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ellana-ravenwood · 4 years ago

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Sick Day - Batfam x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : It’s never fun to be sick. Duh. But when you have loving parents there to take care of you, maybe it isn’t so bad ? Just short little snippets of the first time each Batkids fell ill in Wayne Manor, and how Bruce and his wife (you :D) dealt with it.

Another “burst of the moment inspiration” story, just a little drabble. Promise I’ll post something more elaborate soon :), hope you’ll like it :

My master list blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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(Thanks to that anon who mentioned the kids getting shots, that gave me with this an idea on how to start this fic :D. The original beginning was different, I think I like that one better hehe.)

"Mister Wayne, if you keep doing this, I'm not going to be able to give your son-Bruce for god's sake !"

Leslie Thompkins, for the first time in her long career, was about to lose her patience and give up on...giving a simple shot to a baby.

She has seen worried parents before, of course. The one that clung to their child’s hand, or those who would cry because their little one was in pain…

Babies that young, who had to get vaccinated for the first time, never really experienced this sort of quick pain before.

A lot of them would cry more out of surprise than because it really hurt. Oh and when the parents were extra worried, you could be sure the baby was even more likely to burst into tears, sensing his parents' distress.

Yes. doctor Thompkins gave shots to a LOT of babies, and saw a LOT of worried parents before…But never had she met someone quite like Bruce Wayne.

He always came to her when his kids were sick. He could go to a fancier office, or to one of those pricy fancy private hospitals. But no.

No because, when it came to his kids’ health, there was no one he trusted more than Doctor Leslie Thompkins.

So it was no surprise when he brought his youngest son, Thomas, to get his first shot ever. What was a surprise though, was his reaction.

"And now you know why I'm always the only one in the room when this happens."

You say, smiling apologetically to the doctor. But ah, at least your husband's reaction eased a little the tension in your body brought by the mere idea of your baby being hurt.

Every single time Leslie got the syringe close to your little one, Bruce would reflexively grab her wrist and stop her from giving the shot to his son.

Ridiculous, really.

But it seemed it was something he couldn't fight.

He apologized the first time he did it, as Dr Thompskins smiled and said it was ok, rather amused. But then the second time, it was getting clear he didn't seem to quite control himself. At the third time Bruce was visibly sweating. Dr Thompkins finally snapped as she tried for a fourth and fifth time to give a shot to little Thomas (who, at barely 2 months old, was much too young to even understand what was happening, but by his little smiles it was clear he was happy every time his father would come into his vision).

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…I thought I could do it, but I can't."

And oh. Oh it's adorable the way he turns to you, his eyes saying "I'm sorry" as he takes his son back in his arms and holds him against his chest. You weren’t sure if it was to comfort little Tommy, or if he was comforting himself.

"I think I should just let you two handle this ?" He asks, unsure. He doesn’t want you to be mad or to think he’s abandoning you.

"I think this is a good idea Bruce, yes."

You smile at him reassuringly. It’s fine. It was always fine.

"I'm sorry, sorry I'm letting you do this alone once again. I just can't…"

"Oh it's ok my Broosh, I know you hate shots. I can handle it, and little buddy here sure can too."

Thomas coos happily as you pick him up delicately from his father's arms. Bruce resists a bit, before finally giving in and letting you take hold of the little one.

He lays a hand on his son's head, looking fondly at him (of this look he only gives his children, of this pure look full of unconditional love, and a hint of “what did I do to deserve this sort of happiness ?”) and then sighs, press a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring a last “I’m sorry, my love” and leaves the room.

He feels a little ashamed to let you do this once again, but you've always been the strongest one out of the two. After all, you willingly decided to marry a man like him…

"Alright Mrs Wayne, ready ? And here we-oh not you too (Y/N) !"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, I don't know what took over me, it was just a reflex too !"

You apologize, as you let go of the doctor's wrist…

Yeah, it was just a gut reaction to seeing a scary needle approaching your baby's thigh. In your line of um, nightly work, you came to be very wary, of syringes. You still remember vividly that time Tim got hit with one of Scarecrows’ needle, and how terrible this night had been...

"Ok ok, now is fine. Go. I'm ready. Go fast though, now. Now I’m not looking. Go. Go. Go."

