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scoops-aboy86 · 7 months

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I've had a terrible day, comment to ease my turmoil?

Oh, and towards the end of this chapter, “Luck can’t fix stupid” is just Eddie being hard on himself. He is a good boy who is trying his best.

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 of the love spell no go au

By morning, Eddie wakes to find that he’s rolled over in the night and Steve has burrowed into his arms. Hair that smells of Eddie’s shampoo tickles at his nose, and Steve is warm. A tingling under Eddie’s fingertips where they’re draped across Steve’s back tell him that his healing spells are still working—maybe that’s why Steve is sleeping so peacefully that it’s already dawn.

Nancy was supposed to have woken Steve for his guard shift, probably hours ago. Huh.

Eddie wants to melt into this and soak it up, just in case he never gets another chance, but… there’s too much going on right now to get caught up in whatever this might be. Better to take a page from Steve’s book and let it be, hold his tongue and wait until they’re not dealing with an interdimensional catastrophe.

Careful not to wake the (beautiful, brave, captivating) boy in his arms, he extracts himself carefully from the bed. He can’t resist leaving a soft kiss on Steve’s temple before he goes, though, his heart clenching and expanding and basically exploding in his chest when Steve shifts with a sigh and presses his full body into the space Eddie just vacated, seeking the lost body heat and breathing deeply against Eddie’s pillow. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.

Instead of crawling right back into bed like he wants to, Eddie slinks out of the room and down the short hallway to the living room, eyes averted from the fleshy gash in the ceiling. Nancy is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed as she stares up at it—but her eyes are clear, and she refocuses on Eddie as soon as he clears his throat.

“So, uh,” he croaks, throat still rough from sleep. “Watch system kinda broke down, didn’t it?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nancy replies, too quick not to be at least a little defensive.

Eddie peers past her to Robin, who is asleep face-down on the couch with his uncle’s scratchy wool blanket draped over her. “Not saying I blame you there, Wheeler, but. Did you try?”

After a pause, Nancy lets out a breath that seems to come from all the way down to her toes, stiff shoulders slumping just a little and world weary in a way that no teenager should have to sound. “No.”

He flashes her a brittle smile, because yeah, he gets it. The only reason he’d managed any shut-eye was probably thanks to Steve’s reassuringly steady breathing at his back. “Fair enough. Instant coffee?”

There’s only the slightest twitch of distaste in her expression (he’s betting the Wheelers can afford actual coffee beans and shit) before she nods. “Coffee would be great.”

Which kind of makes him feel like a waiter, but he did offer. Eddie puts his back firmly to the gate and pokes around the kitchen for a pot to fill with water, pours it into four different mugs once it’s come to a boil, and dutifully stirs in the shitty off-brand Folgers.

He sips his own somberly, pensive. All his life, it’s been drilled into him that magic is to be kept secret, cast in the shadows and never so flashy that it would draw too much outside attention. That’s what had gotten his dad locked up.

But this group already knows about magic, even if they only refer to it as such using dnd metaphors that are actually more accurate than they think. Hell, maybe psychic powers are just a different method of spell casting—that’s deeper into magic theory than he usually ventures to go, though, so whatever. Not important right now. The point is… they could all die. It’s a very real possibility, especially for Max, and Eddie’s seen how that goes twice now. If there’s anything he can do to help, he has to try.

Which means… he has to tell them.

After Nancy recounts what Vecna showed her, after they formulate a plan that makes Eddie’s stomach clench and roll with dread, Eddie opens his mouth and says, “Guys, I have to tell you something.”

They sit patiently if a little incredulously through his explanation. A little more credulously once he gives a demonstration, turning an apple from the Mayfield’s kitchen blue, then, purple, then neon orange, then back to red and slicing it down the middle into an even seven pieces without so much as touching it.

Dustin speaks up first, because of course he does—interrogating him about what offensive and defensive spells he knows, leading with examples that Eddie recognizes almost word for word from the Monster Manual. Lucas joins in after a minute, the boys’ enthusiasm snowballing until suddenly they’re drafting a list of things they want to see if Eddie can do.

It’s Steve who ends up putting a stop to that, snapping. “Hey shitheads, he’s not a show pony and he’s not going to do tricks just to satisfy your scientific whatever, alright? You wouldn’t do that to Eleven, we’re not doing it to Eddie.”

“Scientific method, Steve,” Dustin grumbles, but relents. Eddie shoots a grateful look to Steve over the kid’s shoulder, and the smile he gets in return makes his heart do a flip.

“I can’t do big shit like Vecna,” he cautions everyone, now that he can get a word in edgewise again. “But I can do smaller stuff. Protection charms on clothes, spells to make sure we don’t miss what we’re aiming for, that kind of thing. I can help, I’m just… not your point guy. I’m no Supergirl.”

Max snorts at the Supergirl part, but speaks up with a grave, “As the person sticking out my neck for this crazy plan, not missing sounds nice.”

That seems to clinch it. And next up, they need to stock up on weapons, so…

It was waking up to a cuddly Steve Harrington that did it, Eddie swears. That, and adrenaline from staring down the barrel of the balls-to-the-wall insane plan the group has concocted, because Eddie is surrounded by fucking heroes aparently. He doesn’t feel very heroic.

Because he says things like “It’s not exactly a car, Steve” with a devilish smirk, and not asking but telling Steve that he’s driving the stolen RV, the words big boy tumbling out like his mouth has a fucking mind of its own. And each of those times, Steve blinks back at him with something in those hazel eyes, which Eddie is trying so hard to tell himself he doesn’t know how to read, but he wants.

There isn’t time to do anything about it, though. When the RV’s rightful owners start banging on the door, adrenaline sends Steve leapfrogging into the driver’s seat and Eddie scrambling to get away from the windows so he won’t be spotted. They roar out of the trailer park with the kids whooping in the back, caught up in the adventure of it.

Eddie feels like everything is going wrong and about to get worse, but he’s felt that way ever since Chrissy died so that’s nothing new. At least Steve stays in the RV instead of going into the War Zone, even if it takes Robin pointing out that the entire high school had seen them talking at Eddie’s locker on Friday and some probably noticed them sitting together at the game—because yeah, Lucas had told them what Jason Carver had done to Gareth, and Eddie doesn’t want anyone else hurt because some vigilante jock thinks they might be harboring him.

“Sorry,” Eddie tells him after the others are gone. When Steve gives him a blank look, he adds, “That you’re a known associate of The Freak.” He nods towards the back of the RV where the two boys are wrapped up in a conversation of their own. “It’s bad enough that Lucas and Dustin are in the crosshairs, but they at least signed up for Hellfire.”

Steve frowns. “You’re my friend, Eddie, I don’t care who knows that. It shouldn’t even matter.”

“Dude, all of this shouldn’t be happening, but it is. It does matter. A hell of a fucking lot.” Eddie braces his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

After a moment, a hand presses tentatively between his shoulder blades, shifting reassuringly up and down. It’s a big hand. Eddie is almost disappointed that he’s too upset to fully appreciate the contact.

As it is, he groans into his hands and shrugs the touch off. “Steve, I should… I have to tell you something.” And you might not want to keep touching me after you hear it, he doesn’t say out loud.

“What is it?”

Eddie lifts his head with a flick of his hair and a quick flail of his hands. “That was—I just cast a little privacy spell, if you were wondering. So the kids can’t eavesdrop.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “Do you do that a lot? Just do magic like that? Because, you move your hands around a lot…”

He can’t help but smirk a little at that. “Not as much as you’d think. It’s a good cover if I have to, though.”

Steve’s eyes are wide and curious, his irises a honeyed brown tinged with spots of green. “Have you ever used magic on me?”

Aaand there it is. Eddie looks down at his hands, now clasped across bare his knees where time and wear have reduced the denim to strings. “Yep.”

“Like what?”

So Eddie tells him about the love spell.

Magic, considering everything else Steve has seen over the past few years and especially the past few days, isn’t much of a stretch to accept. That trick with the apple had helped, but for the most part he’s learned to just push through the confusion and listen to whoever sounds the most certain about it.

And Eddie sounds pretty certain that he’s ruined Steve’s life.

But that’s… not right. His life doesn’t feel ruined. He has Dustin and Robin. Yeah, he keeps ending up in life or death situations, but that gives him a sense of a purpose and might have happened anyway, because it’s not like Eddie’s one spell back when they were underclassmen created Hawkins Lab or Henry Creel out of thin air.

A big part of Steve is elated, actually. Eddie likes him. Or liked him, enough to try and secure his heart with magic. Maybe that elation is from the spell, but honestly? The world might end tonight and any of them might die trying to stop it, so he’ll take any good feeling he can get regardless of where it’s coming from.

When he tells Eddie as much, the guy looks about ready to cry.

Before he can protest, Steve says, “I know you think you made me feel this way and that it’s like—” he frowns, unable to remember the way Eddie had put it “—violating my self-asomething-or-other, but fuck that. Your uncle said it wouldn’t have worked if I could never have liked you on my own, right? And I… In high school, people just hung around and I could never figure out why. Magic is as good an explanation as any, I guess. But with you, I had to work to get you to be my friend. I had to earn it. The more I got to know you the more I knew you’re a great guy, so by the time we were friends it felt like I’d really accomplished something, you know? You’re really nice, once you get past the prickly attitude—”

“Prickly?” Eddie mutters, quiet like he wants to interrupt but still feels a little too guilty to quite dare. Steve gets it; he knows how guilt can be, especially when it’s guilt for a stupid reason.

“—And you’re smart, way smarter than me. The teachers who failed you are either full of shit or bad at their jobs, probably both. You’re so creative it blows me away, keeping track of all that Dungeons and Dragons stuff and making up entire worlds and all the people that go in them. And you have a great smile, with dimples and everything, and your hands are… And the way you watch me sometimes, like I’m the only person in the room even if we’re in a crowd, it feels really good.”

Eddie is getting more red by the second, a flush starting in his cheeks and threatening to go all the way to his chest at the compliments. Which, okay, Steve knows he’s gushing, but he’s been bottling all this up for a while and he’s not used to that. When it comes to love he’s usually an all-in kind of guy, and holding back had led to a quiet but snotty breakdown in Robin’s arms the night before.

… Damn, he’s going to have to admit that she was right about Eddie being into guys (into him), though.

“Steve,” Eddie says, and he sounds longing. Music to Steve’s ears.

“I wanted the championship game to be a date,” Steve blurts. Because he’s already mentioned Eddie’s dimples and his hands, might as well go all in.

Eddie’s blush intensifies, the start of that dimpled grin Steve loves so much on his face. “I… I did too.”

“So… after the game, when you went off with Chrissy…”

“That was just business,” Eddie says quickly, and Steve ducks his head to try and hide the relieved grin. “I mean, I wanted to help her, but I’m, uh. It’s always been just guys for me.”

“It’s both for me,” Steve tells him, glancing up through his eyelashes. He notices the way Eddie’s hand twitches, wanting to reach out but unsure, so he reaches over and tentatively lays his fingers over Eddie’s ringed ones. “Is that… okay?”

Eddie bites his lip, and just as tentatively twines their fingers together. “Y-yeah, I think so. This is—Shit, yeah.”

“Would it make you feel better if… I don’t know, is there a way to turn the spell off?”

“Not really, magic doesn’t—” Eddie starts, but then stops, frowns. “Uh. My uncle did teach me something to undo magic once, but it’s a whole… thing. Like pulling a ripcord on a parachute, and, yeah, you stop falling as fast, but it jerks you around first. And it would ‘turn off’ every spell I’ve ever cast.”

