#because i’m sick of my legs feeling excruciating pain whenever i run or walk up stairs

[fakevariety]

i hate recovery :(

[memetaped]

star trek: deep space 9 taken from the tv show.

come on, let’s get you home. 

looks like you need a new bandage. 

it’s good to see you got your appetite back.

you’re lucky you only got singed.

i need to know that you’re here, safe. that way, a part of me will always be safe, too.

get your hands off of me, before i do something i’ll regret.

we’ll see each other again soon. that’s a promise.

whatever it is you’ve been through has taken its toll.

that boy’s life is in our hands, and i won’t let anybody give up on him.

there are too many ways to get into serious trouble here.

get some hot chocolate and tell me about it.

you can channel your feelings of aggression in other ways.

this is important. you and i. things change, but not this.

you’re a great boy, you know that?

you have to leave me here and go on by yourself.

but the thing about dreams is, if you talk about them, they kind of go away faster.

now that kid is here under my protection, and i swear, if you do anything to hurt them, i will make you regret it. is that clear?

everyone has to have someone to confide in, someone to hear their stories.

my heart is too big.

the boy’s in a lot of trouble.

everything’s gonna be all right, but you have to try and stay awake for me.

if you were hurt, i’d leave you behind.

hold on, i’m not finished with you.

my dear, you should not be here.

it’s just a nosebleed.

hey, who said anything about being scared?

everyone went out of their way to look after me.

it takes a lot of courage to admit you’re wrong.

you run now, i won’t be able to protect you.

give me that before you hurt yourself.

i don’t need counseling, or relaxation, or time to adjust. i just want to be left alone.

get out.

and i am gonna pray, because i don’t know what else to do.

care for a root beer?

i’ve always loved you. even when i hated you.

before you volunteer too quickly, understand what you’re getting into.

do not hug me.

mom?

i’m not afraid, papa.

you’ve been so kind to me.

i’ve said my piece. sorry for butting in.

you know, why don’t we just call it a day? you obviously have other things on your mind.

i feel sick when i eat. i have pains in my head, in my chest.

you keep moving around, you won’t need any nurse.

i’ve known nothing but violence since i was a child.

what the hell has gotten into your head?

so, now you’re hiding things from me?

i think i could handle some soup.

save your strength

a sharp knife is nothing without a sharp eye.

so, my young friend, what do you think we’re looking at?

confession is good for the soul.

i’m gonna stay here, take care of the wounded. that includes you.

that’s a very personal question.

is this some kind of joke?

look at me. i need to know you’re going to be all right.

hold on, i’m not finished with you.

continually distracted, depressed, and agitated.

you always tighten your brow just a tiny bit whenever you’re about to ask a question.

it’s so small even i can’t stand up in there. look, i’m developing a slouch.

the one good thing about going away is coming home.

you don’t want me hanging around here? fine. i’ll do my thinking someplace else.

i don’t know who’s going to hear this. i don’t even know if i’ll be alive by the time this log is recovered.

we have rights, including the right to be as stubborn or thickheaded as we want.

i know it’s too difficult to speak right now. just rest.

you might say it came to me in a vision.

what are you doing up? you’re supposed to be in bed.

i’ll miss you.

and you’ve got a lot of nerve complaining about being cold when you’re the one wearing the jacket.

the last thing i want is to become a burden to you.

rudeness will get you nowhere.

okay? i’ve forgotten “okay.”

keep your eyes and ears open, follow orders, and try not to get in the way.

it’s not a trick, it’s a choice.

that’s how i think of you. and maybe that’s why sometimes, it’s hard for me to relax around you.

it’s a treatment, not a cure. it’ll prevent hallucinations, take the edge off the depression, but that’s all it’ll do.

you know, that was a very ugly thing you just said.

right now, my head is swimming in bloodwine and i’m going to bed, and so should you.

i’m a little tired. didn’t get much sleep last night.

i appreciate your concern, but i’ll grieve in my own way, in my own time. 

we’ve come to care about what happens to these people.

i know that you’ve been working with the maquis, and right now, i don’t care.

are you some kind of anarchist?

when you take someone’s life, you lose a part of your own as well.

home! i want to go home!

besides, i could never live with myself if something happened to you.

now we either freeze to death or starve to death. take your pick.

isn’t there someone you can talk to? someone you trust?

that’s right. it’s okay. everything’s going to be fine.

take my word for it, you’ll survive.

i don’t know about you, but it’s past my bedtime.

do you want to come color with me?

look, i’m not asking you to like me or to be my friend. i’m asking you to join me, to fight at my side.

sealing the entranceway was a risky thing to do. you nearly brought the whole ceiling down on yourself.

i can’t feel my legs.

“a needle in a haystack” wouldn’t do this job justice.

you ought to get some rest.

don’t deny the violence inside of you. only when you accept it can you move beyond it.

make sure to put your plate in the replicator, sweetie.

you know, it’s attitudes like that that keep you people from getting invited to all the really good parties.

i feel like someone just walked over my grave.

we need to get you to the infirmary.

enough. you’re pushing yourself too hard.

if that’s how you remember it, you must’ve hit your head harder than i thought you did.

you should take a break. you’ve been working nonstop for days.

well, you tried being alone and it hasn’t done any good. so maybe it’s time to stop brooding and start talking.

are you part of my family?

my leg is broken.

i’ve been looking all over for you.

you’re suffering from a severe form of amnesia.

speak up for yourself while you’re here, okay?

things that would send cold chills down your spine and wake you in the middle of the night.

i’m the one who should be struggling to stay conscious. i’m the one who’s in excruciating pain.

not just a bad dream – bad memories.

are you two fighting again?

i don’t want your sympathy and i don’t need your advice!

you stay a while longer if you want to, but you have to promise me, when the time comes and i tell you to go, you’ll do it.

look, i know it’s too late for an apology. but for what it’s worth, i’m sorry.

why don’t you go to your quarters and lie down for a while?

everyone keeps looking at me. they’re afraid of me.

i’d never felt more alone in all my life.

i’m half-frozen. i haven’t eaten for days. my muscles won’t work anymore!

what you experienced was an artificial reality, an interactive program that created memories of things that never actually happened.

what could be more important than dom-jot?

i’m not sleeping. i’m checking my eyelids for holes.

i’ve found that when it comes to doing what’s best for you, you humanoids have the distressing habit of doing the exact opposite.

you’re going to give yourself indigestion.

speaking of pain, this is probably going to hurt.

i never thought i would say this to you, but you are listening to your heart, not your head.

would you please go on vacation and get out of our hair?

you should take things easy for a while. 

i wish there was something i could do. some way i could promise you that everything is going to be okay.

i’ve done some things i’m not proud of. 

i want to stay with you.

my weakness is i’m too generous, too forgiving.

oh, this is one stubborn infection. how long have you had it?

just to “speak up for myself”, i’m feeling a little betrayed here.

the best way to survive a knife fight is to never get in one.

you can annoy me, bait me, question my very existence. but in the end, we both know i’ve won.

i haven’t seen one of these since i was a kid.

it’s a good weapon – solid, simple. you can drag it through the mud and it’ll still fire.

i’m sorry, i hope i haven’t offended anyone.

little children do that.

you know, eventually, you’re going to have to stop talking and deal with this.

if you come with me, you can be a soldier again.

i still wish you’d given me a little more warning.

you can’t expect me to cure it overnight.

i used to dream about you coming to save me. that’s what kept me alive.

you’ve never had those feelings. you don’t know what it means to really care about another person.

let me put it another way. i don’t want to play cards, and even if i did, i wouldn’t want to play with you.

what’s next? do you want to apologize to me? express your sympathy?

i think you went to your quarters last night and you tossed and turned in bed, because you knew some of the things you said to me concerned me.

you’ve got all the emotions of a stone. no offense.

because i have the bad habit of telling the truth even when people don’t want to hear it.

i’m always suspicious of people who are eager to help a police officer.

for as long as i can remember, i have always been an outsider.

you were wounded. try not to move around.

terrorists don’t get to be heroes.

i’ve never needed a friend more than i do right now.

i cried for you. i missed you so much.

we need to stop the bleeding. we better get you up to the ship.

i’m not afraid of you.

for the moment, why don’t you relax? try not to be so tense, take it easy.

we don’t belong in this time. we’re from the future.

you federation types are all alike. you talk about tolerance and understanding, but you only practice it towards people who remind you of yourselves.

now, i think we should concentrate on getting you comfortable with this weapon.

out there, there are no saints, just people – angry, scared, determined people who are going to do whatever it takes to survive, whether it meets with the federation’s approval or not.

yeah, i just banged my head on something.

it’s life. you can miss it if you don’t open your eyes.

i should have known you’d develop feelings for these people you’ve been living with for the past few years.

there’s nothing you can do. um, i just need some time.

i’ll teach you. it’s a very simple game.

you don’t deserve it. nobody does.

and you want to know why you don’t scare me? because i’m already more scared than i’ve ever been in my life.

oh, please. i’m suffering enough without having to listen to your smug federation sympathy.

i know what it’s like to worry about a child.

last night, it sounded like a takaran wildebeest was tromping around up there.

do you remember my face? even a little?

between you and me, those people have every right to defend themselves.

there’s a time for levity, my young friend, and a time for genuine concern.

why? why do you care so much?

i have to save you from yourself.

just because a group of people belong to the federation, that does not mean that they are saints.

life is yours for the taking. all you have to do is reach out and grab it.

no one on this station is better than anyone else. we’re all equal.

that’s why i came to you, because i knew you’d protect me. you will protect me, won’t you?

just because we don’t understand a life-form, doesn’t mean we can destroy it.

oh, we’re all very good at conjuring up enough fear to justify whatever we want to do.

it’s an expression of affection that you find difficult to accept.

look, i just don’t want anything to happen to you.

as your friend, i have to tell you i’m worried about you.

have i ever told you how much i hate that smug, superior attitude of yours?

and as for bedside manner, i’ve known nicer voles.

you’re the terrorist. you tell me.

i repaid kindness with blood. i was no better than an animal.

you don’t know what it means to care about someone, do you?

i’ll try to keep my problems more quiet next time. 

are you sure you’re all right?

oh, i slept like an alvanian cave sloth.

just watch your back. you’re in danger.

the thing i don’t understand is why you pretended to be my friend.

i have to say goodbye to you.

[cinnamonest]

I’m pushing out another one of my long-since-drafted things to the queue bc I’m trying to start keeping the queue active 24/7 and fill more asks but have this in the meantime

//dark shit, like the blood gore violence kind of yandere not the hot kind, brief animal death, gruesome slow npc death, gore, violence, blood, decaying/putrefaction mention

I'm really bad at judging what's mild versus severe when it comes to gore/blood bc I tend to underestimate, I think this is kinda severe? Let me know which it is actually pls so I have a better idea for the future ---------------------------------------- I mentioned a while back in the corpse disposal post and murder methods post that Razor can be... Brutal to say the least, but to expand more on the concept I feel like there's a big potential for a sort of gap moe with him, a duality that seems to contradict itself. Because in many ways he's a sweetheart, always trying to find things to make you happy, often smiling with those wide, excited eyes, physically affectionate with nuzzles and the like. But the other side of that, he's not actually aware of how... desensitized he is. You notice it early on and it catches you off guard a bit the first time it happens. Some poor little animal you two see struggling, like a bird stuck in a tree, and you urge him to go get it and he nods and says ok. Grabs it, and just as you're about to thank him and let it go you hear its little bones snap under the crush of his grip with a final pained chirp. There, he got it, see? Now you two can eat it together. That was why you wanted him to grab it right? To kill it? Why else? He looks down and realizes oh, it's still twitching, so he reached a hand up and twists its neck. There, now it's dead, he says with a beaming smile. But it falls and he tilts his head when he sees the shocked look on your face. What's wrong? Why are you so upset? You soon learn a lot of the animals don't... die immediately. The little things the wolves drag back are still kicking and struggling, still making noises as they tear into them to devour. It makes you sick to your stomach when you witness it, tears come to your eyes. He knows you don't like it and warns you, but... he doesn't understand why? Why does it upset you like that? He doesn't get it. It's a gnawing awareness in the back of your mind. You start to pick up on his... lack of reactions to certain things. You were once in the church getting healing for a minor wound of his when another group of adventurers came rushing through the doors, desperately begging for help for their friend they were carrying... some guy seriously injured, gored by a boar. The sight is burned in your mind forever, the organs spilling out of his split gut, the shivering and wide, bloodshot eyes, the blood bubbling out of his mouth with choked horrific groans and the way his body convulsed involuntarily. The most horrid thing you'd ever seen. And you were pretty certain it was that way for everyone. Everyone in the church was gasping, some people were retching and trying to hold back sickness, people ran out of the room as they were unable to handle the scene, tears were in everyone's eyes, and as the man wailed in agony from them setting his dislocated bones, you watched the bystanders cringe and wince. Every person in the vicinity was visibly horrified.... except for one. Razor's face was neutral. Curious. He leaned in closer to get a better look, eyebrows raised. He doesn't flinch at the sight of organs spilling onto the ground and the man starting to convulse and foam at the mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. And then, after a moment, he asks if you're ready to leave, says he feels better now and that man is really loud, he doesn't like it. His voice doesn't even have the slightest hint of a wavering or discomfort. When you come across a man in the woods caught in a bear trap, you can barely stand to look at it. Just hearing the cries for help had you shivering, and the sight of the pooling blood and utter agony on the man's face had you gasping, hand over your mouth as you tried to look away. ...Razor didn't seem to mind, though. He just undoes the trap and, without giving the man any warning, yanks it apart, pulling the spikes from his legs. As he does, blood shoots out and splatters on his face. He doesn't flinch, nor when the man screams. He does finally seem to react to the pained groans the man makes. But... It's not like your reactions. He's not flinching and grimacing, drawing in sharp breaths and tensing up, eyes watering in pity and shock like you. Instead, his eyes narrow and he puts his hands over his ears as you stoop down to help the poor man. His eyebrows furrow. He almost looks... Annoyed. He draws his foot back as if he's about to kick him, but freezes with realization when he looks at you, as if he forgot you were standing there, and puts his foot back down. You're certain he wasn't actually going to do that, of course. You're not sure why he did that, but... He wouldn't do something like that, even in a moment of dissociation from his human awareness. He does volunteer to be the one to go get help, though, getting away fast, but for some reason you sense it was more out of irritation at the noise rather than horror at the whole thing. Perhaps the worst was the decomposing body, that day you took a walk in the woods together. He smelled it first, nose wrinkling up in disgust at the putrid smell. But it was strong enough that you smelled it soon after. He says having dead animals this close to the residence of the pack is not good, they all hate the smell, so he can try to move the carcass of whatever animal it is... but it's not an animal, it turns out, once you finally find the source, collapsed at the bottom of a cliff from where they most likely fell to their death. Well, it's kind of a stretch to say it still resembles a human either, but you can tell from the general shape. It's more just like a glob, putrefied and rotting flesh falling off the bones. It shocks you so much you fall backwards, but he just moves closer. Ugh, too far rotted to move, he can't do anything about it, he realizes as he gives the decaying mass a kick and watches the blackened flesh slide off the bones. Oh well. ...In your shock, it takes you a moment to realize how... unbothered he seems. Mildly annoyed by the smell, but his expression is neutral as he looks at one of the most horrifying sights you've ever seen, he just yawns as he walks away from it and says you two should get away from the smell, it makes his head hurt.