Tears welling up in your eyes at the mere thought of this happening, you look away as you hold your son still (something he doesn't like as clearly shown by his little sound of protest, and as he starts to fuss about), and in one, two seconds…it's done.

And not a peep from your son.

He just stopped making any sound (he've always been rather vocal), his eyes went wide, and he made a face that looked like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to cry or not. Then there’s one more second, and Leslie had a soothing bandaid on his little leg, and you were holding him against your heart, and the pain was so fleeting and already gone, that he just gets over it quickly, feeling your love.

Calming down instantly, not noticing the tears in your eyes (thank god, or it’d be a sure way to make him weep too).

And so he doesn't cry. And everything is ok again.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it ?”

“Actually, it was.”

You say, barely holding your tears in, your son cooing in your arms

“Um...I was talking to Thomas.”

Leslie answers, amused. And just like that, you both burst into laughter.

After a few minutes of this uncontrollable fit of giggles, you thank Leslie for her help, and leave the room, joining your husband who had been walking back and forth in the waiting room, nervous.

He comes immediately to you and Thomas, and as soon as the boy sees his dad he smiles widely and giggles. Bruce gives him a soft smile, before turning to you :

“How was it ?”

“For me ? Not great. For Tommy ? He didn’t even utter a sound. Our little guy is brave !”

You kiss your son on his forehead, and he giggles and coos even more. There’s a short silence, before Bruce says :

“I’m sorry...”

And then he takes you in his arms, sandwiching little Thomas who’s protesting a bit. Damn, his parents could be so clingy !

“It’s ok my Broosh, I already told you. It’s ok.”

You sort of knew since you stepped into the doctor’s room that you’d end up being the one having to hold your boy anyway.

You knew oh too well how squeamish he was whenever HE had to get a shot done (and oh who would’ve thought the big bad bat hated getting shots so much uh ? You were pretty sure he would rather getting actually shot than take a tiny needle in his arm any day of the week...Alfred always had to fight with him to inject anesthesia when treating him for wounds). It was actually sort of a requirement, that you’d be next to him to give him your hand when he absolutely had to get a shot.

So understandably so, he always skipped on his children’s vaccins. He just couldn’t bear to see anyone he cared for to get that very things he hated so much, it just made him feel ill.

And you’ve always been fine with this. Since that very first day when you took Dick there...But Bruce always felt bad.

Because whenever you’d get out of the doctor’s office, you’d have fresh tears in your eyes, because you were just too pure for this world (is what Damian would say).

Dick always took advantage of this. He was never really scared of shots, and thought they didn’t really hurt...But oh, oh he would always cry a river of crocodile tears just so he’d get extra cuddles and ice cream.

And then, that cheeky little bugger passed that knowledge of “when we get shots, or we get sick, the parents literally let us do WHATEVER we want !” to his little siblings (you were actually pretty sure your kids would pass secret ways to manipulate you and Bruce along to their younger siblings and..you were oddly fine with it. You loved those kids too much to care, really).

This thought reminded you of that very first time Dick fell sick, shortly after you and Bruce officially adopted him.

And how much you guys freaked out.

It was both a pleasant, and terrible memory.

And oh. Oh you already dreaded the day Thomas would have his first real fever...You still remembered how it happened, with all your other children.

“What is it ?” Bruce asks, always knowing when something was on your mind. And so you say : “Nothing bad, this just reminds me of when Dick got sick for the first time while with us...”

A light of recognition ignited in Bruce’s eyes, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

Bruce only had fond memories of when he was sick and his mom and dad would take care of him.

He thought they were the best, wether they’d hold a “barf-bucket” for him, or stay up all night because he was too feverish...

What he never realized though, is that having a sick child was actually absolutely terrifying ! Bruce often felt sick himself, when the kids were ill.....ah, but nothing ever beats those first time each of them got sick.

DICK

Dick wasn't as young as Thomas, when he first came into your life. None of them were. But he was still a cute little bean, your baby.

Eight years old, and oh so sweet and nice and cute and you could just squish his little cheeks all day (albeit from the few outburst of anger at times, but hey, he was but a child, every kid throw tantrum from times to times).

He had been living with you and Bruce in the Manor for the past six months, when you had your first fright, and realized that being a parent meant being worried about your kid's well being for the rest of your days

Dick was definitely a tiny kid when he came in your life. He was rather short, only having a growth spurt when he was around 14/15. Barbara Gordon used to tease him to no end about this, up until he finally caught up with her and ended up being taller.

But yes, his small stature for his age, maybe made you baby him even more than the others, sometimes.

Ah. That first time little Dick Grayson was sick at Wayne Manor.

You. Freaked. The. Fuck. OUT.

You and Bruce, both.

Coincidentally, Dick became ill ON THE ONLY FEW DAYS OFF ALFRED WOULD TAKE A YEAR !!

Every year, for a theater festival, Alfred would take off to his homeland, to England, in London to be exact, for but a few days.

The three of you were in the batcave. Bruce was getting ready to go out, while you were on the bat computer and Dick was training on the side, doing some acrobatics on the trampoline Bruce installed.

And then he came to you, pulling on your sleeve, and he was so pale...

“I don’t feel too well.”

He said, right before throwing up for a few way too long seconds, as tears welled up in his eyes...it was never nice to throw up, and once again, no matter how mature he acted, you were reminded that Dick was but an eight year old child.

But he wasn’t only crying because throwing up fucking sucked. He was also crying because he thought you were going to be mad at him.

You reassured him, as you cleaned his little face up, and Bruce (who looked quite green himself...later on, you’d discover than when his kids or you were sick, he felt sick too...quite a strong reaction, really) carried him upstairs.

You were frantically googling how to take care of a sick child, as Bruce stayed with Dick, holding a bark bucket to his face, and drawing soothing circles on his back with his hand.

The panic dumbed the both of you down. It seemed like you couldn’t think, as you tried to make Dick as comfortable as he could.

You could feel your anxiety blowing through the roof, and knew that Bruce was close to have a panic attack himself (he was prone to them, although you and Alfred were the only one who knew).

You didn’t know what was worst, the fact he was sick and had no idea what you were supposed to do, or how much Dick was sobbing and apologizing.

“Should we call Dr. Thompkins ?”

“I don’t know her number, Alfred is the one that calls usually...”

“Should we take him there then ?”

“I don’t know, Alfred is-”

This went on for a little bit, as Dick was throwing up and crying. Saying “sorry !” every two seconds. But...Instinctively, Bruce was trying to soothe him with those warm pats on his back. And you were caressing his hair, empathetic. And...

You decided to not go to the doctor today, Dick was sick, but not sick enough to take him to an emergency. And in Gotham ? Leslie was needed for a lot, especially in evenings like this.

“Alfred um, gives me flat soda when I have a stomach ache ?”

“On it !”

You say, bolting on your feet and running to the kitchen, taking a cola and opening it up. Meanwhile, Dick’s fit calmed down, and he seemed to instantly feel better as he probably threw everything he needed to up...

He seemed content, cuddling against Bruce as the man was softly patting his back in small circles, and using his other hand to hold his head delicately.

You and Bruce were definitely not experienced parents yet, and it showed.

It showed by those first few minutes of utter panic, as your child got suddenly sick. And it showed as how you instantly just thought of calling Alfred...

That day, you both realized though, that you couldn’t always rely on the butler when it came to raising your son. For situations exactly like that one.

Both you and Bruce were still young, and scared to make mistakes but..You had to try. And you had to keep a cool head. Your motherly instinct kicked in.

It was so odd, seeing the big bad bat, wearing his costume without the cowl on (he didn’t have time to take it off as he rushed upstairs with the boy in his arms), looking so worried...

Bruce was so pale, and you could see that in a way, he felt his son’s pain too...Which just made your head click, and take action.

“Ok, ok we can do this. Keep the barf bucket close, let’s wait for the soda to get flat, and um...let’s try to distract him. A movie, perhaps ?”

Dick nodded, and although he wasn’t throwing up anymore, he seemed too weak to stand up (or maybe he was faking, could be, honestly, with that one...doesn’t matter) so Bruce carried him again.

And it was a sight. Bruce was a tall man. And Dick was a very small kid.

It was cute. and in that moment...In that moment it felt like you both suddenly realized what it meant, to be a parent.

Bruce, holding his son in his arms, feeling the little one’s heartbeat and slowed breath as he was kinda nodding off...was this how his own father felt, when holding him ? It was nice. It was a surge of pure love, and knowing that he would die for that kid if he had to. Hell, he would burn the whole world, for that kid.

It was so odd. The situation wasn’t that crazy, Dick probably just ate something bad, and with the trampoline and all the jumping around...he got sick.

As a child, you had those rapid sick moments of having a bad stomach ache, which would turn into throwing up, to then feel better. Those sudden moments when your own parents would take care of you...

Ah. You hadn’t realized how much worry being a parent would bring. Bruce didn’t either. You guys adopting Dick felt like an obvious thing to do. Felt like it was meant to be...

But it wasn’t just yet, that you felt like a mom. Or a dad.

It took some time to build. Just like it took time for Dick to call you “mom” and “dad”. And in that moment, as your kid (yes, your kid) was sick, that was it...

Finally. Yes. That was it.

You were a mom.

Bruce was a dad.

Dick was your son.

Of course you panicked as he suddenly got sick. But now, it was in your hand to properly take care of him. And thus started the first ritual you’d ever make with one of your children.

Dick, when sick, liked chicken noodle soups. Made by you. He liked cuddles, up until he turned 12 or 13, then he acted as if he was too grown up for them. This eventually stopped when he turned 19, not long after Jason’s death...He regressed back to a little boy in some ways, and needed you. And Bruce.

You’d often drive to Bludhaven just to give him chicken noodle soup and sprite, when he got sick. Even as he grew older and older...He loved it. No one could ever beat his mom babying him, when he felt under the weather.

JASON

"Hey buddy, are you ok ?”

“Yes, yes I’m ok mom.”

He smiles at you sweetly, his eyes half-closed, and clearly still relishing in the fact that he can finally call someone “mom”. But this happiness he felt whenever he realized he was finally safe, and had a home, was oddly dimmed, this morning.

“Are you su-OH MY GOD !”

Your hand is burning, as you lay it on his forehead.

He’s burning up !

“Hey wow hey, kiddo, come here, you’re not feeling well are you ?”

But Jason shakes his head, and says :

“No I’m good. Just tired, but I’ll wake up soon.”

He smiled again, but it felt all wrong.

Of course, you didn’t take his words for it, even if you knew Jason wasn’t a liar. But the fact spoke for themselves, your kid was NOT alright. No matter what he was saying.

Turned out, you were definitely right. He really wasn’t alright.

In fact, Jason had...pneumonia. A bad case of it. That he probably caught when he was playing earlier that day, in the snow, with Bruce, staying out up until his lips were blue and he was soaking wet !! Bruce could just never resist him, and didn’t have the heart to say “no” when the kid kept asking on playing more...

He dearly regretted it. But you reassured him, this wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t.

You rushed to the hospital, Bruce holding a tiny little Jason wrapped tight in a few warm blankets. And the doctor confirmed you made the right call, taking him to the ER.

It wasn’t like with Dick, where it was obvious the boy had a mild sickness. No. Jason really looked bad, and ready to drop.

You and Bruce let once again your parental instincts kick in and...It was the right call.

When Jason woke up, he let out a string of apologies and you realized...You realized the kid was terrified you wouldn’t want him anymore if he bothered you too much. Was scared to death that you’d want to take him back where you found him, that you’d give up on him.

His real life father bolted at the first signs of troubles. His mother was a drug addict for whom he was never good enough to try and get cleaned up.

He was abandoned, over and over again along his short life and...he was absolutely terrified that if he was too much of a nuisance to you two, you and Bruce would leave him as well. That you wouldn’t bother.

And it broke your hearts.

Softly, when Jason finally got better, after a few days of utter nightmare for you and Bruce, you took him home. He still needed some rest, as he was a little sick, so you tucked him comfortably in his bed and finally, you told him :

“From now on, you promise me to tell us when you don’t feel ok ? Wether you think it’ll bother us or not. You will never bother us, little buddy, ok ?”

“Ok”, Jason said, unsure.

“What do I have to say or do, to convince you you’ll never be a nuisance to us ?”

The question took Jason by surprise, and he wasn’t quite sure of what to say. In his feverish state anyway, he had a hard time thinking. He heard himself say :

“Stay with me ?”

“Of course. Always little one, always.”

And as he softly drifted to sleep, feeling the cold and soothing towel you would wet over and over again to put on his forehead, he heard you hum a song from your childhood, that would become a song always sure to put him to sleep.

He was out, when Bruce said : “I’ll stay home tonight.” A shame, really. Because maybe, maybe if he heard that the Batman was going to skip patrol just to keep an eye on him...Then he’d know he would never bother him. Ever.

That he would forever hold a dear, prime place in his heart.

Jason woke up the next morning, and found you and Bruce asleep on the floor, right next to his bed. You were still holding a towel that had long since dried up, and one of Bruce’s hand was clutched tightly on your shirt.

The basin full of cold water laying on his bed side table was almost empty. Jason smiled.

He felt better after a few hours of good sleep, and slowly got out of the blankets, pulling them with him, to then lay down next to you two, throwing the thick quilt over all of you.

Later that day, Alfred found the three of you all cuddled up. He snatched a picture. Picture that was framed, amongst some of your favorite of your children, in your office. And in Bruce’s.

The way you sung him to sleep when he was sick...When he died, it was the last thing he thought about. When he saw the bomb would explose before Bruce could save him.

He thought of how soothing it was, to be taken care of by you. And your humming voice rung in his ears, as he realized he was going to die. Right there.

Oh. Oh he wished he could be a little sick eight years old again, forget all his worries, and just fall asleep with the sound of your voice in his ears, while his dad would hold the both of you in his arms...

TIM

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, go back to bed this instant !”

Tim was the most difficult one, when he had a fever. He was a bit of a workaholic (like father like son ?), and always wanted to help. He hated being too sick because then he felt useless.

Your boy just wanted so much to be there for everyone, that he often forgot himself in the process and...yes.

His first real fever/sickness was punctuated by you constantly trying to get him back into bed.

You almost never even knew Tim was sick !

The boy was so used to taking care of himself, that he tried to handle everything on his own. He even took an appointment to the doctor himself ! But then, before having the chance to go there, he passed out in school, which resulted in a call from his principal that ended in Bruce almost having a heart attack.

You understood him of course. It wasn’t really a nice feeling to be called out during a business meeting to have someone tell you your son passed out in school !

It was just a little flu, but the fever and lack of sleep got the best of him.

Bruce didn’t even tell anyone where he was going, as he rushed to the school. You met him there, as he was walking out of the building, with a little sleepy Tim in his arms.

“I can walk, I swear I can walk.”

The boy was saying, yet his head was on his dad’s shoulder, and the up and down bobble of Bruce’s walk was clearly putting him to sleep.

Your husband settled your son in the car, and drove home.

“He was trying to convince me he could finish his school day, and that he had a group work today and didn’t want to let his friends down...”

“Sounds like Tim alright...”

You said, looking back at his sleeping form in the back seat.

Bruce nods, but you could see something was on his mind. You always knew, when something was on his mind. Brushing a few fingers on his cheeks, you ask :

“What is it, my Bruce ?”

His eyes are on the road, of course. But he flicks them quickly to you, and he knows. He knows he can’t lie to you, or get away with telling you half-truth.

You’ll know, if he’s not really telling you what has been worrying him. He takes a deep breath and, with a small voice says :

“Is this...my fault ?”

At first, you don’t understand, and you say :

“I’m pretty sure it’s because that boy never wears a damn sweater, and we’re in Gotham in the middle of Winter haha.”

But then...Then you realize what he means.

He’s talking about the fact that Tim always seem to overcompensate for something. Always seem to want to be there for everyone, forgetting sometimes he’s just a ten years old boy.

Tim was the only one out of his siblings that became Robin for no personal reason, but just because he loved Batman and wanted to help him. Just because he wanted to help people.

He didn’t have a tragic backstory (although he unfortunately got one later on...), he didn’t have a reason to become Robin, other than his good nature and really wanting to help...

And Bruce let him. Allowed him to do this. Even after what happened to Jason, he let Tim sneak in your life and become Robin.

You’d argue that Tim didn’t leave you guys much of a choice, and sort of had a “well I’m gonna help you no matter what, deal with it” sort of attitude. But you understood your husband’s worries.

He was afraid that he was the one that made him that way. That it was because of him, that Tim worked his health off.

“Oh, Bruce, my Heart...No. No it’s not your fault. It’s just how this amazing little boy is wired. I actually think that thanks to you, he’s more focused and taken care of. The gods can only imagine what Tim Drake would’ve done if he hadn’t been trained by Batman himself...If you said “no” to him pestering you about becoming your Robin, he would’ve taken it upon himself to go out there anyway. And then...I can only imagine what would’ve happened. So no. No it’s not your fault. It’s just...how he is. He reminds me of you a lot, actually. And I’m so, so glad he managed to convince you...Couldn’t imagine my life without that little one in it. Even if he does give me grief often, overworking like that. But it’s not your fault. It’s not. On the contrary.”

It took you a while, to convince Bruce he didn’t create Tim the way he sort-of created Dick and Jason. But you managed to, as you always did. You could be very convincing. Plus, the boy helped. It was clear his dedication came from himself mainly, that he was just born this way.

Too clever and smart for his own good, destined to be a Robin...and maybe a Batman, one day ?

Yes. Tim was the only one that wasn’t in it for himself. For personal reasons. He just wanted to help...

But after that first time he got sick, he understood that sometimes, it was ok to rely on you or his die. That in fact, he would gladly do so !

That day, Bruce carried him to his bed, even as the boy protested he was alright. Finally, you’ve had enough and ended up sort of lecturing him...gently.

“You need to rest, sometimes, ok ? If it’s too much, if you’re too tired, physically AND mentally, you need to take a few steps back...and let others take care of things, and of you. Ok ?”

“But-”

“No buts Timmy. It’s important. If something bad happens to you because you’ve been ignoring your own body, your own self...What will happen to those you want to help ? In order to continue what you’re doing, you need to take some pauses. Like right now. You are sick. You passed out in school. So...It’s gatorade and crackers time.”

Gatorade and crackers.

Tim’s favorite drinks and food.

Gatorade and crackers.

Two things that were rarely found in Wayne Manor. You always tried to give healthy balanced meals to your kids. Especially to Tim, who had the opposite of a balanced diet when he came into your lives (the fact he often had to take care of himself as his parents were too busy meant he often chose his own food...and of course he’d rather have ice cream than broccolis).

But the fact that you were now giving him Gatorade and crackers meant...Meant that Dick was right. When they were sick, you would do anything to make them comfortable.

Coincidentally though, Gatorade and saltines helped out, when one was sick.

On that first time he became sick after starting to live with you, Tim found that it was ok, to relax sometimes. That he didn’t have to waste his life away 24/7 for others, and that he could enjoy some down time.

It only happened when he was sick, to your great dismal. You constantly tried to convince him to take a break (just like you did with Bruce...but although it worked with your husband, especially as he got older, Tim was just very stubborn, and wanted to help too damn much). You even had to trick him into it often.

So although you hated seeing your kids in any kind of pain, you were almost glad when Tim got sick. Because it meant he would really take care of himself. Or rather, letting you take care of him.

That first time he got sick, he ended up leaving his bed...only to go cuddle up in yours and Bruce’s, and enjoy some down time. And learn that, it was ok, to take care of himself.

Hell. You’d hammer this fact in his head if you had to.

Gatorade and crackers, while watching movies in yours and Bruce’s big bed, was why Tim thought that in the end, being sick wasn’t too bad.

Extra points if you two were in the bed with him, snuggled up all nice, safe and warm.

CASSANDRA

Cassandra didn’t like TV, when she was sick. Instead, she liked you reading her stories better. And you’d read to her all day, if need be. Switching from time to time with your husband.

She had trouble sleeping, even when sick and weak. Listening to your voices telling her all those wonderful stories was soothing beyond measure.

The first time she fell sick while at Wayne Manor though, her first reflex was to go hide. Because when she used to be sick with the man who called himself her “father”, with David Cain (that scum), he used to get so mad at her.

As if it was her fault, she became sick.

So she’d run away. Curl into a ball. Wait for it to pass. And then face him, healthy again. It was easier to confront him when she was ok...So she’d rather run away and face the consequences, rather than stay around him while sick.

And so, her first instinct was to go hide.

She went to the attic, and did what she used to do.

Curled up in a ball, in front of the round window. And wait. Alone.

It’s Bruce, who found her. He was casually checking the GPS he put on his children. They still thought they got rid of it, the sweet kids...but as if he’d only implant one. He knew it wasn’t really ethical, but after what happened to Jason, he wasn’t willing to take any chances.

During the day, he would check a few times, and usually during boring office meeting, to see where they were. That day, he saw Cass in the Manor’s attic, and didn’t think much of it. Cass was a curious one, who took it upon herself to explore everything in the house.

But when he came home, and she was still there, his guts told him something was wrong...He rushed to the attic, and found her.

And his heart stopped, when he saw her laid on the floor, curled up into a ball, and softly moaning because she had a bad fever.

She wasn’t asleep, even in this state she fought sleep, afraid to have nightmares (and while having a fever, she couldn’t just wake up to escape them...).

Bruce carried her out of the attic, holding her tight in his arms, his heart bleeding as he realized why she isolated herself while she needed help.

People often misjudged Bruce on that matter. Saw him as a cold harsh man. But oh; oh if it was touching his children or you...He would feel so much. Too much, even. He just loved you all to death.

When he brought her downstairs, and you saw her, you immediately entered “mom mode” and fussed over her, getting everything you needed to make her comfortable...but as it turned out, all she wanted was to feel yours and Bruce’s presence.

To hear your voice, and feel you were there.

And so without thinking, you picked up a book and started to read it to her. And you could feel her relax, let her guard down. A rare occasion she would truly let herself be chill.

The first time Cass got sick while living under your roof, her first instinct was to hide and lick her wounds all by herself. It was to lie on the floor and hope it would pass fast. It was-

The second time she felt under the weather, she immediately went to you. It was early in the morning. And it’s only thanks to Bruce’s amazing reflexes that Cass didn’t throw up all over you two, as he pulled you away from her just in time...To then take care of changing the sheets, while you held your daughter’s hair as she threw up in the master’s bathroom’s toilet.

And then Bruce went downstairs to take a “barf-bowl”, the one actually, that her mom used to take for him...ah. He always used that one for all the kids. Call it nostalgia.

The second time Cass got sick while under your care, she didn’t hide. She wasn’t dreading it, even as she got even sicker than the first time. No.

No because now, she knew she’d always find you so you could take care of her. Ah, and Dick, Jason and Tim gave her many tricks to fake being sick and have you all for herself...

DUKE

Duke was older than any of your kids were when he started to live at the Manor. He was already in his teens. He wasn't a tiny bean like the rest of them, when he came in your family...

And yet. Yet the first time he fell sick, you babied the hell out of him.

So what if he was sixteen ? Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have all the care a child should have when he wasn’t feeling well.

And so you were ready to take care of him, when Alfred came to you this morning to tell you “Master Duke” wasn’t feeling well.

However, when you got to his room and indeed saw he was feverish, he refused to talk to you and just wanted to be alone.

And then it hits you.

Duke was sixteen.

He wasn’t a lost little eight years old boy who had just lost his parents, or never even had parents. He wasn’t a child in dear need of love and cuddles.

He was sixteen.

And he wanted HIS mom.

What happened to his parents was too fresh.

And they weren’t dead...In a way, seeing them lose their mind with no chance of ever getting better was worst.

Duke was sixteen.

And there, sick, all he wanted was to have his mom’s care again.

Yes. Duke’s case was different than all your other children. Because his parents were still there. Because he was older. Because everything was so fresh, at the moment.

In time, in the coming years, he would come to feel just like his siblings did. But right there, just mere few weeks after he moved to the manor, and mere few days after Bruce helped him find his parents...

Duke was homesick.

He missed his dad. But he missed his mom even more. Probably for the same reason that your kids loved to have you around so much, when they were sick...

There was no doubt in your mind that Duke’s mom was amazing at taking care of him when he felt ill. She probably had her own tricks, to make him feel better. Tricks that you did not know...And so you asked.

You simply asked.

Because you wanted to make him feel better. You wanted to be there for him, even if right now, he didn’t want you around.

If he truly wanted to be left alone, you’d leave some medicine and leave him be. But your guts were telling you he was just sad, and the sad was translated into him pretending he wanted to be alone.

Your guts were right.

Duke wanted his mom. Yes. But he also didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, right now...He just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He knew how motherly you could be. He didn’t want to project his mother on you. He-

“What do you need ?”

You asked, and the answer came to his mind instantly. He spoke before even realizing he was doing it :

“My mom used to make a perfect drink of warm water, honey, ginger and lemon.”

And as you tried to recreate his mom’s drink, never quite getting the measurements right (you could see on his face it wasn’t like his mother’s), Duke slowly felt better.

Because...Because yes. He missed his mom. And the way she took care of him. Especially on sick days. But...It wasn't everywhere that one could find someone who cared so much, that they were willing to spend their entire day trying to get a drink right, right ?

And when Bruce came home, and asked him if he was “alright champ ?”, Duke realized one thing...

Yes. He wanted his parents. Yes, he missed them like hell. Yes, his sick days would never be the same...

But he wasn’t alone. As Bruce joined in trying to make the perfect drink of “warm water, honey, ginger and lemon”, Duke came to the realization that his situation wasn’t as desperate as he thought, this morning, when he woke up feeling under the weather, and without his mom to take care of him.

Because you were still there. And were planning on staying there for a very long time. Of course, you could never replace his mom. Just like you never replaced Dick’s, or Damian’s...You just, became another mom to them.

And Duke...That first day of being sick in Wayne Manor ? He felt like he was finally willing to let you become his second mom. To let Bruce become a father figure. To have this found family, in this tough times...

Sick days were never the same than when he was a little kid and still had his parents around.

Duke was sixteen. Growing up wasn’t easy, especially after what he went through. And sick days would never be the same...But it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be nice, as he slowly let you and Bruce, and his newfound siblings, take care of him.

Yes. To have this found family in this tough times was quite a joy.

DAMIAN

To the surprise of many, Damian actually didn’t resist too much being taken care of when he first got sick under your roof.

Damian actually loved being sick, because it meant snuggles time with you, safe and warm under a blanket on the couch, watching his favorite movies. It meant your soothing fingers running in his hair, making him feel peaceful and relaxed.

It also meant that he’d have you all for himself.

With five siblings (with a sixth one on the way), it wasn’t always the easiest thing ever, to get his mom only for himself. Yes. He loved to be sick, and babied by you.

The first time he got a bad fever, a few months after he arrived at the Manor, he dreaded falling ill because...

Well. Because he was raised in the League of Assassins. And being sick, no matter how much, was not considered reason enough to not train. To not do what his grandfather told him to do.

He used to work through the sickness. Even if he felt like passing out (and he did, a few times, which earned him hours from his sleeping time taken away...).

So Damian hated being sick.

Until. Until he became ill for the first time when living with you.

By that time, you and Bruce had learned how to manage a sick child. And although Bruce still felt physically ill too whenever his children were, he managed nowadays to be somewhat ok and take care of them without wincing.

It happened not long after Damian started to call you “mom”. He fell asleep while you guys were watching a movie and...it’s what instantly told you something was wrong.

No matter how bad a movie would be, Damian would NEVER fall asleep in the middle of it.

Ah, and sure enough, as you checked his temperature you realized he had a bad fever. And so you carried him to his room, tucking him into bed.

He woke up as you were doing that, and looked at you, utterly surprised. What was going on ?

“Get some rest buddy, you’ll feel better soon.”

You said, smiling. And at first, Damian didn’t understand. He had been so conditioned in ignoring his own well being, that he didn't realize something was wrong with him. But then, you laid a hand on his forehead, and said :

“Ah it doesn’t seem like it’s such a big sickness, I’ll go get you some medicinal tea and...What do you want to eat ? If you’re hungry ? Maybe you’re not, sometimes when I’m sick I just don’t wanna eat anything.”

Sick ? Was he...Sick ? