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timelesslords · 3 years ago

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I’ve Got This Fever

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In which Annabeth catches the flu, and domestic fluff ensues

Annabeth woke up in pain.

This wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence. Being a demigod, Annabeth was no stranger to pain. She’d had broken bones, burns, cuts, stab wounds…. you name an injury, Annabeth Chase had probably experienced it.

But this was a different kind of hurt, a hurt Annabeth hadn’t felt in a long time. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara desert. Her muscles ached, and even the soft sheets and pajamas she was wearing felt like knives on her skin. Despite being under a mountain of covers, she was shivering, bitterly cold.

There was no doubt about it. Annabeth was sick.

Annabeth never got sick.

She groaned, sitting up. That turned out to be a bad idea as a wave of nausea rolled over her, and she lowered herself back onto her pillows, falling the last half of the distance. She felt Percy shift beside her, woken from her movement.

“Hey,” he said, the smile fading quickly from his face as he saw her own expression, which was probably nothing short of miserable. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like crap.”

She surprised even herself with how horrible her voice sounded, raspy and dry. Percy frowned, reaching out and touching her forehead. He normally ran hot, but now his fingers felt cool against her skin, almost painfully so.

“You’re burning up.” he said, frown deepening.

“I’m freezing.” Annabeth croaked. As if to prove her point, she shivered involuntarily.

“That’s the fever talking.” Percy said grimly, “Hold on.”

He climbed out of bed. His warmth left with him, and Annabeth was left just that much colder, trembling under the covers. Percy couldn’t have been gone more than two minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

When he returned he was holding a thermometer and a glass of water.

“Temperature first. The water might mess with the reading.” He said, apologetic. She wanted to hate him for that because she was so thirsty she thought she might die, but she knew he was right.

Annabeth sat up slowly. Thankfully this time she just felt a little dizzy and not nauseous. The thermometer was cold and uncomfortable under her tongue, but Percy kept a steadying hand on her back, rubbing small circles into her shoulder with his thumb. With her oversensitive skin it almost hurt, but she leaned into the contact anyways.

When the thermometer beeped, Percy traded it for the glass of water. Annabeth nearly downed the entire glass in one gulp.

“A hundred and one.” he announced, flipping the display so she could see. The number was lit up in red, signaling that she did, in fact, have a fever.

“I can’t be sick. I have class.” Annabeth said. Her voice was a little improved by the water, but she still sounded kind of terrible.

“Just email your professors and tell them you can’t make it.” Percy said, as if this were the easiest thing in the world.

For him it probably was. He did his best with school, but he also wasn’t opposed to ditching class every once in a while and blaming it on a fabricated stomach bug, something Annabeth found absolutely abhorrent. She hadn’t missed one class in her entire college career, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“It’s fine. I’ll just take some tylenol and I’ll be good to go.” Annabeth said. Percy gave her an exasperated look.

“Beth. You probably have the flu, you can’t go to class like this.”

“It’s just a little fever.” Annabeth protested. Really, she was already starting to feel better. It was just waking up that had been the hard part, and some ibuprofen would knock her headache and high temperature right out. Percy didn’t look so convinced, but what did he know.

“If you say so.” Percy said, crossing his arms over his chest. Annabeth looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” she asked. Percy just gave a shrug, though his expression was a stubborn one.

“Nope. You can go right ahead.” Percy said, gesturing his hand off the bed. There was no way he should be giving up this easily, but if he wasn’t going to argue with her, Annabeth wasn’t going to be the one to start it.

She swung her legs carefully over the edge of the bed, glancing again at Percy. He gave her a go ahead look, so she did. The second she tried to put weight on her feet, her vision blacked out and her knees buckled. She would have fallen flat on her face if Percy hadn’t been waiting there to catch her. Her headache immediately doubled in intensity, and Annabeth groaned.

“Still wanna go to class?” Percy asked. He at least had the decency to sound sorry for her, even though making fun of her would have been just as deserved.

“That was mean.” Annabeth complained. Percy lowered her back into bed, gently pushing her shoulder so she would lie down again. Annabeth didn’t need so much convincing this time.

“It was the fastest way.” Percy said apologetically, brushing some hair out of her eyes “You would have fought me on it all day, otherwise.”

Annabeth sighed, but didn’t deny it. She probably would have been unbearable. She probably still was going to be unbearable.

“How am I sick? I never get sick. I’ve never had the flu in my life.” Annabeth said. She glanced upwards at Percy, who was looking very much like he was trying to not say something.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” he said quickly, but Annabeth knew his expressions better than her own, and she knew when he was holding back.

“You’re thinking something.” Annabeth said accusingly. A smile cracked through his holding-back face.

“Should I not be?” he asked.

“You know what I mean.” Annabeth grumbled.

“Okay. I mean, I’m sure your immune system is very high-quality. I mean, it's yours, how could it not be?”

“Stop trying to butter me up.” Annabeth said, but she couldn't keep a smile all the way off her face.

“Who said I was buttering you up? I was complimenting your robust immune response” Percy said innocently, still grinning.

“Now you’re trying to distract me, but it won’t work.”

This was a complete lie. If he tried a little harder, it probably would work, and he knew it as well as she did. He caved anyways, which meant he probably did actually want to tell her what he was thinking.

“Okay, fine.” Percy said, “I was just going to say, you spent most of your winters at camp, which is totally isolated from the outside world, which means you haven’t really had a real flu season since you were like seven.”

“I went to boarding school.” Annabeth reminded him.

“Yeah, and you spent winter breaks at camp, or at your dad’s.”

He neglected to mention that she had spent one such break kidnapped by Luke and forced to carry the weight of the sky, which would have proved his point further, but Percy was not so ruthless during little discussions like these that he needed to bring up every last piece of evidence. Annabeth envied that restraint sometimes.

“Are you trying to tell me that my immune system probably actually sucks because it hasn’t been exposed to anything real since I was eight?” Annabeth asked. Percy bit his bottom lip.

“You said it, not me.” he said, with an apologetic shrug. Annabeth groaned again, rolling onto her stomach and shoving her face in her pillow. The sudden movement did nothing to relieve her headache; in fact it started pounding away with renewed vigor.

“But I got my flu shot and everything.” Annabeth complained, “I wash my hands all the time.”

“If you hadn’t gotten your shot you’d be feeling twice as bad right now, believe me.” Percy said. Between his ADHD-induced forgetfulness and his living in the city during flu season, Annabeth was inclined to trust him on that one.

“What do I do?” she asked, turning her face halfway off the pillow so she could look at him again. The sympathetic look he was giving her did not make her optimistic for his answer.

“Drink a lot of water and wait for it to pass.”

“That’s it?” Annabeth asked in disbelief.

“And keep an eye on your temperature.” Percy amended, “If it goes over a hundred and three I’m taking you to the ER.”

“Modern medicine is a sham.” Annabeth said. That elicited a laugh from him, at least.

“Go back to sleep. You can send your emails later.” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear.

“I don’t know if I can.” Annabeth said, and it wasn’t even a lie or her being stubborn. She was still freezing somehow, shivering even though she was under blankets again.

In response, Percy crawled back under the covers, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled into his chest, stealing his warmth, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

“You have class.” Annabeth protested. She felt his laugh, a sturdy vibration in his chest, more than she heard it.

“Not anymore. I’m probably just as contagious as you at this point.”

Annabeth tried again.

“I’m going to get you sick.”

“Maybe.” Percy said, not sounding particularly bothered by it either way.

“But…” Annabeth trailed off. She didn’t want him to leave, but it also didn’t feel fair to keep him here, knowing she was probably condemning him to the same misery she was feeling now.

“Don’t worry about me.” Percy said, reading her thoughts, “I used to ride the subway everyday, I think I’ve had every strain of the flu known to man. And if you think I’m just going to leave you here shivering, you’re crazy.”

“I guess I’ll allow it.” Annabeth mumbled, scooting a little closer to him. The shakes were finally starting to dissipate, driven off by Percy’s warmth.

“Oh, you’ll allow it?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice, even if she couldn’t see it.

“For now.” Annabeth said, though she had absolutely no intention of changing her mind, and he knew it better than she did.

“Go back to sleep, Wise Girl.” Percy said, kissing the top of her head.

“Fine.” she said, too tired to think of a good retort. “Seaweed Brain.” she added sleepily, for good measure. She felt him laugh again.

It took a while, but eventually she managed to drift off to sleep again, curled up against his chest.

#i had a shitty day at work so have some tooth-rotting fluff #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth fanfic #percabeth fluff #percabeth angst #pjo #pjo fic #pjo fanfic #pjo one shot #percabeth oneshot #Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson fanfic #percy x annabeth

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strawberriesinmoominvalley · 4 years ago

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how to write a panic attack

something like this has probably been made before, but i thought i’d throw my two pence in. so, here’s how to write a panic attack by an anxious mess

what is a panic attack?

a panic attack is where someone feels terrified and scared, without being in any real danger. they mainly occur with people who have anxiety disorders and/or ptsd, although they can happen to anyone.

however, a panic attack isn’t just fear. it causes a physical response. you brain perceives a threat, and goes into fight/flight/freeze. adrenaline is released, your body prepares to react. you become focused on the danger, because your brain has seen a threat and is trying to protect you from the non-existent danger.

what causes them?

panic attacks can happen for no reason, however there is usually a cause. these can be anything, from “this room is loud” to “someone just triggered me by mentioning something to do with my trauma” to “i read something about a phobia i have”.

if someone is already stressed, or tired, or just not having a good day, that will increase the likeliness of a panic attack. something that might not cause a panic attack on a normal day might cause one on a bad day. sometimes lots of things build up until your brain can’t take it anymore.

triggers can seem very small. for example, if you’re talking about trauma, it could be the abuser’s name, or a smell that reminds you of something. they can be things that scare a character, or a song - anything, really. they can seem insignificant, but can cause catastrophic consequences.

symptoms

everyone experiences panic attacks differently. symptoms are a grab bag and no two people will experience them the same. most people will experience shortness of breath and a racing heart, but apart from that it’s really up to you. the combinations can be weird and strange but hey, that’s anxiety. i’m not going to be able to list every singly symptom here, but i’ll try to list as many as i can:

crippling fear - it comes on the tin, but it can vary. sometimes you’re just terrified, sometimes it feels like nothing good is ever going to happen again, and the world is always going to feel this way. you feel impending doom and fear and it is Bad

being convinced you are going to die. there isn’t really a better way to describe this, you just know this is the end and it is awful

feeling like you are out of control. this usually comes with the more severe ones, as it can feel like you are going crazy

a racing heart - your body feels like it needs to fight or flee from something, so it is preparing to do so

shortness of breath - this is terrifying. it can feel like something is pressing into your chest, and your throat is closing up. you can choke and gasp and never feel like you have enough air. this usually causes you to hyperventilate

dizziness and feeling lightheaded - this usually comes from hyperventilating. your character may hand to sit down suddenly, or, if they’re stubborn like me and refuse to for whatever reason, just dramatically faint

feeling nauseous - most people will feel sick/have terrible stomach cramps, but not throw up. i have, but it’s happened only once

hot/cold flashes

sweating

goosebumps

chest pains - from my experience, your chest just aches and feels heavy, although sometimes it can cause you to double over in pain

crying - anyone can cry during a panic attack. it can cause them to hyperventilate worse, because it’s hard to breathe when you’re sobbing

screaming - sometimes anxiety can come out of anger. they might scream incoherently at people, and can completely wreck their voice in doing so

loss of speech - this can be awful, especially if you’re trying to communicate to someone what’s happening

shaking/trembling - everyone shakes when they’re anxious, but imagine your whole body doing it. you can’t control it, and can barely control your actions

ringing/buzzing ears - this can be mild, or to the point where you can barely hear

talking to yourself/babbling/repeating phrases - your speech isn’t going to be functional. at most, answering yes/no questions and maybe being able to partially describe what’s going on. but mostly, think “ohmygodohmygodohmygod” or “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”

freezing - the character might lose the ability to move anywhere. and i mean, they could be in the middle of a road and just freeze. it’s not good

pacing/fidgeting/not being able to stay still - they might throw things, jump around, might even partake in self-injurious behaviour

spiralling thoughts - even if there isn’t a trigger, the character’s inner monologue is going to loop and be incoherent. they’re going to repeat the same thoughts over and over and over. sometimes, when they’ve had it enough, they may also have the “not this again” complaint before the spiralling starts

feeling weak, like you might collapse

derealisation - feeling like everything around you isn’t real, and feeling detached from your surroundings. it feels like your in a dream-like state, or experiencing everything behind glass. it is terrifying. this can cause you to panic more, and may even hurt yourself trying to sense the world

depersonalisation - feeling detached from your body and like you aren’t real. imagine staring in the mirror and not recognise who’s staring back at you. again, terrifying and can lead to harming yourself

these aren’t even all the symptoms you can experience. there’s a lot, and can vary depending on the cause of the panic attack and the severity. for example, i tend to only derealise/depersonalise during a trauma-induced panic attack. symptoms change over time, and some symptoms may only happen during one panic attack and then never again.

writing the panic attack

now, i’m going to break this down into three sections - before the panic attack, during, and after

before the panic attack

first you need to start with the cause, which i’ve already spoken about. once you have that, you need to slowly increase the symptoms. it takes about 30 seconds for the anxiety to set in, so during that time you have to slowly introduce symptoms. if the character realises what’s going on, they may try to use coping mechanisms to stop it, or at the very least make it nicer (i’m going to talk about coping mechanisms a bit later). maybe they can feel their heart pounding, or all their senses sharpen, or their thoughts start to sharpen. it isn’t instant, there’s a build up to it.

during this time, they might run. this is extremely dangerous. they will not have the mental capacity then to think about danger. they could run into roads, hurt themselves in some way or just get lost. this is the one of the only times where a person can override the person’s wishes not to be touched (the other being if they are hurting themselves). them being safe is the highest priority.

during the panic attack

the thing about panic attacks is that they snowball. they get worse and worse until you manage to calm down or just get too exhausted to carry on. panic attacks are terrifying, but the symptoms make it twice as scary. it’s not fun.

you cannot reason your way out of them. your character is going to latch onto worst-case scenarios and nothing will ever be good again. they’re going to spiral, think of the same things over and over and over. they’re not going to think “oh no, i’m panicking”. they might have some control over their thoughts if this is their fiftieth as opposed to their third, but they’re still going to be pretty incoherent.

if this is their first one, they’re going to call an ambulance. i’m not joking. a lot of people have no idea what’s going on, and think they’re dying. it takes a few times for them to piece together what’s going on, and realise they’re having a panic attack. even if they know exactly what’s happening and it’s a regular occurrence, it is still terrifying. at one point, i was having panic attacks ever single day. i knew what was happening, but it was still awful.

the way your character can react can change how it presents. for example, if your character is stubborn, or feels like they’re “weak” because of it (which is totally untrue), maybe they’ll try to hide it. i get dizzy when i have a panic attack, and i used to hide it until suddenly i fainted. so from an external perspective, i was fine and then suddenly i was on the floor - although if someone knows you well, they can work it out regardless, so that can be a nice way to incorporate another character.

maybe your character doesn’t want to address the fact they’re having a panic attack. they could be visibly having one, but point-blank refuse to admit it. this can help show personality, while showing that they’re struggling.

panic attacks can last a few minutes. they can last hours. they are described as brief, but my shortest one has been around 20 minutes - which really isn’t short. my longest was 2 hours, and unsurprisingly, it was my worst. when you’re reaching the 45 minute mark, the format changes. then, it’s more like waves - you get really really scared and it feels awful, then you slowly start to calm down before it starts again.

after the panic attack

once the character has started calming down, whether because they’ve realised it’s been hours and they’re not dying, pure tiredness or getting symptoms under control, they are going to be exhausted. i’ve passed out from exhaustion before. i’ve fallen asleep in awkward paces (like the middle of the street) because it is so tiring. if they’re outside/at work/school/etc. send them home (this doesn’t happen in real life much, but you can make your world a nice, supportive place). they won’t be able to do anything more taxing than making a cup of tea and cuddling up somewhere. they might not even be able to do that. they might even need someone to grab a blanket for them because the effort is too much.

most people feel more calm afterwards, but you can get awful stomach cramps from the anxiety. but most of the time, all they’re going to feel is tired. don’t put them into a battle. maybe if it’s the morning, they might be able to do something not too taxing in the evening. but most of the time, they’re going to be wiped out.

coping mechanisms

coping mechanisms 90% of the time won’t fix it. a lot of the time, you just have to wait it out. knowing what’s happening helps a lot, and if a character has experienced panic attacks a lot they might understand what’s going on. however, this isn’t always the case. i derealise and depersonalise a lot during panic attacks, but that means that a lot of the time i don’t know what’s happening. it’s terrifying. knowing is a thousand times better than not knowing what’s happening.

obviously there are many breathing techniques - for example, inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 7, exhale for 8. there are grounding techniques - 5 things you can see, 4 things you can gear, 3 things you can touch, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste. however, i often struggle to remember these because my brain gets pretty frazzled. but they DO work, if you want to include those.

a lot of people say you should hug someone, and to that, i have one word - NO. most people do not want to be touched in that situation, and hugging, especially if it’s a trauma-induced panic attack, could induce flashbacks and cause them more harm. some people do want to be hugged. some people want to be left alone. some people want to be guided through breathing, or given water, or talked to, or to hold a a hand. but!!!! please make your character ask. if that’s all you take away from this, just remember that you have to ask before you touch someone!

everyone copes differently, so bear that in mind

i want to include friends/family/significant others. how do i do that?

if the person is with someone who they feel responsible for, or have never reacted like this around them, they may try and hide what’s happening. this can make it worse, and it is less fun. i don’t want to have a panic attack around my younger sibling, so i try and hide it for as long as i can. so that’s something to think about.

if you want a cute moment where a s/o saves the day, this is not going to be it. a hug from someone nice isn’t going to magically cure the panic attack. hell, a hug might not even help at all. panic attacks are messy and awful. they can give them water, maybe talk to them, try to help them. honestly? the person is going to feel inadequate. there isn’t too much you can do, unfortunately, and they’re going to probably end up sitting there repeating the same few things over and over. but you know what? a love interest sticking with someone during the frightening, ugly hours of terror is sexy.

if you want cuddles, think about afterwards. as i have said, the person is going to be exhausted, and a lot of people will need comfort afterwards. they may even cry a lot, because they feel awful. if they’re not up to that, well maybe your other character can tuck them into bed, or run them a bath. you can have sweet moments, but wait until afterwards for the other to look after them.

there we go! i hope i’ve covered everything! if you need help writing scenes like this, message me - i’d be honoured to help!

#this was so exhausting #i think i need a hug now #anxiety #panic attack #anxiety attack #cw panic attack #trauma #ptsd mention #writing #writer #writing advice #fanfiction #mental health

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lilchibi-chan · 4 years ago

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ushijima with a black fem reader with extra fluff and a little nsfw pretty please😌❤️

Ask and you shall receive ☺️

Ushijima x Black Fem Reader

As requested, lotsa fluff, lil NSFW. 18+ PLEASE

Today wasn’t your best. For one, you felt dizzy and nauseous and didn’t know why. You assumed it was stress because you haven’t been as organized as of late, you forgot all about your paper for your literature class and your room was a bit of mess. You decided to stay home since your paper is due today and you weren’t feeling your best. You had already informed your professors that you wouldn’t be coming in.

Your phone started ringing, so you look at the caller ID. It was Ushijima. You answer the phone.

“Hi Honey,” he says with his deep voice coming from the other side

“Hey bibi,” you say with a not-feeling-well tone in your voice

“Are you alright?” He asks concerned

“Yeah, just really stressed...my body is starting to feel it now. I’m nauseous and dizzy and I just wanna lay down, but I have a LIT paper due today and I completely forgot. My room is a mess-”

“Calm down, hun,” he says sensing your being overwhelmed on his end

You take a deep breath and feel a lump has formed in your throat, as if you’re about to cry.

“I can come over right after school lets out.”

“Babe, no, you have practice today... I can’t- I won’t let you. You have a commitment to your team.” You say not wanting to feel like a burden. You knew how he felt about volleyball and how important it was to him.

He practiced everyday and it was hard enough to see you as it was, but you didn’t wanna pull him away from his team.

Practice was actually canceled today, which you didn’t know about. Ushijima decided to go to the convenience store and get your favorite snacks.

He made it to your house and you opened the door in shock.

“Ushi?! Wha-what’re you doing here,” you ask happy but still very shocked

“Can’t a boyfriend see his significant other when they’re having a bad day”

“Y-yeah, but practi-,” you say sadly before he cut you off

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he says in a reassuring tone

“Did you finish your essay”

“Yeah, I was able to email it. I got my room clean too,” you say proud of yourself

“Are you feeling better now”

“Yeah, I took a nap before I started cleaning and felt much better, I guess I just had to take a breather. I know I over react a lot.”