The events all linger in the back of your head. A growing sense of wrongness, a dark, cold dread that settles in your stomach as the occurrences slowly grow in number, one after the other, each time you notice the complete lack of any sign of disturbance on his face, in his voice or body language. You ask him once, one time when you get the courage to ask such a... potentially offensive question. Don't you... feel anything when you see things dying? When they're in pain? He nods. He gets what you mean. The feeling when you watch something die. Hungry, right? Oh, no? Maybe you mean the irritation, a kind of angry feeling, what's the word... impatient...? Because the thing is taking too long to die and he wants it to go ahead and die already. Or maybe you mean like when that man was injured? When something is dying but it's not something you wanna eat? Yeah, he has a feeling then too. Um... kind of like anger... you taught him the word once... annoyed? They make so much noise, and he doesn't like loud things. When that man came into the church... he didn't like how loud it was. Why didn't they just kill him, since he was making so much noise...? He doesn't get it. When things annoy him, he kills them, like loud birds and biting bugs. He kinda had an urge to just... reach out and make the man stop screaming, just twist his neck like he does small animals when they make too much noise. But he's smart, he says, he knows the other people might get mad. Yes, he uses the word "might," not "would," as if it was a mere possibility. So it doesn't really come as a surprise when the same attitude applies to the people at his own mercy, the people that get too close to you and end up dragged out to the woods. It's that same knowing dread in your gut, and while it horrifies you as much as it always has, you wouldn't have expected anything else. Maybe some people would feel bad about what they're doing, they would want to go ahead and get it over with, they couldn't take the begging and agony the other party is in... but not only is he totally unbothered, but if he kills him now, he says, the blood will go all over the ground, and that's bad, his lupical like eating the blood in things. So he just snaps the man's bones, that way he won't run away. It's hard to describe the excruciated noises that come out of the other's throat when he does. It's unlike any noise you've ever heard a human make, that kind of pain. The sweat that pours from the other's skin from the agony, the way his mouth hangs open even when he can't scream anymore, the trembling and muffled begging as he moves to the next limb. You tremble and cry. You shiver uncontrollably, you whimper for him to stop. Your eyes widen when he grabs each limb and you close your eyes and sob and grimace and cringe with the snapping sound. Razor, on the other hand, stays just as neutral as before. Face blank and empty, as if performing any other mundane task. He doesn't flinch at the snapping. His expression is unchanging at the sound of screams and the groans as he drags the still-living figure behind him by his shattered ankle all the way back home. When he finally goes to look back at you, he tilts his head at the look on your face. Why do you still look upset? There's no blood yet... isn't it blood that makes you upset? Maybe not? Maybe it's the sound that bothers you? Yeah, you flinch whenever the man groans in pain, so it must be the sounds of the dying things that you don't like, it annoys him too really. Ok, that can be fixed... sound comes from the throat right? Well, he left his claymore a ways away so, it'll just take a second, the guy is thrashing a bit but eventually he holds him still enough to get his teeth latched around his throat and just... bites down. The sound is a squelching, crunching sound, one that you'll never forget, it makes every hair on your body stand on end and your skin crawl. He pulls back with the mass of bleeding flesh and tracheal tissue in his jaws and spits it out on the ground. There, see...? You can see the blood on his teeth reflecting the light as he smiles. He's not making noises anymore, so... why do you still have that look on your face? Is it because the body on the ground is all... spasming and convulsing like that? Well, uh... that'll stop soon, probably. At least it's nice and quiet now. He gets it, really, he doesn't like loud noises either.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Too Late for R-n-R Part 3

Part 3

Mattie

            I hated it. I absolutely hated it. My arm was in a cast, my leg was in a brace, I had to walk on crutches, and I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the ring. At all. Momma was adamant about that much at least.

            There was nothing to do being stuck at all home day hardly able to do more than hobble from my room to the bathroom or living room. Plus, I was stuck at Papa’s house. I couldn’t even go across the patio to Dad’s. It sucked. So fucking hard.

            “What’s got you looking so sour?” Papa said as he plopped down on the sofa, stretching out his leg. He was almost healed—he was already in physical therapy. I hated that too.

            And I hated that I hated it. I wanted to cry because of it.

            “I want to go back,” I whimpered, letting my head fall back against the cushions. “I hate it here.”

            Papa groaned as he turned toward me. He looked sad. Kind of like he had that time when Dad left for a while. “You don’t mean that.”

My head pounded. I could feel my heartbeat beneath my cast. It made my stomach turn upside down. “I want to go back to Jacksonville. I don’t want to be here.”

            “You’ll get back, Tea. I know you don’t think so now,” Papa said quietly. “It’s better to stay out and get healed up than go back to early and be out permanently.”

            I tugged my blanket over my head and huffed. “You don’t understand.”

            “Mattie…”

            “No! Just… leave me the fuck alone, Papa.” I wished I could storm out, go back to my room and slam the door. The sound would have been satisfying.

            “Mattea Kourtney Jackson!” Papa shot up to his feet, yanking the blanket away from me, his voice deep and dangerous. It hit my ears and my gut, making me feel like I was going to puke. “Don’t you ever let me hear you say that again.”

            “I’m nineteen,” I spat back, wishing I could stand up to him. I hated feeling like a little girl. Whenever Papa and Dad were around at shows, everyone treated me like I was five. Most of them had known me since the day I was born. It was hard enough to be taken seriously without my parents breathing down my neck. “Kenny and Adam say it all the time. So do Chuck and Trent and Cassidy and Mox…”

            “I don’t care what they say, Mattie. You were raised better than that!” Papa was practically shouting. “Grandma Buck would pop you in the mouth for that.”

            My chest ached as my heart thundered behind my ribs. I could feel my pulse slamming against the inside of my cast. My stomach turned sideways, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to wail for my mom. I just wanted her.

            “Why do you care?” I asked suddenly, not sure where the words came from.

            Papa’s face turned red. “Because you’re my daughter!”

            “No, I’m not!” I shouted, absolutely loathing the words the moment they came out of my mouth. I watched Papa’s face crumple. He sank onto the couch like someone had kicked his legs out from under him. His eyes were big and brown, vulnerable and hurt. And they were already spilling over with tears. “Papa… I…”

            His jaw clenched. He settled one hand over his heart, and for a moment I was terrified that he was having a heart attack or something. “Mattie…” Papa’s voice was smaller than I’d ever heard it. Sadder than it had ever been, even when Dad was gone and Mama had been in tears for a week. “How could you…”

            For a moment, he was completely silent. His hands fell into his lap and he stared at them. Tears slid down his cheeks and into his beard. It was the first time I noticed that it was going a little grey.

Matt

            I’d had the air knocked out of me plenty of times in my life. But nothing compared to the ringing sound of Mattie shouting those words at me. It was like gravity fell apart and everything was going topsy turvy. There was a dull ache in my chest, like someone had punched a hole straight through. My gut felt like it was trying to crawl up my throat.

            “I cut your chord… I held you the day you were born… I watched you come into this world…”

            I wondered if she even heard the words. They were so quiet I barely heard them myself. Instead I was lost in memories of the little girl with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that had stolen my heart the moment she’d let out her first wail. Bringing her home, pacing the floors as Nick and I tried not to wake Y/N with her crying, driving around and around the block to get her to sleep when she had colic. Those petrified months when she started to crawl, when I was obsessed with making sure she didn’t run into anything. Her first tottering steps, watching Nick and Y/N chase her through the yard. Trying so hard to build her swing set and her bicycle and her princess castle. Teaching her to swim.

            Walking through Disneyland with her on my shoulders. Getting buried up to my knees in sand on the beach in Hawaii while she giggled and ran off to catch starfish and sand dollars. Agonizing days and nights when we had to be away from home on loops. Setting her off on her first day of school with her Beauty and the Beast backpack and her light up glitter sneakers.

            My throat threatened to close. I could feel the tears running down my face, but I couldn’t catch a breath. That ache in my chest grew until it felt like that was all I knew.

            Tumbling with her in the ring in the backyard. Teaching her those first few precious things. Helping her with her homework. Watching her paint and sketch, looking for all the world like my wife made over. Christmases and birthdays and Easters and dragging her out of bed at six AM to make breakfast for Y/N on Mother’s Day. Sitting around our picnic style dining table and talking about wrestling, Oreo sleeping on her feet. Watching her sob and curl into a ball after everything that happened at her school. Seeing the temporary loss of Nick break her heart like it had ours. Then following along as she opened up and bloomed in her co-op, in the ring.

            I’d watched every moment of her existence, and I didn’t think I could love someone as much as I loved her and her brothers and sister. Mattie was my oldest, my firstborn, regardless of what the DNA test said. I’d always promised Y/N that… promised Nick that.

            There’d been a moment of terror when Y/N told me what Mattie had wanted for her eighteenth birthday—to know who her birth father was. My wife had taken me aside and told me, so I wouldn’t be blindsided when it happened. And God knew, I’d dreaded the moment that Mattie would look at me and see someone other than her Papa.

            Now that the moment had come, I couldn’t bear it. The pain rocketed through me, radiating out from that excruciating cavern behind my ribs. This is what it feels like, I thought, staring dumbly at my hands, this is what it feels like to have a broken heart.

            “Mattie…” I said her name, and it felt like knives stabbing me in the back. How could I have lost my little girl so completely?

            A noise made me look up. Maybe it was the nineteen years of listening for her every breath and whine and cry that made me hear the whimper that she tried to hide behind her cast. She’d pulled herself to the edge of the sofa and was slowly scooting her way over to me. Her eyes—blue like my brother’s—were full of sadness and regret. Her lip trembled the way it always did when she was about to burst into tears.

            I saw her for an instant as she had been at three. Dark curls and wide eyes, clutching an elephant in one hand and Nick’s ponytail with the other as we told her that he and I were going to Japan for a month. And that she couldn’t come with us. Her bottom lip had trembled, those sapphire eyes had turned glassy, and she’d cried so hard and so long that she made herself sick and we missed our flight.

            “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said softly. The sound of her voice shattered my heart just then. It was the sound she’d made when she told us about the girls at school. About the bruises on her arms and the taunts the kids yelled at her in the halls.

            My next words came out before I had a chance to think about them. “You’re the one who gave me that name.”

Mattie

            My knee hurt so bad as I pulled myself down the sofa toward Papa. I’d never wanted to take words back as badly as I wanted to take back telling him I wasn’t his daughter. I hated myself for making him look so sad.

            His words thumped me in the chest. They were wistful, a little bit sad with a tinge of nostalgic happiness.

            “I did?”

            Papa looked over at me, a smile spreading over his face. “You did. We were sitting on the sofa in Dad’s house. You were all wrapped up in one of his Clippers shirts—” He stopped and let out a laugh. “He was determined that you’d be like him. You didn’t have blankets as a baby. You had Nick’s old Clippers gear. But this one was your favorite.”

            I knew exactly which one he meant. It was folded up in the bottom of my gear bag. The image was faded into almost nothing on the front and the fabric was worn thin in places.

            “I had you right here,” he said, pantomiming holding something against his chest. “Dad was making you laugh and Mama came in. Before you were born, she decided what you’d grow up calling us.” He leaned in, a smile on his face that only showed up when he talked about Mama. “Nick and I didn’t like them, but you know how we are with your mom. I sat you up on my lap and Dad told you to pick which of us was Papa.”