Before Steve has a chance to react to that, they’re interrupted by the rest of the group crashing back into the RV. Steve is up and barely even registers the remnants of Eddie’s privacy spell clinging to his face like invisible cobwebs. He spots Jason Carver out of the corner of his eye just before pulling out of the parking lot and, fuck.

The rest of the day is too busy and tense to speak to Eddie alone, and Steve has a creeping worry (which he tries to ignore) that maybe Robin is right; maybe they aren’t going to be okay this time.

Eddie doesn’t get to have nice things. Like an unbroken family, or a high school diploma, or Steve Harrington.

He knows this. It’s deeply embedded in the reason he chickens out at the last minute, shaping his possible last words to Steve into, “Make him pay.” In that moment where their eyes had met he’d felt every loose thread, every unspoken thing between them weighing on him like a ton of bricks, and he regrets everything. Even though there hadn’t been time. He wonders if Steve regrets not saying whatever was on his mind back at the trailer, while the water was running… And from the way Steve looks back at him before nodding and turning to go, Eddie thinks he can hear the hollowness in it.

Steve has similar hollowness, Eddie knows. Parents whose attention has always seemed to ghost right over him ever since Barbara Holland, leaving Steve to drift all alone in that big house until he felt like a phantom. They know these things about each other; they’ve talked about it all while high (everything except the Eddie wanting Steve part… and, apparently, an entire alternate universe full of monsters). And Steve gets it, even though Eddie wishes he didn’t. Wishes Steve’s life could be easy streets and clear sailing (ha, ahoy) so that Eddie wouldn’t have to feel so seen, stripped bare of all his armor.

Even his battle vest is still in Steve’s possession, hidden under the thick army jacket.

And it’s ironic, really, that Steve thinks he’s the stupid one but Eddie forgot about the goddamn air vents in the trailer. There isn’t really a spell to protect against that; luck can’t fix stupid.

So he does the best he can think of, if it can be called thinking at this point: flings a stealth spell at Dustin so the bats will be more likely to forget about him, cuts the sheet-rope, and bolts out the door. He grabs a bike and pedals as hard as he can, just trying to get away, and in the blankness of his panicking-in-overdrive mind an idea begins to form.

When one of the bats gets caught in the spokes and Eddie goes down, he’s up almost immediately and spitting the words Wayne taught him when he was still small—before his uncle got custody but after his mom started getting sick, when Eddie’s dad had first started getting reckless.

The swarm of flying monsters descends on him while he’s still screaming the spell. After the last syllable, bleeding and knocked around by the attack, the ripcord pulls and Eddie is slammed into darkness.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 9, part 10, part 11

#scoops words #love spell no go au #wg steddie #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #the big magic reveal to the group is kind of underwhelming next to the threat of the apocalypse #it's as good a time to sneak it in there as any #instead of steve talking to nancy about his six little nuggets dream in the woods again he tells robin about the love spell #boy couldn't keep a secret from her if he tried

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greatpestilenz · 1 year

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Secrets Unveiled - Miles Morales x Reader

The soft ping of a text message broke the tranquility of the evening as you stood in the kitchen, preparing a snack. Glancing at your phone, you saw a message from Miles, your boyfriend, saying he was on his way over. A smile tugged at your lips, and you quickly replied, letting him know that you were in the kitchen making a snack.

After half an hour, you made your way back to your room, a plate of delicious grilled cheese sandwiches in your hands. As you pushed open the door, you froze in your tracks, the plate almost slipping from your grasp.

You freeze in your tracks at the sight that greeted you. Miles Morales, dressed head to toe in his Spider-Man suit, was in the midst of climbing through your window. His mask was partially pulled up, revealing the lower half of his face.

"M-Miles?" you stammered, unable to hide your surprise.

Startled, Miles froze mid-motion, caught red-handed. The surprise had unintentionally revealed his secret identity as the web-slinging hero.

"I-I can explain!" he blurted out, his words tumbling out in a rush as he pulled his mask off. He stepped fully into the room, his Spider-Man suit clinging to his lithe frame.

You stood in the doorway, the plate of grilled cheese forgotten in your hands, as confusion washed over you. You had no idea that Miles was Spider-Man, the web-slinging hero who protected the city.

"Miles... what... what is going on?" you managed to ask, your voice filled with bewilderment.

Miles took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "I'm Spider-Man," he confessed, his voice filled with a mix of nerves and sincerity. "I've been protecting the city, fighting crime, and... keeping it a secret from you."

Your mind whirled with the revelation, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The late nights, the excuses, the secretiveness, not to mention the times he mysteriously disappears, the way he always seemed to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time—all of it finally made sense. But amidst the confusion, a feeling of admiration began to bloom in your heart.

"Spider-Man," you whispered, the weight of the truth settling on your shoulders. "You've been doing all of this, and I had no idea."

Miles nodded, his gaze filled with vulnerability. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner," he said softly. "I didn't want to put you in danger or burden you with the weight of my secret. But I understand if you're upset."

You looked at him, the love you felt for him mingling with the astonishment. Despite the shock of the revelation, you couldn't deny the admiration and pride that swelled within you.

"I may not have known, Miles, but that doesn't change how I feel about you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "You're still the person I fell in love with—kind, brave, and selfless. And if being Spider-Man is a part of who you are, then I accept that."

Relief washed over Miles, and a genuine smile graced his lips. He stepped closer, reaching out to take the plate of grilled cheese from your hands. Setting it aside, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace.

"I'm so lucky to have you," Miles murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for understanding, for accepting all of me."

As you stood in each other's arms, the truth and vulnerability of the moment deepened the bond between you. Miles had unveiled his secret, and in doing so, had given you the chance to embrace him fully, both as the person you loved and as the hero he had become.

From that moment on, your relationship took on a new level of trust and understanding. Miles shared more about his experiences as Spider-Man, the challenges he faced, and the victories he achieved. And you, in turn, became his confidante, offering support and encouragement whenever he needed it.

The revelation also brought about a sense of adventure and excitement to your relationship. You accompanied Miles on his web-swinging escapades, watching in awe as he leaped from building to building, his agility and bravery on full display.

But amidst the exhilaration, you never lost sight of the person beneath the mask. Miles was still the caring and compassionate boyfriend who made your heart skip a beat. The added knowledge of his secret identity only deepened your love and admiration for him.

Together, you navigated the challenges that came with Miles being Spider-Man. You became his anchor, a source of strength and stability in a world of constant motion and danger. And through it all, your love grew, forging an unbreakable bond between you.

As you sat together in your room, the plate of grilled cheese long forgotten, you gazed into each other's eyes. In that moment, you knew that you were part of something extraordinary. You were sharing a love that transcended the boundaries of ordinary life, a love that thrived in the face of adversity.

"Miles," you whispered, your voice filled with tenderness. "I love you, Spider-Man and all."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with affection. "And I love you, too," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "Thank you for accepting all of me, for being by my side, and for loving both the ordinary and extraordinary parts of my life."

As you leaned in for a gentle kiss, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the unbreakable connection you shared. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you were ready to face them together, bound by a love that defied the ordinary and embraced the extraordinary.

#fanfic #fanfic writing #spider-man: across the spider-verse #miles morales #miles morales x reader

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capseycartwright · 2 years

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If it sparks joy:

"In my defense, I thought it would go better than this."

“In my defence,” Eddie said, pausing, looking around the disaster that his kitchen had become in the last few hours. To anyone who’d just walked in – like Buck had, for example – it probably looked like a nuclear warzone. Eddie had sort of had time to get used to the mess he was elbow deep in. “I thought it would go better than this.”

Buck’s brow furrowed, as he looked around. “I – Eddie, what were you trying to do?”

“Well,” Eddie wiped his hands on a dish towel. If nothing else, his hands were clean – it was sort of futile, he realised, given his clothes were destroyed in a mix of flour, and egg, and chocolate. “Okay, well – it’s your birthday,” he offered, because that’s where the train of thought had begun - Buck had never been a big birthday person, and Eddie knew why, of course, but he had taken it upon himself to give Buck a special day.

Eddie liked birthdays – he always had, if he was honest, and even more so since Christopher had come along. The joy of having a child, Eddie would tell anyone, was getting to be a child yourself sometimes. Frank, Eddie knew, would call that healing his inner child – and Eddie didn’t really disagree. That was part of the train of thought too – Eddie knew it was cheesy, but he thought that maybe he could help heal Buck’s inner child, too.

So – he’d gone to the grocery store, and he’d bought all the ingredients for the chocolate cake Linda had given him the recipe for (which he hadn’t been brave enough to try, yet) and he’s set to work making something worthy of a birthday.

Except, well – Eddie was a better cook, now, and he’d spent a lot of time following recipes diligently, but cake was apparently something that was out of his reach.

Buck still looked confused. “Uh – yeah.”

“Well,” Eddie shrugged. “I wanted to make you a cake.”

Buck’s face did something terribly complicated. “You wanted to make me a cake? W – why?”

Why?

Why wouldn’t he? Eddie – well, it was obvious, he thought, to everyone, that Eddie loved Buck a lot. Whether you read that as platonic – or more, which was frankly more accurate – the fact Eddie loved Buck was pretty clear. He loved his best friend, and he wanted to do something nice for him, not just because of his birthday, but because Eddie liked to do nice things for his best friend.

He told Buck as much, and then Buck’s face did something even more complicated.

And then Buck was kissing him.

Eddie couldn’t help the noise of surprise that escaped him as Buck’s lips crashed against his, the kiss one Eddie could feel right to his toes. He’d thought about kissing Buck a lot – imagined all sorts of first kisses – but he’d never imagined it going quite like this. Kissing Buck was – well, it felt a lot like every piece of the puzzle of Eddie’s life was slotting into place.

Despite the literal, physical mess surrounding them.

There was a smudge of chocolate on Buck’s upper lip as they broke apart, and Eddie couldn’t help but kiss it away – because that felt like something he could do, now.

“Thank you,” Buck breathed, his eyes shiny with tears that Eddie didn’t mind being responsible for – because he knew they were happy ones, for once. “For caring.”

Eddie smiled. “It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Buck.”

send me a sentence and i'll write you a mini fic

#911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #prompt fill

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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year

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Hi! I was wondering if I could get a Brenda x Fem!Reader where Brenda is sort of the Reader’s gay awakening and the boys all tease the Reader about her crush on Brenda?? All when they first meet her please. Love you! Hope you’re doing well 🥰🥰

YESSSS FINALLYYYYYY.

Brenda is easily my second favourite character. I feel like my favourite is obvious at this point. Ik people hate on her in the books (and love her in the films) but I think she was an interesting character.

Definitely a crush of mine so I'm happy to actually write for her.

Though, this one is a bit shorter because writing dialogue from the movies for every single fic is seriously starting to slow me down lol- I'm doing this bad boy from memory. And since this is a simpler idea that takes place in a short space of time- less words, yanno. Hope y'all understand.

AWAKENING

MASTERLIST | BRENDA MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Movie based fic.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, the Scorch, no actual romance because the prompt is all about teasing and you being a disaster gay, mention of Newtmas because even if Tommy doesn't see Newt that way- it's pretty much canon that Newt had a thing for Thomas. WICKED being WCKD because movie.

The boys were thrilled when a girl showed up in the Glade. They thought that they'd finally have a shot at flirting and maybe even get somewhere with it.