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t punish yourself. Everyone has times when they get overwhelmed. It’s part of being human.”

“Thanks babe.”

“May I have a proper hello now?”

“Of course,”you say with laughter in your voice

He pulls you into him and massages the back of your head as he hugs you. He kisses your forehead, then kisses your lips.

You both finally leave the foyer of your house and enter the kitchen.

“Are you hungry or thirsty?” You ask him

“No, I’m alright...oh that reminds me, here,” he says handing you the bag of snacks

“Babyyyy, you didn’t have to.. honestly,” you say happy

“I wanted to. You were having a bad day, so... I wanted to make it better.”

You both head to your room. You turn the tv on and go to the Netflix app to pick a movie to watch.

You join him on your bed after you pick something and you’re about to lay down, until he stops you.

“Do you need your head tie or bonnet?” He asks concerned

“No,” you laugh at how sweet he was

He lets you lay down and you cuddle with your back to the front of his body. He puts an arm over you and pulls you even closer to him. He snuggled into the crook of your neck and fell asleep.

His small snores filled the room as well as the movie, which at this point became background noise as you admired your boyfriend as he slept.

You stroked his hair as he slept and he moved more into you, as if that was even possible.

An hour into the movie, you start to feel his lips go down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses. He makes his way to your sensitive spot and sucks at the skin, releasing a moan from you in response. You turn, so that you’re on your back. He starts to kiss your lips then goes back to neck, then continues down your chest.

He gets up from the laying down position he was in, so that he could be on top of you. He starts making out with you, hungrily, like he’s been waiting for the moment to take his prey.

After a couple minutes, he pulls away and stares at you. Admiring your brown skin and brown eyes. You always believed your eye color was so basic, but he thought everything about you was beautiful and enchanting. He thought your eyes were alluring and exotic, filled with mystery. A mystery he wanted to solve.

“Are.. you.. okay?” He asks still concerned about your health from before

You simply nod, biting your lip

“Good...that’s good,” he says before going back to what he was doing, this time sliding your leg up, so he could caress the skin leading from your butt to your thigh and vice versa.

He started grinding into you, so that you could feel his growing erection.

You moan in his mouth and he gets a little greedier. His had slides down your shorts and he started palming you through your underwear.

You start to moan.

“Ohhhhh Honey,” he says in a low, groggy tone,“you’re so ready for me,” he says even lower

He starts to finger you until you can’t take it anymore and start begging for him to be inside you.

“P-please Ushi... I can’t take it anymore.”

“I’m sorry, honey, but I wanna feel you cum on my fingers,” he says in your ear

Hearing this leaves you in shock, but brings you closer to your edge as the tone of his voice heightens your arousal.

“C’mon honey... that’s it... cum for me,” he says huskier now, greedy for you to have your sweet release.

You finally reach your climax and it drips down his fingers. He cleans them up with his tongue.

“So sweet,” he says with a small chuckle

He gets up and kisses you all over your face.

“I’ll go run a bath for you,” he says before leaving your room, heading to the bathroom

Once he was finished, he came to your room and carried you bridal style to the bathroom. He lets you get undressed and enjoy your bath. He head back to your room and noticed the carpet in your room could use a vacuuming, so that’s what he did.

He also decided to put fresh sheets and a comforter on your bed because he knew you love the feeling of new sheets after a bath. He took your old sheets and put them in the washing machine.

When you enter your room, you notice Ushijima sitting on the floor.

“Enjoy your bath?” He asks in a smug tone

“Babe, what’s all this?” You ask plesantly surprised

“I decided to vacuum your carpet and change your sheets. I know you love new sheets after a bath and yours were due for a change.”

“Thank you, bibi,” you say in a cute, small voice

You tackle him and kiss him all over his face, as he had done to you.

You both spend the rest of night together, cuddling and talking about anything and everything.

Although he’s very stoic and serious, I feel like he would be actually sweet and attentive in a relationship and only share that side of himself with his significant other, like I’ve seen a few other people say. Really just a soft boi with an intimidating exterior.

Hope you enjoyed 🌸

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

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Tower Tales

3: Well, they’re not sad all the time, are they?

I posted this on AO3! Diversify ur platforms kids. Read the first two chaps Here, it’s kind of integral for ur understanding

@asilcorner sent me some ideas for this fic. Give them love! They have a great webcomic @ghostboyscomic that I love, and their art is so friggin cute. ANYWAY TO THE FIC

(also the Dot section lowkey has a song and im v nervous about so pls b gentle I’m fragile)

They’ve started drawing up plans.

For the Tower. Why not put it together better, why not make the space a home now that it has to be? Yakko refuses to let his siblings live in squalor, not when they have the ability to make it better.

Yakko is surprisingly adept at architecture, though Wakko can’t make heads nor tails of it.

“It’s just art with a little math,” Yakko shrugs off Wakko’s incredulous look with a smile, and Wakko frowns.

“I hate math,” He’s never had to do it in a classroom setting, but at this point he’s certain. He lets Yakko continue to try and figure that mess out, idly chewing on his mallet as he glances up at the tall expanse of the tower.

Yakko’s been thinking about expanding the kitchen and bathroom. Dot says she wants a space for herself, but there doesn’t seem to be room for it between everything else. Yakko tells her this kindly, though they can tell he’s not at all pleased with having to do so, and while she isn’t mad at him, she is upset at the situation.

“A proper lady is supposed to have a place to beautify herself,” She almost whines, but beneath the simple complaint is something closer to hurt, like this is another reminder that they’re trapped and they don’t have the luxury of comfortable space.

The frown lasts on her face longer than Wakko is comfortable with. She’s his baby sister, she’s not going to be upset on his watch, unless it’s funny and not from a place of real hurt. He glances up at the tall, tall ceiling.

Hmm....

Wakko grabs the lightbulb that appears above his head and tosses it into his mouth, crunching on it.

“Careful, if it isn’t funny you’ll cut your tongue on the glass,” Yakko calls over his shoulder. Wakko shrugs, and starts rifling through his gag bag. It looks like he’s got plenty of material, and while Yakko keeps writing up plans Wakko gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s a couple of hours later that Dot looks up from her book and she sees an entire second floor being built-scratch that, being finished. By Wakko. Alone.

“Holy Cow!” She can’t help herself from exclaiming, and Yakko jumps out of the intense scene of concentration he was in and looks where Dot’s pointing.

His jaw hits the floor.

The first floor, now.

“Hi guys!” Wakko waves from the entrance to the second floor, nailing down the last spiraling stair to it. “I got bored so I figured we could use a second floor!”

He skips down the steps and despite his rather hard stomping on them they stand firm. The craftsmanship is impeccable; Yakko and Dot meet in the middle of the first floor and glance at each other in shock.

“What have you guys been up to?” Wakko asks, completely innocent, as if he hadn’t just made an entire second floor on his own in the span of a few hours.

“How did you do that?” Dot asks, incredulous. Wakko looks confused, for a moment, and so she gestures wildly to the second floor. He shrugs.

“Just thought we had a lot of ceiling space, so we could use another floor. I think we have enough room for a third, but I thought I should take a break,” Wakko looks up at the new ceiling proudly.

“What measurements did you use?” Yakko asks, and Wakko stares at him blankly.

“Uhhhh...I kind of just started making stuff. I’m not good with numbers,” he responds.

“But how did you even get the materials for this?” Dot rebukes, and Wakko pulls out a burlap sack.

“It’s all in my gag bag, see?” He reaches in and pulls out a long wooden board, showing it off before shoving it back into the bag. “Easy peasy. And look, Dot, now we have room for your girly stuff!”

“I protest to the fact that looking good must be described as girly, but regardless-I’m so excited!” She rushes forward and wraps Wakko in a tight hug, spinning him around. When he’s set down he stumbles a bit, dizzy.

“Glad you...like it,” he mumbles, accent a little stronger, before shaking his head and coming back to himself. “Do you guys wanna see the upstairs?”

Yakko, who has been previously speechless, jumps into action.

“Heck yeah I do! C’mon!” He lets Wakko lead them up to the second floor, and they marvel at the open space. Dot keeps pointing at places where she wants her stuff to be, and Wakko rolls his eyes, but it seems her joy brightens his day more than he though it would. She was the reason he started building this, after all. Yakko is already dreaming up new plans, thinking of how to best utilize the space they now have. The kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom can stay downstairs, but they can make the living room smaller and put extra entertainment space up here.

“But, uh, yeah, that’s all,” Wakko has the audacity to look sheepish, and Yakko won’t stand for it.

“Wakko, this is beyond words,” He kneels down to his level. “This is a great help. Now, I think I should make something for us to eat, cause building this had got to have burnt up some calories, but do you think you might want to teach me how to build something later?” He smiles, and Wakko’s eyes go wide. Teaching his big brother something for a change? It’s a dream come true.

“Would I!” He tackles Yakko in a hug, and when Yakko catches him, just for a moment, he forgets the situation they’re in, and focuses on Dot’s giggles and the excited pattering of her feet on the new wooden floor, and on Wakko’s prideful expression and smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko has never had an issue with food before. He’s learned to make it, because Wakko needs it and Yakko would never not be able to do something for his family’s needs, that’s ridiculous.

But right now he’s certainly regretting ever ingesting anything, because they’d had a sundae party to celebrate the third floor being made-a celebration type picked by Wakko, who had headed the third floor expansion-and now he can’t sleep, because he feels like he’s going to vomit.

His stomach feels like he just ate a bomb, and not for fun like Wakko sometimes does. He curls in on himself, trying not to make a fuss, but he opens his eyes and both Wakko and Dot are leaning over either side of him, mirrored looks of concern on their faces.

“Yakko, you look terrible,” Dot deadpans, but he can hear the slight tremor in her voice. She still occasionally hovers over Wakko, though has relaxed as he’s gone from eating like a normal person to his more “typical” unusually voracious appetite.

“It’s just some...,” he winces. “Some stomach pain. It’s nothing,” He smiles, even though he feels awfully sweaty and nauseous.

“I thought my problem was just stomach pain too,” Wakko rebukes, and, well, Yakko can’t really argue there.

“But we’ve been eating with you, Wakko, it can’t be that. And it couldn’t be bad ice cream, or we’d be sick too,” Dot puts a finger to her chin and thinks, but can’t come up with anything.

“Don’t humans have that thing where they can’t drink milk?” Wakko suggests, and, well, doesn’t that make too much sense.

“Thanks for the plot mover, Wakko,” Yakko groans from his place on the bed.

“I’ll go get you some water. Maybe if we flush it out with other stuff, it’ll go away quicker,” Dot hops off of the bed and off to the kitchen. Yakko’s stomach groans in displeasure, and Yakko curls up tighter.

“Guess this means no more milk, huh? Oh well,” Wakko shrugs, and Yakko half glares at him.

“I’m not banning milk from the house just cause I can’t have it,” He says, a growl in his voice. Wakko shrugs again.

“Who said you were banning it? I just don’t think we need it anymore,” He smiles, almost Cheshire. “Don’t have the craving for it anymore, right, Dot?”

“Right!”

Yakko almost jumps when he feels the bed dip down with Dot’s weight, surprised by her return, but he shifts to face her and takes the glass of water offered with a smile.

“Thanks, sis,” he takes a few sips, and while it doesn’t change much, he gives her a thumbs up anyway, so she’ll feel like she helped.

“Wakko, you need calcium in your diet,” he goes back to arguing, and Wakko leans back on his hands.

“Pretty sure toons don’t have certain diet they need.”

“Pretty sure toons don’t need to eat at all, but,” Yakko raises a brow and lets the sentence hang.

“Touche,” Wakko admits. “And hey, we’re broken body buddies!” He raises his hands up and grins, and Yakko tries for a smile, too, chuckling to himself.

“But I’m pretty sure we can get calcium in other foods. Just saying,” Wakko finishes, and Yakko gets it, but he isn’t going to deprive his siblings of pizza and ice cream just because his body can’t handle it.

But it’s an argument for another day, because Yakko’s stomach makes another very unpleasant noise, and he slowly sits up and starts crawling his way to the end of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Dot asks.

“The bathroom,” Yakko says, and his voice sounds weak even to his ears. “Don’t wait up.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and a half later, Yakko stumbles out of the bathroom, drained, and he slumps in on himself as he shuffles back to bed, only to stop when he sees the bed itself.

In the middle, where he typically rests, is a fort of sorts. Rather, it’s a perfectly shaped resting spot for him, lined with the softest pillows and with a blanket his favorite color, all as comfy as can be.

“Take a rest, brother,” Wakko gestures to the bed nirvana, though Yakko can’t help but notice him wince when he looks at Yakko. Makes sense.

“Yeah, we set it all up nice for you! See how it feels!” Dot adds, and Yakko smiles and makes his way to the bed, worming into the spot made to perfectly fit him.

He sinks into the softness and sighs. At the very least, while his stomach is a mess, he doesn’t have to worry about any other part of him being uncomfortable.

“Thanks guys,” He mutters, spent. He’s never going to even try and eat something with milk in it ever again, if this is the result.

“No prob,” Wakko waves off his thanks.

“You take care of us all the time. Turnabout’s fair play,” Dot quips, and Yakko chuckles, sighing and closing his eyes.

He’s asleep faster than expected, but he stays awake long enough to feel Wakko and Dot cuddle up on either side of him, like usual.

Despite his intestinal discomfort, he smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot stares in the mirror.

Her new vanity is rather spectacular, and she’s been living on cloud nine since Yakko and Wakko finished it. They’d nearly gotten into an argument while making it-evidently, Yakko couldn’t understand how Wakko could see all the pieces and put them together without numbers or instructions, and Wakko couldn’t understand how Yakko couldn’t understand how the pieces fit together when looking at them as a whole.

Boys. She shakes her head and sighs, looking back at herself in the mirror.

She can see her brothers behind her. They match, of course, they’re the Warner Brothers.

The Warner Sister is alone.

She’s not unaware of why she was made. A token female character, eye candy, take your pick. She’s both. Made to fill in the tiny gap Hollywood makes for female representation while continuing the legacy that women are supposed to look and act pretty, and that’s it.

It makes her blood boil. And yet, isn’t she falling into it? She wants to be pretty, she likes being cute, but is that just because she’s supposed to?

She’s not even just cute, anyway! She can nearly go toe to toe with Yakko when it comes to word play, and Wakko barely has her beat when it comes to strength. So what if she’s cute? She was drawn that way!

So why does it still feel so weird?

Her brow furrows. It’s not like she can even prove to anyone that she’s better, anyway, because Yakko and Wakko likely wouldn’t care or know, and they’re stuck in this tower for forever.

“My name is Dot Warner,” She starts, a soft tune, “And I always get the final word.”

She misses musical numbers. She misses having fun outside of this place. She misses messing with people. Yakko and Wakko seem so similar-their names rhyme, for Pete’s sake-and she feels out of place here. But they were out of place together out there.

“I though your name was Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” Yakko interjects, leaning a hand on her vanity. “Surprised you forgot, sis,” It’s all gentle ribbing, but now is not the time.

“Oh, put a sock in it, Yakko,” She responds.

“Which one?” Wakko comes up on her other side, holding out two similarly disgusting socks for her to pick from. She pushes him away.

“Leave me alone!” It comes out louder and harsher than she wants it to, and as a result Wakko looks bewildered, and Yakko lifts his hand from the vanity to move it to his hip. “Go be-be gross boys somewhere else,” She tries to cover up the actual frustration with a weak excuse, but Yakko just crosses his arms and raises a brow, and Wakko walks back over, sans socks.

“What’s the matter, Sis? Something’s bothering you,” She sighs at the question.

“You guys match better than me,” She grumbles. “I’m the cute one, and that’s it? You two get to be witty and strong and creative and funny and I’m just...,” She growls out the final word. “Cute.”

She sees Yakko and Wakko share a look over her head, and rolls her eyes.

“You seriously think that’s all you are?” Yakko sounds...confused. Bewildered. Like her worry is so unfounded it’s surprising she even is worrying at all.

“You’re way cooler than that,” Wakko agrees. “You’re smarter than me.”

“And you’re better at the physical jokes than me,” Yakko adds.

“I know,” She says, almost cheeky, but her mood refuses to lighten. “But-I don’t know. Iit’s not just that-I-I guess I miss doing stuff outside. Like songs.”

There’s a beat, and when she looks up, Yakko has a smile on his face that is nothing short of sly.

“Songs, you say?” He rubs in chin in thought. “Wakko?”

“On it,” She watches as he pulls out instrument after instrument from his gag bag, until they practically have an orchestra. Wakko also pulls out a conductor’s wand.

“Shall we, m’lady?” Yakko holds out his hand, and when she takes it, he pulls her to the middle of the room. A spotlight lands on them, and the music starts.

“Her name is Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third,” He begins with a wink, “and no matter the situation or confrontation, she always gets the final word,” Yakko’s tenor is sugary sweet as he dances her around the room, and he passes her off to Wakko, who leaves the self playing instruments to their own devices.

“If you think you can beat her, just wait till ya meet her, cause you’ll realize that thought is absurd,” Wakko’s voice has a grovel from the accent, and he makes silly faces as they waltz, to make her giggle.

“Sure she’s cute,” Yakko starts.

“Quite the beaut,”

“But she’s got the strength of a brute!” They harmonize, and she pulls out her mallet. She watches as they cringe away in fake terror, and she does a fake swing before tossing the mallet away. “So watch out, because if you make yourself a target she’ll shoot!”

She watches them laugh at the end of the line, and they do fit each other, don’t they? But they’re going out of their way to do this for her, and so what does it matter? Being different and being special are the same, depending on how you phrase it, and they don’t mind her being different at all.

The music keeps going, the piano leading into verse two.

“Don’t make her mad, don’t make her sad, if you want to keep your limbs intact,” Yakko twirls her, and she imagines being at a fancy Ball or Gala, surrounded by admirers.

“She’s got all modes of attraction, and kneejerk reactions, it’s all just simple fact,” Wakko takes her for a spin himself, his movements more wild and less controlled than Yakko’s more straightforward dancing, but she loves it anyway, and is almost remiss when he passes her back to Yakko.

“She always tries her best,” Yakko dips her, low enough that her ears nearly touch the floor, and her tail presses close to her back.

“To be better from the rest,” Wakko continues.

“Because we all want to reach for the stars!” Yakko throws her up and she poses mid air before he catches her with his shoulders, letting her sit there. She can’t help but laugh at the whole thing.

“She’s Dot Warner,” Every time they go into unison, it’s perfect harmony, and she loves it. Them.

“Our giggling sister,”

“Does she know how much we’d miss her?”

The music pauses, and they look to her patiently, to join the song, and for a moment she hesitates. Because she’s never had such a ballad before. What if her voice doesn’t sound right? What if she messes it up?

But Yakko and Wakko are smiling at her, as if they know she’ll do it right, and you know what. Screw it.

“I’m Dot Warner!” She shouts, and the belting note rings as she jumps up. “I’m no one’s former!” The music swells, and she stands on Yakko’s shoulders, triumphant. “I’m sweet and I’m tough!”

“Always more than good enough!” Wakko and Yakko crow as back up.

“And I’m better than why I was drawn!” It’s like a warrior cry, like she’s daring the world to tell her different.

“She’s charming,” Yakko.

“And alarming,” Wakko.

“In every role I’m starring, no longer just the token girl!” She hops down from Yakko’s shoulder, taking center stage. This is what she is. The breaking of her own role, just as loud and proud and wild as her siblings, with a touch of cuteness that she loves. Because hey, what’s wrong with being cute?

“With wit and sass,” Yakko and Wakko start to finish.

“I’m the highest of class,” She interjects, giggling.

“She’s the best of our two worlds!” They all come together, Dot in the middle, the boys kicking out their outside legs and gesturing outwards with one arm as the music plays them out, and when the music number is over all Dot can do is drag her brothers together into a hug.

“Thank you,” because she needed this. A sense of normalcy, the constant reminder that she’s more. She knows why she was drawn, but who cares? She’s better than that.

She’s Dot Warner, Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third, and she’s got her brothers behind her.

And when she has them, nothing can stop her.

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner #kitkat1003

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swordandquill · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Winter Break

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: The team find themselves snowed in in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

Ch 2: Fussing - Nate has to choose between supervising a shopping spree or supervising a grumpy hitter. He definitely chooses the lesser evil.

Author’s Note: I still don’t know where this story is going or when the next update will be.

Many, many thanks to @whumpybliss for beta reading this chapter!

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

"I know what you're trying to do."

Eliot's glare was less impressive than usual, but Nate still would have bet his money on him. Not that he wouldn't always bet on Eliot, and with things much more valuable to him than money.

"Trying to get you to eat saltines, so you don't throw up when you take the prescription strength anti-inflammatories I know you have in your bag?" Nate waved the open sleeve of crackers in front of the hitter.

"Stop fussing," Eliot snapped and snatched the sleeve out of Nate's hand.