            He stopped, and I couldn’t help but drag myself further over the sofa to put my head against his shoulder. His chest hitched. “And you… you leaned against my chest. Just like that…” Papa reached up and put his hand on the side of my head. “I don’t care that I’m not your biological father, Mattie. You’re my daughter. I’ve loved you with every breath in my body since the second you came into the world. A piece of paper doesn’t change that. Not for me.

            “Do you still… think of me like…”

            I hugged him as tightly as I could. I wished harder than I’d ever wished in my life that I could take back everything I said to him.

            “I didn’t think you…” I whispered against his shoulder. “Not knowing that Dad was…”

            It shocked me when Papa started laughing. He wrapped his arm around me and grinned. “How can you not be my daughter? You’re as stubborn and sometimes stupid just like me.”

            I hid my face against his shoulder just like I’d done my whole life. “You’re my Papa. And I’m your Tea.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @lilred91 @imagineall-the-fandoms @maelleoute @librathepheonix13​ @justamess44​

[queenmylovely]

The Fourth Stage

Summary: Gardner langway x fem!reader. Gardner meets someone new along his route. 

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: mentions of death, grief, depression, angst, cussing 

A/N: This is what I wrote for my first request. It’s much darker than anything I’ve ever wrote but I tried to be as true to the request and grief as I could. Also it’s in kind of a headcanon format but it’s over 7k words so idk. I hope you like what I wrote, and any feedback including likes, replies, and reblog are greatly appreciated!

Request: Something where Gardner falls for a PoC woman who’s emotionally broken

Disclaimer: I am not Black nor do I claim to know or understand the experience of Black people or Black women specifically. I was requested to write this by an anon that requested something with a PoC woman. I welcome constructive criticism for any part of my characterization of Reader. (I will not be accepting and will delete and block any racist hate.)

Masterlist 

☆☆☆

You moved into your dad’s house in May, a month after he died.

It was a sudden heart attack at work, but apparently your dad had a will, so you inherited his house. Because you wanted to keep it in good condition and didn’t have anything tying you to your current place, you moved.

You hadn’t done anything with his things so all of your boxes were piled into the garage and you lived with his stuff instead.

His death had wrecked you, and you had quit your stupid summer job because doing anything but laying down seemed impossible.

While he hadn’t been a rich man, he had left enough money that this was possible for summer; something that you would have thought was lucky if the thought of anything related to his death being lucky didn’t make you sick.

You spent all day everyday in your bed, maybe making it to the kitchen once or twice but only for saltines and peanut butter out of the jar or a can of cold chili.

The highlight of your day, if you could call it that, was taking the hottest shower you could, in an effort to feel something other than the dull ache that was knowing your dad was dead.

But all it did was leave your skin dry and stinging, the slight pain only making you feel worse because you knew it was nothing compared to what your dad had felt.

Your mom called once a week, but since you had been raised by your dad after their divorce, she had little to say and you sat silent while she tried to think of things that would cause any reaction in you other than a grunt or sigh.

About a week after you moved in, as you’re laying in bed, eyes closed but sleep never reaching you, you hear something that you had noticed the day before.

It was the sound of footsteps approaching your door followed by a metal creak and then footsteps retreating again.

Most of the time, you were too lost in your head to notice the outside world, but it just so happened that yesterday you were walking to your kitchen when it had happened and when the sound repeated itself today, you took notice.

The next day, without realizing you had been waiting for it, you heard the sound again.

After it repeated the following day, you looked at the clock, reading 3:25pm.

On the fifth day you realized it must be the sound of the mail deliverer because when you collected the mail that night at 2:00am, the mailbox made the same creaking sound.

Soon, it became a comfort to hear that sound because of how consistent it was. Part of you wondered how the mail carrier was so exact with their timing, but for the most part you didn’t really care.

Three weeks later you found yourself moving from your bed to the couch around 3:00pm and you didn’t really know why until you heard the sound. It was louder since the door wasn’t separated by any walls.

When 3:24pm rolled around everyday, you held your breath in anticipation, letting it out as soon as you heard the steps coming up the walk.

Another week later, you moved from the couch at 3:15pm, sitting against the door with a blanket until you heard the sound.

From this position, you could hear the person’s fingers against the paper of the envelopes as they grabbed them from the bag.

The next day you jump when the person coughed as they walked away; it was the first sound that really affirmed to you that it was another person outside the door.

Three days later the person sneezed just after the metal creak and you realized it was a guy.

You whispered, “Bless you” out of habit, though you knew that he would never know you said it.

Three days later, it wasn’t enough. Hearing his breathing and coughing and sneezing everyday was both too much and not enough to hear from this person you had never seen before.

You needed to make sure this person was real. Needed to know it wasn’t just the ghost of your own mind or a side effect of only sleeping in hour intervals and eating just twice a day on good days.

So, on a random Tuesday, you stood up at 3:23pm, swaying a bit from the head-rush that you got and tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating as you waited for two excruciating minutes.

When you heard the footsteps, but before the metal creak, you opened the door quickly, startling the person on your front step. He’s holding your mail in one hand and your eyes zeroed in on that and you reached out, grabbing the letters from him.

You closed the door just as fast but made sure it closed softly before dropping the mail on the floor and running back to your room.

Gardner stood on your front step, a little dumbfounded by what had just happened.

A couple of customers on his route knew when he delivered their mail, but usually they talked to him if they did.

He figured you weren’t trying to be rude though, with the gentle way you had taken the mail and closed the door. Plus, the look on your face had been more apprehensive than angry.

The next day, you stand and wait again. This time, you opened the door a little more calmly and actually looked at the guy.

He was an average looking white guy in a post office uniform. Your eyebrow raised imperceptibly at the hat he’s wearing but you just grabbed the mail again and closed the door.

Gardner looked down at himself as the door closed. He hadn’t missed the way your eyes had moved over his form. He also hadn’t missed the fact that you were wearing the same clothes as the day before.

Changing your clothes was a weekly occurrence. Somehow, your mom seemed to know that you needed to be told to, so you would after she called.

This week, you’re wearing grey sweats and one of your dad’s college sweatshirts from Howard.

Your hair was as dry as your skin from your too-hot showers. Naturally a 4a texture that you used to keep well defined was now frizzy and tangled. You didn’t have the energy to do your hair care routine anymore, only washing it and maybe pulling it into a low ponytail.

The third day he realized you’re still wearing the same thing and introduced himself before you could close the door.

“I’m Gardner.” You almost jumped when he talked, but the kind voice and harmless words reassured you.

“Y/N,” you replied, voice croaking from lack of use.

On the fourth day he said hi.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said with a closed lip smile.

“Hi Gardner,” you replied, and though the look of apprehension was gone, the smile was not returned.

Fifth day he made a comment about the weather.

“Nice weather today, nicer than yesterday.” he told you. You looked up at the sky for the first time in a while and nodded.

Sixth day he asked for the time.

“Do you have the time?” he asked as you opened the door.

“You’re wearing a watch,” you pointed out.

“It doesn’t work anymore,” he explained.

“It’s 3:25. You always come at 3:25,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Thank you,” he said with what almost looked like a little smirk but he’s turning away before you could be sure.

On the seventh day, you’re wearing different clothes. They’re still not necessarily real clothes; leggings that are pilled up and a Howard shirt, but Gardner still noticed.

“I like your shirt.”

“Thank you, it was my Dad’s,” you said, looking him in the eye. You didn’t smile, but there’s more expression in your face than before.

He nodded, knowing that if you wanted to say more you would.

Eighth day you’re wearing the same shirt but different leggings. Gardner made a comment about how it looks like it might rain.

This continued for another 10 days. Gardner always talked first, and you offered varying replies. Sometimes it’s just a nod, others it’s a sentence. You changed your clothes more often, and Gardner complimented you every time he noticed.

It’s a small thing, and the compliments were simple. “I like that shirt,” “Those pants look comfy,” or “I’m a fan of Jurassic Park too,” but whenever he said them, you got a small rush of dopamine that you’d gotten used to living without.

One day, you’re not at the door. Unbeknownst to Gardner, it’s the three month anniversary of your father’s death and nothing was enough to move you from your place on your bed. The dull pain was amplified in waves over the course of the day. Staring at the wall turned into uncontrollable sobbing in a matter of seconds and back again within minutes.

The next day, when you’re back at the door with red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks, Gardner didn’t mention your absence. Instead, he commented on the number of ads in today’s mail.

“That’s how you really know that the 4th of July is approaching, the mattress sales,” he joked and the corners of your mouth pulled slightly up as you grabbed the aforementioned ads and shut the door.

Another week later, Gardner walked up and when you opened the door, there’s nothing in his hands. You raised your eyebrows in a silent question.

“You don’t have any mail today,” he told you.

“Then why did you come to my door?” you asked in confusion.

“I like seeing you everyday. Part of my routine,” he said plainly.

You made a face he couldn’t quite decipher and replied, “Okay.”

“That’s a good color on you,” he gestured to your shirt which was a dark green.

“Thank you,” you said, supposing that the pine colored shirt did compliment your dark brown skin well.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, turning around and walking away. You watched him until he got to the edge of your yard, noticing the way he trudged as he walked and how he looked down at his feet. Shrugging to yourself, you closed the door.

Three days later you opened the door and before he could say anything you talked, “Gardener’s your first name?”

“Yeah, but without the ‘e.’”

“Okay,” you replied and he handed you the mail.

Three days later, it hit 100 degrees and you felt it even in the air conditioned house.

You opened the door as Gardner was at the edge of your yard and watched him approach. It’s not until he’s just five feet away that he noticed the door’s open, a side effect of watching the sidewalk.

It’s easy to see the sweat that’s sticking his shirt to his chest, dripping down his neck, and darkening the rim of his hat. Even after only being outside for under a minute, you could feel the beginnings of sweat on your body as well.

Gardner looked at you as you stood there before reaching into his bag for your mail. You looked as if you wanted to say something, so he didn’t interrupt you with talk of the weather as he had planned.

“It’s too hot out,” you stated.

“I agree,” he agreed.

“I mean, it’s too hot for you to be outside,” you clarified.

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds,” he recited.

You shook your head in slight frustration and then rushed out, “Do you want to come inside for a minute to get out of the heat?”

“Oh, um, sure I can do that,” he replied. As you stepped away from the doorway, he walked in and you closed the door behind him.

You led him to the kitchen which was freshly cleaned. When you realized how hot it was this morning and decided to invite him in, you had cleaned the kitchen in a fury.

Growing up, your dad had always made sure to clean the house well before guests came over, and made sure you did the same. The thought of disappointing him in that small way gave you enough energy to do the work that you hadn’t done the whole time you lived there.

You pulled down two cups from the cupboard and filled them with cool water. You set them on the table, sitting down and gesturing for him to do the same.

“I didn’t put ice ‘cause you’re not supposed to shock your system with water that’s too cold, but this should still be refreshing,” you told him.

“That’s good to know, thank you,” Gardner replied before gulping down the whole glass. You quirked your lips at his actions. He was trying to act like he was okay, but obviously he was having trouble dealing with the heat.

As you stood to refill his water, he looked at you a little more carefully. You’re wearing black running shorts that he’s seen before, but instead of the sweatshirt that you had paired with them, you’re wearing that t-shirt you had been wearing the first day he complimented your appearance. This time, it was knotted in front and the sleeves were cuffed so less fabric was touching your skin.

Garner tried not to look too hard at the exposed skin of your arms and legs, forcing his eyes up to your hair. At first, he had thought it was in a low ponytail like it was sometimes, but as he really looked now, he could tell it’s in one braid that hits between your shoulder blades. He could see the curls even in the plait, and as you turned around, he noticed that a couple of curls had escaped and were framing your face.

“Your hair looks nice,” he said softly.

You reached up and felt the braid. “Oh, I was cleaning,” you said, almost more to yourself than him. To keep your hair out of your face while cleaning, you always used to pull it into a simple braid. You hadn’t even realized you had done so today.

The two of you sat in silence for a minute until Gardner spoke up, “This is a really nice house.”

You could tell by the way he said it that he’s kind of purposely not asking any questions, just complimenting, but you slightly answered anyway, “Yeah, it was my dad’s.”

“Like the shirt,” he said as he pointed to the shirt you’re wearing.

You looked down and laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard yet. It’s a sound that surprised you as well; you hadn’t heard it in months. All of a sudden, it’s all you could do as an almost hysterical laugh took over your body. You’re laughing, gasping for air, and wiping the beginnings of tears from your eyes for a full minute before you answered, “Yeah, like the shirt,” in between giggles.

Gardner, to his credit, didn’t look freaked out and instead was smiling at the sound of your laughter. He decided that he really liked the sound, and would love to hear it again.

The two of you were smiling at each other for the better part of a minute before you dropped your gaze and took a sip of your water. Gardner copied you, waiting for you to make the next move.

You’re tapping your fingernails against the glass and looking into the water as you said your next words, “He died in April.”

Gardner nodded, but you only saw it from the corner of your eye. He had suspected for a while that something had happened. Well, really since April. While he had never met your dad, he noticed the mail pile up and then the change in only the first name on all of the mail. “That sucks.”

“It does,” you replied and took another sip of your water. You appreciated that he didn’t say I’m sorry like most people do and wondered what’s happened to him that he knew that those words don’t really help.