Luckily, Alby was there to shut that down real fast.

And you took no interest in any of them.

You liked them plenty enough. Minho's protective and funny. Newt's realistic. Frypan is a good cook and keeps spirits up. Thomas is brave. Teresa is... there.

Teresa. That's an interesting one. She's pretty by any means, but you never really liked her. She distracted Thomas and clearly has different views to the rest of you- which became obvious when you escaped WCKD into the Scorch.

Dealing with Cranks and losing Winston was a tough blow. And now you have Aris, who is quiet but smart and a useful addition to the group.

So when you broke into a factory to escape a lightning storm (where Minho nearly died), you face a bunch of chained up Cranks.

The next thirty seconds or so are pure chaos of unbridled screaming and fumbling of lights.

"I see you've met our guard dogs," an unfamiliar voice says, the grinding of a door startling you all as you back into a huddle.

The girl has short hair and casual clothes, not that much different to the ones you used to wear in the Maze. Minho yanks you behind him.

"Stay back!" He shouts, but the girl weaves through the infected, seemingly completely unfazed as she reaches you.

"You guys look like shit," she scoffs, smirking. You stand on your tip-toes, peaking over Minho, your heart skips a beat when she makes eye contact with you.

Her smirk grows and he eyes flicker before she turns around.

"Come on, follow me." She pauses, looking over her shoulder. "Unless you wanna stay here with them."

Thomas takes the lead, as per usual, and you all cautiously follow, desperately trying to avoid the walking corpses.

She tells you all her name and monologues about the factory and some guy called Jorge without even looking back at you guys.

"No one's come out of the Scorch in a long time- you've got him curious." She looks back, making eye contact with you. "Me too."

You feel warm, looking away and stumbling slightly over a rise in the floorboards, which leads Newt to having to catch you.

It's awkward as you walk into a large office room, a man looms over a desk as Brenda gets his attention. He turns and starts speaking, but you can't seem to focus as Brenda takes a seat a few feet away from you.

You've never been attracted to anyone before, but as Thomas talks to Jorge, your gaze is locked in the girl sitting on the sofa.

She's confident, sarcastic and seemingly playful, whilst also completely remaining in control.

She notices you staring, smirking at you and looking you up and down. You immediately look away, your face burning, eyes cast at the ground.

Oh God.

She's hot.

Are you... gay?

You'd never considered it before, especially when Teresa came up and you didn't feel anything for her. But I guess she just wasn't your type.

Your type is apparently sarcastic street rats who could probably kill you with their bare hands.

Figures.

Though, you probably should've figured it out when you spent the only life as you remember surrounded by boys and didn't fancy a single one.

Is this the gay panic Newt spoke about when Thomas appeared?

You look at Newt, who is already looking at you, squinting. He looks between you and Brenda before grinning.

And that's when you all get grabbed.

Brenda stands up, grabbing the back of Thomas' neck and scanning it. Brenda's face drops as she stares at the machine.

She looks at you, guilt crossing her face for a second.

And then you get tied up.

Hanging from the ceiling as you all desperately squirm, shouting at Minho to shut his mouth as he makes relentless sarcastic comments, which just further dampens your mood.

"Yanno, (Y/N)," Newt snickers, "I don't think I'm a fan of your new girlfriend."

"Huh?" About four different people respond.

"Shut up, Newt- now is not the time," you try and pull yourself up, fiddling with the restraints keeping you air-born. But it's no use.

"Yeah, well, it's not like we have anything bloody better to talk about."

"The shuck's he on about?" Minho grumbles.

"Nothing." You dramatically cross your arms, which is actually quite a comedic sight since you're upside down.

"She has a crush on our kidnapper."

"What?"

"Come again?"

They all look at you- well, they attempt to. Frypan is unvoluntarily slowly spinning.

"I don't! Newt's just... bored?" That's the best you could come up with

"Bored?" He barks a laugh. "You were totally checking her out, shank."

"I wasn't!"

"You were."

"I was not!"

"You absolutely were."

"She is pretty cute," Thomas says, and you inwardly cringe, not wanting to seeing Newt or Teresa's reaction to that one.

"Yanno," Minho says, "that makes way more sense. You like shuckin' girls; I knew it wasn't me."

"Shut up, Minho," at least three of you say.

"So, how exactly are we gonna get out here so (Y/N) can get herself a girlfriend?" Minho continues.

"(Y/N)'s girlfriend is the reason we're tied up," Frypan corrects.

"Can we please not call Brenda my girlfriend?"

"Too late."

"For shuck's sake."

That's when Jorge returns, asking questions about the Right Arm and nearly sending you plummeting into the abyss below.

So, you come up with a plan to escape.

"Minho, put your back into it, dammit!" You shout as he tries to push Teresa.

"I'm- Shuck! I'm tryin'!"

It's actually disastrous.

How you all managed to get out of the Maze alive is an absolute mystery to you.

Somehow, miraculously, you manage to force Teresa onto the platform surrounding you. And then Janson's whiney voice comes through a loud speaker.

So, it becomes a mad rush to escape.

Which then goes terribly when one of Jorge's men attacks you.

Thomas manages to hold his own, but when the man gets his gun back, you're on the verge of accepting defeat.

It's been a long day.

That's when a gunshot rings out and the guy's body hits the floor. You all look up to find Brenda standing there, gun in hand.

She looks directly at you. "You okay?"

You feel small and fuzzy under her gaze. You're starting to understand all the fuss the Gladers had about women.

You nod, stiffly and awkwardly.

"Okay, come on, we gotta move." She waves you all towards her, and it takes you all a second but you follow.

"Hey, maybe your girlfriend isn't so bad after all," Minho jokes as he slips past you, taking the lead.

"Shuck off, Minho- she's not my girlfriend," you whisper-yell as you storm after him.

"Yeah, a girl can only dream, right?"

This was pretty fun to write, but sorry for no actual romance, unfortunately after this there's a dramatic group split and then nothing really slows down until the end of the film and I simply could not bring myself to do another entire movie piece. So, just a fun little unserious one-shot.

I hope this is satisfactory for now, aha.

And I hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri tmr brenda #tmr fanfiction #tmr imagines #the maze runner #brenda tmr #brenda the maze runner

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aimmyarrowshigh · 10 months

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i broke my toe yesterday and i've had 10,000 broken toes and normally i barely notice but this time it's KILLING me and i am NOT being brave about it

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stedebonnit · 2 years

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Stede being an angel to Ed when he's sick (soup, blankets, cuddles, "I dont care if I get sick, its worth it to kiss you", lots and lots of tissues, not leaving Eds side until he makes a full recovery)

But when Stede is sick, he's the biggest menace ever. Demanding Ed bring him things that are a few feet away from the bed, complaining about being too cold and then throwing off the blankets when he gets too hot, complaining about needing the "right" food to help him recover (Ed always keeps oranges stocked just in case, but the type of soup that Stede insists will "cure" him changes every time hes sick), constantly rolling around groaning about how this is the worst thing hes ever experienced

("You've been stabbed multiple times, Stede."

"Thats different. The pain is concentrated in the stab wound, but right now everything in my body hurts. My toes hurt, Edward! My toes never hurt when I was stabbed!"

"They hurt when you broke them."

"Yes, well, this is decidely worse, Edward!")

The first time Stede tries to pull the "oh darling, I want to kiss you, I don't care if I get sick too." Ed thinks its adorable. His valiant knight braving Ed's snot to kiss him.

After he experiences a handful of Stede's colds, he decides Stede is not allowed anywhere near him when he's sick, because the few days of pampering are not worth the absolute nightmare Stede will become if he gets sick too.

Ed has to put up with a lot of sad puppy dog eyes when he's sick as Stede is forced to serve him soup and give him blankets from at least 6 feet away.

#ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #stede bonnet #edward teach #ill be real #im stede #im the worst when im sick #and im sick right now #everything hurts and its not fair 🤧😡#d speaks #mine

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panther-os · 2 years

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okay i need to infodump about Mandalorian color symbolism and the bad batch's season 2 armor. I'm confident the showrunners didn't have it in mind when they designed all the armor, esp since the bad batch are probably the clones with the least connection to their Mandalorian heritage due to their isolation, but it actually works really well for all the characters?

All:

white - new beginnings

gray - mourning

orange - freedom

tan - loyalty

brown - valor

Hunter:

scarlet - defiance

red - honoring a leader or parent

teal - healing

cyan - loving/loved/married

black - justice

Echo:

scarlet - defiance

red - honoring a leader or parent

black - justice

Tech:

teal - healing

black - justice

Wrecker:

teal - healing

yellow - memory

black - justice

Omega:

teal - healing

scarlet - defiance

so obviously new season, new beginning, and then they're brave, loyal to each other, mourning everyone and everything they've lost, and enjoying their freedom from the chips and the empire

for hunter, the cyan has me like 👀 but the "loving" can be all kinds of love, so the best explanation is actually his parental love for omega. the scarlet for him would be defiance of the empire, and my brain immediately jumps to Cody for the red. the teal is on his hands and given tech's teal is on his legs, one of which he broke in the second episode, I'm a little worried about it on the off-chance the color symbolism is a conscious choice. tech has also functioned as the team's medic before, though, which makes me think all the batch are self-sufficient to a point. I'm also a huge lotr fan so "the hands of the king are the hands of a healer" lives rent free in my brain. and of course there's mental and emotional healing as well from. about 99% of his life. black and justice makes me think of echo's pushing to do more for the people under the empire's thumb. all the adult bad batchers have it and this seems like it's going to be a theme this season.

for echo, the scarlet definitely goes for the empire, but it also goes for hunter as well, a bit. we see him being a lot more assertive and challenging in these two episodes. the dynamic actually reminds me a lot of fives and rex on umbara which is feels i don't need and now all of you have. speaking of rex though, that red right at his throat. a lot of fic focuses on hunter's relationship with Cody and echo's relationship with Rex, often with the two commanders being the older brothers who raised the two bad batchers, and in my mind this is another thing that can relate to that. the black is the same explanation as hunter's.

for tech, we have the teal for healing on his legs, which again could be for his injury or for his medical knowledge or for his childhood and early adulthood. and then the black again.

wrecker's teal is on his chest and he has the most black out of any of the rest. it's definitely the yellow that caught my attention, though, because he's the only one who has it. yellow stands for memory and remembrance and it could be the slight issues we've seen him have with memory and working memory in particular, but i think it's more likely for crosshair. watching the Kamino episodes, hunter honestly seems to be hoping for a magic fix, tech has already accepted reality and moved on, echo's angry, but wrecker is just so torn up and grieving. and i think yellow for remembrance of who crosshair was to him and what he was like before this great schism is something he would find comfort in.

Omega's teal is her jacket and this is the one I 100% just want to be for her medical knowledge and nothing else. I'm fine with the others getting hurt as long as they're okay later, but if omega stubs a toe someone's going to die. her scarlet i think is a combination of defiance against the empire and also her defiance of orders. it was primarily motivated by the misunderstanding between her and echo in these two episodes, but she's also growing up and getting to be more independent and pushing at all sorts of boundaries to see how they've changed. she's being a tween and there's nothing wrong with that, but i do think it's something hunter's going to have to confront at some point in this season.

#/incoherent noises/#the bad batch #the bad batch season 2 #tbb spoilers #the bad batch season 2 spoilers #tbb s2 #tbb s2 spoilers #tbb season 2 #tbb season 2 spoilers #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb omega

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ratcatcher0325 · 2 years

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A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #23)

Alright, here we go with another angsty mess nightmare hospital chapter.