Now that Parker had pointed it out, Nate could clearly see Eliot was favoring his left arm. Or, possibly because Parker had pointed it out, Eliot was putting less effort into hiding it.

"They shouldn't be in there alone," Eliot pulled a few crackers out of the sleeve and shoved it back at Nate.

"They're not alone," Nate swapped the sleeve for a water bottle from the grocery bag at his feet, "they have each other. We might be living off of orange soda and Trix for the next two weeks, but I think they'll get each other out of the store in one piece."

Eliot gave him a dubious look but refrained from talking with his mouth full.

"Anyway, I'm listening," Nate tapped the comm he had slipped into his ear.

"Where's my…?" Eliot frowned and tried to reach behind the seat for his bag, wincing hard at the twisting motion.

"Stop it," Nate thumped his side lightly with the back of his hand, "I've got them. Parker hasn't managed to convince Sophie that Froot Loops are both a vegetable and a fruit. Sophie is giving her tips on being persuasive, and Hardison doesn't know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, but one of them has made it into the basket."

"How have they made it this far without dying of malnutrition?" Eliot let his head flop back against the headrest.

"Cereal is fortified," Nate said dryly and poked Eliot with the water bottle, "which bag are your meds in?"

"It can wait until we get to the cabin," Eliot grabbed the offending bottle away without opening his eyes.

Nate didn't have to wrangle an injured Eliot often. Most of the time, he was more than capable of managing his own injuries. When he wasn't, Nate usually let Parker take the lead in poking and prodding while he helped Hardison track down whatever medical help their hitter needed.

Parker needed to burn off some energy, though, and Nate would rather supervise a cranky Eliot than his team on a shopping spree. He had trailed Eliot through the first aid aisle, listened to him mutter over spices and knives on the baking aisle, and then dragged him back to the van with saltines and water bottles in hand.

"Just take the anti-inflammatory," Nate argued, "it won't make you drowsy, and the longer you wait, the less well they'll work."

"Stop. Fussing." Eliot growled, somehow managing to drink his water angrily. Nate was always impressed by how Eliot could make the most mundane tasks look threatening. Luckily for him and the rest of the team, Nate was not easily intimidated.

"Just for the sake of argument..." Nate started.

"No," Eliot said flatly.

"We're stuck in the car until Hardison picks a shampoo. Humor me," Nate ignored Hardison's protests over the comm about his sensitive scalp.

"They need to hurry," Eliot groused, 'the snow is getting worse."

"Right," Nate agreed and held the sleeve of saltines out to Eliot again. He was disproportionately pleased when the hitter grabbed a few more without protest, "so let's just say there really is some shadowy figure waiting behind the curtain to get us…"

Eliot raised an eyebrow at that, probably cross-checking his mental list of people who matched that description, but Nate ignored him.

"And they orchestrated stranding the five us in this specific tiny town, in the middle of nowhere, by waiting until we were both split up on five different planes, and there was a massive storm front to force our flights here…"

"Look, I know…" Eliot rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Which is possible," Nate continued to ignore him, "highly unlikely, but possible. After all, shady figures are usually good at seizing opportunity when they see it. So let's say all of that is true. What's their next move? Where do they expect us to be?"

Eliot frowned before reluctantly admitting, "They expect us to be stranded, at the airport or one of the hotels."

"Right," Nate nodded, "and even if they somehow anticipated us renting a summer house, it would be almost impossible to control which summer house we rented. Hardison must have skimmed through a half dozen search pages worth before we went after this one."

Eliot's frown deepened as he worked the problem and thought how he would have managed something like this from the other side. Nate let him be for a minute because he was still eating crackers while he thought, seemingly without noticing.

"There are ways they could stack the deck in their favor," he finally said slowly. "Knowing what we would want in a place to lay low, making it available even though it looked unavailable, monitoring Hardison for the search criteria he was using, then populating it with multiple properties that they have control of."

"Possible," Nate conceded, "ridiculously elaborate and unnecessarily complicated, but possible."

"So, one of your plans, basically," Eliot snorted.

"I don't have the patience to wait on mother nature," Nate let the jab slide, "my point is, the best thing we can do in this situation is not be where we're most likely to be. The rest, we'll just have to deal with as it comes."

"I know that. It's just…" Eliot just looked worn out now, tired of having to run through every scenario and possibility for every given moment.

Nate had figured out fairly early on that Eliot's paranoia was rooted in both a lot of experience and a lot of trauma. It meant they would be idiots to ignore him when he said something was wrong (and Nate had, unfortunately, been that idiot on more than one occasion, although he tried not to be these days), but they also needed to be a second check on those things for him sometimes, because he could always work his way around to those perceived threats being possible, even if they weren't probable.

It had gotten a lot better over the years, and the team had gotten better at finding ways to help him deal with it when it did come up. There was never a perfect solution, but they were more than happy to settle for an imperfect one if it made things at least a little better.

"And we'll deal with everything a lot better if you just take your diclofenac," Nate cut him off again, "so what bag is it in?"

"Duffel," Eliot conceded defeat finally, "they really do need to hurry."

"I know," Nate turned around and started sifting through the bags they had tossed into the third row of seats, "they're almost done."

Parker had been sitting in the back row, and she had rearranged the luggage that hadn't fit in the trunk to make a nest of sorts for herself around the middle seat. Nate had to practically crawl over the back of the middle row to reach Eliot's duffel bag, and he only felt a little bad for messing up her carefully crafted arrangement.

Eliot carried prescription meds with him and had for as long as Nate had known him. He had worried at first about the bottle of oxi that was always packed in the hitter's personal medkit. In hindsight, he could see the hypocrisy of constantly watching Eliot for signs of opioid addiction while simultaneously getting blackout drunk on a regular basis.

It had only taken a couple months for that concern to shift from Eliot taking too many painkillers to getting Eliot to take them at all. Two years in, and Nate had been worrying about why Eliot felt like jobs would leave him in enough pain on a regular enough basis that he would need to always have that level of painkiller with him. These days, Eliot and meds were mostly a bargaining act, a give and take informed by context and where Eliot's head was at at the given moment.

Oxi made him disoriented and dizzy; he wouldn't take it if he didn't feel safe. Diclofenac made him nauseous if he didn't take it with food (sometimes even when he did). Of the two problems, that was the easier one to solve.

Nate finally managed to find Eliot's duffel bag and pulled the medkit out, tossing the bag back in the pile of luggage for Parker to rearrange and poke through to her heart's content once they got back to the van.

"You want one or two?" Nate opened the kit and sorted through the neatly labeled bottles.

"Just one," Eliot was slumped back against the headrest again, eyes closed.

"You're out of Zofran," Nate shook the empty bottle.

"I gave the last of it to Sophie when we hit that patch of turbulence on the way in for the job," Eliot said dismissively, "it's fine. I'll refill it later."

Nate handed the pill and another water bottle over to Eliot, then texted Parker and asked her to get a bottle of Zofran from the pharmacy. A little thievery would do her good after 8 hours on a plane.

Eliot took the pill, and the van went comfortably quiet aside from the rest of the team's chatter in Nate's ear. It was surprisingly relaxing to listen in on them doing something as mundane as arguing over pasta sauce and gummy frog brands. They were on the comms a lot, but during jobs, there was a certain amount of tension, the constant need to be assessing and reassessing everything that happened.

Nate didn't care what kind of pasta sauce they got, and he didn't like gummy frogs, but it was nice just to sit back and listen to them be together.

There was suddenly weight against his shoulder, and Nate held still as Eliot gradually slumped more heavily against him, eyes closed and breath even. Nate waited until he was sure he was settled before shifting to get an arm around him and stop him from sliding down too far. Eliot fidgeted in his sleep for a moment, then relaxed with a soft sigh.

It wasn't that unusual for Eliot to sleep around them, but after how keyed up he had been at the airport, having him resting solid and relaxed against his side felt like winning.

#Leverage #Eliot Spencer #Nate Ford #Isabeau's writing

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bbysamu · 4 years ago

Note

TW: non-descriptive ankle issues, non-descriptive mentions of throwing up, I think that's everything?

My ideal first date would be, like, the classic dinner and a movie but, knowing Kuroo, I could see him planning, like, an amusement park date and making me go on a bunch of rollercoasters and stuff, which would not end well. Like at all. Like I'll go on them but they kind of terrify me. So I'm gonna be so damn scared the whole time. And the waiting is gonna make me grouchy, especially after walking so much cause I have plantar fasciitis (basically my plantar fascia bone is being pulled tight which can cause me a lot of pain along the bottom of my foot) and I've had three ankle sprains and one fracture (two injuries per ankle but it hurts my right ankle more, which is also the foot that my plantar fasciitis acts up on).

So, after about four hours (the max time limit before I get grouchy at amusement parks), I'd be in pain but, since first date and all, I'd try and hide it and suffer through it. I also have benign positional vertigo (i.e. my inner ear crystals get unbalanced and can make me very dizzy. Really bad cases can make me nauseous/throw up). And I can see him wanting to go on a ride that's got all these twists and turns and I'd mention that it's not really my thing but he'd convince me somehow. When the ride ends? Queue me being so damn dizzy and trying to hold back throwing up but that doesn't work. So, by this time, I'd be in pain cause of my ankle/foot and dizzy and throwing up and just not having a good time at all.

But he'd be sweet and hold my hair and rub my back and get me seltzer water (which is disgusting but it's supposed to help and he'd know that) or ginger ale if he can't get seltzer water until I feel better and stay with me on a bench with my head resting on his shoulder until I'm not that dizzy anymore. And he'd gently carry me to the car and to my front door because dizzy and pain.

So, all in all, it'd be a hot mess but he definitely earned brownie points at the end with how sweet and caring he was, especially since he tucked me into bed cause I fell asleep on the way home and left me with a cat plush he won for me that he hid to give me later. He ended up sleeping on my couch so I could be safe because he locked the door and doesn't want to leave it unlocked when he left. He'd definitely get a second date. And, yes, this sweet mofo was late. Probably because he was nervous but idrk why he'd be late. He just would be.

awww Kuroo is seriously a sweetheart. You don’t have to hide it at all. Your first date should be something fun and if a guy won’t be able to accept and embrace the fact that you’re not feeling well, then he’s obviously not worth your time. Kuroo is sweet, guys should be like Kuroo. And yes, I agree, I can definitely see him being late

ALSO! Thanks for sending me the sims! They look so cool! How long did it take you?

#ceci got mail #darling::🦖

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter 28

Warnings: none really

Tagging: @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @thorsbathroomchicken, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

The phone call comes in shortly before one pm; the SAT system easily tracing the number back to the Slainte pub. At first she just blankly stares at the digits and the name on the screen, not having the energy or the patience to deal with whatever bullshit would greet her the moment she answers. She's in a 'mood'. Rapidly switching from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs; either dissolving into tears at the drop of a hat or frantically cleaning the room and organizing paper work and files on the lap top. Torn between wanting to curl up in bed and stay there for the entire day, and desperately wanting something...anything...to keep her mind occupied. She's nauseous. Dizzy. A pounding headache that sits at the base of her skull and above her eyes.

Stress. Always the same old, same old when her nerves are shot. The same symptoms she suffers with for days when Tyler walks out of the house for a job. Incessant worry accompanied by crippling fear and the deepest and darkest recesses of depression. But at home she is able to beat it; focusing on the kids, concentrating on their needs, their laughter and their smiles and all of their hugs and their kisses making it all a bit easier to handle.

The SAT phone beeps. Indicating a text message. Groaning loudly in protest, she throws off the comforter as she lays on her stomach in the middle of the bed, propping herself up on one elbow as she reaches out for the offending object.

You missed a call. Nik's message reads. Everything okay?

Part of her wants to tell Nik to fuck off and leave her alone. That it's partly her fault for getting her mixed up into this god awful shitty mess to begin with. Nik could have had her side in the whole thing; adamantly refusing to bring her into the fold, not allowing Yaz and Tyler to call the shots when it came to the Intel and now the tactical sides of things. But Nik had just thrown her under the bus; offering her up like some kind of sacrificial lamb. Acting as if there weren't other people that couldn't do the job. Other mercenaries looking for work. Who were much more experienced. Seasoned. Hardened. Instead of putting all her faith and trust into someone who had become nothing more than a housewife and stay at home mother.

The other part reminds Esme that Nik is her friend. Regardless of her history with Tyler. Nik was the one who'd initially brought her into the fold five and a half years ago; who'd brought her along when she'd gone to the little shack in the Australian outback to recruit Tyler for the Dhaka job. In a way, it was all Nik's doing; had she not brought Esme aboard and had her tag along that day, this part of her life wouldn't even exist. There would be no Tyler. No hobby farm in Colorado. No children. She would more than likely still be living the old existence; living out of suitcases as she travelled place to place. Lying. Conning. Getting people to trust her so she in turn could help destroy them.

Fell asleep, she types back. If it's important, they'll call back.

She waits for the response. And in true Nik fashioned, it makes her want to hurl the phone across the room.

Get your head on straight, E. We don't have time for this.

Sighing heavily, she rolls over onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. One hand on her queasy, cramping stomach, the other holding the SAT down at her side. He's been gone for an hour; McCann had insisted on meeting forty five minutes from Belfast. Worried that there were too many eyes and ears within the city itself and that word would travel fast and the end result would be hell on earth. He had a lot of enemies within the IRA. He knew too much. Deep and dark secrets that could bring down a lot of very powerful people. And his involvement with someone like Tyler would set off a lot of alarms.

She worries that it's more. Something far more devious. Dangerous. He hasn't given them any reason to trust him. Right off the hop he'd fed them complete and utter bullshit regarding his New Zealand extraction; convincing them that his wife just nothing but a lowly, random shopkeeper when she'd actually been the reason he'd been hired in the first place. He hadn't gone after on a rescue mission; he'd been hired by the devil to take her straight back to hell. A man in this thirties wooing and winning a seventeen year old girl that was essentially at his mercy. That alone is extremely troubling. And taking into account his ties to the IRA and possible lingering connections to them, it was easy to assume that his plan to get Tyler nearly an hour away from the safety net of Belfast is also some of ruse. To get him alone and vulnerable.

Or to hit him where it really hurts and get her alone and vulnerable.

The nausea increases. Eyes closing as she rubs her stomach in slow, smooth circles, struggling to keep a grip on the runaway emotions. They normally weren't this bad. Usually she could easily talk herself out of the stress and the panic before they hit head on. But now it feels as if it's going way too quick. Too fast, too soon. So much worry and anxiety that it makes her head spin and her chest ache.

Her SAT rings once more. The pub. Again. Only this time she's able to get a grip, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and moving towards her laptop as it sits open on the table by the window. Once she's within a foot it causes the system to come alive; the recording of the call beginning even before she presses talk.

****

“Hello?”

“Is this Meghan?”

She recognizes his voice. Billy. The barkeep from the pub.

“William,” she warmly greets, with the same flirtatious tone she'd used the night before when she'd dropped his full name for the first time. She'd noticed then how it seemed to get under his skin; in a good way. That little smile that tugged at his lips, the slight blush in her cheeks and the tips of her eyes, the way his eyes seemed to soften and sparkle.

It had been one the easiest marks of her career. Most took a while to warm up to her. Taking weeks to even months to soften up their hardened and weathered exteriors. But he'd been eager; ready to let someone in. And what better someone than an established, attractive, and seemingly available woman? One that would do anything...or perhaps even anyone...to get ahead in the world.

“I hope I didn't catch you in a bad spot. I was wondering if you had a little time to spare.”

“For you?” she leans back in her chair, a barefoot planted against the cool glass of the sliding door. A far cry from the evening before when she'd played the part in her business slacks and curve hugging blouse. Clad now in one of her her husband's tattered and frayed t-shirts and pair of baggy grey track pants with the Emery surfboard company name and logo down one leg; small blotches of bleach dotting the fabric in several places. No make up and her hair messy. “For you I can make the time, William.”

A silent pause. And she smirks as she leans further back in the chair and places her second foot against the window, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger.

“I like that,” he says. “The way you call me that.”

“Well that is you're name, isn't it?” she crosses one her legs over the thigh of the other, bouncing her heel up and down against the glass. “You are William, are you not? That is what Billy is short for, I assume.”

“It is,” he confirms with a chuckle. “It's just that no one has called me that in a long time. Since my wife.”

“You're married?” she reaches over to snag the pen and spiral bound notebook off the table. It's full of random notes and doodles in various different colours of ink; her and Tyler both using it to hurriedly jot down names and numbers and any other bits and pieces of information, vital or not. It's old school and shouldn't be necessary with the computer recording everything off the SAT, but technology isn't always fool proof.

“I was. We're divorced. Bad break up. She was shagging a mate of mine.”

“Well that's unfortunate,” she hurriedly flips to a fresh page of paper and places the book on her thigh. “Hard to believe anyone would cheat on someone like you. If you forgive me for being so bold, but you aren't exactly lacking in the looks department. You're quite the head turner. In my humble opinion.”

“Well thank you,” he chuckles, and she can practically see the blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It's not entirely a lie; he is quite easy on the eyes. And a much younger and single Esme would have considered..albeit briefly...crossing that line between business and personal. “You're easy to look at yourself. Very easy to look at actually.”

“I take it this isn't a business call,” she muses.

“Not entirely. It's a little bit of both. Business and pleasure.”

She smirks. “And what kind of pleasure are we talking about? Because I don't usually get into that sort of thing with someone I barely know.”

“I was thinking dinner. And drinks. If you're free.”

“Well that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you tell me a little more about yourself. I can't jump into anything with a stranger. A young woman, alone in a foreign country, far from home. That wouldn't be smart would it? If I just blindly trusted you and took you up on the offer?”

“Well what is you want to know?”

“Well I think dinner and drinks calls for first and last names,” she says. “You know mine. So...”

“It's Flynn. My last name,”

“William Flynn,” she repeats, as she jots it down. “That has a very nice ring to it. How old are you William Flynn?”

'How old are you?” he counters.

“I asked first. And isn't it always ladies first?”

“I suppose,” he chuckles. “Twenty eight. And you.”

“Thirty,” she lies.

“I honestly thought much younger,” he admits, and she can't help but let it inflate her ego. And encourage her to continue with the little game. “You look good. For thirty. Very good, actually. Do you have children?”

“No,” that lie actually hurts to tell it, and she tries to push the intense feeling of guilt to the back of her mind. “I'm too focused on my career right now. You?”

“A son. He's three. Collin. Lives with his mom. In Dublin.”

She continues to scribble things down. “That's sad,” she hopes it sounds sincere. “I hope you get to spend time with him. That's quite the trek down to Dublin.”

“Every second weekend. I'd like it to be more often but...” he sighs. “...it is what it is. So you're not married? But you still wear a ring?”

“I've had a hard time severing that last string. It's a bitter pill to swallow. When the man of your dreams pick his job over you. When your happily ever after doesn't exactly turn out that way. He wasn't happy. As a husband. We were much happier before. Before things got too serious.”

“Well pardon me for saying this, but he's a goddamn fool. He has to be to choose work over the likes of you. So have you thought about it? My offer? Dinner and drinks?”

“I'm intrigued,” she admits. “What's in this for me? Other than the handsome and charming company?”

“I have some information. About what you asked about last night. Michael McMann. About his wife and kids and whose involved and trying to stir up trouble. And I've got some names. Of other people you can contact. That are willing to talk. People that are higher up than I am. With real connections.”

“Higher up in...”

“The IRA.”

She grins victoriously and in big letters at the top of the page, right under the name William Flynn, prints those three initials. “You're involved with them? The IRA?”

“It's the family business. What I can tell you is that we're not involved in this. With the wife and kids. We hate the guy. He screwed us over. But we'd never do that. Especially to kids. Even we draw the line somewhere. But whoever is doing this has pissed off a lot of people. Tempers are running high. We want to find out who it is and do something about it.”

“Like a turf war?” she writes that down, accenting it with a big question mark.

“There's a lot of trouble brewing, that's for sure. We want nothing to do with this. The wife and the kids. And they're using us to draw attention away from themselves.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“No real proof. Just lots of rumours. I shouldn't be talking about all of this right now,” he gives a small chuckle. “What will we talk about dinner?”

“Oh I'm sure we can find things to talk about,” she assures him.

“Or things to do.”

“Now don't go putting all your eggs into one basket. I'm not that type girl.”

“I'm sorry, Meghan. I never meant anything by it. Forgive me for being too forward. I...”

“What time for dinner? Tonight is unfortunately not going to work for me. I have prior arrangements that can't be cancelled. But if you're free tomorrow, I can certainly clear my schedule.”

“Tomorrow would be wonderful. I know this is terribly bold of me, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You've been on my mind constantly. Since you walked into the bar. You're very...intriguing. I can't quite get a read on you. There's something so different about you. Way different than any of the women from around here. A mystery, almost. There's so much I'd like to find out.”

“Well if you play your cards right, maybe I'll let you find those things out,” she responds.