There’s a comfortable silence for another few minutes before Gardner finished his second glass and cleared his throat, standing up.

“Thank you for the water and for letting me come in here and cool off. I’ve gotta finish my route, so I have to go,” he informed you and you nodded.

“You’re welcome, Gardner,” you said as you led him back to your front door. You waved as he went out onto the front step, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he said back and started down the walk. Just before he reached the edge of your yard, he turned and looked back at you, smiling when he saw you hadn’t closed the door yet. You smiled back before closing the door.

Two days later, on Friday, it’s hot again, but it didn’t reach 100. You decided to invite him in anyway.

When you opened the door and he handed you your mail, you asked him, “Do you want to come inside again?”

He made a face you couldn’t quite comprehend. His eyes were squinty and his mouth was pressed down in a firm line. After a second, he replied.

“I actually can’t today. I have more mail than usual and I can’t get off track.”

“Oh,” you said, casting your eyes downwards and you started to slowly close the door.

“But I can come back after my route…?” Gardner offered, wanting to see you again.

“Okay,” you answered, the slightest of smiles creeping its way onto your face.

Gardner nodded and told you he’d be back around 5:30 and just as he started to turn away, you told him to wait.

You ran to your kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and filling quickly with water and just a bit of ice. Rushing back to the front door, you held it out to him and said, “At least take the water so you can stay hydrated.”

“Thank you. I’ll bring it back when I come back,” he said before waving and walking away.

You closed the door behind him and sat down on your living room couch. You sat there for a while, feeling something that you couldn’t quite place.

The feeling kept building slowly, and when you felt a drop in your stomach, you realized what it was. You’re nervous. It’s something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Since all you typically felt was the numbness, dull ache, or shooting pain, and now the calmness that came everyday at 3:25, you hadn’t recognized it at first.

Now, it was all you felt and you had to remind yourself to breathe in and out at a regular pace so you could remain at least a little calm.

Standing up, you walked to your bathroom and splashed some cold water on your face.

You looked in the mirror, taking in your appearance and seeing someone changed by grief.

Your hair was still in the braid from two days ago, and was very loose and frizzy. You took out the braid and shook it loose, watching it fall limply to the sides of your head, the natural volume and shape washed out by the harshness of the hot water. Knowing there wouldn’t be enough time for an entire routine, you pulled it into a much tighter french braid and called it good.

Next, you took in your face and how sunken your eyes were. Lack of sleep did wonders for the bags under your eyes.

Your skin looked dry and so did your lips. Trying to find some way to remedy this, you looked under the sink for lotion or something. Thankfully, your dad was very diligent about staying moisturized, and there’s shea and cocoa butter that you pull out.

Once you grabbed those, you could see what was behind them and smiled to yourself. It was a big jar of coconut oil, and you sent a little thank you to your dad. You used the butters to moisturize and the oil to help tame the baby hairs at the crown of your head before leaving for your bedroom.

There, you put on one of your less dingy pairs of black leggings, a black tank top, and one of your dad’s flannel shirts that you left unbuttoned.

You spent the next hour or so that you had to wait cleaning up the little mess that had accumulated since he last came inside.

At 5:31, you heard a knock at the door and opened it, as you had already been standing there.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said with a slight smile, even though he seemed to be a little out of breath.

“You’re late,” you said seriously.

“I’m sorry, my brother Calvin wouldn’t let me leave without telling me about his day, it took longer than I thought. I practically ran over here,” he said in a rush, with a worried look on his face.

“I’m joking,” you reassured him with a small smile and a little laugh. His face relaxed and he smiled back at you. “You’re only a minute late, so that doesn’t even count. Come in.”

“Thanks for understanding. I try to be very punctual,” he said as you led him into the living room and you both sat on the couch.

“I’ve noticed. I think that’s a good quality, but you shouldn’t stress yourself out about it.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I wasn’t going to come or anything,” he explained.

“Well, you could’ve texted me or something.”

“I- um, I don’t have your number,” he pointed out, cheeks getting a little red, and not from the running.

“Oh, that’s right. Here, where’s your phone?” you said, reaching your hand out towards him. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. You quickly went into his contacts and added yourself. You handed back his phone and he looked at it, a fond little smile coming onto his face. “There. You know, I like the uniform, but it’s kinda nice to see you out of it.”

Gardner was wearing just an orange and white striped polo shirt and jeans. He flushed slightly at your words but smiled back and barely whispered, “thank you.”

A slight silence fell, but neither of you really seemed to mind. Gardner was taking in your living room and you’re taking in him.

He was really a very unassuming person but he was actually pretty cute and you always found yourself unusually calm in his presence. Even after the afternoon that was filled with nerves, as soon as you opened the door and laid eyes on him, everything had evened out.

“So you have a brother?” you asked, breaking the silence. His eyes flicked back over to you when you spoke and he nodded.

“Yeah, Calvin. We live together. Well, I live in front of the house. In a boat,” he told you.

“A boat?” you said, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“A boat on stilts,” he explained.

“Do you ever take it out?” you asked, slowly understanding what he meant.

“Not really.”

“Mm. What does Calvin do?” you said to switch the subject since he didn’t really seem to want to talk about the boat.

“He works at a mechanic shop. It’s pretty good work, he likes it.”

“The one in town?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s the only one in town, so yeah,” he replied.

“Then I’ve been there. Maybe I saw him. It was a little while ago, though. Last year,” you continued.

“He’s shorter than me. Great hair though,” he said.

“Hmmm, I think I’d remember great hair,” you said with a chuckle and Gardner joined in.

“Do you wanna see the rest of the house? A tour?” you asked him after a second and he nodded happily.

You stood up with him and guided him towards the hallway. First, you pointed to the bathroom then walked down to the bedrooms.

Opening the door to your dad’s room, you felt a slight shiver run over you. It’s a mixture of how cold the room is since the door is always closed and the same pang you felt in your heart every time you looked in.

Usually, you looked around the room every couple of days, wanting to feel closer to your dad, and sometimes you got the best sleep on his bed, lying on top of the comforter. Still, every look reminded you that he’s gone.

You looked around the room as Gardner stood next to you. Unknowingly, you brought a hand to your chest as if you were trying to ease the pain that was there.

Seeing the physiological manifestation of your grief, Gardner felt his own heart hurting for you. He could relate to how horrible the first months were without a parent.

Carefully and slowly, he reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it and then leaving it there. It comforted you, and when you finally swallowed the lump in your throat, you moved your hand from your chest to his hand and held it there for a moment before turning around and showing him your room across the hall.

It was still a bit of a mess, but all of the trash had been removed and your dirty clothes were piled into the overflowing hamper. Gardner didn’t seem put off by that fact and looked around your room.

It was technically the spare room, but when you stayed there with your dad, it had practically been your room and was partially filled with little things your dad knew you liked.

On the windowsill were a couple beeswax candles. The top of the dresser had an interesting mix of children’s books and classics with a boxset of The Lord of the Rings on one side and of Star Trek: The Next Generation on the other as bookends.

“The Next Generation?” he asked in amusement.

“Definitely, it’s a classic,” you returned.

“Hmmm, I was always more fond of the Original Series,” he stated with a smirk.

“Well, I hate to inform you, but you’ve been missing out on the best Star Trek has to offer,” you said, only slightly teasing.

“I’m not sure about that…” he said, definitely teasing.

“Why don’t we watch it and see?” you countered with a smile that he quickly returned.

“Deal.”

You grabbed the box set and the two of you headed back to the living room. You popped the disc into the player and turned on the TV. As it started up, you realized this is the first time you’d be watching anything you used to watch with your dad without him.

Your breath hitched for a second, and Gardner noticed, turning his head to look at you. He saw how the look on your face had changed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

You took a second to breathe again and then nodded slowly, “...yeah, I just used to watch this with my dad and haven’t since he died.”

“We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want,” he offered.

“No, I do want to,” you told him, making sure to look at him so he could see the clarity in your eyes. He nodded and the two of you turned your attention back to the screen.

The two of you watched the episode, laughing at the funny parts and gasping at the surprises. By the end of it, you felt content, except for one thing.

“Gosh, are you starving? I swear my stomach was rumbling through the last 20 minutes,” you said with an easy laugh.

“That was you? I thought it was the show,” Gardner said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Shut up,” you said, giggling and Gardner joined in. “How do you feel about a pizza?”

“That sounds great,” he said with a grin.

“Good, what kind do you like? I like pepperoni, so we can do half and half if you like something else.”

“I like plain cheese,” he confessed a little sheepishly.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, picking up your phone and heading into the kitchen to find the pizza place’s number. You dug through a drawer your dad had with all that type of stuff and found it, placing an order for a delivery in half an hour.

You walked back in the living room and found Gardner sitting there with his hands in his lap, the TV paused.

“You didn’t have to pause the TV, I’ve seen all of these before,” you told him, sorry that he was probably bored.

“I wanted to watch with you,” he explained and you smiled, feeling your cheeks get a little warm.

You complied, sitting down on the couch and resuming the next episode. About ¾ of it passed before the pizza came, and you paused it again to get up and pay. Bringing the box into the kitchen, you beckoned Gardner to follow and he did willingly; his own stomach had started to rumble halfway into the second episode.

Pulling two plates down, you handed one to him and the two of you placed two slices each before grabbing a couple napkins.

“We can go back in the living room,” you informed him and he followed, you. Both of you dug in as soon as you pressed play.

Before long, the entire pizza was gone and the fourth episode was almost done. You noticed Gardner yawning into his hand and when it’s over, you offered to drive him home. He protested at first, but you insisted since it’s nearing 10:30pm and it’s already dark outside.

The drive was mainly quiet, the only words being said were Gardner’s directions. After about 10 minutes, you pulled up behind a boat on stilts. You laughed a little because part of you had doubted its existence, but there it was.

As Gardner started to reach for the door, you spoke up, “So what’s the verdict? Do you admit that TNG is better than TOS?”

He turned and looked at you with a slight smirk, “I don’t know. I’m still not sure that Picard can hold a candle to Kirk.”

“Okay, how dare you? Guess you’ll just have to watch more until you’re converted,” you told him, looking at him with a smile and a sure look in your eyes.

“Sounds like a plan. See you Monday,” he told you, opening the door and getting out. “Oh! I forgot your water bottle, it’s in the boat, I’ll go get it!”

He closed the door and started to jog away but you rolled down the window.

“Wait, Gardner!” you called out and he came back. “Don’t worry about it, you just keep it. You’ll get more use out of it than I would.”

“Okay,” he said, still a little unsure. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. See you Monday,” you told him and then drove away as he waved.

The drive back felt different. You didn’t drive much these days, only when you were absolutely out of food and could no longer ignore the hunger pangs in your body.

But, it’s kind of nice to drive again, and you felt happy for a second thinking about how nice the night was with Gardner. You got excited as you turned off your car to go inside and tell your dad all about it; he had always been incredibly supportive and understanding with your dating.

You left your car and used your keys to open the front door. Just as you opened your mouth to call out to your dad, you realized your mistake and the shock ran through your entire body.

Falling to your knees right there in front of the door, sobs racked your body and you had no choice but to give yourself up to them. That night, you fell asleep on your dad’s bed, having crawled to his room to try and find some comforting feeling there.

The next two days you spent all of your time in his bedroom, trying your hardest to feel his presence.

Monday came around and so did Gardner. Whatever kind of normalcy you had returned and the week continued on. On Friday, you invited Gardner over again to keep watching Star Trek.

This time, you ordered Chinese food and Gardner made you laugh as he tried to teach you to use chopsticks.

The summer heat had finally broken, and nights were finally getting cooler. Earlier in the day, you had opened the windows, and now they were letting in a cool breeze that was actually making you chilly and you noticed that Gardner had goosebumps.

Getting up during the theme song, you went to the hallway closet and grabbed a fuzzy blanket. Sitting back down, you draped it over both you and Gardner, and you had to sit closer so it covered the both of you.

Gardner thanked you and his voice cracked a little because the warmth he could feel radiating from your thigh touching his.

The two of you went back to watching the show, but between the blanket and Gardner’s warmth, you felt extremely cozy and started getting sleepy. Blinking slowly and yawning every couple of minutes, you tried to fight off the tiredness, but within 10 minutes, you’re dozing off.

Gardner noticed your tiredness but didn’t think too much of it until your head slumped over onto his shoulder. He turned his head and could see the profile of your face. Your eyes were closed and your face relaxed, your mouth just barely open.

He stayed as still as he could for a few minutes until he’s sure you’re deep asleep. Then, ever so slowly, he moved his arm from underneath your head so it could rest just above your shoulders on the couch.

Even in your sleep, you moved instinctively further into him, angling your head to lay on his chest and your legs came up onto the seats of the couch, pushing you further onto him. Your motion caused his arm to fall onto your shoulders and he left it there as you hummed happily in your sleep.  

Eventually, your closeness and the soft sounds of the TV that he had turned down so as to not wake you up lulled Gardner to sleep as well.

The two of you remained sleeping until the morning. The sun shining brightly through an east-facing window was what woke you as it was directly on your face.

You kept your eyes closed so the sun didn’t blind you and immediately felt a pain in your neck. You thought to yourself that you must have slept wrong. That thought confused you, though, since normally you didn’t fall asleep long enough to cause any aches or pains.