So grateful to @not-a-space-alien, @kitn-underfoot, and @thegodmother007 for beta reading and giving me some awesome feedback!

Chapter #23. Will our hero make it out of surgery and finally be done with this mess?

Previous: Chapter #22

Next: Chapter #24

Word Count: 8,904 Read Time: Approx. 60 mins

CW: adult language, extreme angst, dehumanization, infantilization, fearplay, injury, blood, surgery

Tag list: @gatlily @grbene @patrocolus3 @beautifulunknowntrash @titan-god-420 @andraimeide @themarlo @cup-o-chai @lucentbliss @raccoontoaster @tolsizedlove @not-a-space-alien , @thegodmother007, @honey-olive, @bittykimmy13 ,@aceouttatime, @imvenusasaboy, @liminaldaze, @windshield-patent, @joxter-coded, @rosella35, @narrans, @rubeau-art, @littlescaryinternetguy, @jae-from-discord, @kitn-underfoot, @secretly-small, @writing-forever, @iinogongju, @tales-of-aestus

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

_____________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #21: Malpractices

[Natalie’s POV]

My leg bounced feverishly up and down as I sat up, board straight, teetering on the edge of the hard, plastic chair. It’d been 47…. No, make that 48 minutes since he’d been taken away. I couldn’t help but worry. Who could blame me? It was the first time since I’d found him that we’d been apart and I didn’t know he was somewhere safe and sound.

I pictured him making fun of me for stressing so much, like some overly protective mother hen. He had no problem standing up for himself, I knew that. But then, the image of his little face when he was plucked out of my hands came to mind: his clear, blue irises wide and glistening with fear. He was strong, devilishly smart and extraordinarily brave, but he was still so very, very small, and, as much as I knew he’d resent the accusation, he was, also, fragile. I pictured just how tiny his hand was, fingers spread as he squeezed the tip of my pinky, barely able to grip onto the whole of it. Alexander could hiss and spit all he wanted, but the tech that had taken him away could still pin him down with just one finger.

But it was fine, right? They can’t run and operate a business with neglect and not be called out for it, right?? Was he all worked up for nothing? Was I? I mean, I couldn’t blame the little man…. Being handed off to strangers who were twenty times bigger, a hundred times stronger and not likely to explain just what they were going to do to him, would terrify anyone. They were just running tests though, right? I imagined they’d need to take his vitals and possibly x-ray his knee to see how damaged it was.

But it wasn’t that, alone, that had made him tremble from head to toe and cling to the fabric of my shirt…. He seemed convinced that they might hurt him, mess up his treatment, kill him. He seemed keenly aware that it’d happened before, which utterly broke my heart.

For the past half hour, I’d furiously scrolled through every review site I could find, double and triple checking for any sign that something could be amiss. I found nothing. Just run-of-the-mill posts about treating a cat’s ear infection or resetting a parrot’s broken wing. Still, I couldn’t seem to drop this chilling sense of dread. It didn’t escape my notice that there was practically nothing in-depth about treating little people like Alexander in any of the reviews, just mostly animals. I chewed on the beds of my nails absentmindedly as I fought to stay calm.

My knee continued to bounce, the rubber heel of my shoe keeping time on the discolored linoleum tile. Why did I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach? It wasn’t just because the environment around me was cheap and dilapidated…. Was it because the doctor had been dismissive of him in his initial exams? The thing was, he was just right there, beyond that metal door. I could rush in there and pluck him up before they could call security. Maybe? I didn’t know. I had no idea what kind of labyrinth of hallways and doors and operating rooms laid beyond the metal threshold before me.

The thought of him being afraid or in pain in any way, was unbearable to me. What if he needed me and I wasn’t there? What if he was trembling head to toe like he had just a little less than an hour ago, whimpering in my cupped hand? What if he was scared and all alone, right now, and all I was doing was just sitting here… waiting…. Had I let him down? Had I put him in danger by trying to get him help?

Or was I just having some sort of savior complex because I felt this intense need to control the world around Alexander?

I knew I had the best of intentions, but still…. I felt this need to know exactly where and how he was at all times. I shuddered remembering when I’d plopped him down in a box and expected him to stay there all afternoon, or when I’d trapped him inside my bedside table drawer, all alone, because he’d hurt my feelings. Was this another instance of me being overly controlling? Was I underestimating him, even now? To me, he was such a breakable little thing, easily bruised by this world that was much too big for him.

The way he’d clung to my fingers, the fabric of my shirt…. I’d never seen him so vulnerable and afraid before. I’d never seen him look so small before. I jumped to my feet, my heart in my throat. He was just beyond that door. I took a few steps forward, watching with fixated curiosity as the wavy and warped reflection of my figure mocked me in the metal surface like some kind of twisted fun house mirror. What if I just checked on him? For a second? They wouldn’t kick us out for that would they? The tips of my fingers journeyed through the ever-shrinking gap between my body and the boundary separating him and me. In the next beat of my heart and bat of my eyelashes, the whorls of my fingertips pressed into cool metal. Just for a second. I just want to see his little eyes and know he’s okay.

Before I could apply any pressure, the door pushed back. I had no time to react before the doctor and a tech, the same girl in the purple scrubs that had carried him off, burst through the threshold. All three of us jumped, startled by what we unexpectedly found right in front of us.

The doctor had been the one to shove the door open, and now here we stood toe to toe. Had I noticed before how much taller he was than me? He was the first to wrestle his words into speech after the shock, “E-excuse me, Ms. Marquez, what do you think you’re doing?” We stood uncomfortably close, neither giving ground.

“Where is he?” My voice wavered in such a way that exposed how nervous I really was. I clenched my jaw, trying to pull it together.

“There’s nothing to worry about ma’am…. Please, have a seat…” The words, meant to be reassuring, came from a voice I hadn’t heard very much before: crisp, coaxing, female. On my left, the vet tech was halfway through the door which she propped open with an elbow. I searched her bare hands, feverishly, for a shock of blonde bangs and blue eyes. They were empty. I panicked.

“Wait… w-where is he? Why’s he still back there? Is he okay? Is he all alone? Is he scared? I need to know he’s okay—“

“Of course! Of course, you’re concerned. Don’t worry, he’s perfectly safe and comfortable. If you’ll just take a seat, Doctor Greene will be more than happy to answer any questions you might have….” Her smile was blindingly bright, her eyes shimmering and earnest. The doctor nodded along with her as she spoke, raising his brows expectantly in my direction, when she was finished. I froze. Was I being a complete idiot right now? Was Alexander perfectly okay and I was looking insane for wringing my hands over him? But then why wasn’t he back in my arms safe and sound? What did they need to tell me? I just wanted to see him. Before I could process, those disappointingly empty hands with their chipped, dark polish, were lightly resting on my shoulders, guiding me away from the door and back where I began, seating me in that hard plastic chair.

I stammered, “W-what’s wrong with him? Why won’t you bring him out here? All he needed was medicine for the infection, right?” As I hurled my volley of questions, the doctor, who I just now noticed had a file tucked under his arm and no longer sported his white coat, sat down and wheeled over to the examination counter, placing the file flat on its surface and resting his elbows so that his poised hands came to rest below his chin. As he did this, the tech settled in the back corner of the room, leaning against a cabinet in the corner halfway in front of the door that lead to Alexander. My pulse pounded away in my skull, that tan folder with its unknown contents burned a hole in my periphery as I stared into the veterinarian’s bespectacled eyes.

He cleared his throat as I gripped the rough underside edge of my seat, “First off, I want to apologize for the lengthier than usual wait time on our initial examinations. It’s nothing at all to worry about. I promise, your companion is in very attentive and focused hands, here. Isn’t that right, Nina?” The tech nodded in agreement, smiling again. Why did his tone shift ever so slightly when he included her in the narrative? “Now, to the matter at hand. Unfortunately, the damage is, well, worse than we thought…” my stomach dropped at those words. As he continued, he reached for the file between us, “If we take a look at these… Nina, if you will?”

He flipped the file open to reveal a paper splotched with deep, inky blacks and ghostly, silvery whites. I couldn’t tell what I was looking at. Nina stepped forward at his command, clutching the paper, she turned from me and flipped on the light box mounted on the wall to my left.

She spoke as she worked, “Your little friend is awfully cute. I can tell he’s a little spitfire, though, too! But, hey, don’t worry, he just needed some gentle coaxing and he was the perfect little patient!” Why did my hackles raise at that? I had a hard time believing her. It wasn’t easy to get Alexander to do anything he didn’t want to. Was he really just scared enough to be docile for once in his life? That didn’t seem like the fiery little man I knew at all.

Before I could follow up with more questions, the room was cast into darkness, as she flipped off the lights and clipped up the paper on the illuminated display. Suddenly, the smoky shapes came in to clear focus in the backlight. It was an X-ray. It was his x-ray. I was looking at Alexander’s skeleton. My blood pumped faster in my veins, as my brow furrowed and I felt a tightness in the back of my throat. I couldn’t help but clamor to my feet to get a closer look. Because he was so small, he fit head to toe inside the image, the only part of him that was cut off was his left shoulder and leg on the right side of the display. That was him, his tiny little skeleton, blown up larger than life on a pitch black background. This image of him was at least four of five times larger than the real thing. Even then, how fragile those little bones looked! None of them were thicker than two fingers pressed together. My eyes went immediately to his right knee joint. I was no medical professional, but I didn’t need to be to see the sharp, black line that cut across his bone just above the knee. A complete break, not just a fracture. The blurry white mess that was his actual knee seemed to show how damaged it was. Poor little Alexander had been hobbling around on a broken leg?

With a grunt, the doctor rose from his seat and shuffled over to the display, “As you can see, the joint is severely damaged and there appears to be a significant break on the very base of the femur. Have you been allowing him to exercise? Put any unnecessary strain on it?”

“N-no. Not that I know of. I’ve been trying really hard to keep him still and off his feet as much as possible…” But it was anyone’s guess what he’d endured before I found him. He wouldn’t tell me anything.

“It appears the damage has been exacerbated by too much weight on the wound… wear and tear from strenuous over-use…” for some reason, he darted a glance at the black-haired tech, before clearing his throat, “In any case…. Nina, turn on the light, if you want it to heal right, he’ll need surgery to reset the bone and to flush out the infection, which has spread to a critical extent…” the room was flooded with blinding fluorescent light, once more, making me wince as my eyes fought to adjust and I struggled to understand him.

My world stopped as what he was saying finally hit me like a ton of bricks. I managed to stutter out just one word, “S-surgery??” I parroted it back like an idiot. The thought of his tiny little body being operated on by their comparatively massive hands sent shivers down my spine.

“Yes.” His response was simple and blunt, I stood, rooted to the spot, in shock, “Please sit.” As he beckoned for me to be seated he fetched the X-ray from its no longer illuminated display box and sat down, pulling a sharpie pen from the breast pocket of his scrubs, “So, we’d make an incision here, just above the break—“ he began marking the ghostly image of Alexander’s leg with the pitch black ink. I interrupted.

“W-wait, wait, wait. Surgery? Are you sure there’s no alternatives? He can’t just, like, I don’t know, have a stint or something?”

The doctor’s exhale sounded almost amused as he removed his glasses to polish them on the bottom hem of his scrubs. “My understanding is you have no insurance. Is that correct?”

“…. Well, y-yes….”