“Tomorrow? Six thirty?”

“How about seven? It gives me longer to get ready.”

“Done,” he agrees. “Where do I pick you up?”

Shit, she hadn't even considered that this question would come up. It has been smooth sailing; much easier and seamless than so many initial encounters.

“Meghan?”

“You know, I'm not entirely comfortable with a stranger knowing where I'm staying. I'm a little paranoid about that sort of thing. You can never be too careful in this day and age. How about we meet somewhere? In public. I hate to be such a bother and a worry wart, but...”

“How about we meet her at the bar? We could go in the back room. It's private there. We can have dinner. A few drinks. See where the night takes us.”

She groans internally. “Sounds like a plan,” she chirps. “I'm very much looking forward to seeing you again. To chatting more. I'm flattered. That you thought of me.”

“I've been obsessed with you,” he admits.

“Well hopefully you hold onto some of that enthusiasm. I have to go. I have an online meeting with my editor in a few, so...”

“I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow,” he says. “And I'm flattered as well. That you'd agree to have dinner with me.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she promises. “Seven.”

“Seven,” he confirms, and then offers a soft, quiet goodbye before hanging up the phone.

****

“Well this isn't how I expected things to go,” Mark says, smirking from the passenger's seat of the rented SUV. “You asking me for help.”

“It's the last thing I want to be doing, believe me. You're the last person I want to be dealing with. Ever.”

“So why am I here? What's got the legendary Tyler Rake swallowing his pride and actually asking someone for help? You're usually a one man show from what I've heard. Must be some serious shit if you're willing to suck it up and give someone a call. Especially me.”

Tyler sighs, eyes briefly closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger. “You're already making me regret this. Could you maybe shut the fuck up for five seconds? I don't have the time or the tolerance to listen to your bullshit. I don't want to hear any comments about my marriage, no opinions on how I handle things with my wife, no stupid shit about my personal life or my kids or none of that. This is strictly business. So let's keep it that way, yeah?

“Fair enough,” Mark agrees. “So what's up? What's going on?”

“This McMann guy,” Tyler begins. “There's no way of knowing what he's really up to. If he's innocent in all of this or he's actually part of it. If he's the victim in all of this or if this is some really crazy act of revenge and he's just wanting to get me alone.”

“I thought you didn't have history with this guy? With the IRA? Or with the wife?”

“I don't know. Well, not that I can remember anyway,” he confesses. “There's things...a lot of things ...that I don't remember. Dhaka...everything that happened on the bridge...it's fucked with my head. I'm not sure if it's because of blood loss or lack of oxygen or all the meds I've been on. But there's things I don't remember. No matter how hard I try to. So maybe I did have history with them. Maybe I did have a job they were involved in and I pissed them off and I just don't remember it.”

“And when you didn't recognize McMann when he showed up in Telluride, he decided to play it for all it's worth,” Mark concludes.

“Maybe. I don't know. He seemed like he was on the up and up. About what's going on with his wife and his kids. But there's a couple times where he's said some things that didn't quite sit right. I brought up how if...when...things go to shit...he might not be able to get his kids out. Not both of them, anyway. He threw it back in my face. Asking me how I'd decide which of the twins to save.”

Mark scowls. “That's a bitch move.”

Tyler nods. “I told him there'd be no decision. That I'd give up my life for theirs. No hesitation. If it meant saving them and getting them back to their mother, that it was something I was willing to do. It would be easier on Esme. If she lost me instead of one of the kids. She'd get over me. But she'd never get over losing one of them. She's an amazing mum. And I'm lucky. To have her. That she's the mother of my kids.”

“It's what she always wanted. Kids. I just wasn't the man to give her that.”

“McMann wasn't on the same page as I was. The idea seemed ridiculous to him. Having to make that kind of decision. He wasn't...he isn't willing to sacrifice himself for them. I found it weird. That there'd be any hesitation whatsoever. How do you not want to save your kids? Your blood? They're your legacy. Why would you not want to let them go on and live long and happy lives? It didn't sit well with me. I haven't been able to get it out of my head.”

“There's guys without kids that would make the same decision as you. I saw it overseas. In Iraq. You probably did too. Soldiers ready and willing to sacrifice themselves to save random kids...and women...from the Taliban.”

Tyler nods. “I've seen it a few times, actually. I've even known mercenaries that have given themselves up to save someone.”

“You almost did,” Mark points out. “Even after things went to hell and there was no money, you still busted your ass to kid that get out. And Esme.”

“I wasn't going to leave them behind. No matter who wanted me to. And if it meant I died for them...” he shrugs. “...it was what I was willing to do.”

Mark nods slowly, considering his words. The sincerity in his voice. In his eyes.

“Esme doesn't trust him,” Tyler says. “McMann. And she has great instincts. Better than mine sometimes. She didn't want me going into this alone. She's worried sick. That this could all be a trap and McMann's got an army of guys just waiting to ambush me. I need to give her peace of mind. And I promised her I'd come back safe. That I'd come back to her. She trusts you. I don't know why. Considering everything you did to her...” he holds up his hand; a plea for silence when the other man opens his mouth to speak. “....but she trusts you. You're the only one I could call. Yaz was made the same time I was. I can't be seen in public with Esme or she'd be made and that will fuck up her end of things. So I called you.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“Because you know I'd fuck you up if you crossed me. You know I won't hesitate killing you. And I don't think you want that, do you. You can act all big and bad, walk around wagging your mouth, try to get under my skin. But you know the stories. All the bloody and gory details. You know what I'm capable of. And you know I won't mind adding you to the body count.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Mark's mouth. Not nearly as confident as the ones he's given before.

“So this is me, asking you for help. Now are you in or you're out, mate? Because I don't have all day.”

Mark hesitates. Then offers a hand. An agreement. “I'm in.”

****

“William Robert Flynn,” Yaz reads the information aloud from where he sits at the table in Esme and Tyler's room, his own laptop and ipad spread across the table. “Born March 15th, 1997, right here in Belfast. Parents are Robert and Elizabeth Flynn. Nee McDonald. Dad is deceased. 2011. Mother is still alive. Lives in England now. Remarried.”

“How did the father die?” Nik inquires, her image on the laptop screen. “Suspicious circumstances?”

“Coroner's report lists self inflicted gun shot wound to the head.”

“There's a police report,” Esme speaks up from across the table, her own computer in her lap, a plate of barely touched room service food in front of her. She'd been hungry and had taken it as a sign that the nausea was finally at bay. Until the first bite and attempted swallow had her running for the bathroom. Her head pounds. Frantically. And she reaches for a bottle of water and the container of Advil in the middle of the table. “Says that William Flynn was the one who discovered his father. In the back garden. Face down in a pool of blood. Gun was lying next to him. A nine millimeter. Glock. Spent shell casing near by.”

“He would have only been fourteen,” Yaz says. “Same age Ovi was in Dhaka. Hell of an age to walk into something like that. Your old man missing half his head.”

“Any evidence that says it may have not been a suicide?” Nik asks.

“The police reports are shit,” Esme replies, as she pops three of the tablets into her mouth and swallows them with a mouthful of water. “I've seen some pretty amateur ones, but this has to be one of the worst. Obviously the cops and the coroner didn't think this case mattered. He was an IRA member. Probably caused a world of trouble when he was around. They were just glad he was gone. Why waste the resources, they probably figured.”

“There was no gunshot residue on his hands,” Yaz says. “Or at least that's what the report says. And he's not wearing gloves in any of the photos, so...”

“It was a hit,” his sister concludes. “Before any of this, was there any connections between the IRA or the Buckmans? Anything that stands out? Anything that could tie Robert Flynn to the Buckmans?”

“Not that we've recovered so far,” Esme says. “But we're still digging. Robert Flynn was pretty high up in the IRA. One of their best and longest serving members. A real enforcer. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty. His son is an active member. They have ties to the IRA going back to the grandfather and great grandfather. Not to mention several cousins and uncles still in the movement. It's the family business, apparently.”

“So William Flynn obviously knows Michael McMann,” Nik concludes. “And vice versa. Anything that shows a feud between them?”

“Nothing on paper,” Esme responds. “But he told me that everyone in the IRA is pissed as hell with McMann. For betraying them. And taking a lot of secrets and dirty shit with him when he left. And now they're even more pissed because McMann's out there saying that it's the IRA that scooped his wife and his kids. And they'd admit to that. The IRA would definitely claim responsibility. They've never denied ties to even some of their broader scale bullshit. So they'd admit to this.”

“We were wondering if maybe this is all a big ploy to make things blow up within the IRA,” Yaz speaks up. “To stir the pot enough that an outsider comes in and starts it all off. That maybe that's what Tyler is being used for. To kick it all off. What better way for McMann to draw attention away from himself? Let Tyler cause the shit and then leave him hung out to dry.”

Esme sighs, briefly closing her eyes and laying a hand over her queasy stomach.

“Are you okay?” Nik inquires. “You look a little...off.”

“Just stress. This is all just so insane. It's so twisted and so fucked up and now Tyler's out there...alone...meeting with this guy. What if he has people with him? What if he's got a whole damn army behind him and Tyler's just walking into a huge trap? He's good. But he's not that good. He wouldn't stand a chance and you both know it.”

Yaz attempts a reassuring smile. “He'll be okay. He's smart. He knows what he's doing. Your man isn't stupid, that's for sure. Look what he handled in Dhaka. When he went into that apartment to extract Ovi.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Yaz. I do. But there's a huge difference between street thugs in Dhaka and the IRA. These people are extremely dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And they show no mercy.”

“And neither does Tyler,” he points out. “If anyone can handle this, it's him.”

“He should never have went there alone,” Esme huffs. “It was dangerous. Foolish. Sending him in by himself.”

“We don't have anyone there to help,” Nik attempts to reason. “Resources are extremely thin. It's the three of you and that's it. And the rest of the team is out on other assignments or they're here helping keep an eye on things. He'll be fine, Esme. He always is.”

“Oh really? Always? Because I seem to vividly remember him bleeding to death on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Or are we just forgetting that that happened? Oh wait, it's because you two took off to get Ovi to safety and you left Tyler there to die. And you left me there to watch him die.”

“That isn't how it happened and you know it,” Nik seems hurt by the explanation. “We came back for you. For both of you.”

“Half a goddamn hour later! Thirty minutes I spent with my hand pressed to his neck, trying to keep him alive. While he bled out all over the fucking place. You weren't there. You weren't the one holding him there on the bridge. You weren't the one with blood on your hands. His blood. So I'm sorry if I'm not as appreciative for your help as you'd like me to be, Nik.”

“Okay....okay...” Yaz pleads for calm. “....let's not rehash this. It's over five years ago.”

“Five years ago, five weeks ago, five days ago,” Esme snarls. “It still happened. And pretending it never did is bullshit. It's bullshit and it's completely disrespectful. To Tyler. To just push it aside like you've both been doing all these years. Acting like it was no big deal. You got him into that mess, Nik. You brought him into that bullshit and then you left him there. You left both of us there. What would have happened had you not come back? He would have died there. And who the hell knows what would have happened to me once Asif realized he didn't totally finish the job. And let's not forget that you wanted Tyler and I to leave Ovi in the goddamn street. You wanted us to just throw the kid to the wolves.”

“I wanted the two of you out of there,” Nik argues. “I wanted you both safe. The kid held you back. Had you gotten rid of him, both you and Tyler would have made it out of there before everything blew up in our faces.”

“He was a kid! He was a kid and you wanted us to just leave him there! Jesus, Nik. Do you realize how that makes you sound? Like a bloody sociopath.”

Yaz sighs. “This solves nothing. You two going at each other like this. I know it's been a long time coming but...”

“You probably wanted him to leave me there too,” Esme says. “I'm actually surprised you didn't suggest it. You knew what was going on. Between Tyler and I. And you hated it even then. You hated the idea of me in his life. Because it took him away from you.”

“That's not true. I was pissed off that the two of you were so goddamn reckless and foolish and you actually thought it was good idea to start fucking each other while on the job. You couldn't wait until it was all over? The two of you were that desperate and horny that you had to fuck each other on my time?”

“Enough,” Yaz snaps. “Both of you. This is bullshit. We're all in this together. It doesn't matter what happened back then. It was five and a half years ago. So they fucked each other. No one else gave a shit. No one else cared. Only one it bothered was you Nik.”

“Because she wasn't the one fucking him,” Esme pipes up. “Not anymore, anyway. All the more reason she probably wanted him to leave me in the street. Get me out of the way so she could climb back into his bed again.”

“It doesn't matter,” Yaz insists. “It wasn't going to happen. Once Tyler met you, that was it. It was over. And you...” he glares at his sister through the laptop screen. “...they're together. It happened. They're married. They've got kids. Let it go already. Let him go.”

“I've had enough of this,” Nik fumes. “We'll pick this up again later. When certain people can actually stay focused on the job at hand. That seems to be a thing for you, Esme. You couldn't stay focused in Dhaka either.”

“Fuck you, Nik. Seriously. Fuck you. I don't need to be here. I'm not one of your employees. I'm helping you, remember?”

No response. Just a black screen signalling the other woman has already logged off.

Yaz sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know that that's been coming for five and a half years, but shit. Could you not have waited until after we discussed all of this? Was it really that important that you just had to get to it?”

“Don't you start, Yaz. You know everything I said is true. She left us there. On that bridge. While he was dying. While I was trying to keep him alive.”

“What were we supposed to do? We had to get Ovi out of there.”

“Oh I don't know. Maybe it would have been nice to help me get Tyler the fuck out of there. How about that?”

“There was no time. There were going to be more cops. Military even. We had to get Ovi out of there.”

“So to hell with the two people that busted their asses to get Ovi there in one piece right? To hell with the fact that your friend is lying there with a gunshot wound to his throat, bleeding out all over the place. Tyler wasn't useful anymore. He did what you all needed him to do and it no longer matter what happened to him. And if I just so happened to get killed too, oh well. No big loss, right?”

“We came back. I told Nik we had to go back for you guys and...”

“Wait...wait...” she stares at him incredulously. “...you had to tell her to go back and get us?”

“She thought it was too dangerous. That the situation was still too hot. She didn't want to ask anymore lives. But I told her that I couldn't just leave you guys there. That if Asif found out that things weren't finished and he sent more people down there, neither of you would stand a chance. I told her I was going back in to get you guys. Whether she helped me or not.”

“So she was more than willing to leave us there. To leave Tyler there. After what he'd done to make sure he got Ovi there? To get both of us there? She was okay with just leaving him to die?”

“To be honest, we thought he'd be dead when we got back. We didn't expect him to be alive still. We all saw what happened. What were the chances that he'd actually survive that? That you would have actually been able to keep him alive?”

“I wasn't leaving him there. I wasn't letting him die. Do you know what that was like? To go through that? To try and convince someone not to just give up? When dying is much easier than the fight not to? I had my fingers in his goddamn throat, Yaz. I had to stick my fingers in his neck to try and block the artery. I can still feel it. How hot the blood was. I can still feel his pulse against my fingers. And I can still smell it. Like it was yesterday. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

“No,” he shakes his head sadly. “And I'm sorry you have to remember all of that. That you had to go through it.”

“I didn't let him die on that bridge and I'm sure as hell not going to sit back and let him die here either. Maybe your sister was willing to let that happen, but I'm not. His life means more than that. A hell of a lot more. He's not the same Tyler he was back then. The one that had a death wish. He's my husband, Yaz. The father of my children. And there is no way I'm letting anyone send him out there to die.”

“You're doing what you can. The intel. The tactical. There's only so much you can do, Esme. Killing yourself isn't going to save him. Getting yourself killed trying to keep him alive solves nothing. Because if something happens to you, he'll put a gun in his mouth. Or he'll drink himself to death. He would not survive that. You know it, I know it.”

She sighs, a frown on her face as she runs a hand over her unsettled stomach.

“You look like shit,” Yaz observes.

“Well thanks. I'm so glad you pointed that out.”

“You're not...you know...”

She laughs. “You have something against saying the actual word? No. I'm not pregnant. We've been trying. But it hasn't happened yet. This is definitely stress. I know the difference. I've been through three pregnancies. I felt the same way with each of them. I knew right away that it wasn't stress and that I wasn't just sick. This? This is not the like any of those three times. It's definitely stress. Worry. And I miss home. I miss my kids. I just want to go home and see them.”

“Soon,” he promises. “This will all be over soon.”

She gives a shaky, skeptical smile.

She hopes he's right.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

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samuelkwinchester · 5 years ago

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14.11 - Sister!Winchester

Warnings: Language, Gore (kind of?), Mentions of rape, Unwanted touching (isn’t super detailed and doesn’t get very far, but please avoid if easily triggered).

Summary: Hope Winchester is Sam and Dean’s little sister from a different mom. This takes place during the events of season 14 episode 11, “Damaged Goods,” when Dean visits his mother and Nick is searching for her so that he can get revenge. Unfortunately, Hope gets caught in the crossfire between Nick and his obsession to find who killed his family

(I know that the picture is not from the episode, but bear with me. Also, it is not mine)

Enjoy :)

“Sam, I’m worried about Dean…” I whispered into the phone.

“What’s wrong, Hope?” Sammy asked, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Dean is getting real close with Mar- mom. Plus he’s been in the shed for almost an hour now. There’s a lot of noise going on. I think it’s a blowtorch and maybe some sort of power saw? I don’t know. Either way, he had a lot of books with him. And that’s really not like him. You know that, Sam. He’s just not himself. I mean, I know with Michael being stuck in his head and all, but really thi-”

“Hope. Breathe.” Sam commanded through the phone. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be over in maybe four hours, give or take. Stay there, stay alert, and stay safe. You have your phone, so call me if you need me. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“O-okay.” I said shallowly. The phone went dead.

I got up from my curled up position on my bed. The sun had gone down, and the room was no longer visible. I shivered, remembering what dad had said about the dark. My feet touched the cold, bedroom floor. I carefully guided myself toward the lightswitch, finding the panel, and switching it on.

The floor was pristine, obviously hadn’t been walked on in at least a few months. I looked in the mirror next to the doorway. There I stood, dressed in a simple pair of light denim ripped jeans (which Sam and Dean gave me a lot of crap for), a black short-sleeved undershirt, and a red and black flannel. My socks were black, warm, and fuzzy. Dean got them for me around Halloween, when the weather started to get cold.

I quickly looked away from the mirror, and walked into the hallway, down the wood stairs. I walked into the kitchen, smelling something greasy and… familiar?

“Hope!” Dean smiled at me from the kitchen. “You hungry? Mom and I were making and old favorite- Winchester Surprise!”

I forced a smile on my face. “Of course! Let me go wash up real quick and I’ll join you guys.” Excusing myself to the restroom, I locked the door and leaned against it, doing the one thing I haven’t done in over a year.

“Castiel? If you are hearing this, I need you to stay where you are. I just wanted to tell you that I’m with Dean and Mary. Dean doesn’t seem to be doing well. He’s not like himself. I just wanted to tell you so that you could keep Jack posted. He deserves to know as much as I do, especially with everything going on right now. I’ll keep you up to date.”

“Jeez, Dean. I can’t believe you remember how I used to feed you and John this dish. It’s so… greasy.” Mary smiled, reliving old memories that I obviously wasn’t apart of.

“How could I forget? I love this stuff.” Dean smiled, stuffing his face with this interesting concoction. Meanwhile, I just picked at my food.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Mar- mom asked.

“I’m just… Not feeling well. I think I might take a walk. Some fresh air might help.” I said, slowly getting up from the dinner table. Before I could get far, Dean grabbed my hand.

“Don’t forget your gun. I’m not letting you step out of my sight without it, okay? Especially out there.” Dean’s eyes glazed over, and I knew that something was eating him up.

“O-okay. Love you, D.” I said before grabbing my gun from the buffet table. Putting the gun in my waistband, I slipped my boots on and walked out the door.

The woods were somewhat of a sanctuary- especially where I’m from. I was raised in Seattle before Sam and Dean found me. Dad was on a case there and met my mom. I was conceived the night they met. Then Dad up and left, but came around for the few birthdays I had (before he died) and the occasional Christmas or Halloween (again, very few). I wasn’t completely special to him, but I was his child. And there was still love given to me from him.

He’d tell me about my brothers before I had even met them. He said that Sammy was a genius going to college so that he could do something with his life besides ‘the family business’- which was what he would call it back then. Dean was described as the legacy of the family, the one who would continue the business.

I hadn’t met them before John died.

Sam and Dean had barged into my house the night my mom died. I was five years old when the demon was killed. That’s when I started touring with the Winchester duo, and I contributed as the final part to the trio. I went through it all with them but stayed with Bobby a lot. When Mary came into the picture, I didn’t know how to react. She wasn’t my mom, but I was Sam and Dean's sister. She accepted me as her own early on, and I love her for it, but I’m still adjusting.

As I walked away from the cabin, I noticed headlights in the distance. I had a bad feeling about it, but I walked away. I knew I would regret it, but I didn’t just how much.

Continuing into the woods, I thought about Dean. What was he doing in the barn? Building something maybe? Or was he just releasing some pent up feelings? Either way, something was up, and I knew there was something he was keeping from me. I know he was possessed by apocalypse Michael, but he knows that at one point I was possessed by Michael from this world. I may not have been possessed for long, but it was still hell. I can remember that much. Especially because Michael only talked about wanting to use my brothers so that he could kill his own. He messed with my head too, and Dean doesn’t realize it. I want him to know I’m here. I need him to know I’m here. He shouldn’t go through this alone. He didn’t let me go through it alone.

I heard sirens coming from the dirt road, which made me feel a little safer but also a little more on edge. I didn’t think there was anything obviously wrong, so it was a shock to know the van was being looked for.

I quickly returned to the road, the cabin nowhere in sight, and turned to see Donna and… Nick? They were fighting, and for a moment it looked like Donna had the upper hand. Then Nick pulled the taser out from nowhere and tazed Donna. I froze, not knowing what to do. I could yell, but that would bring attention to myself. I watched as Nick effortlessly lifted Donna, and put her in the cop car. As he finished up, he turned around and locked eyes on my distant figure.

My blood ran cold- and not because it was near 40 degrees.

I had heard about a killer roaming around the Pike Creek area in Delaware, but I didn’t put two and two together. I should have known- I should have said something.

Nick started to walk towards me, and my body kicked into fight or flight mode.

I started with a jogging pace, getting away from Nick. I started to sprint as I heard a clicking noise. While trying to run in a zig-zag pattern I heard a ‘boom’ and then pain spread throughout my hip. I cried out, the pain was sudden and unforgiving. As I fell, I could feel the blood staining my clothes and my waist. My left hand moved to the wound so I could attempt to stop some bleeding. Everything was in slow motion. I hit the ground with a hard ‘thud’, my head spinning. The pain was almost unbearable, but I’ve had worse. I heard running footsteps and I knew he was coming for me. I took my hand off of the wound and pushed myself back up. I suppressed a groan as I put pressure on my leg, which traveled to my hip. I started to run towards the cabin, praying that I could make it before I either bled out or Nick caught me.

I could see lights, indicating I was close to Dean. Maybe not as close as I’d like, but it was something. Hope filled my veins and pushed me forward. I was so close to being home, so close to having the upper hand in this fight, so close to telling Dean that it was going to be okay. That I was going to be there for him.

Until I wasn’t close anymore.

Hands traveled to my hips, grabbing hard and intentionally pressing against my damaged hip. I choked out a quiet sob. I was caught, and I couldn’t see the light in this situation anymore. I wasn’t just scared- I was terrified. Nowhere left to go.

Game over.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” Nick sneered into my ear, obviously rubbing his victory into my face.

“Fuck. You.” I growled. I began to get defensive. I knew that he didn’t need me for anything, but he didn’t want his cover blown either. The worst outcome was that I’d be killed right now, leaving Dean with Michael and without Mary. I’m praying that he doesn’t go down that road.

“Feisty, huh? We can fix that real quick,” Nick pushed harder onto the bullet hole decorating my hip. I hissed at him. “Okay. That didn’t work… I could try something else. Something I remembered from when I was shacked up with Lucifer…”

Okay, I was wrong. Being killed wasn’t the worst scenario.

Nick ran his other hand, the one not putting pressure on my hip, down to my thing and squeezed just slightly. He started to move up, and he pressed up against me. He stopped right before he reached a place I definitely didn’t want him to touch.

“We have two options, Little Winchester. Either you give up, or I bring up some repressed memories. Some that haven’t seen the light of day since they were scarred into your pretty little head. But hey, it’s your choice.” Nick taunted.

My mind was racing a million miles per second. I felt dizzy and nauseous. I actually thought about throwing up on his shoes, but I don’t think I could aim for them. But in all seriousness, my mind was at war with itself. I didn’t want to just give up and be submissive, but I couldn’t risk being killed, or worse.

“Alright. I’ll behave. But you have to promise me something.” I said with the strongest voice I could come up with.

“And… What would that be, Hope?” Nick grinned against my ear.

“Keep Dean and Mary alive. They don’t need to be killed.” I was practically begging and he knew it.

“Okay. We have a deal.” He smiled as he took his hand off my thigh.

I let out a sigh of relief, before suddenly being spun around and lifted over his shoulder. He turned and walked towards the van. The back door of the van was opened and I was shoved inside. I held in a cry as I somehow landed on my hip (just my luck). Next thing I knew the van doors were slammed shut, and my vision was fading fast. My last thoughts were dedicated to my brothers, praying that they’d find me or move on if they didn’t, before I blacked out entirely.

*2nd POV*

“-Dean, he’s going after your mom,” Donna sighed into the phone.

“He who?” Dean asked, feeling very confused yet on guard.

“Uh, some guy named Nick.” Donna finally spit out, and Dean acted immediately.

Dean ran outside after hanging up with Donna, gun in hand. He was going to find that bastard before he found Mary. He walked out of the bushes and onto the dirt road, taking a faster pace. Sticks were broken behind him, and in less than a second his gun was cocked and pointed to whoever was behind him.

“Dean! Woah, easy!” Sam yelled, clearly not wanting to get shot by his brother. “Dean, what’s going on here?”

“It’s Mom,” he rasped. “She’s gone.”

Mary awoke in the van, her head pounding. Her head was resting on something… soft? She slowly opened her eyes to see the ceiling of the van. She pushed herself up and turned to see Hope laying on the floor, bleeding at a steady pace.

“Oh god!” Mary yelled. “Help!”

She scanned the back for anything that could stop the bleeding. She found an old cloth and some alcohol. Perfect. After she shredded the cloth, she poured alcohol onto it and tied it tight around Hope's waist, making sure that it was covering and putting pressure on the wound. Hope shot up, eyes wide open, and fear evident in her eyes.

*1st POV*

I shot up, my eyes wide open, and my heart beating out of my chest. I took in a shaky breath and saw Mary leaning over me.

“Oh, thank god.” She said, tears rolling down her face.

“Hey, Mary.” I croaked out. Smiling, she helped me sit up against her.

The back door swung open, and Nick was standing there with a smirk on his face. I’m not entirely sure why he needed Mary, but I could tell that whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.

“Morning, Ladies!” Nick sang, before hopping into the back with us. Mary pushed me to the far corner, trying to get me as far away from Nick as possible. “Oh, come on, Mary! I wasn’t going to do anything… yet…” He smiled viciously.

“Alright, what do you want?” Mary asked, clearly not happy with the situation she was in.

“You know… The demons, they know where you are,” Nick said, taking a seat across from me. “They keep track of you, you and your kids. They’re sort of scared of you. So wherever you are, they’re not. So that’s how I got to Hibbing. I didn’t have an address. Luckily, that- that perky little sheriff lady- what’s her name? Deborah? Debbie? Something? Whatever. She had some emails on her cellphone talking about you and her family cabin, so here I am.” Mary just glared at him while he rambled.

“I know that’s a lot to take in, but… And if you feel like screaming, you can- you can go ahead cause we’re pretty remote…”

“Nick,” Mary started. “What are you doing?”

Nick got up suddenly and moved right next to me as I flinched. Mary looked slightly afraid, but kept it in knowing that I was watching.

“Tonya Baker,” Nick began. “Yeah, you knew her. You saved her life. Her whole girl scout troop was murdered and she was the only survivor, thanks to you. These two demons were about to finish her off, and then you came in and chased one away but you faced off against the other one, a demon named Abraxas.”

“I remember. So?” Mary snapped.

“So? Abraxas murdered my family the same way he killed those girls- bloody, brutal, slow.” Mary's face fell at his confession, and even I felt bad.

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Mary started. “But you could have just asked me. This, shooting Hope, this is cr-”

“Crazy?” Nick asked, finishing her sentence. “What would you have told me?”

“That I killed him!” Mary raised her voice. “Abraxas is dead.”

“So you would have lied to me?” My eyes widened at his statement. “You didn’t kill him, you trapped him in a box. How’d you do it?”

Mary stuttered. Nick grabbed her coat and shook her. “Tell. Me.”

“Okay, okay. We put him in an Enochian box. He’s contained.”

“Do you have him?” Nick asked, clearly done with beating around the bush.

“No… but I can take you to him.”

Dean and Sam were pacing, waiting for a response from Donna’s radio. Dean was beyond worried. When Sam and him got back, Dean immediately went upstairs to look for Hope. He was praying that she got back while he was sleeping, but when he opened the door to her room, she wasn’t there, and he lost it. Sam was stunned for a minute but began to worry more and more.

Eventually Donna got a trace, and they sped off to Grand Rapids.

We pulled up to a storage unit that, Mary said, had the box containing Abraxas. Nick pulled Mary out of the van, then me. He pulled me along as I struggled to keep up. Mary unlocked the door, and he pushed her inside first before pulling me in.

“Alright, where is it?” Nick asked. Mary remained silent. ��Listen, if you tell me where it is, you and little Winchester get to walk away.”

Mary sighed, obviously struggling with her decisions.

“It’s over there.”

Nick looked around while Mary stood still.

“Where is it?” Nick asked, clearly getting angrier by the minute.

“In the lockers…” Mary said. “Too bad I don’t have the key.”

I smiled a little at how dumb she was playing. I liked her style. Nick shrugged, grabbed a machete, and chopped off the lock, moving into the room with the lockers.

“Which one?” Nick asked. Mary just shrugged, not giving him a clear answer.

Nick grunted and shoved me towards Mary. He started to chop off locks again while Mary helped me keep steady.

“Just sit here, hun. Against the lockers.” I nodded and slid down the lockers onto the floor. I was losing steam, and I didn’t know when Dean or Donna would find us. I was rooting for sooner, rather than later.

“Open the box.” Nick said as I looked up.

“Sorry, but you need a host. It can’t be you, it can’t be me,” She lifted her shirt to show her tattoo. “And, it can’t be Hope.” She lifted up my shirt so he could see the tattoo on my side.

“Well, then I’ll improvise.” Nick said, before leaving.

Nick walked in with the security guard from the post out front. He sat him down and pulled the bag off of his head.

“Nick don’t do this-”

“How do I open this thing?” Nick cut her off.

“I don’t know.” Mary sighed.

Nick turned around while trying to figure out the box, which gave Mary a chance to walk up behind him and kick his knees out from under him. She attempted to grab the dropped box, but Nick got back up and kicked her over while she was laying on the ground. I tried to get up and help, but everything was still spinning, and I couldn’t see who was who at this point. I was useless. So I prayed that it wasn’t too late to save us all.

“I said I could handle it!” Nick yelled as he pushed her up against the fence. Nick continued to mess with the box, but then threw it onto the ground. Nick, frustrated as ever, picked up the drill and drilled into the box. Black smoke came from the black cube and flew right into the security guards' mouth.

“Heya, Blondie.” Abraxis cooed at Mary, then looked my way. “Who’s your cute friend?”

“Why’d you kill my family?” Nick demanded.

“Have to be more specific.” Abraxis smirked, clearly messing around.

“Pike Creek, Delaware.” Nick stated, getting emotional.

“Oh. Nick. Why are you walking and talking? I thought the big man had you on lockdown.”

“He’s dead. Now, why did you kill my family?” Nick raised his voice.

“Kill her first, then we’ll talk.” Abraxas looked towards me. “Mary here locked me in a box and I hold a grudge. But I want her to suffer instead. Kill the girl nice and slow, then maybe we’ll talk.”

Nick looked at me.

“Nick,” Mary started with a grin on her face. But Nick looked serious about going through with it. And I was terrified. “Nick! Don’t do it!”

Nick walked toward me slowly, and suddenly my adrenaline kicked in. I needed to get up and run. I tried pushing myself up, but Nick picked up his pace and pounced on me. He straddled my waist as he bound my arms together.

“You ready to die, little Winchester?” Nick sneered as he prepared his knife. He lifted up the knife, and was about to drive it into my stomach, but a gunshot cut him off.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Sam yelled, holding Nick at gunpoint.

Nick cowered away from me, and Dean came rushing over to me. His eyes filled with rage as he released my arms and saw my bloody hip. Sam was helping Mary out of her handcuffs while I tried to stand up against the lockers.

“Hey, De.” I said weakly.

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean smiled slightly, struggling to watch me keep myself up.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked, his voice wavering.

“Not sure, Sammy.” Dean sighed. Sam rushed over and gave me a bear hug. I hissed when he held me tight against him.

“What’s wr-” Sam saw my bloody hip, and his face fell. “No, Hope…”

“I-It’s okay, Sammy. I’ll make it.” I chuckled lightly. Sam gave me a kiss on the forehead before pointing his gun at Nick again.

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

“What I have to.” Nick said, before grabbing a knife and scraping off a piece of the devil's trap.

“NO-” We all yelled, before being lifted into the air and slammed onto the floor. I groaned out in pain as the cloth fell off of my hip. More blood started to pour onto the floor.

“You wanna know why I killed your family? I was following orders-” Abraxas started.

“From who?” Nick pressed, not giving up.

“Who do you think? Lucifer.” Abraxas smirked.

“I-I don’t understand.” Nick stuttered. “Why me?!”

“You were chosen, but you’re not special. We threw a dart at a phone book and-”

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica-”

“Stop,” Abraxas said as he forced Dean into one of the storage shelves.

“Dean!” I coughed, looking back to make sure he was okay. He groaned and tried to push himself back up.

“So. Who dies first?” Abraxis asked, before Nick pulled his head back, forced him onto his knees, and stabbed him in the chest.

Nick got up and started swiping at anyone who would come near him.

“Take it easy!” Sam yelled, before Donna shot him in the leg and M- mom knocked him out.

“Payback, bitch.” I choked out a quiet laugh while trying to fight the darkness from taking over.

“Hope!” Sam and Dean yelled, rushing over to me.

“You gotta stay with us, sissy. Okay?” Dean asked, trying to keep me awake.

“N-no pr-omises…” I smirked.

“Even with a bullet in your hip and at least a quarter of your blood on the floor, you’re still a pain in our asses.” Dean chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

“I try, De.” I smiled, before slipping into the darkness.

I woke up to Dean by my side. I tried to sit up, but my hip was burning.

“Woah. That’s some kick.” I joked, pushing myself up to the headboard. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad, but it still hurt.

“Take it easy, kiddo.” Dean ordered, clearly not messing around. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell, but I’ll be okay.” I tried to smile, but I just couldn’t. The fight was finally over, and somehow we won. The tears came right after, but I let them fall.

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. It’s over now, I promise.” Dean climbed into the bed with me and held my head against his chest.

“H-he did so much more, De… So much more than just this.” I sobbed.

Sam quietly entered the room while Dean and I sat in silence. He sat down on my other side and kissed my head, letting me know that he was here too.

“W-when he shot me, he… He said he remembered something about me from when Lucifer was possessing him…” I stuttered, more tears flowing but I didn’t care.

“What’d he say, kiddo?” Dean asked, clearly defensive.

“H-he said that he’d use something against me if I didn’t stop fighting him… He moved his other hand to my thigh a-and…” I sucked in a breath, trying to stay calm even though everything in me wanted to scream and thrash. “He made me think he was going to touch me… He knew what had happened to m-me bef-fore… I thought he was going to r-rape me-” I sobbed, wanting to crawl out of my own skin.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Dean growled lowly, getting out of the bed and pacing the floor. “How did he know? Lucifer wasn’t even apart of that… That was another assholes fault…” Deans held his head in his hands.

Sammy comforted me as I continued to sob. My face was buried in his chest, but I didn’t care. Dean sat back down and held me.

“We’re gonna fix this, okay? We’ll get through it together. You’ll always have us. Always.” Sam choked out, trying not to lose it because he wanted to be strong for me.

“We got you, Hope. We love you.”

#supernatural #sister!winchester #the winchesters #winchester sister #damaged goods #dean winchester #sam winchester #mary winchester #season 14 #hope winchester #winchester support

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 5 years ago

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People get tired of you when you are poor. So many people are poor, poorer than i could even imagine being, poor enough to not be able to eat for days and days or have shoes to wear. It upsets people. It's not exciting. It's economic. It drags people down and decreases their well being overall, but not in a way that people like to really engage in. So when i find myself feeling horrible about how poorly i am doing, I just feel really ungrateful and dumb in the grand spectrum of how life has always been for everyone, and how things are for so many people. I am not exactly living in the worst time in human history. I am also not living with the kind of fear that a bomb may drop on me, or that i will die of some disease. I don't even have any children relying on me. I have a roof over my head, i am not without the bare basics, albeit, the very most bare. But i am kind of falling apart trying to make ends meet, I'm enormously in debt to people who deserve to be paid back and need to be paid back at some point, and i am feeling this sick nauseous feeling constantly whenever i get something i enjoy for myself even if it's just like, a sandwich or a hair tye. I lose sleep over it, because honestly, doing something like that puts me in a financial hole, because truth be told, i absolutely cannot afford to be making those kinds of economic choices for myself. Things are that tight.

People don't understand why i eat so little, or why i don't go out to have drinks or lunch, or why i don't buy new shoes or don't leave my house or get a decent phone, or see a doctor, or just a number of basic things. Honestly, people don't know why i don't smile more often, and it's kind of because i have so few choices right now that i have to live the same day over and over perfectly, or else i won't have enough money to eat for days. Everyone I know makes a lot more money than i do, i watch friends gamble one hundred dollars a night, or drink cocktails or go out to eat or buy new stuff. I can't do those things. If i do, i have to force myself not to eat for a few days. I have to really really pay for that kind of thing later, so it's made it very unworthwhile for me. Telling them i am too poor almost alienates me further, because then they have to feel bad about the contrast of their lives versus mine, so i don't talk about how this poverty thing has been wearing on me. I try to just smile and stay positive, but I feel like i am kind of crumbling into a state of despair. Sometimes i kind of feel like i am choking and I lose touch of my surroundings. I don't talk to anyone about it. There's no use and there are people who are literally sleeping outside in the cold, so what am i even upset about?

I can't really do much to change my economic situation right now, though i do have a longtime plan ultimately. Basically, i worked two years for a company to eventually get into a position where i was able to make good money. It's like, a sought after position essentially. You work two years making very little money, and then you eventually get into a position where you walk out with well over one hundred dollars a night. I was three months into finally having that position and i was finally making good money. I moved out of the place i was living at, which wasn't too great as i was living without a bathroom and had to like, pee outside and stuff. I moved into a really nice place with nicer roommates and i finally had a decent bedroom and bathroom and a respectable living situation closer to where I worked. And just as i was getting my life set up, the location of the place i worked for shut down suddenly and i was without work. I worked years and dealt with a lot of like, abuse in a way to get to that position, and suddenly it was gone, but i had just moved into a place i could now barely afford. I weighed my options and decided to work at this other location where they accepted me but on the terms i would take the lower position, but it put me in a situation where i was making less money than i had been before i even got the good position i had finally achieved. So, i was financially fucked, basically. Furthermore, it was around this time that all the standing i had been doing in order to get the job where i made that kind of money caught up with me, and i now have a permanent condition in my legs where they ache constantly, and i struggle to bend them. If i even move my leg in a bad position at night on accident, a shot of pain hits me. So i am always basically in some kind of pain, and it's kind of affecting my outlook on life. Not at first, but it's starting to wear on me. I am worried that the more i have to walk and stand a day, the worse it's going to get, but at the same time that's the only thing i can do to make money.

I also went through a break up around that time. It's not really over, but it kind of was there for a moment, and that feeling of your favorite person in the world just kind of dropping you is really horrible. I felt worthless, and trying to establish my self worth afterwards, with no real prospects has been really difficult. I can't even afford to be upset about friends or relationships, or more accurately, the lack there of. It's a money issue. Just an all around series of unfortunate things just hit me unexpectedly, and dragged me down after years of working my way up, and i try not to feel defeated by this, but i kind of do. My best friend is also extremely depressed, and if I talk about this, she doesn't really say much. She can't really be there for me right now, our schedules are opposite, such is adult life, and she's dealing with a bunch of stuff of her own, and there isn't even a lot of room for me to vent or anything at her.

If i get a second job it would help, i would be foregoing sleep because i am already working a full time job, and it would be hard to find a job that went well with the hours i have now. It's something i could do technically, but it would give me no time off, and essentially like 5 hours to sleep a night which i am afraid wouldn't be good for my mental health, and might ultimately be worse for me in the long run. I weigh it out quite often. I have an app on my phone that keeps track of all my money, so i am trying very hard to make sure that i cut every corner. I have everything regulated, down to the portion sizes I am allowed to eat and stay in line. It's about 800 calories a day. I feel hungry all the time. I grit my teeth a lot because there is always this tension of wanting to eat. I am kind of dieting, but if i wasn't dieting, this would be as much as i could afford to eat anyway. I kind of excuse it or make the best of it, because i am also kinda chubby, so technically, i rationalize that at least i am losing weight. I've lost about 25 pounds in the last few months. I can probably lose 30 more lbs before i become underweight. It's dumb, and i kinda have to laugh, but even my tummy fat has become some kind of aspect of my economic situation.