The next thing that confused you was the movement you felt underneath your head. Bringing a hand up to shield your eyes from the sun, you opened your eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to get the sleep out of your eyes and take in your surroundings.

You gasped, moving your hand to cover your mouth as you realized that the thing moving underneath you was Gardner’s chest.

He’s still asleep. His head was leaning on the back of the couch, his mouth open, and you could hear his slow breathing. His right arm was resting on the arm of the couch and his left fell from your shoulders to your waist when you sat up to look at him. He had almost no blanket on him and you cringed at yourself for hogging the blanket.

You cringed again thinking how awkward it’s about to be when he woke up.

Pushing past your hesitation, you gently shook his shoulder, saying, “Gardner, wake up.”

Slowly, he started stirring and stretched inwardly, his arm tensing against your waist as he did. His eyes blinked open and he sleepily looked at you, confusion running onto his face as he saw how light it is.

“What time is it?” he asked worriedly.

“Ummm, 9:30am,” you informed him, looking at your phone.

“I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to impose. You just kind of fell asleep on me and I didn’t want to move until you woke up on your own but I guess I fell asleep too,” he rambled, looking around him. He saw his arm on your waist and quickly pulled it back to his side, blushing furiously.

“Gardner, it’s okay,” you told him, reaching for his hand at his side. “If anything it’s my fault because I fell asleep on you. Seriously, it’s all good.”

He looked at his hand in yours and nodded, looking up to you when you gave it a squeeze.

“Do you want some breakfast?” you asked. He nods again and you stood up to lead him to the kitchen.

This week, when you had gone grocery shopping, you had gotten more things than usual. That taste of pizza the previous Friday had reminded you how good cooked food was and you started actually cooking for yourself again.

You grabbed pancake mix and the griddle from the cupboard and got started.

Gardner chatted to you about how Calvin makes waffles but he likes pancakes too and about the events of the episodes the two of you watched last night.

He made you laugh with his theories about Riker and Deanna, and Picard and Dr. Crusher. The two of you shared little stories over pancakes; you told him a little about your dad and he told you about his friends at work and along the route.

After the two of you eat, he said that he should be on his way and that he could walk this time. You acquiesced, with the condition that he texted you when he got back so you would know he made it.

He opened your front door and stepped onto the front porch before turning back to say goodbye.

“Thanks for the food, it was good,” he said, a little awkward because he didn’t know where the two of you stood.

“You’re welcome,” you said, stepping out of the doorway and up to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then told him softly, “I’ll see you soon, Gardner,” before going back inside and closing the door softly behind you.

Gardner stayed standing there for a moment, reaching a hand up to his cheek and repeating, “soon.”

He remembered to text you as soon as he got back, walking into the house instead of climbing into the boat. Calvin spotted him walking through the kitchen and called him into the backyard for a game of horseshoes.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” he asked as he picked up his shoes.

“Pretty good,” Gardner replied, picking his own up.

“You look kinda tired… Aren’t those the clothes you were wearing yesterday? Holy shit, did you stay the night at that girl’s place?” he asked gleefully, putting the pieces together. He tossed his first shoe and missed by a foot.

“Y/N, and yes, and yes. But we just slept. Well, she fell asleep on me on her couch and then I fell asleep too. My neck kinda hurts,” Gardner explained, rubbing his neck then throwing his first shoe, ringing it.

“Shit. Does she like you?” Calvin asked before throwing his second one that landed so it’s touching then pumping his fist in celebration.

“I don’t know, Cal. Maybe? She’s going through a rough time, her dad died a couple months ago and I don’t think she’s totally herself yet. You remember what I was like when they left,” he reminded him, throwing another ringer.

Calvin nodded in agreement. Gardner had been changed forever when his parents abandoned him, but that first year was especially brutal. Tossing his shoe first, and getting a ringer, he asked, “You like her though?”

“Yeah, I really really do. I know I don’t actually know the real or normal her, but I swear sometimes I get these flashes of her and it’s like the sun coming out after a cloudy day,” he said, pausing to throw his last one; it spun around the peg before landing on top of the other two. “But she’s amazing all the time. She’s kind and trusting and giving and non judgmental.”

“Why do you always win?” Calvin muttered under his breath before responding. “Well, she sounds great. Good luck.”

The pattern continued with you and Gardner, although it ramped up in frequency. He started coming over almost every other day, and the next weekend, asked you to dinner at a restaurant in town. Although you’re a little apprehensive, since you know Gardner will be there for you, you agreed.

It’s a great night and the two of you ate and then walk around the river, talking for hours. That night, when you dropped him off at the boat, you asked to see it and he welcomed you gladly.

You shared your first kiss after he brought you inside. Gardner was unsure at first, but you just pulled him closer and he lost his nerves when you placed his hands on your waist and then ran your own through his hair.

After a little while of making out, you decided to leave, knowing you aren’t ready for anything else. Giving him a final peck on the lips, you climbed back out of the boat and drove home. That night, you slept in your own bed, making it all through the night and only waking up once.

From then on, the two of you split your time together at your house, his boat, and going places in town. About once a week, you joined him on his route for an hour or so.

Gardner made you laugh, but also knew when you’re especially missing your dad and talked to you about him so his memory could comfort you.

One night, after the fifth season finale of Star Trek, you and he were cuddling on the couch. You’re sitting upright and his head’s in your lap facing the ceiling. Your hand was moving in little circles on his upper arm and he’s watching your face as you watched the credits.

It was a scene that was not uncommon between the two of you, but Gardner can’t seem to be able to help himself as he breathed out, “I love you.”

Your eyes snapped to his, and though he might have wished you missed the words, you heard them loud and clear and were looking at him in a way he can’t decipher.

“You do?”

“Yeah, um, I do,” he said, averting his eyes from your gaze. He knew that it might be too soon, but once he had the thought, it left his brain through his mouth and there was nothing he could do about it.

Gardner’s cheeks and neck are blushing red as he looked away, but you moved your hand to their junction, and used his jaw to turn his face and eyes back to you.

“I love you too, Gardner,” you told him earnestly.

He sat up and turned to you, mouthing “really,” and you nodded. His hands moved to your face and you moved yours to the back of his neck. When he didn’t close the gap, you did, pulling him to you and kissing him softly to assure him of the meaning behind your words.

Life continued, and you relished the last two weeks of summer before you had to go back to school. Since it would only be a 30 minute commute, you decided to continue living at your dad’s house.

You started to move your things out of the garage and into the house, packing away things of your dad’s that hold less significance to make room.

There will still be bad days in the future, and you won’t know when they’re coming or how long they’ll be. But, you know you have Gardner to lean on, and while he can’t take away your pain, he can offer you some comfort as you deal with it.

★★★

Taglist: @somekindof-cheese @gwilyoubemine @deacytits @supersonicfreddie @siriuslovesmarlene @bowiequeen @acdeaky @deakysgirl @sunflower-borhap-boys @deakyfordays @queensilveryrog @happy-at-home @ceruleanrainblues

I just kinda created this taglist so if you would like to be taken off or added, just send me a message or ask!

Reminder that my requests are open! If you would like something in a sort of one shot format/length or blurb, etc. send it in! I’ll write for any of the Borhap or Queen boys (Freddie only platonically), Lucy, Patrick Murray, Gardner Langway and adult!Tim Murphy or possibly any of the other characters these people have played if I know enough about them!

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

WARNING : Graphic description of Blood and Violence. Gore.

And Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.

Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~

Chapter 1 2 4

Chapter 3

Word Count : 4k

The night is as dark as always in Bludhaven, the familiar crime and poverty earned her the nickname ‘Gotham’s sister City’. A man in a suit and long khaki trench coat steps down the stairs to the subway where only a few people are waiting for the train. Despite walking in the poorly lit halls at night, the man wears a vintage sunglasses with metal frames. The man is odd, not because of his fashion sense, but the man is chewing a match on his front teeth like a hillbilly with hay. Yet, even so, the citizen of Bludhaven doesn’t bat an eye.

He enters the employees only room, an old woman announcer is sitting there lethargically, with a uniform too tight for her plump body. Her veined eyeballs looking at the screen of train maps and schedule before she tore her empty gaze away towards the man with a knowing look. The man slides an envelope and waits for the announcer to look at what’s inside. When the lady smiles in satisfaction, she nods to the employee’s only exit.

The man goes through there, and it leads to the path beside the train tracks. It’s not really a path, more like a small gap between the tunnel wall and the train track. The man’s shoulder barely fit in that gap. The tunnel is void of any light the further he walks, and the man lits up the match from his mouth to light the rest of the way. The train will pass in about a minute, that’s the window for the man to find an opening along his side of the wall of this tunnel. But he relies on Bludhaven’s tendency to delay trains for more window.

He walks and walks, lit many matches, he should’ve brought a flashlight. Thirty minutes in, he finally hears a faint voice of engine and pistons running growing closer. When the train’s light from far away is finally visible, the man sprints and slips inside the opening he’s been looking for. The fire on the match on his hand is blown off by the gush of wind the train brought as it passes through.

The man walks deeper into the crack in the wall, it smells of rodents dropping, musty with mold and eerily damp. There’s no light in that path, but the man somehow never trips.

Finally, there’s a light at the end of the path. A body in a red uniform and tattered black cape laying in the middle of the room. The only light source there is a strong beam of spotlight forming a circle surrounding what it seems to be Red Robin’s body.

The man paused after recognizing the body, mortified at the body’s condition laid on top a pool of red and runs towards the open room. He manages to step twice into the room before a hard hit lands on the back of his head. His feet manage to land, but not enough balance to root to the ground. In addition, his vision is spinning from the hit and he falls to the concrete ground in a loud echoing thud.

A loud shrill laugh breaks the eerie silence of the room. The laugh that had terrorized all men of the world in fear. Came into view to the man’s blurry vision, even with his now cracked black tinted sunglasses, the man can see a pair of green loafers drenched in blood steps in front of him. Beside those shoes, is a crowbar also drenched in blood, some red and some had dried to brown.

The man looks up, knowing it must’ve what he wants, and see a man with pale skin void of life that it’s completely porcelain white, and a big smear of red on his lips painted like a smile all the way to his cheeks. His synthetic green hair matches his small pupils. His purple suit with a yellow shirt underneath is drenched in sweat and splattered with blood, but it’s still tidy as if it’s his last effort to be presentable. It’s a clown that everybody knew, and his famous trademark smile spread disturbingly wide.

“I hear from my little mice, that your pretty little bird with sky blue eyes and raven black hair had been asking around about me~” the clown sings, walking around the man while dragging the wet crowbar that creates a thin red line.

“You naughty naughty bat, I prepared a game for you, a little treasure hunt. There were surprises for you to find on each clue you find, I worked hard for it you know? You’re not being fair!” The clown screams angrily, he’s frowning lips look disturbing on top of his permanent smile.

“I’M NOT EVEN DONE WITH YOUR PRESENT YET HOW DARE YOU.”

He slams the end of the crowbar to the man’s right leg, hitting it repeatedly until there’s a crack under the flesh. The man still stubbornly holds back and deeply growls between his clenched teeth.

“WHAT? Too proud to scream? Well...you sure know how to make me feel all tingly inside hehehe...” The clown pants hard until saliva drools from his mouth, “I never hear you scream, always so composed...” Another strong merciless smash landed on the man’s right leg, his teeth dug into his lips.

Then Joker misses his leg and bends the crowbar.

“Aw shucks! I gotta amp things up then! I know just the perfect thing!” The clown runs into the dark and quickly returns with a steel spiked club.

“SCREAM BATSY!” The clown screeched and pounds his right leg with the club.

Each hit sends the man an excruciating pain, the sound of metal against his flesh and bone makes the man sick. The Joker never looks away from his face, as if looking forward to his arrays of expression while his own is twisted into a depraved smile and laugh, panting almost like in lust. Blood from his leg spurts everywhere and formed an arch whenever he lifts the club.

The man bites into his palm to hold back his voice. The Joker doesn’t stop until the sound of a loud and distinct crack. When the man looks down he sees a bone sticking out in the middle of his calf.

The Joker pants happily and gave one last and hard swing until the man’s calf completely bends. The clown fixed his purple suit and comb back the strayed green strands of his hair.

The man reduced into a shaking mess, his hands are twitching from the pulsing pain in his leg.

“Well, color me impressed, you’re one stubborn bastard aren’t cha? I’ll let it pass cuz I love ya batsy~ And I bet yer beautiful blue bird is on the way here now, but not to worry!” The clown cheered. “My good little pumpkin pie’s gonna take care of ‘em good, but still! We got a schedule to get on,” the clown growls excitedly, and screech another shrill laugh.

“I hated that outfit though, I never liked those fake mustache... I wish for my darling Batman, not Matches Malone!” The Joker rambles and huffed like a little child.

The man finally gains his senses and has his eyes are on Red Robin. The teen vigilante barely moves, and only now the man sees the pool of blood surrounding him. The suit is tattered and ripped. His black hair hides his face and the parts where the face shows in swollen and blue.

“Oh... don’t worry about your red bird, as I said, I wasn’t done yet,” The joker shrugged, then smirks wickedly. “Wait, this is actually better, I know the perfect thing for our little bonding time. You, me, and the kid, like a beautiful family.” Joker sings endearingly, sending the man’s goosebumps on his spine.

“Time for a second round of... You scream You lose!”

Joker stands beside the limp and tattered body of Red Robin, stepping into the pool of blood that grows wider.

“What are you waiting for Brucie?” The clown raises the crowbar and swings it towards the body on the floor.

Before Joker can manage to hit Red Robin’s body, he’s pushed back by the force of two bullets hitting him on each thigh. Laying on the floor, the clown is stunned at the hi wound.

“That’s... that’s real bullets.”

There’s a pregnant pause between them, until the clown screams, not in pain, but laugh in excitement.

“AAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA YES! FINALLY! Oh, dear Batsy... You finally snap!!” the Joker moans disturbingly, saliva running down his smiling lips, leaving a red trail down his pale neck.

The man lies frozen in the dark, away from the spotlight where the Joker lies bleeding beside Red Robin. His hand on the gun was and still shaking, but somehow still hit the mark.

The Joker extends his hand to the man, Matches Malone, and gesture him to come into the light.

“Come! Come into the light... I want to see your face when you kill me...” The Joker giggles, “Come, please! For me Batsy... let me see your cold-blooded face before you kill me... COME ON!” The Jokers screams in impatience, still smiling ecstatically.

“Show me your shaking faith, I want to see you break,” Joker moaned.

Matches Malone, with fire in his heart, grunts lowly as his left shaking hand perch onto the concrete ground in the light. As much as he can, while only counting on friction between his palm and the ground, drags himself into the spotlight.

Finally, the man lets out his voice, “I’m not Batsy.”

The smile on the clown’s face twisted into disgusted confusion. Eyes open wide in anger, showing the veined red eyeballs. The Joker tried to move his legs, but he can’t.

“Wait--”

Is the last word of the clown before two bullets lands between those toxic green pupils.

++++++++++

Everyone in the poor side of Gotham knows Matches Malone, but there’s an unwritten rule for the bottom feeders to not speak of the name to just anyone. The man remains a myth. It was told that the man is a gang member, but he helps the people around him in obscure gestures for reason unknown. Handing a hundred dollar bills to beggars, blankets, food, even doctor appointments under a made-up name. People in crime alley hides those good deeds of him from other gang members, afraid they would kill Malone that provides for them. The people kept him alive for selfish reasons.

Jason was one of those people at one point in his life.

He remembers his characteristic. His height, hair, sense of fashion, and the match between his lips that made him earn the name Matches Malone.

And from Tim’s stories, he also knew that Matches Malone is Bruce Wayne.

Jason asked around, hiding his face, but not too much. He heard how Richard Grayson speaks from many interviews he’s done on TV, as Dick Grayson the son of Wayne, the cop, and Nightwing.  The same black hair and blue eyes is a good little luck that eases Jason’s effort.

Jason knows how to differentiate the real civilians, the ones that pretend, and the ones that are both, that knowledge is for basic survival for Jason who grew up behind the dirty backstage of Gotham’s bright stage.

Talk to the right person with the right words and let it travels to the right man. Not all of them though, too much info then it’ll be known that the one chasing the captors doesn’t have a supercomputer. That’s where anesthesia and garbage bins play their part.

Not only his dark hair and blue eyes, but his frame also came in handy. In the past years, his body had bulked up in weight and shoots up in height. He dressed in rental suits and coats, slick his hair back and chewed a match between his front teeth. When he looks in the mirror, it’s like looking at the past when that man gave him a burger to eat and to go.

After asking around, Jason hears about a ‘meeting’ by Bludhaven’s hidden warehouse. He’s been told about ‘someone’ having a business deal with ‘Cal Corcoran’. Jason already knew it was the Joker, only he can make the people he speaks with trembles in fear and utmost secrecy, the ones that are not his men at least.

Jason almost snaps when he sees Tim on the spotlight of the room at the end of the pathway. His heart hammers against his ribs hard enough to feel like it’s bruising. But he knows there’s a reason why Tim is presented that way, and why no one else is visible in that room but Tim. Jason can’t see anyone in that room, not even a silhouette. Means that if there’s someone there, it’s gotta be right beside the opening of that path.

Jason runs anyway, and anticipate the hit on the back of his head. He knocks his head to the front a little to reduce the force coming onto the back of his head.

He wants to reach out for Tim. His Red Robin suit is in tatters, so many cuts on his lean body, and he only got a peek on his face between his damp black hair covering it. There’s so much blue on his face. He wants to move, wants to wrap that body close and feel his breathing, or warmth, to relieve himself after knowing Tim is alive.

When lying on the floor with a clown beating up his leg. It was then, Jason truly feels fear. Not because of death, but just seeing the Joker close and getting a feel of how twisted of a man he is. It sends chills on his back to know this kind of man is real and alive.

Jason sees red when the Joker shows his blood-covered spiked club, and drags it around. Then that clown raises that club in the air to swing it towards Tim, that’s when Jason snaps. His hand is shaking from the torturous pain on his leg, but his adrenaline from seeing it about to hit Tim beats the shaking fear and pain.

And before the Joker gets to land another blow, Jason pulls out his gun from the inside of his suit in one swift move and pulls the trigger twice. Both landed satisfyingly on both of the clown’s thighs, leaving two growing wet patches on his purple trousers.

But then the clown laughs cheerfully like he’s won.

The Joker called him Batman. The Joker called him Bruce.

The Joker begs to see ‘the loser’s’ deteriorated face as he begged to be killed by Batman.

Jason hesitates, he had a syringe of strong anesthesia shot on the pocket of his coat. He knows Tim and the rest of the vigilantes is against killing no matter how vile the villain. No matter how much body count the villain made.

Jason looks at the Joker’s ecstatic face, then to Tim’s near-death body.

Then Jason makes an indubitable decision.

Even with his broken leg, he stubbornly drags himself into the light.

Everyone knew the Joker’s fixation towards the bat, and Jason can’t risk to let out his screams when the clown beats his leg into a pulp.

When he speaks, his prediction was correct, the Joker knows instantly that he’s not Batman by voice. He sees the Joker’s mortified expression in a flash, to think a clown can frown like that.

He doesn’t give the genocidal clown the time to finish his sentence and put two bullets in his head. His brain splatters on the ground, and he dies with a mortified face.

Only after seeing the clown dead that Jason finally breathes, shaking in fear, cry, letting go of his nerves. He did okay for pretending to be brave and calm but he can’t believe what just happen.

He looks down to his leg, and see his right calf is bending forward. The tip of his foot almost touch his knees, and a bone is sticking out at the back of his calf.

It’s horrifying to see his own flesh and bones out in the open, and most of all, it fucking hurts, but Jason doesn’t let shock or pain cloud his mind too long.

He crawls over to Tim’s left side of the body right away. The blood that surrounds him ripples at Jason’s interruption and made him slip trying to crawl across. He carefully grabs Tim’s shoulder to lay him on his back and comb his hair away from his face.

His heart ached and his fingers twitch away immediately when he sees Tim’s face swollen in red, purple and yellow. Red cuts peppered here and there, and one is curve-shaped like the curve of the crowbar. Half his face is red with blood that pours from the wound in his head.

Not only that, Tim’s body does bulk up, but with the gashes here and there, the open flesh between the ripped suit, Tim looks delicate and frail. His sleeves, legs, and back is torn, he was shielding himself, because the scars are concentrated there, there might be bones broken underneath the blueing wound.

Then Jason spots a deep and bleeding gashed flesh on the side of Tim’s abdomen. Whether it’s from a stab or that fucking crowbar, it must’ve been deep to be still bleeding. Jason grabbed his suit, pressed it on the open wound, and tighten it with his belt, hoping it’s enough to stop the bleeding.

Jason pressed a finger on the back of Tim’s jaw and another under the nose.

Tim’s not breathing.

Jason’s heart stopped, and in an instant, his hand trembles.

“No... No, Timmy, stay with me.”

Jason hurriedly calls 911, but not to call the operator though.

“911 what’s-”

“Oracle! I know you can hear me send help, hurry he’s badly hurt!” and Jason hangs up before the operator can say another word.

Jason uses his knife to rip the suit down in the middle to get ready to perform CPR and he sees a few more curved shaped gashes there. Jason shivers at the sight, but he pulls himself together. He takes off his disguises, mustache, sunglasses, trench coat, suit, and tie so he can move better.

Jason tips Tim’s head back and stacks his palms above Tim’s bruised chest. He needs to be on his knees to be higher and stretch his arms, which means leaning on his broken leg. He breathes rapidly to prepare himself for the pain and quickly stood up on his knees.

His screams roar and echoed through the room. He’s breathing rapidly from the shocking pain of his broken leg, almost hyperventilating. He straightens his hands, that only then he realized are violently shaking and feeling frustratingly feeble. But he held his hands tight, putting all his strength to stiff his arms and starts to pump Tim’s chest. Pushing hard with the help of his body weight, and blowing air into his mouth every few pumps.

A chill runs down Jason’s neck, his hand starting to feel numb. He’s starting to lose his strength.

He does it a few more times. So, many more times, he lost track of time. But Tim doesn’t open his eyes, he couldn’t feel a heartbeat no matter how many times he checks between pushing.

Then his arms give up, and Jason’s torso fall on top of Tim’s, but he holds himself up with his legs, and he screamed at the stabbing pain in his leg.

Jason breathes, in and out, remembering Mrs. Knope’s pace.

“Urgh... Come on come one Jason pull yourself together,” Jason slaps himself across the face, hard.

With another scream, he raises up again and stars to pump harder, he cringed when he hears another bone broken under the pressure of his hands, but Jason kept trying.

“No... No, Timmy, you can do this.” Jason blows into his mouth.

Jason puts all his remaining strength on his arms, clenching his teeth every time his legs tortures him on every slight movement. He presses his shaking fingers under Tim’s jaw and still finds nothing.

He gets back up and is about to pump again, but a sudden sharp pain strikes his broken leg. Jason is starting to lose the feel of his hands, and they’re twitching violently now. Still, even with the excruciating pain, he stood up on his knees and put his hands together.

This time, when he pushed, his arms gave up and he fell on top of Tim. His elbows landed on the ground first and manage to hold him from landing his full weight on Tim.

His forearms sink into Tim’s pool of blood. Jason is terrified to see how much Tim is losing blood. He wants to get up but he doesn’t have enough strength to straighten his arms anymore, not enough to even push himself up.

“AAAAAAAAAH!” Jason roars in frustration, his throat hurts when he did. Using the last of his energy, he pulls his back and sits up.

Stubbornly, he tried to move his legs to stand again. He tried, with distressed screams, again and again, and always falls. He can’t even punch the ground in frustration.

“NO!” He cries out, screaming on top of his lung, then his sobs come out instead.

“No...” Jason put his left arm around Tim’s shoulder, his right on his waist, and pull him with the last drop of his energy.

He cradles Tim's shoulder and laying his limp head on his arms.

“Tim, wake up, please... Tim,” Jason sobbed desperately, but the battered face shows no sign of reaction.

“Tim! WAKE UP DAMMIT!” Jason screamed, shaking the shoulder in his arms lightly.

He cradles Tim’s face with his right hand, rubbing Tim’s cheeks with his thumb, careful not to touch the bruises and the cuts as if Tim can still feel the pain.

The spotlight above them hits Tim’s body. It accentuates everything Jason doesn’t want to see. The size of his swollen eyes. The stark red flesh inside his open wound doesn’t even bleed anymore. His eyelids are persistently closed. The lack of movement on his chest. His hair damps with his own blood. His pale busted lips. His pale face. And no matter how well Jason can see Tim under the lights, he can’t see any slight movement from the body in his arms.

A drop of tear landed on Tim’s face. Jason buries his face on the crook of Tim’s cold neck, and he let himself break there.

Jason cries harder, streams of tears running down his face as he cradles Tim’s neck. His other hand still on Tim’s shoulder and holds it tightly and close, desperate to find warmth from Tim’s body.

There’s none.

“This isn’t real... You have to get up Tim... You have to. I know you’re strong... You’re so strong, you can get back from this... You can get back up from anything... I’ve seen you.”

Jason lifts his head to see Tim’s face again, hoping something changed, something move, incase Tim hears him. Still nothing.

“Tim... Tim! Open your eyes... breathe Tim... Please, you’re safe now, get up... get up Tim.”

No matter how desperate and loud Jason begs and cries, no matter how tightly Jason hugs him, there’s nothing.

Jason feels a large chunk is being ripped away from his chest. What’s left is a terrifyingly deep hole with no end, and it keeps on ripping himself apart the longer he holds on to Tim’s body that lay motionless in his arms.

He lay his temple on top of Tim’s, feeling how cold the skin is against his and his tears pour harder. He takes in a deep shuddering breath at the chill of Tim’s skin. He picks up the smell Tim’s scent of sweat and that hint of baby powder mixed with mold and iron.

With his weak hands, he holds Tim as tightly as his strength allowed him. It’s the first time he had ever hold him this way.

His throat hurt from screaming, he felt like he can’t speak anymore, but the agony in his heart begs him to. Jason felt an overwhelming feeling of pain, and regret, enough to push him.

“Timmy... I love you,” he whimpered between his trembling lips with a painful strain in his voice. He presses his face against Tim’s that’s soberingly cold and sobs even harder.

The pain in his chest stabs even deeper, it left him breathless, but he still has so many things to say. Things that are too late to say.

“I’ll still love you even though you’ll go far far away for your mission, even though you won’t come back for a long time after that. I’ll still love you even though ramble about animes and mangas I don’t get,” Jason chuckled bitterly.

Jason shuts his eyes close, wincing at the feeling like there’s something twisting to dig into his heart.

It chokes him, pulverizing his heart and it ached more than his leg. The pain punches even more pathetic sobs out of his mouth instead of the things he’s too late to say.

Jason breathes through his clenched teeth, and he cried out with trembling voice.

“I’ll still love you even though you’re not mine to love, Tim, and... and I’ll still love you even though we’ll drift apart someday... Just don’t leave Tim... don’t leave me... don’t leave me here... don’t go... ” his voice cracks as the pain digs even further.

His arms around Tim’s body tighten, face buried on top of Tim’s head, and lips tightly pressed against the roots of Tim’s hair.

Jason breathes shakily, wailing desperate sobs against Tim’s cold skin. He rocks him gently back and forth, cradling the body dearly and close, sending light ripples on the pool of blood surrounding them.

His snapped leg is bleeding out too, and now he’s at the point that his vision blurs and tinted black inconsistently. But he tried to stay conscious, for Tim, in case help is coming.

Jason mutters Tim’s name under his weakened breath, begging him to open his eyes, begging Tim to not leave him, telling Tim how much he loves him.

All fall on deaf ears.

[narrymusings]

Give me a reason: to trust you again

This is a birthday prompt fill for Ryan @narryhadalittleliam – because it’s his birthday and I love him! I’d more or less asked him to give me a prompt because I needed to write something, and this is what he wanted so- If you don’t like the ending then you have him to blame. However, since it’s birthday, I’ll take the blame today.

He’s going to hate what I’m about to say about him, but I need to say it even though I’m terrible with words like this: Ryan is like my rock, a safety net, and a soft place for me to land whenever I feel like a mess all at the same time. He somehow always knows what to say, both for me when I can’t find the words myself and to me whenever I need them to be said. I admire him so fucking much – as a human being in general, as a writer, and as a friend. He’s one of the best people I know, one of my closest friends, and I adore him.

Have a very lovely birthday, babes.

NOW- I apologize in advance for what you’re about to read:

Give me a reason: not to leave

Give me a reason: not to hang up

Give me a reason: not to cry

Give me a reason: not to give up

[Prompt from this list.]

X

“You love me, right?”

Niall’s stomach drops. It’s like he can feel the air shift, can feel the tension build quickly with every passing second. He knows that something isn’t right. So much so, that he almost doesn’t want to answer. He takes a deep breath, licks at his suddenly dry lips, and swallows hard around the lump in his throat. “You know I do, Harry,” he says softly. (He’s afraid to ask why.)

Harry nods. Licks his lips. Runs a hand through his hair. Hesitates. Looks away. Takes a step back. Shoves both hands into his pockets. Looks at Niall with guilty eyes.

“What?” Niall asks. His voice sort of sounds like a plea. “What’s wrong?”

“I…”

The longer Harry’s silence drags on, the more anxious Niall feels. “Harry-“

“I slept with someone,” Harry says. His voice is barely a whisper, but it’s rushed and Niall barely hears it-

Except that he does. He does hear it. It knocks the breath right out of him, makes him feel sick to his stomach – makes him to want to scream, and shout, and cry all at the same time. But instead he just…blinks. It’s all he can muster. It’s all he can handle, whilst his legs threaten to give out. He wills himself not to fall into a heap in the middle of Harry’s living room; rests a hand against the back of the couch to hold himself up as backup. “W-What?”

“It was a mistake,” Harry rushes out, stepping forwards. (Niall takes an instinctive step back.) “It- Niall, it didn’t mean anything.”

It’s hard to blink and hold tears back at the same time, but somehow Niall manages as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “Who?”

“It’s not important-“

“It’s important to me,” Niall snaps.

Harry sighs, licks his lips. Pushes another hand through his hair. (He looks like a wreck, but Niall can guarantee that he probably looks worse.) “She was just a girl at a bar,” he whispers. “I was- I was drunk, too drunk. You- Niall, you weren’t answering your phone. I kept calling, I kept texting, and you wouldn’t answer me at all. I…I thought you were done with me. I thought that maybe you meant what you said the other night about how maybe we shouldn’t be together if it’s always this hard, and I thought- I thought I’d already lost you, and you wouldn’t even talk to me.

“I went out for a drink, just one. And there was this girl, and she was just…there, and- And the next thing I remember is waking up and getting the fuck out of there before she was even awake.”

The bile rises in his throat, but Niall forces it back down. He feels sick, and dizzy, and his chest hurts – hell, everything hurts. Everything. Nothing feels okay.

Harry slept with someone. He slept with someone else. He slept with someone who isn’t Niall. He cheated. He cheated.

Harry takes another step forward, and Niall finds himself taking a step back without even thinking about it. “Say something,” Harry begs. “Please, Ni- Say something.”

Niall blinks. His eyes are wet, rimmed red from the strain of not letting himself cry. His head hurts too. “I don’t- I can’t do this-“

“No, please,” Harry stutters. He reaches for Niall’s arm as he tries to move past. The only reason he succeeds in stopping him, is probably because Niall is too hurt to fight back – and it kills him. It kills them both. “Please don’t leave. Talk to me about it-“ 

“What am I supposed to talk about?” Niall scoffs. “You cheated on me, Harry. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

“Just- I dunno- Tell me how you feel,” Harry murmurs, strokes his thumb over the curve of Niall’s elbow.

Niall yanks his arm out of Harry’s gentle grip and then shoves him. He sees red as Harry staggers backwards one step. And then Niall pushes him again, and again, and again. He yells, and he screams, and he shouts – and he slaps open palms against Harry’s bare chest and he pushes, pushespushespushes. 

Everything hurts. Every fiber of his beings is in excruciating pain. His heart feels like it’s breaking – figuratively and literally. And suddenly he knows why it’s called that, a broken heart. It’s like it’s falling apart in his chest; like it’s breaking, ever so slowly and in the most painful way, into the tiniest of pieces. If dying of a broken heart is a thing, then Niall thinks he understands why.

Harry barely moves. Doesn’t even react. He takes it. He takes it because he knows he deserves it. It’s only fair, right? If Niall has to hurt, then so should Harry. Niall is hurting – is falling apart inside – because of him, and being an outlet for his pain and his rage is the least that Harry can do for him right now.

“That’s how I fucking feel,” Niall growls, as he pushes against Harry’s chest one more time. Harry’s chest is red with Niall’s handprints, and there are scratches where his nails caught Harry’s skin. Niall thinks he deserves worse than that. “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

“I know,” Harry whispers. He looks down, looks ashamed; like he hates himself too. “Just- Please don’t leave. We can talk this out. We can fix this.”

Niall wipes at his wet eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t even look at you.”

“That’s okay.”

Niall scoffs. “How am I supposed to fix this with you if I can’t even look at you?”

“It’ll take some time,” Harry murmurs, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ll make it up to you, I just need time. You just need to give me time-“

“I don’t need to give you a fucking thing,” snaps Niall. “Besides- Why should I give you time, when you couldn’t give it to me?

Harry frowns. “Niall-“

“A few days is all I asked for,” Niall mutters. “All I asked for was a few days to just…wind down. And instead of giving me that, you just- You just went out and fucked someone else like… Like I didn’t even matter-“

“You always matter.”

“Evidently not enough.”

“You weren’t talking to me, Niall,” Harry says. “You weren’t responding to me at all. I made a mistake.”

“When did you make this mistake? Last night?”

Harry nods, looks down at the ground.

“Nine hours, Harry,” Niall murmurs. “All you had to do was wait nine more hours.”

“You didn’t have to make me wait. You could have called me to tell me that you were coming. I wouldn’t have gone out last night if I’d known you were coming.”

Niall snorts. “So- It’s my fault that you cheated?”

Harry shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No, that’s not- Of course that’s not what I’m saying. I just-“

“You shouldn’t have jumped into bed with the first pretty thing that looked your way after I told you that I just needed some space.”

“Niall-“

“You need to give me a reason, Harry,” Niall says. “Give me a reason to trust you again. Give me a reason to even think about trusting you again.” (He hates it; how much it sounds like he’s pleading.)

Harry licks his lips. This time, when he takes a step forward, Niall doesn’t move backwards. Harry uses this new closeness to reach a hand out to cup Niall’s face. He strokes his thumb over Niall’s cheek. “I love you,” he whispers.

And Niall’s stomach turns over. He thinks about that first time this happened, and how the roles had been reversed; thinks about how he’d, technically, been the one to cheat even though they hadn’t actually been in a relationship, thinks about Harry begging him for a reason, thinks about how he’d told Harry that he loved him, hoping that that would be enough. He thinks about how it was enough back then. (He doesn’t know if it’s enough this time.)

“I love you so much,” Harry repeats. His voice his soft, but the look in his eyes is softer. He’s always had a way of stealing Niall’s breath, and so it’s no real surprise that now is no different. It just hurts more this time around, is all. “More than anything. I just- I made a mistake because my head was a mess. I thought you’d finally given up on me, and I didn’t think there was a reason for me to hang on – but I know now that there is, and I… I want this so badly, Niall. I’ll prove it. I’ll prove it to you every day. I’ll earn your trust back, and I’ll do whatever it takes.

“Please don’t walk away now. Give me a second chance.”

Niall bites the inside of his cheek. “It would be more than just your second chance.”

Harry nods.

The blond sniffs back more tears as he turns away from the boy in front of him, runs a hand through his hair and then back over his face. He swallows hard, again, around the lump in his throat as he walks around the edge of the sofa to put as much distance as he can between them. “Do you know what I keep thinking about?” he asks softly, albeit rhetorically. “I’ve got this…image in my head of you fucking some random bird – and I… I’ve never felt this sick in my entire life.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers.

“If I do this- If I stay with you, that’s… That’s- That image is something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life. And do you know what I’m going to think every time we fight and you take off to get some air? I’m gonna think that you’ve gone to some stupid fucking pub to pick up some girl that you can shag just because I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Niall-“

“I don’t think I can do that, Harry,” Niall murmurs. “I don’t think I can live like that.”

Harry blinks like he’s blinking back years – rapidly, desperately. He opens his mouth to speak, and then shuts it like he’s trying to figure out what to say. And then- “But you love me. You still love me. And I love you, and I will literally do anything to make this work. I’ll do anything, Ni.”

A tear trickles down Niall’s cheek, but he can’t even be bothered enough to care because he swears he can hear his heart breaking now – shattering apart in his chest. He feels sick with it.

“Niall, please-“

“I can’t, Harry.”

The brunet is in front of him, then. He’s in Niall’s space, holding Niall’s face between both hands and pressing their foreheads together – and Niall is so tired, too tired to push him away. “I love you,” he whispers. “Please, Niall- I love you, and I know I fucked up – I know that, but I love you.”

“Not enough, Harry,” Niall whispers.

“I do, I swear I do. And I know you love me-“

“I- I don’t think that’s enough anymore, Haz,” Niall whimpers. He hates himself. Hates how weak he feels. Hates how he’d rather just nod and forgive Harry and beg Harry to take him to bed so that he can just forget, than walk away like he knows that he has to. “I love you, Harry, but I don’t think that’s enough.” (Maybe it’s not enough for either of them.)

“Baby-“

“Please don’t,” Niall begs. Only then, does he start to push Harry away. Harry tries to fight him, tries to keep holding onto him, but Niall pushes him back. “Please stop touching me.”

And only then, does Harry stop. Only then, does Harry let go.

[selfiecharmedlife]

RE: So How Does It Feel

           A friend of mine visited me on my third night in the hospital. As soon as my caretaker left the room, there was a pause in our conversation and she whispered to me “So...how does it feel?” At the time, I was under heavy drugs and couldn’t really give a solid answer. However, a few other people have asked me different flavors of the same question. I wanted really get down to unpacking my experience in the hospital and first days at home both to answer that question without protective irony and to maybe put another resource out there for anyone also contemplating a vaginoplasty.

           As I said in my prior entries, I was not sleeping well in the days leading up to my surgery and was a wreck of anxiety. I picked up my caregiver on Monday evening from the airport and took the next day off work. Prior to surgery, my surgeon requested that I go on a clear liquid diet and bowel cleanse. Before I drank the bottle of magnesium citrate that would glue me to the toilet for the rest of the day, I cried to my caregiver about my cold feet. My aunts (on my mom’s side) and my mom had been sending me passive aggressive texts about how much I was hurting my mother and how worried they were that I would have regrets. Their manipulations worked and I was terrified that I was making the wrong choice. Part of me wanted to run away. However, after I drank that awful lemony liquid, I couldn’t run very far from the bathroom. I was committed.

           Early the next morning, my caregiver and I walked to the train station. Along the way, I kept ruminating on the sinking feeling in my gut and how scarred I was of what the next few days would bring. After we got to the hospital and I got checked in, she pulled my head onto her shoulder and told me it was ok to be nervous and even more ok the cry. Right there, all the tears I had been choking down came pouring out as we sat in the waiting room. Even though her daughter had broken our engagement, she was still treating me like her family and I felt like I had a mother for the first time in years. Eventually, they called my name and I went up to the prep room. After signing some forms, talking to doctors and fainting after they put an epidural catheter in my back, they wheeled me off to the OR. I don’t remember much past that. I was joking with the surgical team to help with my anxiety and then I woke up a few hours later.

           I don’t even remember being moved from the recovery room to my own private room. I would later find out that I fainted again when the staff moved me to the hospital bed. As they nurses were scrambling to get me stable, they started referring to me with he/him pronouns. Apparently, I met this with something to the effect of “I just cut my dick off, can you please respect me enough to call me a woman.” Go low-blood pressure Morgan! As I came back to reality, there was a sign on my door saying “I identify as female” that my caregiver had made and a note of my diagnostic board requesting that anyone use she/her to refer to me. Tragically, this didn’t stop the misgendering by some of the staff. Being stuck in a hospital bed for days and dependent on someone that is deliberately disrespecting you like that is an awful experience that I would not wish on anyone. Even a week later, it still hurts and has undermined a lot of my confidence especially in my face. Beyond that, I mostly just slept and ate for the rest of the first day.

           The second and third days were difficult. I was stuck in a bed and unable to move or feel my right leg thanks to the epidural having been placed off-center. I shitposted on twitter to pass the time and watched a lot of dateline mysteries on my hospital TV in between naps. My lower body was mostly one big bruise which made rolling over or even sitting up incredibly painful. Sleeping was hard and the tight surgical dressing around my thighs and lower abdomen was itchy at first and gradually became saturated in my blood. I had to sit there and wait 48 hours until my surgeon could remove it so by the second night I was sitting in a heavy wet medical diaper saturated in my own fluids. It was disgusting and I felt sick every time I moved. The relief I felt when it came off was short-lived because that was also the first time I would see my vagina. It just looked like a big bloody sore where my penis had been. It was swollen and covered in dried blood. I didn’t even call it my vagina during my stay in the hospital. I kept referring to it as “the surgical site.” When my surgeon left after the visit, I cried alone in my room.

           The next major step before being discharged was walking again. On the third day, a doctor removed my epidural and the nurses helped me up once I had feeling in my legs. The pain was excruciating, but I wanted to be out of that hospital so bad. I managed to waddle past the nurse’s station outside my room before my blood pressure crashed (for those of you keeping score, this makes three times) and I was rushed back to my room. I’m a very fit person with a low resting blood pressure. I also lost a lot of blood during the procedure, so I was a fragile maiden there for a few days. My catheter was removed around midnight that night and I had the big girl job of learning to pee again. It was a weird and painful sensation with more blood than urine. Unfortunately, the amount of packing in my vagina eventually put pressure on my urethra and I was unable to pee normally after that first time. I ended up sitting on the hard-plastic toilet next to my bed in tears because a nurse had left me there and I was both afraid to stand on my own and unable to pee. I felt like a disaster of a human and had to be re-catheterized when the backed-up urine in my bladder became too painful.

           I was eventually able to walk with assistance and that was enough for me to get sent home on the Saturday following my procedure. My caregiver and I climbed into a lyft and headed back home. The next two days were miserable. I spent a lot of time struggling find comfortable ways to sit, bleeding through my clothes, almost fainting again and crying. There was a moment where I was struggling in the shower and almost accepted that my aunts were right.

           It did get much better though. On Monday morning, I had my first post-op appointment. Again, I almost fainted on the drive there because my body screamed in pain whenever the driver took a turn on Rock Creek Parkway. There are a lot of twists and turns on Rock Creek Parkwat. I got into the stir-ups and probed my surgeon and his PA for feedback on how I was doing and told them how awful I felt. After they took out the packing and went over the process of dilating, they left me in the room. I cried in the stirrups before I cried even more while getting dressed. Something had changed though, standing didn’t hurt as much anymore. They had been able to get so much width and depth out of me that the amount of packing in my vagina was adding a lot of pressure. For reference, I am able to get to the second to last dot on the biggest dilator which is apparently much wider and deeper than the average cis woman’s vagina. From that point on, every day has been a massive step forward. I went from being unable to leave the house, to walking assisted, to walking unassisted for short walks, to being able to now walk almost normally.

           To answer the question “how does it feel.” If feels flat and that’s wonderful. Every day since I’ve had the packing removed and started dilating has been better than the last. As much as I was dreading the weird alien-looking medical dildos that are now with me for life, having to take time to feel my vagina and stretch things out has helped a lot both mentally and physically. It feels like part of me now and I love it. As the swelling has gone down, I can imagine how it’s going to look and seeing myself in the mirror without a bulge gives me the biggest rush of dopamine. I’ve been smiling for days now even though my abdomen is still a big bruise and I have some significant discomfort. Still, I’m way ahead of where I was told I would be mostly thanks to my level of fitness prior to the surgery. Yes, having low-resting blood pressure did cause me to faint a lot, but having low body fat also meant that there was less tissue to cut during the procedure. As of one-week post-op, I’ve been able to move around well enough to restart HRT and re-feminize my face and figure after the three weeks of discontinuation was starting to show. My pain is also manageable with just Tylenol and I’ve been able to avoid oxycodone.

There is still a lot of work left to do, but I’m *so* glad I did this. For all the pain and all the anxiety, I feel like me right now. I have a vagina now and I really love her a lot even if she’s kinda gross sometimes. I’m looking forward to getting to know each other better and whatever adventures we’re going to have.

[midnightmilkbar]

The Unthinkable Has Happened

In 2016, I got engaged, I completed my Master’s degree, and I started running. Out of these three, the third is the only one that gets a response of utter incredulity and shock. This is not because people aren’t excited about my engagement, or proud of my academic achievements. It is because the third thing is bizarre.  

It is because I am the most unlikely runner, in the world. Ever.

In fact, people aren’t just shocked and incredulous: they are disbelieving. Frequently, they just burst out laughing. This morning, Callum was on the phone to a family member and when he was asked “How’s Jem,” he answered “She’s good, she has turned into a fanatic runner” and I could actually hear the person on the other end of the phone laughing from the other side of the room.

When I told my best friend in the UK over Skype that I had started running, she stopped speaking for so long that I thought the screen had frozen. She kindly apologised for being so surprised, but she pointed out that her overarching memories of any physical exertion on my part while we were at university are limited to my bending over double, completely out of breath, after climbing the (small) staircase to our Friday morning classes. I actually wrote a blog a while ago about my hilarious, failed attempts at running- (http://jemimamiddleton.tumblr.com/post/95464943339/writer) and it was absolutely accurate. 

Callum’s reaction has shifted from utter bewilderment, to faint amusement, to acceptance- and, dare I say it- pride. After a month of this new ‘hobby’ had passed, and I was still doing it (usually I give up after about 10 days), I think he started to think it might actually be a thing. He has never actually seen me run- he has zero interest in joining me, and I’m fine with that (the fewer witnesses I have, the better), but he supports me in many other, more important ways.

So how did this happen, and why does it matter? Well it doesn’t, really, except that I can honestly say, if I can enjoy running, ANYONE CAN. Seriously, anyone. I have been saying “I can’t run” for 15 years, probably since the last time I was forced to run the 1500m at school, and I have proved that this is a myth. 

Running isn’t fun. If anyone tells you that it is, they’re lying. It is especially unfun when you start. It’s awkward, it’s painful, it’s a mini kind of hell. During my first run, I was suddenly very acutely aware of all of my limbs, and how little control I had over them. I felt like my legs were made of lead, my feet two blocks of wood on the end, and my flailing arms were useless, giant sausages. I also didn’t get very far. By the end of my road, I thought I might throw up, I was seeing little stars that wouldn’t disappear despite frantic blinking, and my lungs were surely exploding out of my chest. I hobbled home.

The next time I ran, I was going slightly better- the nightmarish lead legs weren’t so noticeable, my arms seemed to be doing what they were supposed to, and I didn’t see stars for at least 10 minutes. However, when I turned around and ran back along the pier, the sun was behind me, and I was forced to look down at my shadow. Dear god, what WAS I DOING. I tried to ignore the grey, uncoordinated image of my body that was spread out on the concrete in front of me, but I was transfixed. Even my hair shadow looked awful. Once again that painful awareness of my own awkward, flailing body parts came back, and I longed for it to be over. 

I didn’t run again for a while.

Then I got engaged. I also got a bit fat. Now don’t get me wrong- I’m not a lunatic, I have a healthy respect for my body and how it looks. But there was no doubt about it, I was getting squidgy, my regular clothes weren’t fitting nicely, and suddenly I was faced with trying on wedding dresses. After one particularly sweaty ordeal in a rather snooty bridal shop in London, with the poor (stick-thin) assistant trying to squeeze me unceremoniously into one of their bespoke gowns, and a truly horrid moment when I heard a distinct tear as she squashed my bottom into it, I realised I wasn’t happy and I needed to sort it out. There’s nothing like wedding dress incentive to get you off the sofa and outside. 

I couldn’t afford to join a gym. I couldn’t even afford the monthly yoga membership that I had tried before, and I was getting quite tired of trying and failing to find that inner yogi peace whilst surrounded by silky, bronzed Capetonians with their slinky legs and rock-hard abs. I needed something with minimal logistical effort, that I could do fairly discreetly, that was ideally free. 

Then someone suggested I try doing a Park Run. These are organised all over the world, every Saturday morning, and they are all 5km. There happens to be one that operates about 4 minutes away from my house. Very apprehensively, I signed up (it’s completely free) and the following Saturday I donned my only ‘exercise’ clothes (yoga leggings and a vest) and took Simbira with me for moral support. There were about 700 people there, some with their dogs, some pushing prams, running with their kids, their spouses, their grandchildren- you name it. Everyone was friendly, everyone was cheerful. I tried not to feel nervous- I could just walk it if i wanted, I reminded myself.

We set off, the first kilometre a hectic scramble of people jostling each other and trying to stay upright. I could only barely jog at this stage, and a woman actually fell behind me very early on. She was quickly scooped up, and I concentrated very hard on where I placed my feet, so as not to do the same thing. 

I didn’t die. I didn’t even feel like I might be sick, or pass out. I did have to walk a few times, and I took Simbira to have a paddle in the river when she got too hot (and when I couldn’t breathe). But I kept going- the magical thing is, I am naturally competitive, despite being naturally un-sporty, so having 700 people running around me ensured that I finished that run, in a respectable time. I couldn’t quite believe it. I was exhausted, but definitely pleased with myself. 

That was 2 months ago. I’m now running almost every day, and just signed up for my first Trail Series. The challenge, after I realised how much I enjoyed the Park Run, was how to keep going by myself. When I’m not motivated by 700 other people, I find it all too easy to walk, or even to call it a day and go home before I have really gotten into my stride. 

I tried running whilst listening to music. I found this quite stressful- I kept changing my pace according to what song I was listening to, and I also hated the realisation of how loud and unseemly my breathing was whenever the song stopped. I read an article that suggested listening to audiobooks instead- so i downloaded Audible to my iPhone, and managed to get all the Harry Potter’s for free. Suddenly, listening to Stephen Fry narrate The Prisoner of Azkaban made running easier, somehow. Enjoyable, even. (Not always, but occasionally). I also started (gently) investing in some gear. I already had some very good shoes, thanks to my Dad insisting that I get them fitted properly a year ago. I really laugh now when I think about how I confidently stepped aboard the shop’s treadmill that day when instructed to, and started ‘running’ so that the man could analyse my gait. I was out of breath within 10 seconds, and had to pretend that I was totally fine, whilst other customers walked past the shop window.

There is so much other kit out there. You can go completely mad. I have become quite obsessed, and have to exercise serious restraint whenever I am in the vicinity of a sports shop. There are just so many amazing leggings, shorts, stretchy sports bras and vests that you can wear. My washing line now barely sees anything else- it’s the comfiest clothing ever! I hate wearing normal bras now. I have also found that THE MOST USEFUL THING YOU CAN BUY is, in fact, a moonbag. Or a bum bag. Or a fanny pack. Or WHATEVER it is you call it- I used all these names in the shops whilst trying to find one, and was laughed at a lot. In South Africa it’s a moonbag, and my god it’s the best thing I own. Fashionable? Er, no. Flattering? Absolutely not. But you can fit your keys, phone and even some sweets in there, which is all you need.

I have had some disasters, and I’m sure I will have more. One afternoon I tripped and fell over a tree root (the perils of trail running) and landed flat on my face, with a very sore ankle. I was somewhat dazed, and still had The Chamber of Secrets blaring into my ears, so I wasn’t really sure what was going on- but Simbira was there, licking my face, and I was not badly hurt- just rather embarrassed. 

I learnt very early on that I had to be realistic about how much I could run. I started to get excruciating pain in my calves both during and after a run, and when I asked more experienced running friends why this was happening, they all responded in horror that I was mad to be attempting to run every day. Rest days are non-negotiable, it turns out. Especially if you’re an idiot novice, which I definitely am.

I have also learnt the very crucial lesson of going to the loo before you run. It’s MOST unpleasant if you forget. That goes for your dog companion too- running with a full poo bag that you might accidentally whack into another unsuspecting runner is not advised. 

I fear there may be more updates about my running exploits. I apologise for this in advance. But, I reiterate- if you think you can’t do it, that’s rubbish. You just have to want to do it enough. The thought of a wedding dress did it for me, but the benefits have been so much greater than I imagined. A friend recently confessed that, for her, running is like Prozac. That ‘runner’s high’ thing might sound ludicrous, and cheesy, but I have to admit there’s a sliver of truth in it. I don’t think I have experienced it fully yet- but I can’t deny that something makes me get up and go and run again. And again.