“I want to be completely honest with you. The fact of the matter is, this particular procedure will be costly without insurance. And, not only that, performing these kinds of operations on such small animals carries with it a significant risk—“

“—He’s not an animal…He’s a person, just like you or me… he’s just littler, that’s all….”

“O-of course! Of course he is! He seems very smart, too!” Nina was smiling brilliantly again. I clenched my teeth. I was beginning to dislike her.

“It is my professional opinion that an operation will be necessary to save Alexander’s life. Now, I understand you may be hesitant, due to the upfront cost–”

I snapped back, a newfound edge in my voice, “I don’t give a fuck what it costs, I just want him to be okay. Is that a clear enough answer for you? And, anyway, he should have some say in this. It’s his body, after all. Have you told him yet? Bring him here, and I’ll make a decision with him.”

Another exchange of charged glances, and then a blunt response from the doctor, “Unfortunately we can’t do that.”

My heart was pounding faster and the room suddenly felt hot, I scowled and spoke through clenched teeth, on the razor’s edge of holding it together, “What do you mean you can’t??? You most certainly can. I have a right to see him. If he’s fine, like you say, then there’s no reason why you can’t let me talk with him, right now.”

The doctor leaned away from me, rolling his chair a bit further back, almost as if in a protective stance between myself and the door that continued to bar my way, “To clarify, what I mean is that would be a very bad idea. You see, in our experience, reintroducing the patient to…. The human they’re most familiar with after they’ve been properly acclimated and relaxed, will only serve to significantly agitate and generate an undue amount of stress for the patient right before major surgery. It is best to keep them calm and in one location prior to operating. You wouldn’t want to frighten him, would you?”

“Well, no, of course not, but—“

“—and, as for his consent to the operation, we, of course, agree with you wholeheartedly, that your companion should have a voice, however, we, unfortunately, live in a world where only your signature is binding.” By the time he finished his speech, he’d rolled back to the edge of the counter opposite me.

I swallowed, my nervous system awash with adrenaline, my mind abuzz with fear and frustration. I just wanted to see him, to know he was okay, to hold him and never let him go again, “You say he’s just waiting back there? He’s not in pain? He hasn’t asked for me?”

The vet tech replied, her intended reassurance somehow unsettling to me, “Believe me, we made sure he was as relaxed as possible before we came in here to talk to you. He’s in no pain, whatsoever.”

“A-and there’s no alternative to keep him from having to go under?”

“Unfortunately, no.” It was her boss’s turn to reply. All I could think about was the look on Alexander’s face when he begged me not to let them put him to sleep. My chest tightened, the doctor carried on, “The infection is getting worse by the minute. It’s highly possible, if not probable, that if left untreated, it will develop into sepsis, which can lead to organ failure. In addition, he likely won’t walk again if the leg doesn’t have the chance to heal properly. He’s stable at the moment, but he needs to be treated now to prevent further complications…” I blinked hard, trying to settle the fire alarm fire blazing in the back of my skull. I gaped, like a fish, my eyes darting from my own hands, clasped tightly together, and back up to the doctor.

“I-I just want him to come out of this okay…” As I stammered, the tech fished for and offered me a document, flipping it open to a signature line, while the doctor offered me a hefty ballpoint pen from his front pocket.

“Then all you have to do is sign and date right here and we’ll get your little guy all patched up!” A painted nail tapped along the dotted line. I stared hard at the black blocks of text on white printer paper, but couldn’t make sense of any of them.

It didn’t seem like I had any choice. He could die if something wasn’t done, and fast. My heart was thundering in my chest. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to help him. He was a fighter, he’d fight through this too. The least I could do was give him a chance. Then, when it was all done, I’d do everything I could to help him get back to normal as soon as I could hold him in my arms again. The sound of an impatient cough broke me from my train of thought.

“So? How would you like to proceed?”

I bit my lip, my head on fire. I reached for the pen, unable to think about anything other than those two frightened little eyes, “You promise me you’ll take good care of him? That you’ll be gentle? He-he means a lot to me. I don’t— I don’t know what I’d do if anything….” I choked on the words as my eyes welled. I cleared my throat to hold it down. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m holding him again and I know he’s safe and sound.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Like we said, we think he’s just precious. It’s always such an honor to take care of other people’s companions. He’ll be back to normal in no time.” That blinding smile. Paper pushed forward. The pen, slippery between my clammy fingers. I swallowed, hands trembling, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

***************

I was floating, weightless, not quite alive, not quite dead. I felt nothing, I had no sense of my body, where I was in space, or time, for that matter. I was asleep, but dreaming in vivid color of nothing put velvety blackness stretching on for eternity. Who and what was I? I didn’t have the faintest idea.

Then, as if honing in on some distant frequency, like sudden static from an alien satellite transmission, I heard a babbling of noises, coupled with a repetitive sound, like a beeping, that cycled at seemingly regular intervals.

They were incomprehensible at first, these sounds, just irritants, loud and untranslatable. But slowly, slowly, this floating, weightless, thing that was and wasn’t me, whoever that was, began to stitch the sounds together into… words.

Floating above my consciousness like some ethereal notes in some unknown symphony, I found descriptors for these sounds, or, I think they were called, voices? One sounded female, the other male. I couldn’t, at that moment, remember what those descriptors implied, but I, somehow, knew they were apt. As I floated along in darkness, those words began to form snatches of sentences.

The male was first, “Wait, wait, you actually said that?”

Then the female, “Fuck yeah, I did. I was like, ‘Lady, your little dude literally could not be more relaxed’ and she was just all, ‘Oh, o-okay’. Like, I won’t lie, for a minute there I thought we were gonna have to call security, but she totally ate it up after a while…”

“No shit?”

“That’s the thing, Greene pegged her for one of those overly-concerned types. So, it wasn’t hard to build up the drama of it all. These little guys are, like, cash cows if we put them under the knife…”

“Really? Why? Cuz they’re basically the same as people?”

“Yeah. Dude, look I know you’re new and everything but did you not pay attention at all in school? You have to take a whole extra semester of classes just to be qualified to operate on ‘em. And, yeah, he’s still sorta in hot water from the shit that went down a few months ago, but, like, it’s not like Miss Worry Wart and her pissed off little chihuahua here, will ever know about it. I think Greene’s smart to go after the money. Anyway, he showed her how bad the break was and pushed her to go for it. Don’t tell Greene this, but I think the full break in his femur might be our fault. We might’ve been a little too rough– Don’t say a fucking word, Jason, you toyed with him just as much as I did…”

More sounds accompanied my non-existence as I heard things I think I remember calling footsteps and the scraping of chair legs on a linoleum floor, a new gruff voice, male. Barking, commanding. All the while that same beeping sound, keeping rhythm like a… metronome? Was that the proper term?

I heard words like scalpel, incision, stable, antibiotic. I had a sense I was once familiar with them.

However, as the unknown length of time pressed on, my endless floating began to change. Numbness no longer permeated all around. I slowly began to sense that I was…. Lying down? That I was…. Cold? Very, very cold. Or was I hot? That rhythmic sound changed its beat, getting faster. I heard, “vitals shifting” from… one of those voices? Or all three? I knew, now, I had a body, even if I couldn’t feel it. Well, not all of it.

As though waking from a dream, second by second, feeling returned. Like a kettle slowly rising to a feverish, shrieking boil, I too, began to feel a tingling, which turned into a hazy ache, that cascaded into a burning, a searing, an excruciating wildfire of pain exploding from my leg. The background rhythm was beeping like crazy now, inconsistent and frightening. The part of me I remembered as a chest was heaving up and down.

Above all that, came loud, thundering, angry voices, like gods threatening to rent the sky in two with their rage.

The gruff, male voice was accusatory, “How much, Nina? How much did you administer?”

A female voice, high, defensive, “W-well, I didn’t wanna over do it! Look at him, he’s tiny!”

A third, panicked, “His heart rate is spiking, he’s destabilizing… h-he’s coming to!”

“Nina, you have to tell me what you gave him or I’ll end up killing the little bastard. How much?”

“Shit! I gave him 0.2 milliliters, okay??”

The panicked male rejoined, “I told her that wasn’t enough, sir! I said—“

“Oh shut up, why don’t you? I can’t trust either of you. It’s a simple fucking task… and you two still fuck it up—“

Like being suddenly and forcefully pulled from the quiet, rocking depths of the ocean to flounder helplessly on the deck of a boat, gasping for air and waiting for death, all medicinal haze was ripped away and I was fully aware, fully awake and fully alive to the absolute horror that was my situation.

The sounds of my own screaming seemed separate from me, as I sat up, flailing, bloodshot eyes wide and twitching. I heard the voices of the creatures so much bigger than me up above.

“Jesus fucking Christ, restrain him before he fucks this up!”

In one panicked, fear filled heart beat, I took it all in: blinding, painful overhead light, blue, monstrous tendrils, encased in latex, like some kraken with twenty powerful appendages instead of just eight, surrounded me. The human fingers were all so huge and overwhelming. There was something shoved down my throat, slick, clear, it snaked off to an unknown destination, on my chest, something adhesive, thick, stiff, with wires protruding from it, an electrode for an electrocardiograph, but seemingly for a much larger life-form than myself. Without hesitation, I pulled on the tube, but was barely able to wrap a fist around it before..

“Oh no you don’t, stay still!” Those disembodied fingers wrested it away from me and pinned me back down against the metal surface below. I didn’t want them to touch me, I had to get free. Snarling and screaming, I writhed and kicked, but that quickly came to an end when my entire body was suddenly wracked with a sharp, biting, fresh sensation: the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt in my life.

“Shit.”

Through the tears welling in my eyes, I hazarded a glance down at my leg. What I saw there made me nearly pass out.

Blood was spewing, thick, red, hot, horrendous. My knee was all red, open flesh, slick and horrific. The source of this brand new pain? Still pinched between his fingers, the blade of the scalpel, massive, razor sharp, was buried in the flesh of my knee. I was screaming and wailing, trembling from head to foot.

Meanwhile, the man wielding the instrument of death above my head, simply scowled as though he’d found a bruise on his apple or a fly in his drink. He grimaced at his surgical tool in my leg like it was some mildly frustrating inconvenience that was interrupting his work. Planting a finger on my ankle and a thumb on my thigh, he pinched the handle of the blade and ripped it from my leg. My ears rang as my vision faded momentarily.

He replaced the bite of the scalpel with pressure from a thumb pressing a strip of gauze to staunch the bleeding, over his shoulder, he regarded his inferior, “Well, at least this one isn’t dead because of your little mishap. Where’s Lindsey? She’s the only person here I can trust to do anything right the first time.”

“Y-you put her on laundry…. Sir….”

“Go get her.” The young man stared at his boss, with a dumbfounded expression, “That means now, Jason! Goddammit, I’m surrounded by idiots! As for you, Nina. This is the last straw. Pull this shit again and you’re fired. I’ve already got the AHA crawling up my ass about the last case. Go home, I don’t want to see you till Monday.”

“-But… I was just having fun with the little guy, I didn’t mean—“

“Monday. 6 am. Got it?”

“You know this little fucker bit me? Maybe we shouldn’t waste all our time and effort and just put him down for aggressive behavior!”

“Nina, go home!” And with a dissatisfied sigh, she was gone from my field of vision. He spoke, but not to me, “I’m getting way too old for this shit…” I felt eyes trained on me for a split second, before the sound of a door squealing open, caused us both to turn our heads in its direction.

Lindsey practically ran in, Jason, seemingly with no sense of urgency whatsoever, following behind.

Breathless, the kind woman rushed over to where I lay. The man pressing his thumb into my open flesh, bellowed at her, “Lindsey, finally! I’ve staunched the bleeding. Clean up this godforsaken mess, intubate him, suture the site of incision, blah, blah. You know what you’re doing. I need a fucking cigarette… or ten. Come get me when it’s time for client delivery. Ah, and Jason…. You’ve proven today to be utterly useless, too. Go home and get out of my hair before you make my migraine any worse.”

The grumbling voices and movements of the men faded from my notice as the young woman with bright, hazel eyes stared down at me with true compassion. I was a pathetic mess, face streaked with tear stains, the plastic tubing thrust down my throat, half naked and trembling as my knee lay cut open and thoroughly rent.

“You poor, poor little thing. What’d they do to you? Are you in pain?” I nodded furiously, tears threatening to fall again. My breathing was ragged. Every muscle in my body ached. I didn’t have the energy to make noise anymore, let alone put up a fight.

“Of course you are. Okay, well I promise you I will help you. I’ll do everything I can to help. It’s Alexander, right? I’m Lindsey. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this, Alexander. Look at me, hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry. You’ll be back home in no time. But first, I need your help, alright? Will you help me? I need to close up this wound here, so you can start to heal. But, that’s going to be extremely painful if you’re awake. Do I have your permission to put you to sleep so you won’t feel anything?” I jumped, snarling and shaking my head, “I promise, I know how to do it correctly. You won’t wake up in the middle of it, this time. Look, here, I’ll show you exactly what I’m gonna do. You see your knee, how it’s still all cut open and exposed? I’m going to stitch that all back together, with one line down the middle and a horizontal line above your knee. You’ll have a “T” shaped scar once it heals. All the infection is cleared out and, hopefully you’ll regain full use of that joint after the bone in your leg fuses back. But I don’t know for sure, now that you got an abrasion from a scalpel on top of everything else. Hey, don’t squirm… try to lie still… I know you don’t know me, but I need you to trust me, okay? I wanna see you reunited with… What’s your friend’s name? Is it… Natalie?” I nodded, noticing how my heart fluttered and the machine with its beeping gave away the increase in my heartrate, “I wanna see you reunited with Natalie as soon as possible. You want that, too, don’t you?” I nodded, gritting my teeth through the constant pain, “I’ll make you another promise in return, okay? I won’t leave your side and I won’t let anyone else lay a finger on you until you’re back in Natalie’s hands. Do we have a deal?” I nodded sheepishly. Feeling utterly spent, but still completely terrified, I laid back down, flat on my back, and began counting backwards from one hundred to calm myself.

“Okay, Alexander, I’m turning on the anesthesia now. All you have to do is take a deep breath, in through your mouth and out, through your nose… Good, perfect. That’s perfect. You’re going to be okay, Alexander. Natalie’s waiting for you. It’s time to sleep, now… jussstttt relaaaaaxxxxxxx…” My eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy as her voice melted and faded. Then, within another cycle of breath, I was fast asleep.

********************

I’d long since chewed my cuticles to bits until I drew blood. I’d paced every square inch of this hellish little room that was starting to feel more like a cage than a waiting area. I’d driven the secretary crazy asking time and time again if they’d be done soon. Her flat, insincere, “Any moment, I’m sure” made my blood boil. I was about to tear my hair out at the roots when the squeal of the door made me leap to my feet and fly across the linoleum tiles.The woman who entered the room was a stranger to me. She came in pushing the door with her shoulder, her back to me, initially. As she turned around, I saw why she’d come in that way. Her hands were otherwise full with a tiny little body.

He was cradled very gently in her cupped hands, completely unconscious. He lay there, peacefully, his knee wrapped thickly in a massive bandage of white gauze. I reached out for him immediately, “Let me! I have to hold him. Is he okay?” Wordlessly, she very carefully slid his limp little form from her hands to mine. I cupped both palms, trembling just to feel his skin on mine again. The second his tiny weight landed in my grasp, my eyes welled with tears.

He lay there, completely disheveled, his lips parted, his hair sticking up all over the place, his skin looked pallid and shiny from sweat. I cradled his little head on the pad of my pinky finger. The same one he’d squeezed before being carted off. The rest of him nestled safely in the hammock of my two palms pressed together, his heels resting just over the edges of my hands, balancing atop my wrists. I was so grateful just to hold him again, I leaned in and whispered, “Alexander. You’re okay. You’re coming home… I was so worried about you…” I rubbed his hair from his eyes, caressed his little cheek, traced his chin, rubbed his pecs and relished in the pounding of his tiny heart, all with the tip of my thumb.

I had forgotten for a moment that he and I were not the only ones in the room. I glanced up to notice the new vet tech standing politely, staring at the little man in my hands with an expression that mirrored my own. I cleared my throat, hurling a barrage of questions at her, “So? How is he? How’d he do? Is he going to heal successfully?”

She seemed to hesitate at these questions. My pulse quickened as I watched her cast her eyes down, before meeting my gaze. I furrowed my brow, she cleared her throat, “… He, he was… incredibly brave. The good news is he should be free of infection and after a round of antibiotics, he will be back to normal. Um… However, the surgery involved… well, a little more trauma than expected…”

“W-what? What does that mean?”

She was hushed to silence as Doctor Greene chose this incredibly inopportune time to make his appearance. The second he walked in the door the smell of cigarettes wafted in with him. Did the tech’s shoulders seem to slump a bit when he entered the room? “I see you’ve already gotten acquainted with Lindsey…” he then whipped around to her and mumbled under his breath, “I thought you were going to tell me when you were ready to return him…” She didn’t say a word as he turned to me, his voice back to being chipper and light, “…And your little friend is back where he belongs. Wonderful. Now, as you can see, everything went just fine. He’s still under the influence of anesthesia at the moment, and it will likely take him several hours before he’s fully alert and awake again. Now I will tell you, when he does come to, it is highly possible that he will be disoriented and confused. He may not know himself or you at first. He may ramble on about half truths and hallucinations from his experience with us. This often happens. Their little brains get flooded and they become highly overwhelmed. They often exaggerate the details. Don’t worry if he acts a little skittish, or upset by the ordeal, they almost all do. We do everything we can to keep them calm, but it can still be frightening simply because they don’t understand. Just lay him in some dark, isolated place and he’ll quiet down soon enough.” I wasn’t going to put him in solitary confinement after one of the most traumatizing experiences of his life! He’d be right by my side until he made a full recovery. That was non-negotiable.

I stared at his sleeping form in my hands. Alexander, his head was no bigger than the tip of my pointer finger. His hair stuck to his forehead in a sticky, sweaty mess, his little chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. I carefully slid him into one cupped palm, gently taking up his tiny left hand on the tip of my, now free, finger. Even in his unconscious state, his body fully limp, the weight of his hand, his arm, felt like nothing.

Alexander, were they good to you? Are you going to be okay? What did she mean there was more trauma? I wish you’d open your little eyes and talk to me. I want to hear it from you, no one else. He, of course, stayed motionless. The doctor continued on, “I’ve filed a prescription for a round of antibiotics, as well as pain medication, those will stave off infection and help with recovery. Now, the bandages will have to be changed at regular intervals, and please don’t forget to wrap the sutures in plastic wrap before dipping him in water, otherwise you’ll be right back where you started. Keep the area as dry as possible and, of course, keep him from bearing any weight on it for the first four weeks. Speaking of…”

He began to fish in his pocket. I continued to stare at the sleeping little life taking refuge in my hands, my heart skipping a beat when his tiny hand flexed and squeezed my finger. I looked up long enough to see the vet reveal, in the flat of his palm, something sealed in a little plastic bag printed with labels that obscured what was inside, “Now, he, almost guaranteed, won’t need that walking aide long term, but just in case, or at least for those first few weeks, after the initial month off, he’ll have it. You can give it to some dollhouse enthusiast afterwards.” I reached for the tiny aluminum cane, approximately three inches long, and pocketed it, before caressing his bright, golden hair, “And, if you think he’ll try to mess with his bandages too much, these are highly effective at dissuading them…” He’d fished around in a drawer before offering something else in his outstretched hand. This time, it was a tiny little surgical cone. I set my jaw. Absolutely fucking not. He’d kill me if I put that on him. My disapproving sneer was enough to express my opinion on the matter, “Alright, then. Just a suggestion…. I have one more form that I’ll need from you for our exit paperwork and otherwise, Trisha should settle payment at the front desk.”

“You know he’s gonna tell me if you did something….” I tore my eyes away long enough to burn holes into his bespectacled ones.

He raised his brows, smirking a bit in surprise, “Of course, miss. But, like I said, they come up with all kinds of fanciful tales when under the influence of medication. He’ll likely be quite disoriented and confused.”

“You have no clue who you’re messing with, do you? If you so much as bent a hair out of place, I promise you, you’re going to regret it. He won’t hesitate to come after you.”

A stifled chuckle and the clearing of a throat on his part told me what he thought about that. The tech just stared at the floor, clearly unamused.

I raised a brow, challenging him, “Just wait and see what happens….” It was enough to make the veterinarian and his tech exchange a worried glance. Satisfied, I left that godforsaken room and checked out. It was a blur of curt interactions. I tried not to balk when the total was read aloud. I just wanted to get him home and away from this place.

The drive home was drizzly, cold. It’d gone from morning to dusk since I’d first arrived, to now, as the hospital finally faded from my rearview mirror. As I drove, I cradled him with one hand against my pounding heart, caressing his head and chest with a thumb.

Returning home, finally, after picking up his medications, I collapsed on the bed, unwilling to let him out of my sight for more than the length of a single heartbeat. “You’re gonna be okay, Alexander. You’ll heal up, good as new. I’m right here with you, I’m not going anywhere, never again.” I stroked his head, his cheek, his chest. When I laid the length of my finger down on top of his body, he, as if from instinct, wrapped his tiny arms around it, just like he had the day I’d watched him sleep in my nightstand drawer.

I couldn’t help myself, my throat got tight again. Poor Alexander. He was such a fighter, a survivor, but at the end of the day he just needed a little bit of tenderness and love, like everyone else. I burst into tears, “You’re so sweet under all of it. You’re such a sweetheart. So small…. Look at you, look at how little you are. I can feel your tiny heart pounding away. What’re you dreaming about? Do you know you’re safe? Do you know you’re with me?”

His brow twitched and I held my breath, hoping to watch him stir awake. But no, his little arms went limp again, one sliding off of my finger and landing, limply, by his side. I pinched his other wrist between the pads of my fingers and kissed the inside of his palm with careful lips, “You’re so brave. You’re so incredibly brave. Do you know that? I’m in awe of you. You’re so much stronger than I could ever be…And…I’m so sorry.” My chest hurt as my throat clamped down, the tears cascading down the planes of my face, “I’m sorry if you’re hurting. I never meant to hurt you. You have to know that. I wanted to help. I just wanted to help you get better. Please, please wake up. Alexander? C’mon, open your eyes. Please tell me you’re okay. Tell me that bad feeling I had was just a feeling and nothing more. Did I fuck up? Were you scared? Alone? Did you need me to come rescue you? If they hurt you, I’ll help you kill them and hide the bodies. I swear. I’ll help you make them pay. You deserve so much better than this, Little Nightmare. Let me help make it better. In whatever way I can. Please. Just wake up….”

I took his tiny hand and splayed it out on the tip of my finger. It was his left hand, his writing hand. Tiny little veins protruded from the back of it and along his forearm. His fingernails were hard to even see, slightly purple against the rest of his skin. The fingers were lithe, slender. He had ‘perfect piano playing hands’ as my mother had always called them. I adored this little hand. I rubbed the back of it, with an ever so delicate brush of my right thumb. You’re going to do great things with these hands. I know you will.

Almost as if on cue, he started to stir and twitch. My heart leapt to my throat, as I watched wide-eyed and breathless. I laid his little hand back down over his chest. I wasn’t sure if he’d be blitzed out from the drugs and think I was trying to grab him. His brow furrowed deeply as he tossed his head to the side. His whole body shivered and his little hands twitched and then relaxed. My heart was thundering away. Then, in a sudden rush, he opened his brilliant little eyes with a gasp, and stared up, directly at me. Good morning, Little Nightmare.

“Hello. How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Are you okay?” I spoke just above a whisper, trying to be as soft and comforting as I could. His brow furrowed as he listened to the timbres of my voice. He looked confused, his eyelids seeming far too heavy for him to keep open. He didn’t say a word, just blinked lazily, his little mouth slightly open, “Alexander? Talk to me. How do you feel?”

His eyes batted in rapid succession, he sucked in air, as if shocked, “You know my name???” Did he not even recognize me? Was he still disoriented like the doctor had mentioned?

“Alexander? Of course I know your name…. Do you know mine? Do you know who—“

He scoffed, blowing air through his lips, interrupting me. He did this far too loudly and for far too long, even after I’d gone silent. As he laid back in my hand, every muscle relaxed, his cheeks flushed, his jaw slack and his speech lazy as though speaking through a mouthful of cotton, that little know-it-all brain of his still managed to shine through, “Of course I know who you are! Easy…” he paused for a full five seconds, searching for the next word, “…peasy…” Oh my fucking god, this tiny man is still high off his fucking ass!

He blinked, once, twice, three times, as he lifted himself up on an elbow. But he was barely able to do that before he came crashing back down with a little grunt, his head lolling a bit. I tried to stifle my laughter, reminding him to be careful. “No, nnno! D-don’t, don’t you laugh at me!”

“I’m not! I’m not laughing at you, Alexander, I promise!” I protested, literally fighting to keep my composure as I spoke.

His brow furrowed as he huffed, all the while pointing his little finger up at me, jabbing the air like a professional swordsman, “You are! You think I don’t know! B-but I’m nnot stupid! I know! I know exactly who you are! Ex-ac-tly!” He punctuated each syllable while his head lolled about and he blinked sleepily, “So don’t… don’t act like I don’t know! I do! I’d recognize you anywhere!!” Okay, little man, we get it. You’re right, I’m wrong, what’s new? Even high you’re always ready to pick a fight with me.

I’d gone from weeping over his limp little body, to biting back tears of laughter. He was entirely in his own little world right now. I couldn’t believe I was watching the same super serious, uptight, angry little bastard I’d come to know and love now rambling nonsense in his post-surgery daze. I tipped my chin, having way too much fun, “Oh yeah? Who am I, then, smarty pants? What’s my name??”

“You…. You are unmistakably– Mmmm, the air tastes funny…”

“Alexander!”

“Hmm??” His eyes were halfway to closing as he mumbled. Poor thing. He’d been through so much. I should let it go.

“Never mind, forget it… you should rest—“

Then, with a sudden burst of energy that made me jump, he stared me straight in the eye and pointed up at me, “Arwen Undómiel!! Th-that’s… that’s your name…” He was grinning from ear to ear, absolutely delighted with himself for cracking the case.

“I’m sorry… what?!” He thought I was a Tolkien elf. And he’d said it in perfect elvish, no less. The smartest man I’d ever met genuinely believed I was a fictional elf. Oh god, I hope he remembers this, so I can tease him about it later. I couldn’t help myself: I burst into laughter.

#Just hold him and don't let him go #Just wait till he fully comes to #Poor Alexander #a fraction of justice #oc:alexander #oc:natalie #g/t writing #g/t community #giant/tiny community #g/t angst #Giant/tiny #g/t

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maigetheplatypus57 · 5 months

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In Another World, You Were Mine

In another world, we got to spend our high school years together, instead of being separated by a virus and by our computers.

In another world, I would have never gone to the States, would have been able to stay by your side and see you everyday.

In another world, we finally got to be in the same class together, trying to sit next to each other and giggling as we passed notes or played tic-tac-toe and drew in each other's notebooks.

In another world, at age 16, I would've summoned up the courage to confess my lingering romantic feelings, to ask if we could try again, go from queer platonic to romantic.

In another world, if you had said yes, we could've been dating throughout senior high, holding hands and sneaking kisses when no one was watching.

In another world, it's you instead of my (required to be male) prom date that I would've walked through our favorite mall with, checking out all of the shops of our childhood and laughing at silly toys in toy stores.

In another world, we would've applied to colleges together, celebrating when you got into your art school and holding our breath as I open my letters from the top schools in the country.

In another world, we might have had the courage to come out to our families again, this time on our terms.

(No, I'm sure we never would have been brave enough, at least not until we were adults and in schools where they were more accepting of queer students, but it's nice to imagine.)

In another world we would've been attending colleges a few hours drive away from each other in two different cities, instead of a 16 hour flight across two separate continents. We could've been hanging out on the weekends with the rest of our friends, catching up on college stories and complaining over schedules.

(In another world, I don't know if I would've still been alive to see any of this happen, but I wish I was even given the chance to try.)

But that's in another world, and in this world we had this:

A three-and-a-half years long queer-platonic relationship, full of laughs and playful flirting, before the time zone difference got too stressful for us and we broke it off.

Two debuts, barely three days apart despite our birthdays being 6 months apart (because that was the soonest I could come home to celebrate with all of you) where I was one of your candles and you were one of my roses with silly stories and heartfelt messages, where we danced as much as we could and drank to celebrate our adulthood.

A conversation in the bathroom, where I said I love you but I need to be in a relationship that's more physically affectionate than texts and video calls, one where I can actually go places with them and experience things in person.

A promise in the bathroom, where you said maybe in five years when we're done with school and if we're not seeing anybody, we can try again, but unless one of us is willing to move to the other's country then I don't know how we would even begin to manage to try again.

A flight back to the US, where I made the mistake of watching La La Land and Everything Everywhere All at Once and cried thinking about what could've been, about what we could've been, and what we were not.

A million thoughts in my head, saying I love you and I miss for you and I wanted to love you the way I wanted to but it never went how we imagined it was supposed to be. Saying I love you and you were the right person but it was simply the wrong place the wrong time the wrong circumstances. Saying if you read this poem please message me because I love you, and I haven't really talked to you in a while and that's mostly my fault, and I hope you're doing well and you're having a wonderful time where you are right now. Saying, over and over again, I love you I love you I love you I love you-

I love you, and I wish it worked out in this world.

But maybe in another world, you were mine.

#poetry #writers on tumblr #LGBTQ+#queer #maige's posts #maige's ramblings #found the original draft for this that was written back in october #I changed the more revealing place names and terms for safety reasons but. i know what i wrote #and if the one i wrote this abt sees this then they'll know too #lgbtq+ poetry #writing #btw i know that qprs aren't necessarily meant to be stepping stones to romantic relationships but #thats what ended up happening to me. and emotions are messy sometimes so just let it be

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tibby · 2 years

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Saw, Subtext, and My Ultra-Conservative Baby-Boomer Dad

My Dad will be 64 this autumn. My Dad is a die-hard Republican. My Dad was a Southern Baptist pastor for nearly 30 years. And my Dad is a Saw fan.

He’s always had horror movies he enjoyed (I grew up on John Carpenter.. it was kind of Our Thing), but he’s mostly a passive fan. The kind who is willing to wait until a movie watching opportunity presents itself, and decide that that’ll be the day he watched it.

So when my Dad called me a couple weeks ago, voice a little tremulous, begging me to send him a link whereby he could stream Saw (2004) and bypass the library DVD waiting period, I happily sent him the best one I’d found. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to watch it NOW, and I could respect him for that. It was a pleasant surprise, him being interested in the movie so much he had to watch it NOW.

Today, I finally got the chance to ask him about it.

I was bouncing on my toes, excited to be fangirling about my fave show with my own father. “What did you think, Dad?”

I didn’t expect him to get a little choked up. His next words blew my mind.

He said, “Sweetie, I’m old. Set in my ways. I was taught, and adhered to, a certain way that people should be with each other. I preached it, and I voted in light of it, and I taught it to you and your sister. But I watched this movie. And I watched these two men fall in love with each other. And the only thing I could think was, ‘These two souls are meant to be together’. Lawrence Gorodon and Adam Faulkner-Stanheight are… soulmates. Over my years as a pastor, I’ve seen couples get married.. And couples get divorced.. It happens. But I’ve never seen two people who were more perfectly designed to fit together, and it broke my heart to see it not happen for them. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.”

Given that it was a brave moment, I blurted out, “Dad, I’m gay.”

And he turned to me and smiled, tears in his eyes, and said, “Just… be happy.”

Don’t fret that the press “has yet to discover” the “subtext” inherent in Saw. Don’t fret that Leigh Whannell still denies it. Because if my Dad can see it, then it’s crystal clear. My almost-64-yr-old-Dad ships Chainshipping. My SOUTHERN BAPTIST PASTOR Dad ships Chainshipping.

To the point that he internalized change in his thinking about same-sex relationships, and happily accepted my (rather abrupt) coming out.

Keep the faith.

This ship has sailed; and my Dad, of ALL people, is right on fucking board.

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years

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Day 26: Eldritch

10/26: Eldritch

Universe // Characters: Narcos // César Gaviria, Eduardo Sandoval, Reader (Eduardo’s twin sister)

Rating: Explicit (sexual situations)

(So I took some liberty with this one since Eldritch is an archaic term. It means “weird and sinister or ghostly.” So while the word isn’t outright used in the fic, I tried to create a weird feel to the situation by leaving a lot of things vague and unanswered. This fic was 100% an experiment so it may be a complete fail but I’m just going to be brave and yeet it out there.)

César knows when he places the call what the answer will be.

My door is always open to you.

The first time you had uttered those words, he had been leaving the small two bedroom apartment that you and Eduardo shared off the University campus. The tall, blue-eyed twins from the Sandoval banking and investment family. You were legends before you even stepped on the campus.

You quickly made names for yourselves and it was just your first year while César was in his third. Eduardo was studying political science, a force to be reckoned with during debates with his fire and complete disregard for polite rhetoric. His first public debate was cut short when he openly laughed and told his opponent to “just shut the fuck up and go back to grade school to learn proper history.” César had been sitting there in the audience, secretly admiring the clear disdain that Eduardo had shown with no remorse for being disqualified from the competition. He wanted that level of confidence. And if he couldn’t have the confidence, then he wanted the man who contained it.

But then he met you, the mirror opposite of Eduardo. Quiet, introspective, academic, like him. Eduardo inspired him, you allowed him freedom to breathe.

You were being sought after to add your paintings to the campus art gallery as well as adding your musical talent to the University orchestra. When you didn’t have a paintbrush or cello bow in your hand, you were typically in the greenspace, shoes off and toes curled in the grass as you read or sketched. By the end of that year, you would spend your time with César’s head in your lap while he practiced his own debate speeches with Eduardo fact checking and providing feedback.

The three of you became inseparable and soon concern started to weigh on his mind. He was riding both your coattails, using you both to get noticed as he went into the fourth year and started applying to the graduate school. You were up and comers, good looking, wealthy, and talented. Why either one of you thought he was worthy to be brought into your shared world caused great internal conflict. All that secretive angst came to a head one winter weekend when the three of you decided to drink whiskey and smoke cigarettes all weekend. Drunk and jittery with nicotine, he broke his silence.

“Why me?” he lamented. “Why did you two choose me?”

“Choose you?” Eduardo echoed from the chair in the corner where he had been attempting to read Nietzsche to see if being inebriated helped with understanding the man’s philosophy. “What does that mean?”

You crossed the room with refilled whiskey glasses and set them on the small table in front of the couch before sitting next to him. You smoothed your hand down the side of César’s face. “Poor dear thinks we’re going to sacrifice him.”

“Sacrifice? What do you sacrifice people for?”

“How should I know, Eduardo? You’re the politician.” You gave him a sweet smile. “I create, not destroy.”

César laughed nervously. “I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what?” you had prompted with wide, glassy blue eyes. Your hand had dropped from his face and now rested on top of his own. “What are you afraid of, César? Tell us.”

This. He’s afraid of losing this. The warmth, friendship, acceptance, belonging. He’s afraid of turning around and finding you both gone, done with your pet project of the middle class wannabe politician. But he forced a smile and patted your hand. “Nothing. Just a stupid fleeting thought.”

You didn’t look convinced by his answer, even drunk you could see through his mask. Eduardo laughed loudly and dropped the book on the floor with a loud thud. “Look at that. You’re already a great politician. Lying to your friends' faces. Keep that up,” he clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed, “and you’ll be fucking President of Colombia.”

César had kissed you that night, standing in the doorway, when it was time for him to return to his own dorm room. You had followed him down to the front door to see him out. Worry had still touched your eyes and he had wanted it to go away. So he awkwardly leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. It was a brief affair, brought on by an awkward silence of a good-bye and tangle of nerves. But you both laughed and parted ways amicably. The next time he kissed you goodnight though, it had been a proper kiss and just shy smiles insteads of laughter.

It had been a beautiful and simple time in his life, a time when he was convinced he could continue loving you both.

That feeling didn’t last for long.

“Come on,” you urged, tugging at his sleeve.

He laughed and shook his head. “I’m not making out with you in the back of this car!”

“César, trust me. You need to relax.”

“I have ten hours before I have to give my dissertation-”

“I know! Get back here, now!” You leaned over the back of the passenger side seat, blue eyes gleaming in the dark. “Tick tock, el presidente.”

He couldn’t help but grin at the nickname both you and Eduardo use for him. El Presidente. Your faith in him was so blind but so filled with confidence. Maybe it was time for him to take a leap of faith himself. He just didn’t expect that his decision to join you in the back of the old Renault would change his life’s path.

He loved you, he knew that with certainty. But there were times, like that moment, when it was dark and he would close his eyes, he would imagine what it would feel like if your hands were broader. If your curves were less giving. Your sighs, deeper in tone. He let you lead that night, kissing him until he was lightheaded and slouched against the corner of the small car’s backseat. He was so focused on your mouth that he didn’t realize you had unbuttoned his shirt until your cold hands skimmed across his bare chest.

“Dios mio!”

You smirked against his neck. “Already? You’re more wound up than I thought.”

He huffed a short laugh before leaning his head back far enough that he was staring at the dark ceiling of the car. He took a deep breath when he felt your hands at his waist, unbuckling his belt and dragging the zipper down. Your hands had warmed by the time they gently closed around his hard length and you folded your lanky frame into the small space on the floor.

“Mi amor-”

“Tranquillo.”

And he listened. That had been his fatal mistake. He relaxed, let his mind go blank when the wet warmth of your mouth closed over him. It had been so easy to fall into that daydream that was becoming more and more frequent. His hands blindly reached down to touch you but his one hand closed on the bony ridge of your shoulder and the other slipped into your hair. Dark, soft curls wrapping around his fingers as your mouth and hand were speeding him along towards that electric feeling gathering at the base of his spine. He clenched his jaw to keep from making any noise, not wanting to risk having the wrong name slip from his lips.

But then he opened his eyes just as you looked up at him from underneath dark lashes and soft waves of dark hair. The light hit your face at the right angle and it could have been Eduardo staring up at him. His hips snapped forward and your fingernails bit into his hip. He came hard, a desperate groan ripped from his throat. To your incredible credit, you rode out his orgasm and sat back on your heels when you were certain it was over.

You used the hem of your shirt to wipe your face clean.“Now, don’t you feel better?”

He tugged you up towards him and kissed you as thoroughly as you had done to him so you wouldn’t see the tears and guilt in his eyes.

That had been the night he knew he loved you both. He wanted you both. He blamed it, and still does if he’s honest, on you being twins. Twins were said to share the same soul. And even though he never believed in something as fantastical as soulmates, falling in love with both you and Eduardo provided some irrefutable evidence to that belief. So he did what he thought was fair to all three of you: he couldn’t choose between you and Eduardo so he went with a third choice.

Ironically, you had been the one to introduce him to Ana, a childhood friend who had come to one of the University parties. She had been pursuing a degree in administrative business and accounting but as Eduardo had put, she had been looking for her “Mrs.” degree. Ana was everything you and Eduardo were not: quiet, socially mannered, and professionally, perfectly dressed. If he truly were going to be a politician, Ana would make a traditionally well received partner. And she did. He couldn’t have asked for a better first lady during his Presidency. On the outside, he truly did have everything, met all the goals that he had set for himself.

So why is it he can only think of the things that he has lost along the way?

You now live a hermit artist’s life three hours outside of Bogotá and Eduardo committed political suicide. Once Eduardo resigned, he essentially disappeared from the face of the earth. Or at least Colombia. César would have been more concerned but when he placed the phone call to you, you were already aware of the situation and not alarmed at Eduardo’s absence. That told César all he needed to know; not what he wanted to know. Eduardo is alive but César doesn’t know if he’s well. His visit to your home, a modest sized house and art studio in the mountains near El Manzano, should help fill in the blanks.

And give him space to breathe.

It’s taken a lot of convincing and conniving for him to make the drive alone. In fact, he told his head of security that he wasn’t going to leave until tomorrow morning, a necessary evil since there have been multiple times set and they keep getting canceled. He’s certain that Ana had gotten frustrated with tripping over his bag in the hallway that she suggested he just leave early in the morning before the security detail arrived at their home. So that is what he did. Eduardo would have had a fit if he had known.

But leaving as early as he did means he pulls up to your house before nine in the morning. He isn’t sure you’re even awake yet so he gets out of the car and just wanders around the front gardens. The home is built into a small plateau on the side of the mountain. The plants are riotous in their growth, looking as if there’s no planning to the planting but upon closer inspection, he sees the carefully laid out stone dividers around the flower beds and plants. Organized chaos. That has always been your speciality and he hopes that you’ll be able to organize some of his own chaos.

The air is much clearer up here, the rolling green hills below and the mountains above give the feeling of living inside a fairy garden. You’ve lived here for years, he’s visited many times, but the magic of the place never fades. Already he starts to feel the tension ebb from his muscles and the tightness in his chest is releasing. He follows the stepping stones, all natural flat rocks that you found in the area, and turns the corner where the front door of the stucco house comes into view. There’s a small patio, enclosed with a waist-high stone wall, and you’re standing in the open doorway.

It’s been almost a year since he’s seen you and he’s forgotten just how much you look like Eduardo. Tall, willowy thin, with your wavy dark hair and bright blue eyes. Your dress is a plain linen shift with an oversized cable knit cardigan thrown over it to ward off the morning chill. But your feet are bare, toes curled against the flagstones and he smiles at your consistency.

“Coffee’s almost done.”

“How did you know I was going to be here this early?”

You smile, the slightest touch of sadness appearing in the corner of your eyes. “Ana called.”

Of course. Even though he knows that you and Ana have an arraignment of sorts when it comes to his visits, he wonders briefly if you ever regret introducing Ana to him. Because there are moments, like this one, that he does. It should have been you. It always should have been you. But that wasn’t the decision he made and now he must live with that decision. His regret is not a consequence you should bear. And yet, here he is darkening your doorstep with nothing but regrets for his past decisions.

“Shoes, César.”

“Really?”

You flash him a smirk and for a second he sees Eduardo in the look. “Really. No shoes in the house. Socks too.”

He remembers this is your rule and you don’t have many, so he slips his loafers and socks off and leaves them by the front door. When you bought the house years ago, the main feature you loved so much was the stone floors. You swore that anyone who passed through the home would never wear shoes or socks, only bare feet would be allowed to touch the floor. It grounds you, you had told him one evening. It forces you to connect with nature, bring you back to your most pure self.

And isn’t that why he’s here? To find his center? To find an eye of calm in the storm? So that’s what he does. He follows you into the kitchen and when you turn to ask him something, he immediately wraps his arms around you and buries his face into the side of your neck. You still smell the same, lavender and sage. And guilt almost overwhelms him even as he tightens his hold on you, that this feels more like coming home then anytime he passes through the doorway of his own home in Bogotá. He fills his hands with the soft material of your sweater as he feels you relax against him.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

You slide your arms around his waist, your palms flat against his back as you return the embrace. “Then don’t stay away for so long then.”

This. This is what he is lacking. Someone who gently challenges him. There are times when he bristles against the constant support that Ana gives him, her liturgy of “I’ll support you no matter what.” There are times, like now, where support is useless. He needs guidance. He needs someone to tell him where he’s gone wrong and how to fix it.

He needs both you and Eduardo.

And he feels incredibly selfish for having that need, not just for one person but for two. Even after all these years, the need for you both hasn’t diminished. The only difference now is he’s tired. He’s staring down the last seven months of his presidency, Escobar is still out there, Search Bloc is leaderless, Ana has been looking at returning to University but in the US, and he just wants to have something to show for it all when it’s over.

You have always been a constant in his life.

He takes a steadying breath before forcing his hands to release you. You hold his face between your warm palms and kiss him briefly on the lips before stepping away. You open one of the cabinets and take down coffee cups, setting them on the counter.

“How long are you here for?”

He wants to stay forever. “Two days. I have a speaking engagement at a military graduation I need to be back for.”

You shake your head slightly. “Two days, that’s not very long.”

“No.” He moves back towards you, starting to reach for you again because two days is not a long time at all, when he sees three cups are sitting out on the counter. It has been a year since he’s seen you. A lot can happen in a year. But he would have thought you would have said something, or Eduardo would have said something if you had gotten married or had someone move in with you. But it would make sense that someone had finally seen the beautiful value you offer by your existence. He feels even more defeated than when he left Bogotá.

“Here,” you hand him a plate of pastries and the sugar for the coffee.

“I didn’t think I was going to be intruding.” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice but he can’t quite manage it.

“Intruding? What makes you think-oh.” You laugh softly as you pour the coffee. “You’re not intruding at all. In fact, we’ve been waiting for you.”

A small twinge of fear hits him. “What?”

“Hola, el Presidente.”

César turns to see Eduardo, dressed in khakis and an untucked dress shirt, stepping into the kitchen. “Eduardo.”

“Where did you think he was going to go?” you ask him but then wave it off. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we are finally going to get to the bottom of whatever it is that has happened.”

#Hinky's October Fic Fest #cesar gaviria #cesar gaviria x reader #Eduardo Sandoval #cesar x eduardo

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