I am trying to stay positive. My longterm goal is ultimately to get the old position i had back, i think I am the next in line once an opening comes up, but that could be several several months from now. I don't know what is going to fuel me even having the will to continue. There is this little voice in the back of my head that just kind of wants to give up. I am tired of trying. I feel like it gets nowhere. I really want to stay positive, and not be bitter. But it is I have to admit, a little hard when my leg is always hurting and I am always hungry and can't really like, enjoy anything that doesn't cost anything. Once i am serving again, I will make more than enough money to pay back the money i owe, and also live a better life. Ugh, but i kind of messed up recently too. I spent days where i almost felt dizzy and distant from myself. I ended up spending money i didn't have, just impulsively. It was like i didn't care anymore about anything for just a few days. It's just like i snapped, and now three weeks later, i am stressing because i don't have enough for rent, it's going to have to be late, and I am scrambling and now having to rationalize that in the next coming month, i am going to have to eat even less, certain days i am just not going to be eating at all. It wasn't even a lot. I just bought stuff that a normal person wouldn't think twice about buying, like a new sweater, a pair of earrings, some socks, a few nice meals, but for me it was something i couldn't afford. I don't even have friends really, so i just listen to a ton of podcasts to fill that void. Which isn't friendship, but it keeps my brain busy i guess. I mean, I have a few pals. I have people i write online, but I just feel like it's disappointing to hear about how poor someone is. I don't want to bring other people down.

Lastly, all of this would be a lot better if i had food stamps or assistance, but i make like ten dollars too much for that. I had a SNAP card for a few months which was extremely nice, but they found out i made too much money and they took the benefits away.

So i guess i just decided to write about it here. I will try to stay positive, and make smart choices and all that. Gotta get ready for work. Thanks for reading my sad little economic blog post.

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secretobsessionstuff · 5 years ago

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Yay! My school started yesterday, haha. So I’m kinda short on creative ideas right now, but I’ll try! Maybe Madix picks something up at work and has to go to the bathroom to throw up before his shift is even over. He texts Riley telling him what’s going on but he has to finish his shift because there’s an important patient or something. While Riley waits for Madix to get home, he sets up a nice spot on the couch for his boyfriend to rest and relax. Madix throws up more once he gets home. :)

Dude I had so much fun writing this! Thank you!

The day was almost over, just two more hours and then he could crash. Just 120 more minutes of nausea, burping, and dizziness. Madix felt like he was hearing a patient list off their symptoms to him. Every ailment swirled in his head, but most notably in his stomach. He exhaled deeply through his nose and finished up the last stitching on some poor guy’s forehead. It was sloppy and the man’s breath smelt like week-old tuna, but it was over. It might as well have been karma for breathing in a patient’s face while he most certainly had picked up the bug taking down each member of the ER department one by one.

Madix removed his gloves, and quickly excused himself. His departure felt a bit hasty, especially since his patient was being so appreciative, and towards some expendable resident at that. But he had to leave. He had to get away from the crying children, and the ringing phones, and the general noise that wafted around the emergency room. Don’t get him wrong, Madix’s favourite rotation was trauma and emergency medicine, however he really wished he was further away from the noise today.

Before a new arrival could come wheeling in on a stretcher, Madix made a beeline for the nearest restroom. Thank God it was a single one. He lifted the toilet seat as if to pee, and instead just leaned against the back wall with his head hanging above the bowl. His breath came in quick burst, as he fought back nausea. Nothing happened. He wanted to go home so badly before something did happen. By the way his belly gurgled and tossed around his lunch, he didn’t think he’d get so lucky.

For now, Madix splashed some water on his red cheeks and returned to work. The next half hour of his shift went by in a blur. He couldn’t have guessed how many arterial lines he inserted, or how many lacerations he stitched up, but he could tell you how many times his stomach rolled like an overturned car on the freeway. He could tell you that his temperature rose steadily throughout the day, as did his fear that he’d be seeing a reappearance of his lunch.

Shakily, Madix opened the curtain to greet the next patient. He looked down at his clipboard to familiarize himself with the case, but there was no need. The child’s darkened expression cracked slightly as she saw Madix. Her sunken cheeks perked up ever so slightly upon seeing a familiar face. Madix did not have the same reaction.

“Kiara, what are you doing back here?” Madix sighed, but added a bit of mockery in his tone to cheer the child up. He looked towards Kiara’s mother and kept his voice even. “This is what? The third time you’ve been here in the past two weeks?”

“She’s still throwing up after every meal,” the mother said with her arms crossed. “No one is taking this seriously, Madix.”

It was after the second trip to the ER that the family had started calling Madix by his first name. Even after two visits, the child’s symptoms persisted. Kiara was noticeably weaker this time around. Madix was sure that she had an ulcer, but his attending kept dismissing it as indigestion, or hysteria. Upon hearing that, Madix almost punched his superior. For God’s sake the kid was unable to keep anything down for ten days. This was not made-up or exaggerated.

This time would be different. Madix ordered various tests, determined to get to the bottom of this. He’d done all these tests before and each time there wasn’t a significant fluctuation to warrant concern. Still, Kiara warranted concern.

For a moment, Madix forgot about his own problems. He had a stupid stomach flu, while his patient had something much worse. He shouldn’t have been complaining, but it was hard to ignore the growing nausea. While he waited for the tests to come back, he had every intention of speaking more with Kiara and her mom, but his belly demanded immediate attention. For a second, Madix tried resisting the call, then he gagged, forcing him to cover his mouth with his hand and dash to the bathroom.

He threw open the door and crashed to the ground in front of the toilet. A sick belch gurgled up his throat, followed by a gush of vomit. It landed in the water below with a splash, making droplets fly back in his face. Madix breathed heavily. He wiped his damp face and prayed that it would be one and done.

It wasn’t. He heaved emptily, feeling the organ trying desperately to rid itself of its contents. Madix coughed harshly to get things going. Something in his throat was dislodged and a fresh wave of sick filled his mouth. Hopefully the doors were thick enough and the ER loud enough that no one heard his struggle. He burped up a few thick strands of saliva, and flushed away the mess.

His stomach was killing him, but he wanted to be the one calling the shots. He got to his feet, ignoring the way his insides were swirling, and immediately regretted it. His vision went dark and he lost his balance. He caught himself on the sink. God, he felt disgusting and so not ready to leave the comfort of a nearby toilet.

Madix took his phone out from his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to have it with him, but it was nice to look up some stuff when he ran into uncommon symptoms. This time, he was happy just to see Riley’s face on his lock screen. It was late in the evening; Riley would be home and definitely looking at his phone. Madix succumbed to the temptation and called his boyfriend.

Riley picked up on the first ring. “Madix?”

For a quick second, all Riley could hear was heavy breathing and sniffling. Then Madix’s raspy voice crackled in his ear. “I just threw up.”

“What? Are you okay?” The concern in Riley’s voice was clear, but there was a twinge of relief by the fact that he was hiding behind a phone.

“I’m…” Madix was going to say fine, but couldn’t manage it convincingly, also he really didn’t want to try. “…I’m not doing so great, to be honest.”

“Oh baby, are you coming home?”

Madix squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that Riley was in the small space with him. “I can’t. There’s this little girl. I can’t leave her – I can’t.”

“Mads, you sound terrible. I want you home.”

“I want to be home, but –”

“I know,” Riley said quickly. “Deal with this, and when you get back, I’ll have everything set up for.”

“I don’t know if I can make it the rest of my shift without getting sick again.”

“You can. I know you can,” Riley tried to sound convincing but all he could hear was Madix groaning in pain. “You’re so good, Mads.”

Madix ran his hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. “Okay, I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Madix wasn’t sure if that phone call made him more determined to help Kiara, or just more anxious to be home with his boyfriend. Either way, he spat the vile taste of puke into the sink and left.

Reading the results of the tests was a dizzying affair. The numbers blended into one large inkblot in Madix’s vision, and the world around him seemed to slow down. The noises of the ER faded, which would have been nice If Madix wasn’t actively trying to remain upright.

One small bit of hope broke his nausea induced trance – the breath test came back showing signs of a peptic ulcer. This would almost certainly convince his attending to at least do an endoscopy and Madix knew exactly what it would show. Madix only wished it didn’t have to take this long to help Kiara and give her a real diagnosis.

With the good/bad news in hand, Madix returned to where Kiara was waiting. She was lying with her head in her mom’s lap, and didn’t even look up when Madix came in. It was only when he explained the true reason for her sickness, that both the mother and daughter breathed a sigh of relief. Madix did as well, and leaned against the bed for support. He reckoned he looked like shit as he delivered the news. His hands shook as he read the results out loud so that the mother could understand, and ran out of breath by time he finished explaining.

Kiara’s mother put her hand on Madix’s shoulder. “Thank you, Madix, for actually taking us seriously. I do hope your shift is over because you deserve a break.”

She had no idea how badly he needed that break. Madix wanted to stay longer and make sure that everything was sorted out with his attending and Kiara’s treatment, but his rotation was over, and he felt like passing out. With his fist pressed into his mouth, he left in a hurry.

The ride back was as one would expect. Madix struggled to keep his insides…inside. His stomach was back to rebelling against him and threatening to open the flood gates. He didn’t think he had much left to throw up, but his body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

As soon as he opened the front door, Madix dropped his bags and happily collapsed into Riley’s waiting arms. His boyfriend was warm and smelt like soap. It was comforting and soft for a moment, then his stomach whined again. He shivered and broke away from his boyfriend.

Riley guided Madix to the couch where there was a pile of blankets, exactly two of favourite pillows, and a glass of water on the coffee table. There was also a bucket on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseous.” Madix melted at the sight of the comfy bed Riley had set up. He wanted to fall into the couch, but he froze. With his mouth slightly agape, his tongue became slick with saliva. His hand shook as he covered his mouth. He questioned whether he could make it to the bathroom in time.

Before he could make the decision to run to the toilet, Riley shoved the bucket under his chin and caught the sick that splattered in the basin. Madix’s whole body shook as he lurched forward. He took the bucket in his own hands and turned away from his boyfriend. With strangled noises, he resisted each successive retch, causing his chest to hitch.

Riley stayed behind him and rubbed his back. “Let yourself throw up, Madix. Don’t fight it.”

Madix didn’t need much convincing, mostly because his body took over. He relaxed the muscles in his abdomen, only for them to spasms immediately afterward. He doubled over and vomited up more stomach contents. Each gush of puke gurgled in his throat and landed in the bucket with a sickening splash. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled between heaves and mouthfuls of vomit. “I – I can’t help it.”

Riley lowered Madix to the ground, where he knelt, still with his head shoved in the bucket. “That’s okay, I’m fine. Let it happen.”

In reality, Riley’s hands were shaking just as much as Madix’s were, but he ignored it. He ignored the feeling in his chest telling him to cover his ears and run. He thought that if he told himself he was fine, then he would be fine, and so far, it was working. He focused on rubbing Madix’s back in big circles.

Madix finally got a moment to catch his breath. He felt like he got a proper ab workout, and probably grip strengthening with how hard he was holding onto the bucket. He shut his eyes, still feeling like the room was spinning. “I need to lie down.”

“Are you done throwing up?”

“For now.”

So, Madix practically crawled to the couch. He wrapped himself in the blankets that Riley had made into a nest and closed his eyes. He lay with his head in Riley’s lap while hugging his aching belly. Before falling asleep, he mumbled just loud enough so that Riley would hear him.

“That patient is going to be okay.”

“Good. You’re a good doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor yet.” Madix yawned and started to play with the sweaty collar of his shirt. “There’s vomit on my scrubs.” He pouted.

Riley chuckled, a sound that Madix felt privileged to hear so well. “And it’s not someone else’s this time.”

#emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #puke without plot #Madix #Riley #stomach flu #vomiting #puke #my ocs

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howardpotts · 6 years ago

Text

Pregnancy test (Loki x reader)

Requested by @michaellangdonslut: Hello, can you do one where Loki gets his friend (the reader) pregnant after a one night stand?

Summary: Basically the request!

Warning: angst, uh pregnancy? (is that even a warning?), details of throwing up?

Wordcount: 2127

A/N: I hope you like it! I had so much fun writing this, so the wordcount turned out longer than I expected. Let me know what you think!

Your head was hanging above the toilet. Everything you just ate for breakfast came out the same way it went in. You tried to pull your hair back yourself, but it’s not completely working, leaving some stuff in your hair.

You didn’t even know you could have so much stored in your stomach. Your stomach isn’t done yet and your abs flex, trying to get even more out. It was probably some sort of reflex to get everything dirty out of your system.

When nothing is left anymore, you stand up with a grossed out expression. You flush the toilet and look in the mirror, seeing the dirty strands of hair. “Shit”, you murmur. You turn to the shower and let the water run.

You take a quick shower, making sure you’re clean again and ready for the rest of the day. While standing in the shower, you eyed to the toilet again. Why did you even throw up? You didn’t feel sick or anything… Maybe the food from last night?

It couldn’t be the food, it was just some simple pasta Bolognese. There was no spice, even though your body could handle that very well, or products that were expired. You definitely weren’t allergic, so that’s off the table too.

Just when you turn the shower off again, you see the screen of your phone light up. You grab a towel and dry yourself with it. After that, you twist your hair in another clean towel and grab your phone. “Today still on?”

It was Natasha. You text back that you’ll be there if she’s there. As you walk in to your bedroom, you’re still a bit in your head about the throwing up. The last time you’ve thrown up was a few years ago, so it’s very unlikely for you to do it out of nowhere.

You grab yourself a new pair of black jeans and a washed red croptop. To finish the look, you add some fake gold necklace. You give yourself one last quick look in the mirror, to confirm you’re looking well enough to go outside.

Just when you approved your look, you spotted you bed behind you in the mirror. Your mind goes back to a few days ago.

“Hey, come in!” You gestured to the room as Loki walked in. He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek, which you were used to.

As soon as he sat down on your couch, you provided him with water, grapes, chocolate and all the other good stuff. He just smiled and thanked you. First time you had a ‘movie night’, he didn’t thank you. He bluntly asked why I didn’t make him a whole fruit bowl with at least twenty fruits. So there was definitely progress in him being nice.

You got to Netflix and stopped by the movie Hercules. It was the original animation. For a second, you wanted him to see the movie. But you stopped yourself very quickly. Maybe he wasn’t ready for that movie. It might send him a message that you see him as Hades, the villain of the movie who dies in the end. It’s the perfect metaphor: Zeus is Thor, the good God and King of all the people who are full of love; Hades is king of the Underworld, the bad guys and he feeds himself with the souls he has taken.

You quickly scroll to another movie. After a few scrolls, you see Grease. Hmm… This can be fun, right? Loki nods his head in agreement to watch this one. “It’s an absolute classic! But kind of cheesy”, you say, excitement thickly layered in your voice.

As you watch the movie, you study Loki as well. He looks absolutely breath taking. You can tell he isn’t hiding his real looks anymore. This is the real him. His hair isn’t as smooth, it’s even a little bit curled. His face is paler than it was a few days ago. There are two small wrinkles on his forehead, showing how much he has been through in life.

A little smile appears on your face. He trusts you. He trusts you enough to show you the real Loki. No mask, no glamour. You try to focus on the movie, but you can’t. You just look at him in awe, trying to take it all in.

“Are you enjoying me?”, he grins. Your cheeks fill with red, but you still nod. You’re not going to lie to him. You never lied to him. You can’t be another person to break his trust.

“You see it, don’t you?” His eyes turn to the floor, his teeth are biting his bottom lip. You nod again. “You’re so beautiful”, you whisper. It’s out before you know it. He looks up again, directly in to your eyes.

You know what he’s going to do, but you let him. Not because you didn’t want to crush his ego, but because you actually wanted it. Him. You wanted him. All of him. His kisses, everywhere on your body. His fingers, giving you goose bumps wherever they were. His whispers, praising you in to the stars.

Your fingers roam the way his kisses did on your neck that night. It made you shiver and relive the moment. A few tears blur your eyesight. Really? You’re also getting emotional? So you’re throwing up and an emotional mess. Couldn’t be better. Especially today, the first time you had to see him again.

That night was the first time you lied to him. You agreed that this was a one night stand. He said that he wasn’t ready for something that emotional and you don’t blame him. You even thought it was good for him that he knew his own boundaries.

You just told him that you didn’t see yourself in a relationship with him. You did picture yourself with him, though. So you lied. But the lie was out before your brain even processed the lie.

A big sigh comes out of your mouth as you turn away from the mirror. Okay, Y/N, this is not the time to be a stupid little helpless girl. It’s not a big issue. You just have to get over him. It’s not like he made you preg- Wait.

The thought itself made you nauseous again. Your head felt dizzy. You try and grab the mirror, but you miss, making you stumble forward. You grab your head and search for your bed with one hand forward.

When you reach your bed, you calmly let yourself down on it. The dizziness fades, and your thoughts are slowly coming back. Is that even possible? He’s a god, he can’t get you… Right?

You reach your phone again. You text Nat that you don’t know if you’re coming since you’re ill. An immediate text back. ‘Oh no girly, I’m coming to get you. No excuses. I’m on my way.’

You bite your lip, thinking everything through. Maybe you can ask Natasha to get you a pregnancy test? Or is that stupid?

You didn’t even answer your question, the phone was already at your ear. “Hey girl. You’re not going to leave me hanging, you hear me?!”, you hear Natasha say. You just know she has this big smirk on her face.

“Uh- Can you get me a pregnancy test?” The words were out. No way back. You didn’t even hesitate. You had to know. It’s better to be sure about it. You probably weren’t even pregnant. That wasn’t even possible.

On the other side of the line, it was silent for a few seconds before you heard a quick ‘on it’ before she hung up.

You sat on the side of the bathtub while staring at the pregnancy test. It was placed on the bathroom sink. “Y/N, you okay?” Natasha softly knocked on the door. You nodded, but then realised she couldn’t see you. “Yeah.” You sounded way weaker than you wanted to.

You open the door. Natasha saw your face was full of worry. She gets in and sits you down back. “Listen Y/N”, she says sternly, “whatever the outcome will be, it will be okay. You”, she pointed at you, “Me”, she pointed at herself, “Everyone is going to make sure that you are going to be okay. You’re not alone in this. If this turns out negative. Fine, we go on with life. If it’s positive, we are going to kick ass.”

You give her a smile and were about to thank her when the timer on your phone goes off. You run to the pregnancy test. Because of your hurry, you almost drop it when you pick it up. The plastic thing is now in your hands. With shaking hands, you hold it up so you can view what it’s saying.

You drop it on the floor the second you see the result. Everything goes blanc. The words Natasha just said are forgotten. Your hands are trying to grab the sink, but just like the mirror, you miss. This time you don’t have enough time to sit down and pass out.

A hour later you wake, laying in your bed. Natasha’s holding your hand, worry spread over her face. “What happened?” You ask while rubbing your eyes. “You passed out”, she said with that same expression.

Huh? But why- Pregnant. You were pregnant. Of a god. Of Loki. “Loki”, you whisper. Natasha’s eyes widen at the name. She didn’t know who was a possible baby daddy.

“Wha- Oh- Loki? Really?” “You need to get him for me, Nat. Please, just- don’t ask questions, okay?” You grab her arm desperate. You needed to tell him. He deserved to know.

“What’s going on?” Loki gets in and rushes to you. You’re sitting on the side of the bed, holding the pregnancy test in your hand. He doesn’t see it, or at least he doesn’t pay attention to it. He doesn’t even know what the thing is. Nat closes the door, leaving the two of you alone.

“Uhm…”, you play with the little test with your fingers while trying to find the words. You don’t know how he’s going to react. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea? Is he going to be mad? Sad? Controlling? Will he leave?

“Y/N?” He tries to grab your hand. The test falls to the ground and has now Loki’s attention. No way back. “What’s this?” He grabs the little plastic thing, looking at the two lines in the middle of it.

“Uh- It means… I- Uh- I’m pregnant.” You didn’t want to stumble the words out, but you’re just overthinking about his reaction that you couldn’t find any words to even break the news to him. He looks at you in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m.. I’m pregnant.” “No, no, I heard you. Just..” He doesn’t continue his sentence, making you wonder what he’s thinking. “What… are your thoughts?”, you ask carefully.

He now looks at you. The green eyes make you so nervous for his answer. Slowly you feel a naucious feeling coming up again. Not now, not again.

“Y/N, this…”, he looks at your belly and places a hand on it, “I can’t believe- It’s-“ This stumbling made you even more nervous. He’s never at loss of words. He looks you in the eyes again, seeing a tear falling on your cheek.

He sighs before he speaks. “I can’t believe that there’s a little creature growing in there. It’s absolutely magnificent. And I can’t believe it in your body. I- I know I said I’m not ready for such great commitment, but maybe I am.” He stays silent for a second, giving it a more dramatic touch. “But, of course, you don’t..”

“I- Maybe it’s- Loki, I lied to you”, you say while you’re looking to the ground. He frowns and turns your head back to him with his hand, making you look at him. “I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you, but I did. I told you I didn’t want to be in a relationship with you. But I do. Every time I see you, I imagine us being together. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. So many people have betrayed you, lied to you. I didn’t want to be another one, but here I am. And I can’t-“ He interrupts you with a kiss, his hand again on your cheek.

You didn’t want to stop the kiss, but you couldn’t contain a smile that appeared on your face. “I’m sorry-“ “Oh, shut up.” He kisses you again and places his hand from your cheek to your belly. Again, the kiss is interrupted, but now by Loki.

“Can you imagine a little Y/N running around?” “Or maybe a little Loki.”

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #reader x loki #you x loki #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki one shot #avengers x reader #avenger x reader #avengers fanfiction #avengers x you #marvel #avengers #loki #marvel x reader

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daringyounggrayson · 6 years ago

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hi! if you'd like, could you write something with 23 and/or 25 and/or 28 and birdflash? thank you

Wow, these have only been in my inbox for a century. Anyway, thanks anon and @malepresentingleg for the prompts!

I’m going to be filling 9: “My head hurts.” and 25: “I’m scared.” Enjoy the fic! (Also on AO3)

i’m screaming like a canary in a coal mine but you still can’t hear me

Dick wakes up on a dirt floor. His head hurts, he feels dizzy, and he’s—nauseous maybe? He doesn’t feel right, and his body feels like it’s taken a beating recently. He forces his eyes open, but it’s too dark to really see anything in detail. He slides his hand down to one of his pouches and pulls out a glow stick, cracking it so that a glowing red light shines across his surroundings. About a foot away from his face is his comm, but—just his luck—it’s been crushed.

Something in his stomach drops; he needs help, and now his one mode of communication is gone. He picks up the useless device and places it in one of the pockets, hoping that he isn’t too far away from home.

He pushes himself up and into a standing position, holding onto the wall for support. He stumbles forward (and he does mean stumble; he thinks there’s something wrong with his leg), just barely remaining upright. He keeps one hand against the wall as he walks through what he thinks is some kind of mine. The details of how he got there are fuzzy to say the least, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing someone and that someone else (someone bad) is after them.

The first unknown is answered when Dick turns a corner to find Bruce lying on his side.

“Batman!” he cries out, running to him and falling back down on his knees to shake him. “Batman, can you hear me?”

No response.

He checks for a pulse and breathing, which are both there and fine. Pulse steady and slow, breathing deep and even, almost like he’s just sleeping. He leans in to get a closer look at Bruce’s face only to find wide eyes staring into the middle-distance. “Bruce?” he asks insistently, giving the man’s shoulder another shove.

Dick sits back on his heels, trying not to panic. He has to get them out of here, but walking was hard enough before, and now he’s going to have to carry Bruce out of here. And without a map or any memory of getting here, that’s going to be very difficult.

Good thing difficult isn’t impossible.

He leans forward and drapes Bruce’s arm over his shoulder, and then he hoists both of them up. Even with Dick’s latest growth spurt, Bruce is still a lot taller than him, and he packs way more muscle. Luckily, Bruce is capable of holding some of his own weight. He leans heavily on Dick, though, but at least he takes a step forward when Dick does. Whatever catatonic state he’s been placed in, at least it’s one where he’s complicit. Small mercies.

“Okay,” Dick says, taking another shaky step forward, “we’re just going to keep moving until we find an exit. Easy.”

He doesn’t know how long they’re walking, but he feels like he’s just getting more lost. He knows that if he keeps walking, eventually he’ll find an exit. He just has to stick it out, one painful step after the other. One foot, then the other, one foot, then the—

He kicks something, the sounds of metal clattering against the ground echoing through the tunnel. He leans over with his glow stick stretched out to get a closer look, and a grin spreads over his face: it’s a communicator.

He sets Bruce down and goes to pick it up. He didn’t even think to check Bruce for one—damn his head is fuzzy—and if he had, he would’ve known to look for it on the ground. He’s lucky he didn’t step on it, he’s lucky he kicked it. Had he been one foot over, he never would’ve found it and they would’ve been screwed. But none of that matters because he has a working communicator! Sure, it’s a little banged up, but definitely fixable. He toys with the wires for a few minutes, and when it looks right, he pops it in his ear. He turns the knob to their usual channel, but all he gets is static.

It’s not the worst thing, he tells himself. It’s working, they’re just in too deep to get a good signal. If he keeps walking (as long as he’s actually heading towards an exit and not just deeper into the cavern), eventually he’ll get a signal. He’ll get help, he’ll get them out. He just has to keep moving.

oOo

“Please find a signal, please find a signal,” Dick finds himself repeating under his breath after what must have been ten minutes of nothing. He’s messing with the knob again, just trying to get any signal to connect. It’s been minutes and he’s still getting nothing. He should probably just leave it alone, or maybe he should turn around and try to—

“Hello?”

He knows that voice almost as well as he knows his own.

“KF, thank god!” The connection is still a little staticky, but it’s there. “Can you track my signal and get a location?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a second,” is Wally’s immediate response. “Wanna fill me in on what’s happening, Rob?”

“Not entirely sure,” Dick admits, pace slowing down. He’s tired, and now that he knows someone is going to come for them, finding an exit on his own doesn’t feel as urgent. “I woke up in what I’m pretty sure is a mineshaft. Batman is in some kind of catatonic state and I don’t think I can carry him much longer.” And Dick’s headache is getting worse, but that’s not a priority, so he doesn’t mention it. Wally has enough information. They’re going to get a medical evac and he can deal with it then. Everything is going to be fine.

“We really need to get new internships,” Wally jokes.

“No kidding.” Dick forces himself to take a few more steps.

“Does anyone know you’re missing?”

“I don’t know. Probably? You’re the first person I was able to reach, and I’m guessing our locators are down.” He did try pressing his panic button a while ago, but it didn’t even blink back at him.

“I’ll call Agent A in a minute; he’s probably worried.” Dick hums in agreement, takes another step. “Got it! Okay, you were right about the mineshaft thing. You’re also not even in Gotham; actually, you’re kind of close to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, about thirty minutes out. I’m on a JLA thing with Flash and a few others.”

“Can’t wait to hear about it. Guessing that means it’s daytime up on top?”

“Yup. I have your line saved, just keep it open. I’m going to call Agent A and find Flash to tell him what’s going on. Sit tight.”

Dick takes it literally and sits down on the ground, leaning Bruce next to him against a wall. “You’re the best.”

“I know.” And then Wally’s voice is gone, leaving only static.

oOo

When Wally comes back, he doesn’t have good news.

“Okay, so talked to Agent A and I have good news: you actually went on a daytime field trip and have only been gone for about four hours. Communication went down about two hours ago, but that wasn’t entirely surprising. You were also after Simon, so that probably explains your memory loss and Batman’s current state.”

That’s not too bad, two hours isn’t bad. “And?”

“And the not so great news is that the mineshaft you’re in has been shut down because of carbon monoxide.”

“That’s not good,” Dick groans and gets to work on standing back up. How long does it take for that stuff to be deadly? It depends on the levels, he supposes. He should watch for symptoms, but he for some reason he can’t remember the warning signs. He needs to get up and move. How long was Wally gone? How long has he just been sitting here, killing himself and Bruce?

“No kidding. Flash was able to find a map of the place, and you’re not too far from an exit. Doubt the lift is still running, but you have grapples on you, right?”

Dick checks. “Yeah. Which way?”

“North.” Dick pulls out a compass, grateful that Bruce forces him to carry one even though Dick had rolled his eyes at first.

“Cool, we’ve been heading in that direction, actually.” Another small mercy, Dick supposes.

He starts walking again, Bruce feeling heavier than before.

“You’re not having any symptoms, are you?”

“Of what?”

“Uh, carbon monoxide poising? Headache, shortness of breath, that sort of thing?” Wally prompts.

Oh, right, those symptoms. “Headache for sure. Kind of dizzy, and my breathing is—” How is his breathing? It’s kind of laborious, but he’s also carrying Bruce. “—not as easy as usual, but not terrible.”

“And I think you’re starting to get some confusion there, dude,” Wally adds. “How long have you had the headache?”

“Woke up with it. Not sure how long ago that was, though. Maybe half an hour? Forty-five minutes.” He feels like he’s been walking for hours, but that can’t be right.

“And Batman?” Wally asks.

“He seems fine, but I can’t really tell,” Dick admits before unwillingly crashing down to the ground.

“What was that?” Wally asks.

“Nothing, just fell,” Dick says. “I think I hurt my leg.”

“In the fall?”

“No, before. Woke up and it was like this,” Dick explains and stands back up. One foot, then the other, one foot, then the other. Again and again, and soon they’ll be at the exit with fresh air and sunlight and medical attention and Wally.

“And you’ve been carrying Batman on it?” Wally asks.

“There’s not exactly another choice, is there?” Dick rubs his eyebrows. He would kill for a nap right now.

“Right, sorry.” There’s a pause. “I don’t like not knowing whether or not you’re okay.”

“Me neither,” Dick says, tries to take a deep breath.

“We’re already on our way; twenty-six minutes,” Wally tells him. “You’re doing great, just keep moving. Love you.”

Dick tries to fake a smile even though Wally’s not actually around to see it. “Love you more.”

oOo

“My head hurts.” He sounds pathetic, but it’s true. Every step makes it pound more, and holding up Bruce is too hard. He feels like he’s going to fall over, and he just needs a break. Five minutes to catch his breath and sit.

“I’m sorry,” Wally comforts from the other line. “But you need to keep going, okay?”

“I’m trying.” He is. But he’s so tired, and Bruce is so heavy.

“The opening should be right around the corner.”

And it is. He gets to the opening Wally was guiding him to, but there’s a problem. A big problem.

“No, no, no, no,” he’s saying, eyes wide as he stares at the debris filling what was supposed to be their exit.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Wally sounds urgent, but Dick doesn’t really process it.

Dick sets Bruce down on the ground faster than he should be capable of right now and practically runs to giant the pile of rock and dirt, landing on his knees hard enough to bruise before he starts to desperately claw at the barricade. “The lift—it’s-it’s caved in. There’s no way out. We’re trapped.” They’re trapped, they’re trapped!

“Okay, okay, stay calm. I’m almost there. Thirteen minutes.”

“How are you going to get us out? We can’t use explosives or we’ll blow the whole place up!”

“We can dig you out.”

“We don’t have time,” Dick argues, and they don’t. The air is getting hard to breathe, and the exertion caused by digging isn’t helping. Everything hurts, he’s tired—he’s going to die. They’re going to die. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Feeling defeated, he stops his digging and sinks down to lie on the floor, already too dizzy and out of breath to go on.

“All you have to do is stay calm and preserve your air. Martian Manhunter was already on his way to help with Batman, so he can just levitate the rocks to get out safely. We’re going to get you out and everything’s going to be okay.”

Except it’s not, because Dick feels like he’s dying and Bruce is unresponsive and his last glow stick is dying out. He’s alone in the dark with a pile of rocks keeping him trapped in what he’s sure will soon become his tomb. He’s can’t see how he’s going to get out of this, and he’s scared. “I’m … Wally, I’m scared.”

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Wally says again. “You’re fine, the situation is just a little overwhelming. But we can handle it, you can handle it.”

Maybe, and Dick wants to believe him, he does—but. Dick feels trapped, and his vision is starting to fade (has been fading). He feels like he’s used up all of his optimism and now he’s having a hard time believing Wally. And Bruce, he was supposed to get him out of this. That’s Robin’s job, to protect Batman. But he failed, and now this is his punishment.

“Bruce?” Dick tries calling. He crawls over to the man, bumping against his shoulder. “Bruce, please, snap out of it.”

“Di—er, Robin. Listen, Batman can’t hear you right now. Just try to stay calm, okay?” Wally says, but his voice is being drowned out by the rushing in Dick’s ears. Why won’t Bruce wake up? Why won’t he listen to him? Can’t he hear him screaming?

He lies back down on the ground, this time right up next to Bruce. It makes him feel like a little kid instead of the sixteen-year-old that he is, but he doesn’t care. He’s tired, his chest and his head hurt, everything hurts. He’s scared and he wants his dad.

“I’m going to get you out of there, I promise,” Wally tells him.

Dick doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes tighter and scrambles through the darkness for Bruce’s hand.

“Robin, just say something,” Wally pleads. “Dick, please?”

But even if Dick wanted to say something back, he wouldn’t have been able to. He was already asleep.

oOo

Through closed eyelids, Dick can sense a sudden brightness. Still, he can’t move, not even to squint his eyes tighter against the unpleasant light.

“Robin!”

That’s him, he should probably answer that. But he can’t quite break the surface of consciousness.

Something pushes against his neck. “… breathing … lips … blue.” Words come in and out as he fades in and out of awareness. It’s hard to focus, and none of it makes sense. He can’t tell if it’s just one voice or a hundred. It wouldn’t make a difference to him, he just wants them to be quiet and let him sleep.

His body is lifted upward, and he feels colder and dizzier than before.

“… he’ll … oxygen … get … then Batman.”

He feels that upward pull again, but this one lasts longer and makes his stomach flip. He feels himself gag, and on reflex, he turns his head to the side just before he vomits and retches. Someone’s setting him on the ground and rubbing his back, the world is starting to make sense again.

“You’re alright,” a man is telling him. “I’ve got him, take care of Batman.”

“Can’t breathe,” Dick says, chocking on his words before vomiting again. He’s so dizzy.

Someone squeezes his hand. “Hey, you’re okay. Got you out, just like I promised.” Wally.

Dick moves his head to lean against Wally’s shoulder, and Wally accepts him and rubs his arm.

“Robin?” It’s a JLA paramedic. “I’m just going to check you over and then we’ll get you and Batman to the Watchtower.”

Dick nods as she slips what must be an oxygen mask over his face. He tries to stay awake to answer questions, but his eyelids fall shut before he can even process the first one.

oOo

When he wakes up—really wakes up—he’s in a bed with something simultaneously squeezing and rubbing over his hand. There’s also something on his face and trailing down to his upper chest. He remembers hearing snippets of conversations, back at what must have been the medical evac, and then later at what must have been triage. He can’t remember details, just voices and freckles.

“Mmm,” Dick groans as he pulls his eyes open. He’s feeling better, he thinks, but still not great. His head still hurts, and his leg feels weird. Cold.

The something around his hand—another hand, he realizes—squeezes tighter and stops rubbing. “Dick?”

Freckles and red hair. Wally. “Hey,” Dick says slowly, meeting his eyes. “You got us out.”

“Don’t say you doubted the great Wall-man,” Wally says with a wink and Dick smiles and rolls his eyes. “You feeling okay?”

“I think so,” Dick says. He lifts his free hand to feel what’s on his face: an oxygen mask with a bag attached at the bottom; it must be a non-rebreather then. He rolls his leg to test it out, finding the coldness to be from a bag of ice. No cast, so probably just a bad bruise. He’ll take it. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Over there,” Wally says, gesturing at another bed with his chin, and Dick turns his head to follow. “Martian Manhunter says he’ll be out for another few hours, though.”

“But he’s okay?” He has a non-rebreather mask on his face, too. His eyes are closed now, which Dick thinks is an improvement over those piercing yet unseeing eyes.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Just needs some time to recover after Simon. Martian Manhunter checked you over, too. He said you were brain blasted—”

“Would that explain the lingering headache?”

Wally gives him a sort of shrug-nod. “Toss-up between that and the carbon monoxide poisoning. Luckily neither were too bad and there shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

“Yeah.” Something still doesn’t make sense though. “I don’t get why he put B in a catatonic state when he just knocked me out.”

“Apparently, Batman regained consciousness pretty quickly and freaked out on them, so Simon retaliated and did something that would be more permanent. Nothing Martian Manhunter couldn’t fix, though,” Wally is quick to add.

“Huh.” Dick pulls his eyes off of Bruce and looks at Wally again. “Time frame on memory recovery?”

“Martian Manhunter said he would be in later to help with that part, but he wanted to wait until you were feeling better and could think clearly.”

“How long ago did we get back?”

Wally looks over at the wall where a digital clock is hanging. “A little less than an hour ago, but you’ve only been in an actual room for maybe thirty minutes, and Bruce just got here, like, ten minutes ago or something.”

“Someone should probably call Alfred,” Dick says.

“Already filled him in. He’ll pick you guys up once you’re cleared,” Wally says.

“You really took care of everything.”

“I try,” Wally says, the corners of his mouth flicking up into a soft smile.

“Thanks, for getting us out,” Dick says, reaching for Wally’s hand again.

“Course, but you did all the work.”

Without the map—without Wally’s encouragement—Dick thinks he would’ve just stopped moving. He would’ve given up. They’d be dead if it wasn’t for Wally. “Sit with me?”

Wally climbs up onto the bed next to Dick and wraps his arms around him. Dick leans into the hold, letting his head find a comfortable spot under Wally’s chin. It feels warm and safe, and even though Dick doesn’t really feel that tired anymore, he finds himself starting to doze off again.

“Kind of sucks that you have to get hurt for us to be able to hang out,” Wally’s voice rumbles, and though the sentence sounds like it comes from a place of annoyance, his tone is absent of that feeling.

“What are you talking about? We hang out,” Dick counters. As he says this though, he’s trying to think about the last time the two of them hung out. Actually hung out, not just seen each other on missions.

“No, we make plans to hang out,” Wally corrects. “I’m not mad; we’ve both been busy. But I’m about to head off to college, and I feel like I never see you anymore, and that’s not going to get better.”

“We’ll see each other. We could start date night or something.”

“You work at night,” Wally points out. “Besides, you have homework and stuff. Plus, you’re still working on that sleep thing, aren’t you?”

“Okay, date afternoon then,” Dick says, ignoring Wally’s last comment. “I guess we haven’t really been making time for each other.”

“Not your fault.”

“Well it’s not yours either.” He’s missed Wally, too. Texting and random video calls aren’t cutting it. “We should do something this weekend.”

“It’s Sunday,” Wally says with a soft laugh. “And I think you’re stuck here for at least a few more hours, babe.”

“They make oxygen tanks with wheels now,” Dick says, pushing away from Wally to sit up on his own.

“Ooh, fancy. This place has everything,” Wally replies, leaning forward onto Dick’s back.

“Where’s my suit?” If they’re leaving, he’s not going in a gown.

“I really think you’re supposed to stay in bed and rest,” Wally argues, pulling Dick back so they’re resting against the pillows again. Wally has a piece of Dick’s hair and twirling it between his fingers. “I don’t know why, something about oxygen deprivation.”

“I wasn’t going to leave the Watchtower, and I’ll even take these monitors with me,” Dick bargains.

“Sitting,” is all Wally says.

“You’re working against me here,” Dick complains, but he’s accepting that they’re not leaving the room. “I’m just trying to give you a date night.”

“We can do that here.”

Yeah, but Dick doesn’t really want to hang out in the room where Bruce still isn’t conscious and Bruce. He doesn’t want to think about the mine anymore.

“Come on, we can watch a movie or something,” Wally says, rocking Dick a little when he doesn’t respond. “Di-ick.”

“Fine,” Dick gives in, but he’s smiling a little when he does. Wally’s cute when he whines like that. “But next weekend we’re doing something. Actually doing something.”

“Promise.”

And Wally always keeps his promises.

#young justice #dick grayson #robin #wally west #kid flash #birdflash #dickwally #elizabeth writes

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broken-clover · 6 years ago

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Goretober Day 31- Free! (Detox)

In the end, I wasn’t able to get it in on time T-T

hahahaha fuck. Welcome to the final day of @bowlll‘s Goretober, because somehow I managed to survive a month. Despite this technically being his third appearance, I decided to use Chipp for my free day, and today’s topic is ‘detox.’ Because I love this idiot ninja man, and if there’s one thing I love more than content for a character, it’s content where they suffer in some fashion. And getting off of drugs is a great opportunity for pain n suffering, so let’s go!

Additional Warnings: Drug use, vomiting, lots of cursing

For a decent chunk of his upbringing, Chipp was well-convinced that he’d long hit rock-bottom. Living as a squatter in and out of condemned buildings, peddling syringes and pills and powders and looking over his shoulder for the cops all the while. Always struggling to restock for his relentless buyers, yet never having enough money from drug hustling to fully silence his growling stomach.

That wasn’t even getting into the rages his customers could throw out of nowhere, the random street fights he stumbled into when he was just trying to make a few sales, and his own body’s internal pleadings for another hit to keep him going, begging for just another pill, another syringe in his veins. All of it nonstop, with barely a moment’s rest.

He would gladly take it all back if he didn’t have to take the fucking withdrawal anymore.

He’d been the one raring to go in the first place, finally ready to get off the shit that was probably gonna get him killed before he turned thirty. Past-him wound up being a huge goddamn idealist, and he wanted to kick the guy’s ass. His own ass? Fuck it, thinking hurt too much.

The first day hadn’t been miserable. It was part of the reason he’d been so damn enthusiastic to finally get clean. Chipp was used to the quiet burn in his limbs, the little bit of mind fuzz that showed up when a hit was wearing off on him. If he could stay tough, especially with his new master supporting him, how hard could getting clean possibly be?

“H-urk!”

The nausea was by far the worst. It felt like someone spent all of last night kicking him in the stomach. It’d explain the shit night of sleep he got, anyway.

“Bucket’s on your left, kid, don’t miss this time.”

“G-go fuck yourself with a- oh god, nnh- !”

He was barely able to turn and stick his head over the bed’s edge before another round of nausea hit. The yellow bucket perched by his side managed to catch the stream of sick that forced its way out of his body a moment later. The taste of acid made him cough and spit, irritably rolling over on the ratty mattress and clutching at his aching stomach through his old t-shirt.

“You shouldn’t turn over like that. It’ll make you throw up again. And you know you’re just gonna have to do it again in a few minutes, anyway.”

“Go suck a dick, you old bastard.”

Truthfully, Chipp was amazed that Tsuyoshi hadn’t dumped him back on the street yet. He knew that he wasn’t such an asshole normally, but the withdrawal was bringing out the worst in him. He almost felt bad for the poor man.

An equally-prominent part of him wanted the hurled insults and cursing to finally get the man to stand up and slam the door behind him. Chipp knew that he’d be losing one of the only chances he’d ever had, but his body was aching for another shot, all but screaming at him to find the biggest needle he could, jam an arm full of heroin, and chase it down with enough downers to make him numb for a full week. And even if he could bring himself to move more than a few feet, he knew Tsuyoshi wouldn’t let him leave the room.

The last round of vomiting had only sharpened the ache in his head. The motel room’s weak overhead almost seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. Staring at it made him feel even dizzier- and with it, more nauseous- but his eyes were drawn to the peculiar sight. It was the closest thing he could get to a high.

The older man was sitting across the room, calmly perched at the rickety table. His vision was mostly focused on the magic-powered hotplate that was currently boiling a teakettle. Every so often, Chipp could see his one good eye glance over at him for a moment, before quickly returning to the kettle.

“What the fuck is that for?” He demanded.

“Language.” Tsuyoshi calmly chided, shaking his head. “I’m making tea.”

“No shit, you dumb bastard. Why the hell are you making tea now?”

“I’d say we could both use a drink.”

It was a simple response. Still, Chipp took it as an excuse to let out a furious growl and bury his face in a pillow. Moving all of a sudden only made everything ache more.

“I know it hurts.” Tsuyoshi’s voice was ever-patient. “But I will do my best to help you.”

“I don’t want your goddamn pity,” the teen hissed back, “I want some fucking heroin.”

A sigh heaved behind him. “I know you’re strong. If you don’t clean your body now, I fear you won’t live much longer. I don’t think anyone can thrive in an environment such as this one.”

Chipp wanted to hurl more profanities, but merely curled in on himself. He wanted to get clean. He really did. It was just the drugs talking. He couldn’t live like this anymore.

Stiff, trembling hands clutched at his ears. The teakettle began to whistle, sending more little throbs of pain across his skull. A hiss escaped his throat.

“Turn that fucking thing off!”

“I am, calm yourself.” The mechanical shriek quickly softened into silence. “Better?”

“T-thanks.” He had to remind himself.

The room went into blissful quiet. Well, as quiet as things could get when it felt like even the feeling of skin rubbing together was almost too loud. Chipp considered it better than nothing. It helped, if only a little.

“Here.” Tsuyoshi approached his bed. In each hand, he held a teacup. “Drink this. It will help you.”

Chipp sat up, slow and stiff as to avoid making himself sick again. As soon as he smelled the unusual odor of whatever was in the cup, he flinched away and covered his nose.

“I don’t want it.”

Tsuyoshi sighed in dismay. “You’re becoming dehydrated.”

“It smells like shit!” Chipp protested in turn. “And I feel like hell already, how is hot tea gonna make that any better?”

The man was silent. Chipp watched him place the teacups on the edge of the bed. Before he could pull away, Tsuyoshi reached out and pressed the back of one hand against his forehead.

“Your temperature has been fluctuating all day. It will take a bit of time for it to stabilize again. It does seem like you’ve got a bit of a fever again. Still, you’re dehydrated, and the sweating isn’t helping that at all. If you feel like you can keep it down, I’d like you to drink something.”

It would have been an easy excuse to say that he didn’t, but Chipp didn’t like that very much. Reluctantly, he held out a hand. “Give me the fuckin’ teacup, already.”

A smile poked out under the man’s moustache. “Glad to hear.”

The first sip was hesitant and awkward, but the rest flowed easily. In spite of his initial wariness, the faint sweetness and heat was oddly soothing to his burning throat, and the steam helped with the dizziness and itchy sinuses. He didn’t realize just how thirsty he had been in the first place.

“Feeling any better?”

“I guess…” He admitted. “A little. Maybe you aren’t- fuck-”

Chipp could hear the teacup shattering as it fell off of the mattress. He hardly cared, too preoccupied with frantically grabbing for the bucket as another wave of nausea hit him. Having the bucket in his lap made it easier to aim, but the reeking stench of acid and bile hurt his nose and made his eyes grow watery with tears.

“God…god dammit…” He gasped between heaving sobs. Everything hurt. Even the pleasant feeling of the tea had been replaced with a sickly saccharine taste that he couldn’t get off his tongue, no matter how much he gagged and spat.

Tsuyoshi looked no more concerned. “Oh my. I suppose I’m going to have to go see if I can get something to clean up this mess with.”

“Huh?”

In the time it took him to respond, the man was already at the door. “I’m going down to the front office, to see if I can get a few towels. I’ll only be gone a minute. Will you be alright until then?”

He was actually gonna leave him alone? “Y-yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, Sensei!”

An odd look was sent his way at the sudden title, but Tsuyoshi turned back and left. “Behave yourself.”

Chipp rubbed at his watery eyes, even more red than they usually were. Shit. The whole damn room was too hot. He was melting just sitting there.

Carefully, he eased himself off of the bed, trying to find his balance while also avoiding the mess of ceramic shards and tea that he’d made. Outside would probably reek of city-smog,but Chipp still felt drawn to it, wondering if the the air would help cool his warm skin. If he couldn’t get his highs on drugs, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to restrict himself here, too.

The door opened slowly, the boy flinching at every axle squeak as he peeked out. When he caught no sign of Tsuyoshi, he let out a sigh of relief, and let the door swing open. The banister a few feet in front of him was nothing more than a stack of cinder blocks overlooking a worn-down city district. The afternoon sky was full of dirty gray clouds, and the air stank of cart-food, trash, and sweat, but something about it felt infinitely more free than the four walls of that one room.

He slumped over the railing, propped up on his arms. A faint breeze ruffled his hair. Yeah. That was the good stuff. It felt nice against his hot, sweat-soaked body.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. He glanced at it with panic, but realized that it was merely a ratty-looking kid, probably a couple years younger than him, lingering on the walkway with his hoodie pulled up to his ears.

Just the sight enticed him. Chipp knew exactly what this kid’s deal was. His brain was telling him to turn tail, slam the motel room door behind him, and pretend like he’d never left. The impulsive part of his brain, the one that was always getting him into trouble, made him look over at the stranger and sign him over.

A too-shiny grin sparkled under the hood, matched with glowing green eyes that he was all-too-familiar with.

“Hey, buddy. Need a hit?” His voice was far too raspy for his age. Probably snorted too much of something too quick and got himself hooked.

Chipp flicked his eyes over both ends of the walkway, making sure nobody was coming. “What’cha got?”

“Ohhh, all sorts of good shit, man.” One sleeve was pulled back, revealing a menagerie of baggies that had been taped to his skin. “What are you craving?”

“Anything. Shit, anything.” He was already in too deep, and he knew it. Just the sight of all those powders made his heart speed up, the veins in his arms aching. The last scraps of his mind were screaming for him to turn away. “What’s the strongest thing you got?”

The kid’s smile widened. “A man of simple tastes, eh? Me too.” He gestured to a little packet of gray pills. “Handful of these, and you’ll feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Chipp was so antsy, his hands were already shaking as he fished through his ratty jeans in search of a few dollars. “How much?”

“CHIPP!”

Both boys froze in place, turning at the exact same time. Tsuyoshi was storming over to them, his good eye blazing with fury.

“S-Sensei, I-” In the sudden panic, he watched the other boy vault over the barrier and take off running as soon as he hit the ground. He couldn’t watch for too long, though, as Tsuyoshi grabbed his shirt collar.

“One minute I said, ONE MINUTE!” Each word was like a stab to the chest. “And WHAT do you do?! Run off and decide to get high again!”

“I’m s-sorry-”

Chipp felt the hand on his collar tug roughly, dragging him. In his panic and disorientation, he let himself be pulled along back to the door.

Tsuyoshi swiftly kicked the door open, gaze stony and unreadable. Chipp stumbled along for a few more steps before a firm hand planted itself between his shoulderblades and shoved him roughly towards the bed.

“Sit down, shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear anything from you for a while.”

The sheer force made his body bounce as he landed on the mattress. It jarred something loose in him. Though he intended to be quiet, the sudden scramble to try and find the bucket he had put down was noisy and awkward as he began retching.

“Here, here, be careful- !”

The contained was oriented beneath his chin. Chipp didn’t have much time to question, too occupied with the spasms that overtook him. They swiftly ate through the last of the energy in his body, and all he could manage to do was to curl up into a ball and begin trembling once it had ended, moaning in pain.

He heard a little sigh. The mattress dipped as he felt Tsuyoshi sit down next to him. Careful hands lifted his head up, letting it rest in the other man’s lap.

“S-sensei…”

“Shh...stay strong. It will be over soon.” Chipp felt fingers running through his hair, pressing against his throbbing temples. “You can make it through this.”

“I c-can’t…” Without thinking, he found himself tearing up again and sniffling. “I can’t-”

“You can. I know you can. Someday you look back and realize just how far you’ve come. And this will all seem like a bad dream.”

Chipp let his body gradually go slack. The hand in his hair and the low, soothing reassurances were enough to relax his taut, stiff muscles. And before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

#Thanks to everyone!#Goretober #guilty gear #chipp zanuff #tw drugs #tw vomit #emeto tw #writing

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casnovakisded · 7 years ago

Text

I’m back.

03/03/18 | 04:14am

So... life’s a bit shitty at the moment, and I just remembered that Tumblr exists.

I don’t really talk to anyone anymore and I think it would be good for me to vent to you guys. I had a meeting with a super sweet manager at work today and it gave me a little bit of hope. We touched on talking to people and just venting and how that can help, so i’m going to give it a go. Honestly, I think going through work to try and rebuild my mental health is my only viable option at the moment, which kind of sucks because I can’t often mentally deal with being at work right now. I’m getting ahead of myself - more on that later.

So, to those who may be reading this that don’t know me (If anyone’s reading this), i’ve been juggling anxiety, depression, (undiagnosed) bipolar, eating disorders and (undiagnosed) schizophrenia since I was around 14 (I’m 20, nearly 21 now), and i’ve only just started to try and get help.

I was forced to go to the doctors when I was younger by my mum when I opened up to her about harming. She told me that I was to stop, and if I didn’t, ‘they’ would come and take me away and lock me in a room until I was ‘better’. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame my mum at all for saying that. She panicked, and as far as i’m aware she’s never suffered with any mental health issues, so I don’t imagine there’s too much of an understanding there. She was trying to scare me out of it, but it just made me feel like I couldn’t talk about it. It kind of became a grey area that we just didn’t really discuss so I just got on with it and mostly just learned how to be secretive.

From that point on i’ve always told everyone of importance that i’m fine, because that’s better than being locked in a room until i’m better, y’know? Don’t get me wrong, I knew then and I know now that that’s not going to happen, and that I just need help, but I can’t say it doesn’t make me feel anxious every time I go to the doctors. It’s a feeling I don’t quite understand, but then again, I don’t really understand any of my feelings. Woo.

So from the beginning...

I started harming when I was around 14. I don’t really know why I did it - probably a mixture of being bored, sad and exposed to a lot of triggering material. Like I mentioned earlier, I opened up to my mum about it because we had a super good relationship, and I felt like I was lying to her in some way by not telling her that i’d done it. What was said was said, and that was that. I was made to go to a doctor’s appointment at 7.30am the next morning (Which was actually before the practice even opened so I think that was just a bit overboard tbh). I couldn’t understand a word of what the doctor was saying (that wasn’t meant in any kind of negative racial way, I just simply couldn’t understand what he was saying because of his heavy accent), I could just tell from his tone of voice that he was being patronising as fuck. By the end of the super drawn out and generally painful doctors appointment, I was referred to CAMHS. So off I went to this appointment with this top dog guy at CAMHS (We’d recently had a fair amount of young suicides in our area so they were pretty onit). It was an odd session. My mum was there and she was obviously going off on one about how terrible it was and how I had to stop, and then this doctor guy is trying to convince her to not take away my blades because at the end of the day, i’m only going to find something bigger and sharper.. oh it got interesting. I sat silent more or less the whole way through, but I smiled and I nodded and I said I felt fine when I needed to.

After this appointment, the doctor concluded that I had symptoms of anxiety and depression due to previous emotional trauma and that I could totally be fixed with counselling sessions from my school counsellor. I played along and I remember speaking to the woman once. Again - I smiled, and I nodded and I said I felt fine when I needed to.

I didn’t go again.

Having anxiety, depression and being bipolar all at the same time is just fucking exhausting.

First of all: depression. My depression makes me feel lazy, and menial tasks just seem like an awful lot of effort. I showered yesterday, for the first time in around a week and a half. My house hasn’t been cleaned in a loooong time. Talking? That’s becoming an effort (which is really annoying because my job requires me to talk to people all day. I’m still brushing my teeth every day though, so that’s good.

Anxiety. This makes me feel like nobody cares, that i’m a burden to everybody, everyone would be better off without me, people would prefer it if I wasn’t there, people are talking about me, people are making fun of me, people are looking at me and judging me. Anxiety also makes me bite my nails, a lot. I don’t even know how I bite my nails so far down, but it sometimes gets to the point where I just don’t have a nail at all - like literally at all. Anxiety also makes me feel nauseous, and sometimes it feels like the world is literally going to end. If you’ve ever had a near death experience and felt the sense of impending doom, that’s probably the best thing I can relate it to.

Lastly, bipolar. Oh the joys. So i’ve not been diagnosed with bipolar (As i’ve said, i’ve not really pursued help for my issues up until now), but one moment I will be on the highest high, nothing can defeat me, and i’m totally ready to face the world and whatever it wants to throw at me, and then the next moment everything’s gone grey and dull and the light at the end of my tunnel is actually a train that’s plummeting towards me, and I don’t want to move out of it’s way.

So. Fucking. Exhausting.

As you can imagine, having all of these all at once is just a big ol’ mess. It’s so draining (both mentally and physically), and it’s just proper difficult to try and balance all of the conflicting emotions.

Now imagine all of that, with an added voice in your head. Again, I’m not diagnosed with schizophrenia. It’s not something that was effecting me when I was younger, but it’s not something that i’ve managed to talk to anyone about yet either. There are very few people that do know this about me. It brings me back to my earlier point - if there’s one thing that’s going to get me locked in a room until i’m better, it’s hearing voices in my head that aren’t real - surely. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all the time - It’s mostly when i’m tired. I don’t even know if it’s schizophrenia, but what I do know is that when i’m in a bad way and i’ve had little sleep, I can hear a voice clear as day in my head. Mostly it just repeats things, usually what i’m thinking, usually not very nice things. It’s almost like your own inner voice, but it’s loud, as if i’m listening to it through headphones. It’s funny actually, i’m as good as deaf in my left ear, but I swear to god I can hear that voice in surround sound. I’ve been tired quite a lot lately, so y’know, that kind of sucks.

Eating disorders are just shit. There’s no other way to describe them. Whether you: restrict yourself, purge, fast, over eat, binge, or like myself, just don’t eat until someone forces you to, it’s all just really shit. It’s a mixture of an addiction, and extreme emotion. It’s a mixture of wanting to be as pretty and as perfect as you can be, and feeling like this is the only way you can make yourself worth something, whilst also feeling like you have to keep going, you owe it to yourself, you feel like you have no control if you slip up and eat. Obviously i’m aware that not eating is not healthy. I know that. You need to eat to stay alive and you can’t expect your body to function correctly if you don’t look after it, I know. I only have myself to blame for the fact that i’m dizzy all the time, and I always need to wee because the only thing I ever consume is tea, and that every time I stand up everything goes black for a short while - like when you get head rush from standing up to quick. As much as I know that all of this can just be solved by eating, what’s to say that’s going to be the better alternative? When I start putting on a fuck ton of weight because I feel too depressed and fed up to actually exercise and I inevitably start taking that out on myself, what position does that leave me in? I’d rather be sad and skinny than sad and fat. I guess my point is that eating disorders suck - they manipulate the way you see yourself and convince you that you’re never going to be good enough, for anyone.

I’ve always hated the way I look. I lost all of my hair (head, eyebrows, most of my eyelashes) when I was around 13 and this opened a whole new world to me. A whole world of bullies, unnecessary comments, staring, and laughing. My school made the situation a million times worse. Apparently it was too much of a distraction for me to sit in class with my bald head on show, so I was forced to wear a wig through school. I was given £500 from the school to spend on wigs, so I bought 2 of the exact same style.

They were horrible.

Wigs are uncomfortable. They’re hot and itchy, and they’re basically a massive flashy sign that says ‘bully me’ - great when you’re in a room full of other 13/14 year old kids that simply do not give a fuck about how you feel or how their comments may affect you.

Recent events over the last, let’s say, 4 years of my life have really fucked me up. I think i’m going to write a post for each event in the hopes that maybe writing down what happened will help me process it and eventually get over it, but I quite simply can not be bothered to do that right now after typing this essay.

In the last 4/5 months, i’ve been actively trying to work on my mental health through my GP/seeking help through work and friends. Well what a task it has been.

Originally, I was advised by a manager at work to go to my GP. I can’t quite remember whether I went to my GP or to the EAP line (Employee Assistance Programme - provided through work) first, but either way that was 4/5 months ago, and i’m still awaiting some kind of solution or action plan. I just feel defeated most of the time. It seems that every avenue I go down just gets blocked off - every turn is just a dead end and I can’t for the life of me figure it out. When I went to the doctors, they told me I had a ‘mood disorder’ and an ‘eating disorder’. I was signed off work for 2 weeks, and then instructed to make another appointment to go back to the GP (the first date they could see me was around 4 weeks after my return date to work from being signed off, so that was super good). When I went back to the GP, I was referred to IAPT (Improving Access to Psychological Therapies) and SYEDA (South Yorkshire Eating Disorder Association). I was given a date, a time, and a name of a person that would be calling me from IAPT, and I was instructed to self refer myself to SYEDA. I was also given a fit note stating that amended/shorter hours could be beneficial. The date came for the IAPT phone call, but the phone never rang. I tried to chase them up, but apparently they weren’t allowed to discuss the account with me because it was booked through my GP. When I tried to get through to my GP, their line was just constantly engaged. When I had a look into SYEDA, the first thing that popped up in a banner across the top of the page was a message saying “Our waiting list is currently closed to all new referrals other than those referring from Barnsley”.

Well i’m not from Barnsley so that’s really great, thank you.

I went back to the doctors to let them know of my super successes with IAPT and SYEDA. To my surprise, apparently it was my fault that I had ‘missed my appointment’ with IAPT, even though I never actually received the call. All they could say about SYEDA was, ‘oh’.

When I finally had an assessment with IAPT, they said I had scored too high on their risk assessment and that someone would be in contact super quickly to talk to me about what we can do next, but i’m still awaiting that phone call.

I don’t even know how many phone calls and doctors appointments i’ve had. I just want someone to help. I feel absolutely drained and I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’m just sat waiting. I’m not living because all I can focus on is trying to get through the day without breaking down into a big emotional mess.

I’m not actively suicidal all of the time, it’s more like.. if I was being held at gun point, I’d probably piss him/her off on purpose. Or, if a car was speeding towards me and I could probably jump out of the way in time, I think i’d just let it hit me.

I don’t know.

I’m lost.

I don’t really know what i’m doing on a day-to-day basis, and i’m currently just scraping by.

I guess i’ll keep you updated.

#depression #ana #help #mental health #eating disorder #recovery #anxiety #i'm sad

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