic. He’s in a coma right now, Y/N. He probably won’t make it, probably will be taken off life support before the night is over.”

You just stand there. Stand there staring down the hall, struggling to process. No. This is all wrong. Mr. Ronstein was getting better. He’s supposed to be at home, living out his wake-up call. Seeing his kids, eating better, enjoying the occasional cigar. Your throat tightens. Men in his condition, the kind of stroke that he had – he should have had years, at worst. This kind of thing, it – you exhale, shaky.

Jordan is still standing, arms folded across her chest. “Y/N,” she says gently, bringing your attention back to hers. “I need to finish my shift.”

You nod, absent-mindedly. “Yeah. Okay.”

She walks away, leaving you standing there. Staring down the hall, then at the clipboard in your hands. You need to move. Need to keep going because there are other names on this list. Other patients to check in on. You take a hesitant step forward, unsure why your vision is suddenly blurring. No – you know why.

This isn’t right. It’s not fair. But what’s right or fair in life, you think. Stopping midway down the hall to take a deep breath. Pressing fists to your eyes, struggling to contain your emotions. This happens. You know that it does. You send someone home, you think they’re okay – and then something worse occurs. Sometimes the thing is avoidable, sometimes it’s not. This will keep happening, over and over.

You exhale, hands pressed so tight that it hurts. Then you swallow. You can’t let this consume you. Can’t let this destroy you because if you do – you’re no use to anyone. If you do, you’re not a doctor. It’s this which forces you to open your eyes. This, which forces you to take another step, to continue to walk. You place one foot before the other until you round the corner and enter Mr. Ronstein’s room.

His family isn’t here. Likely somewhere else, while they talk things over with the attending. You stare down at his bed, at the tubes and medicine running through while you manage a watery smile. “Hi, Greg,” you say softly.

In the morning, nothing is better. The prognosis is still bleak and Mr. Ronstein’s family decides to take him off the life support. You’re the one who delivers the news. The one who stands there while they debate. You handle their paperwork after, a tiny measure of relief in your body because it means you don’t need to be in the room when he dies.

Immediately following, comes the guilt.

As you leave the hospital the next morning, everything is dazed. You barely see Jackson as you exit, standing before his car in the parking lot. When you do see him, you hike your backpack higher, walk in his direction. Jackson is standing there, looking as though he’s lost in thought. His phone he holds loose in his fist, expression confused looking out at the cars.

“Hey,” you murmur, coming to a stop beside him. “Morning.”

Jackson’s gaze flickers, before meeting you own. He looks surprised, and you notice with some shock that his eyes are rimmed in red. “Hi,” he breathes, zeroing in on your face. “I – hi.”

You tilt your head. “Is everything okay?” you ask, since he seems off. “It’s been a pretty crappy night at the hospital. I hope the day shift goes better.”

Jackson lifts both eyebrows, opens his mouth to speak and shakes his head. “Yeah,” he breathes, sounding lost. “I hope so, too.”

His voice is wrong, though. It’s too tight, his eyes are without focus and you take a small step forward. Forgetting your night, forgetting everything that’s happened to place both hands on his arms. “Jackson,” you demand, waiting for him to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

Jackson looks your way. His eyes find yours, for only a second. “My dad just called,” he manages.

“Oh?” Unsure why, your heart starts to pound. “What about?”

“My mom.” Jackson can barely get out the words. His mouth tightens around them, and he swallows. “They found a lump in her breast. They’re doing a biopsy but Y/N,” he half-breaks, needing to look away. “They think she’s re-lapsed.”

[Master List]

[talix18]

November 2

I just want a word processing program. I'm not trying to be difficult. A word processing program that will estimate for me how many words I've written. Which requires a computer Operating System to run said program, preferably with an Internet connection in case there are updates to said program. The computer on which I'm typing this is an unknown number of years old. I know I got it when my ex lived with me, and he's been dead for several years.

That's a hazard of loving people in recovery, especially from drug addiction as opposed to alcoholism. The drugs out there are not those of your elders and they are nowhere near as forgiving of overdoses. My ex became my ex when he relapsed. A couple of years later he got some fentanyl with his heroin and it killed him. Drugs are bad, mmkay?

Anyway, the computer. I am...working with an OS that's 10 years old and have 6 gigs of RAM. (That's before I stuck my 2 gig thumb drive in to use as extended memory.) I'm clearly fighting hard for something to write about here. I'd rather get this done early in the day so I don't have to dread it, but writing about myself is almost as tedious as being myself.

Today is a good day, so far. I made it out the door to yoga and got my eyebrows done on the way home. Eyebrow waxing is my only consistent beauty practice. I'd like to keep up with my hair and not just put it up wet every day but let's face it – I'm stingy with my time and money and can't commit to something eight weeks from now. My hair is going gray and makes me look my actual age, which I alternately don't care about and am horrified by. Now I have extra guilt doing home color – my adopted niece graduated from Paul Mitchell hair school and would happily accept my money for getting to practice on my head, but she's located just far enough away to be inconvenient.

Plus getting out of bed is hard enough. I'll gladly take 15 extra minutes to check the Internet that will still be there when I get to work over putting on make-up and drying my hair. Is this about depression, laziness, or feminist resistance to society's expectations? I'd like to have fun with my appearance and my wardrobe but dammit – do I have to start so bless-ed early in the morning?

(This whole “early in the morning thing” is BS, by the way. I learned how quickly I can get myself showered, dressed, and out the door at my most depressed and now resist any attempt to plan further in advance.) Yes, I want to look nice in pictures but I don't want to do the work necessary to achieve that.

This is a theme in my life – there's a lot of things I want to do and be without taking any of the steps that might lead me in the correct direction. Sometimes it's a question of not knowing what those steps might be. Recovery has blessed me with the crazy notion of finding someone who has (or knows how to do) something you want (to know how to do) and ask them how they did it. I'm not sure if this is as mind-blowing to everyone as it was to me. It may be one of those things that falls into the category of “it feels like I missed some fundamental How To Be A Person class that everyone else took.”

This is a common feeling among recovering people. None of us feels like we fit in; everyone else knows something we don't; we are missing some fundamental quality that would have made life fall neatly into place. (Which brings me to the topic of the people who just needed to put the drugs down and be pointed in a productive direction vs. people who are still disasters clean. Guess which group I fall into.) Which reminds me! Last night the Internet gave me the link to an article in Oprah's magazine that describes the midlife-crisis currently hitting the women of Generation X. So this here writing project? Completely unnecessary. But I've set this challenge for myself and I love no motivation like shame and guilt. So I'll keep writing and see what I end up with.

Where was I? Oh – the things I want without wanting to do the work to get them. I've always wanted to play guitar but only enough to take a handful of lessons. My last attempt was valiant – I bought myself a beautiful guitar and showed up pretty consistently for group lessons at a friend's house. After a few months, there was pain in my strumming arm almost constantly. Especially painful were things like gripping the scoop I use to clean litter boxes, which is a thing I try to do every day. I went through physical therapy twice before the pain went away, and it's still not completely gone. My intention is to go to the adorable guitar shop where I bought my guitar (where they also give lessons) and ask someone (who knows how to do something I want to know how to do) if there is a way I should be doing it differently. That has been my intention for many months now.

What is it? What is the problem? 1. Think of a thing to do. 2. DO THE THING. That's it, right? There's not some 1.5 secret step I'm missing? There must be. Unless this is that executive function thing they talk about? There are the things I know I want to do (currently: clearing out yet more of my wardrobe so I can get rid of my TWO broken dressers [why do I have two broken dressers?] and acquire a new piece of storage for my clothing; taking my books off the bookshelves so they can be moved and I can get new flooring and also get rid of some books)(besides the regular stuff like exercise and eat foods that make me look and feel good and learn how to program and garden and oh maybe clean my damn house) and there is the crushing lack of motivation and energy.

(I'm thinking this whole NaNoWriMo thing coincided with an increase in the dosage of one of my meds which has given me a temporary “up” sensation? Like I sat through my laptop trying to repair itself so I could write rather than wandering off and doing something [or nothing] else. Honestly, me getting a thing done sooner rather than later is not a thing. I still haven't emptied the litter boxes from yesterday.)

(It occurs to me at this point to wonder if my expectations aren't set unrealistically high. Hi, my name is Teri and I was in Gifted & Talented classes and was told I had Such Potential, and have done no impressive or soul-fulfilling thing with my life. Welcome to my expectations. Not to mention this existential dread that I didn't even have words for until college when I took philosophy and learned that existentialism is a thing. This is my ONE opportunity to be alive and ultimately the only rules are those I choose to follow and This is what I've done with it? This is my life?)

(Which brings me to capitalism, specifically late-stage capitalism. I was born to the grandchildren of farmers and immigrants without the financial means to pick and choose which hobbies would distract me from my inescapable death. I watched my mother survive two divorces and [unbeknownst to myself] decided that I would be able to take care of myself. I wouldn't depend on anyone else for lodging or food or miscellaneous entertainments; I would do it myself. [This has a lot to do with why I am Single. Unmarried. Don't get too close – you may offer to take care of me and I might weaken and let you and then my guard will be down and then life will have me where it wants me.]

Late-stage capitalism. In which I, a consumer, trade my time and energy for money, which I then trade for comfort, convenience, and distraction from the awareness of my inescapable death. Knowing that, sooner or later, NONE OF THIS WILL MATTER bumps up against my desire to look younger and be attractive and matter in some absolute sense. I have a “safe” government job [thanks, Dad] with good insurance which is a Big Deal when you have a chronic condition like mental illness. I have a small home, a car that's paid for and still runs, and two cats for whom I am responsible. That there are no children is partly on purpose; partly because I never wanted to be a single mom, and partly because I didn't meet their other parent while I was young and foolish enough to consider parenting.)

Where was I? Expectations. In recovery, expectations are set-ups for resentments. Hmm. I may have to think about that. If nothing matters, expectations are silly. There are no shoulds. There Is No Way To Derive An Ought From An Is. (My favoritest of all the things I learned in philosophy.) Except that my best idea, recreational drug use, got me in legal trouble, put everyone else at risk, and (now that they know about it) makes my loved ones worry about my health and well-being. So it benefits all of us that I remain clean. And it increases the likelihood that I'll stay clean if I treat my mental illness, which requires (in this ever more dystopian hellscape) money and/or insurance. Which requires a job. Which is easier to maintain if I have a safe place to sleep and food and clothing. All of which requires effort to maintain. We haven't even mentioned recycling and volunteering and staying informed about the current state of the ever more dystopian hellscape. There are a lot of plates to keep spinning, despite the fact that eventually they are all going to shatter and it won't ultimately matter to anyone who will endure. (Existentialism is heavy.)

But haha! Daily word count achieved! Now I can get my active minutes in (exercise boosts both physical and mental health) and figure out how much time I have before I need to be where I'm supposed to be next. Because social activities and meetings make living more meaningful. Lather, rinse, repeat.

[followingfallout4]

Female companions react to Sole accidentally attacking them in their sleep due to PTSD

A/N: Below the cut you can find: Cait, Curie, Desdemona, Glory, Scribe Haylen, Magnolia and Piper. Stayed up all night writing this. It’s now 5 am and my computer battery is running REALLY low. So I’ll proofread this tomorrow. ;) There will be more writings soon! Male companions version is here and gage’s is here

Screaming and yelling pierced the night, jolting the companion awake. She instinctively reached for the firearm next to her when she noticed Sole was the one bringing the noise. As she touched their arm in an attempt to stop them from twisting and turning, Sole managed to land a hit on her jaw. Before she knew what had just happened, Sole managed to spring on on top of her, hands on their companion’s throat. “YOU WON’T TAKE ME DOWN! GO AWAY!” Cait: Cait instinctively punched Sole back, causing them to instantly back off with a look of horror in their eyes and a hand on their jaw. “If yer lookin’ for a fight there’s more where that came from.” “ Cait? Cait... I thought...” “ Well whatever ya thought ya thought wrong, didn’t ya?! Nice right hook you’ve got but I’d rather have ya not swingin’ it at me anymore without first letting me know we’re gonna be sparring. What the hell was that?“ “ I may not have been entirely straight with you.” Cait scoffed “That’s what she said.” Sole didn’t even crack a smile, but their shaking hands now did stand out to Cait “ Are you all right darlin’?” Cait tried to walk closer to them but Sole just flinched when she tried to touch them.  “ No. I’m not. Haven’t been in a while. But I thought I had it under control.”  Cait frowned. “Had what under control? Did ya get addicted to something? Cause we can get that sorted out.” Sole just shook their head and slowly sat down. Not jus their hands were shaking, their legs were too. Cait felt a sinking feeling creep up on her and backed up, hand on her gun. “Are you a synth? What did you do to Sole?” Sole shook her head. “No I’m me, I’ve just got... sometimes I get these... flashes and nightmares and they usually have a paralysing effect but I haven’t had them for a while. It’s just when I saw that kid yesterday... it reminded me of... “ Sole went quiet. “I know it sounds nuts.” Cait exhaled deeply. “ It really doesn’. I know what it is.” The images came rushing back to her too, her parents accepting the money when they took her away, the violence when she was a child, the... she shook her head. “Tommy... told me what it was when he saw me having a breakdown at some point.” “ It’s got a name. Called PTSD.” Sole muttered. “It can’t be cured.” “ I recovered... I don’t want to suggest you take over my ways of coping, they weren’t quite that good. Weren’t even voluntary, just did what I had to do to survive. But we can find better ways to deal with em. All the ways Tommy told me and I didn’t wanna hear. For starters, I... I'm here if you need to talk. If you want to. You had me back when I needed yer help from Psycho. Now I’m gonna have yours.” “ You don’t owe me Cait.”   “ Not why I’m doin’ this. I don’t believe in that kind of shite. No, I just won’t let one of the last decent people out there go down the same path I did, handlin’ it in all the wrong ways. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”  

Curie: Curie grabbed Sole’s hands and muttered “Pl... please... It’s... me.” Sole let go and shook their head while staring at their hands and walking backwards until they hit a wall. “Curie, I’m... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to... “ Sole put their hands in front of their face and started sobbing quietly before they let themselves slide down the wall. Their breathing was far too fast, too ragged. Curie rubbed her neck before sitting down in front of Sole “ Please breathe. Deep breaths. Slowly. Just do as I do.” Curie started to breathe in and out deeply and as audible as possible. Sole followed her lead. When their breathing had slowed down a little Curie gave them a moment, until they looked at her again. And broke down again. “ I’m sorry...” Sole nearly started to cry again.  “No it’s okay, did you have a bad dream?” Sole shook their head. “ Well... yes. But... it happens regularly. I have seen a lot of things and sometimes the images come back. And they...” Sole shivered and dug their nails into the palm of their hands. “Make it feel like I’m there again. Making the same mistakes, being helpless.” Curie reached for them but Sole just flinched. “Please, don’t touch me right now. It makes me feel... trapped. Just give me a moment.” Curie put up her hands and placed them beside her body. “ So you have flashes and panic attacks because of past trauma?” Sole nodded. “ Does this mean you have zhis post traumatic stress disorder?” Sole looked up, surprised that Curie knew about it in spire of her limited amount of time in the ‘real’ world. “ Yes, it is.” Sole said it so quietly that Curie could barely even hear it.  “ I zho not understand it completely, all emotions sometimes feel overwhelming to me. But I have learned what that mans to humans. You must know, I can do zhings to aid you while you have this condition. I can help. Try to look around the room and describe what you are seeing. Or talk to me. Or seek therapy!” Curie went quiet. “I suppose it is a little bit harder now in the wasteland. But you can talk to me. I am loyal to you. I want to help you because you are my friend. Now, I feel like I should... hold you. Could I put my arm around you? “ Sole looked at her and nodded slowly. “ I am not going anywhere. I feel more than just duty, I... care. You need my help and it is important to me to help you. Whenever you are ready. So... are you ready?”  “ I think so. Do those... things you mentioned help?”  “ I have not yet tested them but I believe they will. And if they don’t we will find a way to help you. You will be my next experiment!” She meant it well, and Sole knew it. They put their head against Curie.  “Thanks, Curie.” “ You are most welcome.”

Desdemona: Des grabbed their wrists. “What... are... you...” Sole let go. After a deep gasp Desdemona continued with “doing?”  Sole seemed frozen, looking at their hands then at Desdemona, not saying a word. Completely in shock. “ Oh no.” Des got up, stood in front of Sole; “Sole. SOLE!” They looked at her. “Whatever you just saw, it wasn’t real. Look around, where are you?” “At the railroad headquarters.” ‘Yes. What do you see, Sole?” Sole went over all they they could see and even proceeded to descibe Desdemona herself.  “ Feeling better?”  “ Is no an answer?” Des smiled. “You’re speaking again, that is progress. Is this a recent condition or have you had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for a while? What did you see?” Sole shuddered. “I’d rather not talked about it quite yet if you don’t mind.” “ I do mind if it affects you like this that you are still going out on missions.” “ I have to help those people. There are synths out there who need me. Who need us. I can’t just... I can’t stop. I have to just suck it up and...” Des interrupted them. “No, you don’t.” “  I’ll deal with this when the dust settles.” “ You have done a lot already. It might be time for you to allow me to help you fight this.” “I can pick my own battles Des, this is not the important one. “ “ Isn’t it? You just lunged at me. What do you think will happen when you do this to someone who doesn’t trust you blindly? Someone who themself has been through a very traumatic experience? They’ll run or fight you. So this is an important battle. Sometimes our battles pick us. We can’t quit. We just can’t. “ “ I don’t want to feel useless.” “ You’re not. You’re never going to be. I admire you for all you’ve done for us. All the people you’ve saved. Now please allow us to help you save yourself from these visions. We may not be able to stop them alltogether but we can help.”

Glory: Glory instantly elbowed Sole and flipped them right on their back. “SNAP OUT OF IT! You’re in the railroad! It’s NOT. REAL.” Sole went limp. Just staring up at her.  “ You are safe. Whatever you have seen it can’t hurt you. And I won’t hurt you either.” She got off of Sole and put her hands up. “Look around and breathe. Concentrate on your breathing. You’ll be okay.” After a few minutes Sole managed to speak again. “You... have experience with this?” “ Not firsthand. But I’ve seen it before. PTSD, right? Some of the synths have it. Some of the humans have it too. It’s caused some issues in the past. People thinking the killchip of a synth might be athing while all they were suffering from is the things they went through. What triggerd it?” Sole shook their head. “ You don’t want to talk about it?” Sole shook their head again. “ All right, that’s fair. Whenever you’re ready let me know.I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to have it. Considering the amount of blood and gore you see day in day out. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised it would affect you. You always go with your big, stupid heart. It scares me. The way you jump in front of the gun rather than just jumping the gun sometimes... Whatever it was... you can talk to me about it. I won’t tell anyone. But I suggest you do. I’m more of a do than talk kinda person myself. I can try but... I may be shit at it. The railroad can get you in touvh with other people who are fighting this. Or get you whatever else you need to help. But don’t worry I’m no snitch.All at your own pace. You feeling a bit better yet?”  Sole nodded. “ Good.”

Haylen:      Haylen grabbed their wrists and kicked Sole off of her.  “ IT IS NOT REAL! SOLE! I AM HAYLEN. Whatever happened I wasn’t there. So it is not happening again. We are safe. “ Sole punched a wall. They looked angry but confused and hurt as well. Tears streaming down their face.  Haylen just let them go ahead. Let them scream. When they had calmed don a little she spoke again. “ I’ve been there. I mean, it was different for me. The image of my partner in my arms, and me knowing I couldn’t save him. I would just... freeze. Unable to move. Then cry. Go from not wanting anyone to touch me to needing a hug to reassure I was okay. I know my triggers now though, it’s... not gone but easier. It helped me to know that I did what I could at the time. i made the calls I made at the tim because they seemed like the best ones. Now... I avoid what triggers it as much as I can. I figured out what makes it easier to get it out of my system. “ “ I thought I had it in check. I’m..” “ No you don’t have to tell me you’re sorry. I’m sorry you’re going through that.” “ Those things that you do to help, will they help me?” “ I guess I’m gonna have to figure that out. With you. But you’re not alone. And it’s... not uncommon. There are more Brothers and Sisters who are living with it. Danse kind of helped me through it. I don’t even think he realized it. But I do.“ “ What if their ways don’t help. What if nothing helps yet?” “ Some things will.”

Magnolia: Magnolia just banged on Sole’s chest for a few time s. Sole let go instantly and Magnolia scrambled for a gun. “ I really didn’t think you were one of the crazy ones.” She coughed a few times. Sole walked further away from her with their hands up. “ I... I’m sorry.” Magnolia noticed Sole was shaking. It looked strange, they always looked so confident in front of her. Now they were so... vulnerable. uncharacteristically so. She put the gun down again. “Shhh... calm down. You’re with me. I don’t bite... much. Breathe.in. Breathe out. That’s it. Now please explain why you attacked me?” “ I have PTSD. It is... challenging. I sometimes see the worst parts of my life again as if it is happening. It makes me think I’m there. Sometimes I can’t shake it for a long time.” “As I said when I met you, we’re all trying to forget something aren’t we? Don’t worry. You can come to me whenever you need to get away from the world out there. I’d bet you’ll feel a little better listening to my songs... or when I get you awake in my bed. I can’t fix your ptoblems but I can make  you forget about them again for a little while.” “ Magnolia?” “ Yes, sugar?” “ Thank you. But... I thought your love was the stage. That I shouldn’t get too attached.” “ My first love, yes. Never said anything about my second or third. Besides, I’m not offering to be your one and only. But every hero needs a muze. I’m happy to be yours.” “ Your second love?” “ Perhaps. And you’d be surprised what I’d do for love. Stick around for a while. I’ll look after you on my down time.Just don’t get too used to it, all right darling?”

Piper: Piper managed to bend Sole’s thumbs in such a painful manner that they let go. The pain snapping Sole out of their nightmare. Piper coughed a little. “What the hell, Blue? I figured that if you’d wanted to kill me you’d have tried by now?!” Sole was staring at their hands. “ ‘c mon I didn’t break your thumbs or anything. You’ll be fine. You owe me an explanation though. What was that?” Sole looked back at her and only then Piper saw the tears.  “ Oh... Blue.. hey eh... damnit. I’m not good with you and... that. But I have to know... why did you attack me?” “ I was having fflahbacks to the worst time in my life. I haven’t had them for a while but...Sometimes it feels I’m there again. And I am fighting and helpless again.”  “ Are you okay?” “ Right now? No. I will be though. After.. a while..” “ Has this happened before? Is there anything I can do?” “ You could forgive me for doing... that. I swear I didn’t want to hurt you.” “ Oh I know, don’t worry about that. Let me do the worrying. Please, has this happened before or is this a one-time thing?” “ It tends to happen when something reminds me of... “ Sole scraped their throat. “ Is this related to the story I am writing? Those people I interviewed yesterday? I am sorry... I should n’t have taken you along to a family who had their child kidnapped by the Institute I;;; i’m so sorry.” “ I’m not sure it was that. It might be what triggered it.” “ Whatever it is...” “ PTSD I’d assume.”  “ All right, that gives me a name. I’ll... do some research. I will do whatever I can to help you find solutions. “ “ Piper. Please. I don’t think I can fix this. So please just ignore it.’ “ I’m worried about you. And I’ve been travelling with you for a while. I know by now that you can beat anything that’s out to get you. And that we can overcome anything if we do it together. We’ve already proven that over and over again. We can do it again. We can pretend I am the one who has it if you don’t want anyone to know. But... we can figure this out. “ “ You don’t have to do this. “ “ I know. I don’t do things cause I have to. Ever. I do things because I want to. Because I feel passionate about them.” Sole cracked a little smile. “You’re feeling ‘passionate’ about me?” “ Don’t push it Blue, or I might think it was just an excuse to get me closer to you. In which cas; just buy a girl a drink and have a talk. Works way better. “ She carefully extended her hand, not sure if Sole wanted to touch anyone. Sole put theirs in hers. “We both know I’m more of a speaker than a listener most days....but you’ve always listened to me. I’d be happy to listen to you too. Whenever you need me.”

[thehappymessproject]

56-58/100 - Open letter to my fellow humans suffering from depression

Hello wonderful being!

Yes, I’m talking to you. I know your depression won’t believe a word of it, but I wanted to begin this letter by telling you that you are so brave, and so much stronger than you think, and that you can get better. Just by reading this, I know you are already giving yourself some love and space to heal, that makes you wonderful and brave in my book. 

Recovery is not easy or comfortable, it is messy, as far as linear as possible, but it really does exist. I can promise this to you : I’ve lived it, and I’ve seen it happen over and over. 

If this is a really awful day for you, please, keep that reading for later and go read this instead : you’ll find things you can do right now. 

I know your brain won’t make this reading easy for you, so I’ll try to cut that letter into shorter sections, so you can go and read whatever you feel like you need or want to read. 

Why I wanted to write to you

Yesterday, a dear patient of mine sent me a discouraged email asking me if I could explain to her some things about depression : how it is linked to sleep, to losing motivation, and why it is so hard to keep studying when we suffer from depression. She ended her message by commenting that she is probably “taking advantage of it”. 

I asked her permission to make it a text on here, so others might be benefiting from my answers, and it would be easier for me to say most of what I’d like to say on the topic. 

I also wanted to write this for me. I had a tough year in many regards, I had a tough few months adapting to a lot of changes, my whole lifestyle thrown off balance, as you may know if you read me regularly. Since then, I have experienced stronger depressive symptoms for the first time in years, and needed to go back to basics. I’m doing way better already, but after that long busy week I had, I needed those reminders too. 

It’s not your fault.

Let’s start with this : there is nothing wrong with you. You are not defective, broken or problematic. It’s not that you “don’t know how to do life”. 

You are suffering from a disease. A brain scan could show you your brain (which is an organ like any other) doesn’t work properly. I am pretty sure you wouldn’t blame a person from having a physical illness. Please, take an instant to breathe deeply and offer yourself the same compassion here, even if it’s just for a second. 

We live in a world that is emotionally illiterate. We all know what emotions are, we just don’t learn how to deal with them in a way that is healthy for us. For a lot of us, therapy is the only place we learn things like this. This makes everyone at higher risk to suffer from mental disorders.

Our world is, on top of this, a very stressful and unfair one, and one that is designed to feed on our fears and insecurities. Chances are you also were raised in a family who doesn’t think sadness is important or who thinks that sadness is this huge awful thing rather than the message it is, who didn’t tell you that all humans get sad, and that it was ok to fall down. They didn’t know and therefore couldn’t teach you either. It is not your fault at all. You did your best with the cards you were dealt with. 

What is depression?

You can find how the DSM V describes depression and how the ICD 10 describes it. Both sources are the ones most clinicians use to diagnose their patients. Depression is one of the most common mental illnesses, up to 20% of people depending on where they live will suffer from it. You need to know that you are not alone in this. That it is not about you and your inability to cope or your being too weak. 

Depression doesn’t happen in a vacuum though. Nor can it be only about genetics or purely circumstantial. Depression is a big cry for help from your inner child. 

You know her. She is the part of you who is full of wonder and curiosity, who could at some point be so filled of joy that she fell like she could burst from it, who wants to believe in magic and learn many exciting and mysterious things, who loves others and know how wonderfully unique each of us is. 

That little guy’s also the one who gets heart-broken facing tragedies, who gets angry when our boundaries are overstepped or injustice shows up, ashamed when we do something really wrong or really can’t do something, guilty when we hurt someone or do something bad, disappointed when something important falls through, discouraged when things are really hard... Our inner child is the very core of our emotions. 

When and how depression happens

Depression happens when we deny our inner child’s feelings and act as if they don’t matter for too long. If we do, wether or not very good or bad things happen to us, we get depressed over time, exhausted by having fought too much how we felt, we end up feeling empty and like nothing really matters.

When we do ignore that pain for too long, everything gets off-balance. We are triggering our defence mechanisms. Our symptoms all depend on how we function in general and under pressure. 

For example, a lot of us sleep a lot when we are depressed, and describe sleep almost like an attempt to avoid living and feeling the way they do. Others, usually when also suffering from anxiety, will have trouble sleeping, often because when they try to go to sleep, they are filled with very unpleasant feelings and thoughts that keep them awake. Depressed overeaters tend to use food to “fill the void” they feel in their belly, undereaters tend to believe they are so unworthy they don’t even deserve food. 

Your depression is not my depression, but we are in the same boat

Each depression is as unique as our personality and background is. But they have all one thing in common : they afflict people who avoid their feelings and tried to build a life designed to never feel sad, hurt or frustrated. Almost every depression story I heard started with something along the lines of “I used to be able to feel pretty good, but now I can’t anymore”. That’s simply not true. No one is just depressed from one day to the next.

Depression starts very early in life

Most depressive scenarios actually started very young, when we learnt that there are ‘bad’ feelings, and that they should be avoided, bottled up or numbed. But those strategies only work on short term, and should never be used as regular strategy to deal with feelings. 

Unaware of that fact, we get into painful dilemmas, because slowly, we start to avoid certain situations that make us feel those avoided emotions, we start to give up things that are important to us and to procrastinate them. Our world starts to feel smaller and smaller, things seem to get harder and harder. We lose any kind of motivation, and hope. 

Everything gets exhausting, even things that we didn’t have to think about before, like showering, brushing our teeth, or getting out of the house start to feel really hard. We feel continuously exhausted from battling ourselves. 

Each time we try to do something good for us, our brain harasses us simultaneously with excuses for not to do those things, and to make sure we stop even thinking about it, a collection of all the worse things we can think about ourselves. That battle is why it is very hard to keep a job or study when depressed : we have so little energy left.

Depression is a smart b*tch : here are its strategies

Depression is kind of like our personal bully and anti-coach. If it was only for Depression, we just wouldn’t get out of our bed, and stay there in foetal position, waiting for time passing by until we die, hopefully soon. 

Its favourite strategy to make sure that happens : making sure we stay very far away from anything having meaning for us, and any activity involving self-love will be its worst enemy.  That’s its job, and it’s pretty good at it. 

Depression’s favourite weapon is the idea that things that are our duty and things that make us feel good about ourselves are the most important and have to be prioritised. 

It is actually very smart : since we are so exhausted already, and things that are about feeling like we are good, right and strong ask from a lot of energy from us, and their results never last long because we rarely really want to do them, it’s almost the perfect way to end up with a life that feels exhausting and pointless. 

I’m pretty sure that sounds like how your life feels like right now, so you can experience yourself how smart and effective that depressive strategy is. 

This is why the only way to actually fight depression is to learn to look at it and treat it for what it is : a story. Those awful things Depression is using your brain to tell you right now aren’t facts, they are fears. Things you desperately hope you are not. 

Your job and ways to fight back the beast

To recover, we have one job : to do our best to push it back, one step at the time. Yes, it’s a big job. But we don’t have to move mountains to change and heal. Actually, it really comes down to one self-loving action everyday. Of course, not any kind of actions.

The first rule to kick Depression’s ass is to accept the fact that you are doing your best. And by your best, I don’t mean “all you can possibly do until you’re physically and emotionally beaten”. And definitely not either “what you used to be able to do” nor “what others seem to be able to do”. Accept that we are doing our best means accepting that Depression is exhausting us, and we need to take it slow. 

To do that, we need to sort out what we actually can do, even if it’s not all that we would want to do. We need to say no to many things : things we think we should do, things others think we should do, or would want us to do, things we said previously said yes to, BUT that makes that whisper “Fuck no!” comes up.

When we feel depressed, it’s a call from our inner child to really take care of ourselves.  We all want to love ourselves, but so many of us never act on that need. 

An important note : when we fight back, Depression fights back too, often striking harder than usual, the self-talk often gets more violent : that’s actually a sign you’re doing exactly what you need. Otherwise it wouldn’t bother to stop you. 

The two types of self-love that will help

There are two types of self-love : restorative soft things that are like little hugs for our inner child, and brave things that we really want or need to do but keep procrastinating or avoiding by fear. 

Generally, the more depressed we are, the less we prioritise both. When I say that not any kind of actions will help, it is because they won’t have the same meaning for us. 

In depression, there isn’t a lot of meaning anymore in our life. The less meaning there is, the more our life feels pointless. Adding meaning can be done in many different ways and should be prioritised IF and only if you have some energy left. 

Doing these important things for us will require some energy and courage. So, we can’t create any meaning in our life if our cup is completely empty. 

That’s why we need to start where we are at. Are you completely out of life energy right now? Does even getting up in the morning feels super hard? I remember times when even breathing or being awake felt exhausting. That’s a big sign to start with restorative self-love before anything else.  

We need to observe how we feel and what we are struggling with. If we can do that, only then can we plan and take action. Remember when I said that healing starts with one daily action? This is valid for any kind of healing.

Practical steps towards healing : anti-perfectionism in action

We need structure to heal. But not the kind of structure we already know and use, generally to punish ourselves or make sure we are not out of control. Loving structure.

Wether we need more restorative self-love, or brave self-love (see previous section), we can use a very simple strategy regarding healing. Choose one challenge you are going to commit for a week, the simplest and easiest possible. Just a week, more as an exploration, but also a way to get an small win everyday.

For restorative self-love, it should be either a very simple action of a few minutes where we practice self-care if our cup needs to be filled up first, something that helps us relax and slow down. It can be something you like that is a calm activity (reading, knitting, crosswords, puzzles...) or a grounding practice (journalling, meditating, doing yoga). Anything that feels like this and you never do counts. Start where you are at.

For brave self-love, start by answering these questions :  - what is something really important for you, something you often think about doing but keep delaying and finding excuses for? It can be about learning something new, starting a new activity, coming back to an old one... - what would be the smallest step you can take in that direction in the next 24hrs? 

And by smallest step, I really mean tiny. It should be doable in a few minutes, 10mn is a good limit for that, you may have read from me about those “1% steps” (1% of your awake hours is in average about 10mn). Reask the second question every day if you finish the daly task, or take some more time for it the day after if you didn’t. 

Today, with a patient of mine, we set up a 1% step towards learning how to edit videos. Editing videos felt really hard and like a huge task for him as well as something he really wanted to do, but he felt confident about his ability to research on Google and his favourite e-learning platforms for 10mn a day, looking for tutorials and classes about video editing. 

After a week, you can decide to either continue for another week of the same challenge, finding a new one, or making the one you chose a little bit harder. 

That’s how you vanquish the depressive beast. One small step at the time towards self-love. When we progress a tiny bit everyday, we bypass depression’s most efficient weapons and strategies. 

A few reminders for the road

- give yourself the authorisation to suck and to fail : if you can’t do your mini step of the day, it really doesn’t matter, as long as you come back to it as soon as you can.  - give yourself credit : make ‘done lists’ every night, writing all you have done that felt hard can be a great 1% step to counter the infamous “you’re not doing enough”. You might feel ridiculous putting down “brushed my teeth” or “went outside for 5mn”, it’s important to do so anyway. Show yourself that your efforts count by celebrating your smallest wins. Depression hate this.  - you are not a burden - you are not defective - you are not weak - you are doing your best, be gentle with yourself - it will get better, especially if you take responsibility for your own happiness (everything we talked about in this letter is about this) - your worth doesn’t depend on your productivity at all - you are so much more than your to do list - you are allowed to make your healing a priority over your grades or your job, making healing a priority is completely life altering in the best way imaginable - you can do this  - I believe in you - you are loved

See you tomorrow, Love,  L. 

[aliceyinh]

Life Goes On

Hi uhh.. I know this might seem kinda random and all bc it’s not bts related but I just wanted to share a little sth I wrote last year after a very rough period in my life just came to a close and I know how it feels like to think you’re alone in your struggles. So this is for anyone struggling, especially if you have a mentally ill parent. But also anyone else. You’re not alone. You’re never alone. And reading this again after almost 9 months I can tell you: It does get better. <3

[TW: mental illness/ psychosis/ depression/ bleeding(mental wounds)]

I think I want to talk about something today. I don't know if I'm ready but I wasn't ready when I packed my bags back then and moved to Canada. I just wanted to do it. And so I did.

I've been feeling lots of ways in the past couple of months, with multiple changing moods in one day. You might be asking yourself where I want to go with this but honestly I don't quite know myself. I thought many times about if I even should or not but there will always be points for and against it so.. screw it.

I think this year and all it's events resurfaced some things I had stuffed and buried somewhere deep down because I was tired of living with them - but never really healed from them. Which is probably why I ended up being crushed by them and in the state I am right now when they were presented to me again.

My mother suffers from a mental illness, in more detail the exact diagnosis states the words "Paranoid schizophrenic psychosis". As many mental illnesses it's something that can be treated, but never cured. My mom has lived with this illness for many many years, in fact, she lived without needing any therapy or medication for almost 10 years between her first and second psychosis and then again for around 3, completely stable and what others would label as "normal". This year, after being in the house for almost 2 months because of Covid she fell back into another psychosis after hearing she'd loose her job due to the pandemic. Because of this she was unable to work and fell deeper into a hole she couldn't get out of - and a hole I couldn't even find to get her out of because the way the psychosis affected her brain often made it impossible for me to reach her. The pandemic hadn't been friendly to me either. I think we can all agree that the amount of stress and pressure each and everyone of us has been under is beyond anything any of us could have ever imagined. Although I was still lucky enough to have a job, work had been more than a handful, conventions to have some carefree time were canceled and traveling was off the table. And then on top of that I suddenly was faced again with the weight of knowing that if I collapsed, if I quit my job to escape the stress, if I moved out to have some freedom, my mother would not be able to survive in the state she was in. There were no financial cushions, no one to look after her, no one to react if things went south. Coming home was always both, daunting and nerve wrecking. There were a lot of reasons I'm not going to go into why I didn't immediately react or call in family members. Let's just say the arguments against these options were just as big as the option of getting help. So in between 50 hour weeks, very little sleep, health issues, the stress of an ongoing pandemic and exhausting conversations to try to get my mother to see her neurologist and get back on her medication I just kept going - because I was the only one still able to. Everything just kept going wrong left and right and I heard my body screaming for a break and for me to get out of this because I hadn't realized until now how traumatized her last psychosis (I was too little to really know what was happening with her first one and she had her second one when I was in 11th grade - that's where it really hit) left me. I was always on edge. The way she spoke, her tone, her body language.. she didn't even have to say anything for my body to go into full on panic and fight or flight mode. A lot of time I felt like I didn't even have a mother anymore... there was just nothing left of the person I used to know. I do not blame her by the way. It was never her fault. She's probably suffered from this more than I can ever imagine. After all the stigma of mental illness was a lot worse when she had her first Psychosis back in the 90s. If anything, I admire her for the fact that she just keeps getting back up, being able to go back to a "normal" life - because many don't ever really get back out of it. But with everything going on it was just too much.

And I think I'm paying the price for not allowing myself to slow down. Because after she finally agreed to taking her meds again and her thinking going back to the way it used to be within like two weeks I kept feeling worse and worse. Don't get me wrong. The health problems were there before. Probably because of stress, not eating too well and just some weaknesses I've been dealing with. And the fact that for months and months I had one little thing after another and everything just getting a tiny bit worse each day despite me stripping myself down to the very last bit of energy I had left made something crack - in my body and soul. And now that I'm finally starting to process it and heal from them I have a hard time accepting that I am not the super energetic, positive, stress resistant can do person I used to be. Which again, makes it harder to heal in the first place.

It's funny how sometimes, healing from something feels more like being cut open again. Watching the cut bleed and then very slowly close is even worse. It burns. It itches. You get impatient. And you really want to scratch off the crust but you know it's going to take even longer to heal then. And it's already taking too long. It's agony, it's feeling better. And ever so often, even though you gave yourself all the time to heal, a scar stays where you used to bleed. And although you don't feel the itch and the pain anymore it's at times hard to look at. And to come to terms with the fact that some part of you will forever be a little different.

To be brutally honest. I'm scared of a scar staying. I'm scared I exhausted my mind and body so much that neither will be able to ever fully recover. And I am beating myself up about it. Yesterday a friend reminded me to be patient and give myself more time - give my body more time, give doctors and medicine more time. That I am healing and healing... is a long process. And it's gotta start somewhere so I decided to write.. and if you see this, share it with you. So you might understand the why and how and to let you know what happened and in the hopes that it might be a lesson to others to listen when their body is asking for a break.

[baneismydragon]

The not so secret diary of Gabriel Agreste

Because I needed some crack in my life. This is a gift for @geek-fashionista who requested my joke idea become a fic. 

And because writing ridiculous Gabe content cheers me up and I needed a good pick me up. (Hopefully this will get me back in the mood to finish the next chapter of Cut from the Same cloth. If nothing else it felt good to really sit down and write again.) 

Anyways- enjoy. 

The not so secret diary of Gabriel Agreste

(Edited and catalogued by Nathalie Sancoeur)

March 18th

So apparently driving 4 employees to a nervous breakdown in the span of 2 weeks is a problem to my board of directors. They claim it’s ‘not good for the company’. Also, apparently, backhanding one of them during the meeting for suggesting I ‘take a leave of absence to deal with the loss of your wife’ counts as assault.

To avoid charges, and more importantly a forced sabbatical, I have agreed to see a therapist. Hence this ridiculous writing exercise.  Oh well. At least it is only one wasted hour a week as opposed to several months of sitting in my house, watching them drive my company into the ground with their ineptitude.

March 25th-

My therapist says that I have a problem.

Of course I have a problem! My wife is missing. Honestly, I have to pay this man?

He says that I need to be ‘focused on healing and rebuilding a new sense of normalcy instead of lashing out at the people around me.’

Well perhaps if the people around me weren’t so incompetent I wouldn’t need to lash out so much.

Nathalie- does it count as attending my therapy sessions if I send a proxy in my place? Please investigate.

March 30th-

My therapist has informed me that I am developing an obsession, and that he is concerned that the loss of my wife and my need to get her back is driving me to an unhealthy dissociative state.

Well maybe that’s why it is so important that I get her back. Did you ever think of that? Then I won’t need to waste my time adjusting to my new circumstances, because everything can just go back to the way it was. It’s really not that complicated. For someone whose job it is to ‘help me cope with my grief’ he is quite the pessimist. He keeps insisting we discuss the possibility of if she never comes back. Thank God these sessions are only an hour long, I don’t need to get charged with assault again.

April 1st-

I told my therapist that his advice was working and that I have completely seen the error of my ways.

And Nathalie says I have a terrible sense of humor.

The crushed look on his face when I pointed out the date was priceless.

Nathalie- make sure we are having fish for dinner, Adrien will appreciate the humor even if you don’t.

April 9th-

I had the portrait artist come in today so that we could replace the family portrait at the top of the staircase. I pre-selected our mourning ensembles and Adrien was miserable the whole time. The artist asked me if he should take some artistic licence with our expressions. I asked him if he valued his commission. The finished work was a perfect testament to the state of misery in this house. Hopefully this will serve as an adequate reminder to anyone who thinks it’s acceptable to attempt to inform me that ‘things are never as bad as they seem.’

My therapist says this is yet another sign of my increased megalomania. I think that it isn’t my fault that more people don’t have the resources to afford appropriate decor for their homes based on the emotional environment. Given what I am having to pay out for these worthless sessions I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a half dozen portraits of his own scattered around some poorly decorated eyesore he calls a home.

Nathalie- please arrange for some new backlighting for the updated portrait. Either some cool blue tones or perhaps some purple.

April 14th-

Today my therapy session consisted of discussing my childhood. On the bright side I sketched out two new designs while I tuned out his prattle.

Nathalie- you owe me 20 Euro. I told you it would take less than a month for him to try the Freudian approach.

April 21st-

Yesterday was the runway launch of the new Spring line. Not some of my best work to be honest but still a far sight better than anything else released this season. Maybe the Italians will give me some competition this year at least.

One of the reporters asked if the line was being dedicated to my ‘late wife’. I ask him if he was going to dedicate this interview to his soon to be late career?

Of course Adrien heard the whole thing and has been in a mood ever since, although he didn’t let it affect his performance. Even as a child, he is more professional than a fair percentage of my staff. I am prodigiously proud of him. Now if only he would stop being so emotional. It isn’t good for him. He spent the entire morning and afternoon holed up in his room listening to angst ridden J-pop and ordering mint fudge ice cream from the kitchen staff.

My therapist says that I need to be making an effort to empathize with his grief instead of fixating on my own, and compensate more in my new role as a single parent.

Clearly the stress of this show has addled my brain because I stupidly attempted to follow his advice.

After a pre-scheduled family dinner I patted Adrien on the shoulder and told him that I promises that things will get better.

He stared at me for a few seconds like I had grown a second head, before hugging onto me like a barnacle and bursting into tears.

Wonderful.

I managed to send my own child into hysterics.

This is the sort of disaster that comes from listening to the advice of idiots.

April 22nd-

Adrien seems to have recovered from last night’s meltdown rather admirably. Thank God children bounce back from these sorts of setbacks. I am glad to see that my poor judgement in following my therapist's advice doesn’t seem to have caused any permanent damage. Now I can go back to the important business of figuring out how to bring his mother back instead of wasting everyone’s time with pointless platitudes. Really that is the much smarter approach.

It’s like I tell my employees- if you just fix the mistake you won’t have to spend your energy explaining why it was there in the first place. No one will care how many failures you went through to get there- all that matters is the end result.

Speaking of failures, what was I thinking when I chose the dining room furniture? It’s hideous.

Nathalie- remind me to set aside time to purchase a new dining set.

April 30th-

She has been gone for exactly 100 days.

May 9th-

Today is my 20th Wedding anniversary.

It was storming today. My therapist asked me how that made me feel.

I told him- wet.

I don’t think he appreciated my answer.

May 12th-

I have fired my therapist.

No the answer to my problems is not to ‘move on and accept my loss and just be grateful for each new day.’ What sort of idiotic attitude is that? If I approached my life according to the advice of this degenerate I would be designing pink sequins party dresses for some mass produced tween fashion label. Even worse, the toad-faced troll had the audacity to suggest that I should consider arranging for Adrien to have his own therapy sessions. As if my child needs any sort of support from a second rate psychoanalyst with delusions of grandeur.

Good riddance. Besides, 2 months of this charade should be more than enough to satisfy the board.

Nathalie- make arrangement for a private investigator to look into his business. Perhaps we can do the world a favor and get his licence revoked.

May 14th-

I have decided to keep this diary. I find writing about the stupidity of others quite therapeutic.

Nathalie please find a more appropriately color coordinated journal in which to properly transcribe my entries.   

May 17th-

I have hired a bodyguard for Adrien. He keeps trying to sneak out, and I can’t keep losing Nathalie for hours at a time while she chases him down. I don’t understand why he is so desperate to go out and meet other people. Hasn’t he figured out by now that very few people are actually worth meeting? Clearly the stress of losing his mother is clouding his judgement. I’ll arrange for Nathalie to get a few more of those arcade machines he enjoys so much to be shipped in. Hopefully that will help keep him distracted.

Meanwhile, perhaps I should up his modeling engagements. After all, throwing oneself into one's work does provide some temporary solace. It’s certainly the best plan I have come up with so far.

May 22nd-

Adrien’s new Bodyguard has caught him attempting to sneak out twice. Both times he sent me a text informing me that the incident had been taken care of and requesting an appropriate stipend for the installation of new security cameras.

This is clearly the best hiring decision I have made in years.

Adrien may be the closest thing to perfection in this world but alas, children will be children, so I am glad I have some competent staff to manage him until he grows out of it. I believe this teenaged need to rebel in light of our recent family tragedy is what the media refers to as ‘Emo’. I will make some calls to the main office to have more of our black pieces added to his wardrobe. And my ex therapist said I ‘wasn’t paying attention to my sons needs.’ Ha.

June 3rd-

Still no progress in my plan. This morning I woke up from a dream and I couldn’t remember if that is what my wifes laugh actually sounded like.

I can’t live like this. I won’t live like this.

June 5th-

Nathalie I will take dinner in my office. Also I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the weekend.

June 10th-

Feeling infinitely better today.

It has been uncovered that my recently disgraced ex-therapist was having an affair, and with a former patient no less! Clearly he was taking out his own frustrations with his own failed marriage out on me.

Unlike that hypocritical cow, I will preserve my family no matter what impediments I may face. I knew I was right all along. Still, it’s nice to have outside validation.

Nathalie- be sure to send a sizable bonus to the private investigator, as well as a nice fruit basket.

June 17th-

Adrien had a piano recital today. It was exceptional of course. I do wish he had chosen something other than Chopin. Really, is this emo phase going to carry over into everything he does?

I will have to send a message to his bodyguard to start monitoring his packages for hair dye.

Apparently he didn’t approve of me leaving as soon as his piece was over. I don’t see why. It’s not like I have any interest in the other performers and I already paid my admission so it’s no loss to the institution. Children can be so demanding.

Nathalie- make a note, the next time I am required to attend one of these functions make sure I have a tablet with me.

June 23rd-

Why have I still not replaced that dining room table?

July 2nd-

On the plane to London because apparently the instructions “just recreate the exact same show we did a month ago�� are too complicated for my employees.

I am doubly glad that I hired a bodyguard for Adrien since he is ill and will not be joining us on this trip.

Hopefully I shouldn’t be gone more than a day or so.

July 6th-

Still in London. Apparently I underestimated just how moronic people can be. I miss my wife. She always knew how to get people to do what I needed them to do with causing them to burst into tears.

She also would have appreciated my puns.

Once I get her home I swear I am going to reward myself with an entire month of not having to speak to anyone whose surname isn’t Agreste.

Except for Nathalie, of course.

July 10th-

Finally home. Adrien has made a full recovery.

He spent all of dinner expounding on the merits of something called ‘MOBA’s. I’ve found it best to just nod and pretend like I understand what he is talking about when he goes on these tangents.

Nathalie- please get me the definition for the term Noob.

July 15th-

I am truly at my wits end. Between my lack of progress on my search for my wife and my constant set backs at the company I am for all intents and purposes trying to go up a creek without a paddle.

Nathalie is less than thrilled with me at the moment as I have taken to locking myself in the office with my cellphone and computer turned off. She doesn’t seem to appreciate having to slide notes under the door.

July 22nd-

Nathalie Sancoeur is the only person to whom I am not related by blood or marriage whom I would make an effort to save during a zombie apocalypse. (Adrien’s current favorite pastime is discussing how he would react to various ridiculous survival scenarios with his bodyguard, or more accurately at his bodyguard.)

She suggested that given my frustrations with some of my staff perhaps some personnel changes were in order.

There is nothing quite so satisfying as telling  a worthless employee that they should pack up their desk and go.

I am quite confident that none of the individuals fired today would survive a zombie apocalypse.

Nathalie- please give yourself a 2% raise. It might come in handy for purchasing supplies when we are under siege by an army of the undead.

July 28th-

Adrien had his friend Mllm Bourgeois over again today. He has asked if he can be allowed to attend public school with her this term.

I told him that if Miss Bourgeois is an example of the merits of a public school education I would sooner be tarred and feathered than let him within 50 feet of said institution.  

He seems to believe that going to school would allow him the opportunity to make new friends- so I suppose I can at least see the appeal. Though, after observing his interactions today I am amazed he doesn’t simply swear off friendship altogether.

Nathalie- look into putting together some sort of dossier of suitable young people with whom Adrien could potentially associate. Perhaps we can arrange to have some on call for social engagements in the future.

July 29th-

Adrien is not speaking to me today. He has locked himself in his room. Why is everyone in this family so sensitive?

Apparently ‘you can’t just buy friends.’

Clearly he has never been involved in politics.

August 2nd-

Adrien is still angry at me. Fine, if he wants to get into a petty game of who can ignore the other longer I will play his game. He’ll learn that no one beats me when it comes to the silent treatment, just like his mother did. The most she ever made it was 3 days. We will see if Adrien fairs any better.

August 3rd-

Upon further reflection, at the end of those three days I ended up with a broken nose when my wife punched me in the face. Perhaps I should rethink my strategy.

Nathalie- schedule a family meeting to discuss Adrien’s grievances. Tell him it will save time if he prepares a list of his complaints and proposed solutions for me to consult before the start of the negotiations.

August 6th-

Adrien is visiting with his friend Mllm Bourgeois so I am taking the opportunity to go through and organize my wife’s belongings. (The staff has been forbidden from disturbing anything but it is starting to get a bit dusty.) It is best to do this while Adrien is gone as I don’t know if I can tolerate another weekend of melancholy foreign ballads blasting from his room. Or worse that new Jagged Stone album I was foolish enough to order for him as a reward for winning his last fencing competition. I swear that man sounds like a beached whale screaming its way through a slow and agonizing death. I don’t know what Adrien sees to admire in it.

At least his attempted breakouts seem to have come to a temporary halt. Either the efforts of his bodyguard have finally tempered his resolve or he is secretly plotting some sort of elaborate scheme and is trying to lure us into a false sense of security.

I guess we will see how much he takes after me.

Nathalie- make sure all of Adrien’s electronic devices are equipped with GPS tracking.

August 8th-

Still slowly working my way through the cleaning process. The latest edition of some video fighting game arrived for Adrien so he has been conveniently occupied by that. It’s getting harder to face him knowing that I am still no closer to having an answer as to how to get his mother back, not that he asks. He has always been far too kind for his own good.  

Still, it is a parent’s job to do what is ultimately best for their children and for the first time in my life I find myself spectacularly failing.

No matter how many hours I spend locked in my office I am still no closer to a concrete plan.

At least Adrien has stopped trying to accompany when I am in there. It’s too hard enough coping with my own failure without my son having to bare witness.

I will figure out a way. I did not get where I am today without being willing to fight for what I want. And once I am successful all of this will just seem like a bad dream. Both for me and for my son.

August 9th-

I never realized just how much of a hoarder my wife was until I took on this project. How many souvenirs does one woman need?

There is an entire suitcase from our last trip to Tibet that she didn’t even bother to unpack.

I’ll take care of it tomorrow.

Nathalie- reschedule my lunch with the mayor. Until after the election if at all possible. 4 months isn’t an unreasonable delay for a man with my obligations.

August 10th-

It seems that there is some truth to the concept that one should actually OPEN the boxes one acquires. I now have in my possession a strange magical creature named Nooroo who seems optimistic in his belief that he can help me in my quest to restore my family. It seems I will have the chance to turn into some sort of super powered empath with the ability to grant powers to others to help combat the forces of evil in this world. Seems like a rather dubious power. Most people are insufferably dim and couldn’t be trusted with a butter knife much less magical enhancements. Still, it is the first positive news in months. I tried opening the other box with the peacock pin but after 10 seconds of the creature crying upon being awakened I have decided to simply return it to dormant and lock it in the safe. Perhaps it will be useful later but for now one miraculous should be more than sufficient.  

Nathalie- In light of my new associate we will need a few changes to the house. Additional security, new curtains,  as well as some additions to the kitchen inventory. I will upload a list to your PDA.

August 12th-

And Everyone told me I would never have a use for a secret lair. Well I showed them. I have asked Nathalie to arrange for a large shipment of butterflies to be installed for ambiance. I have also brought in a private contractor to hide the control panel. The last thing I want in for Adrien to stumble upon any of this and get the idea to become some sort of hero vigilante. Honestly I don’t know where that boy gets his ridiculous flair for the dramatic. It must be from his mother. Meanwhile I have decided to keep Nooroo dormant for a little while. He keeps wanting me to talk to him about my feelings. If I wanted to do that I wouldn’t have fired my therapist.

August 20th-

Lair is finally ready to go. I realize though that perhaps I should read the instruction manual that came with the miraculous before I attempt to utilize unpredictable magical powers.

Nathalie- please arrange for a large pot of coffee and my favorite armchair to be placed in the lair this afternoon.  

August 30th-

Apparently translating ancient codes with no resources or starting point whatsoever is, in fact rather difficult. I supposed I should ask Nooroo for assistance.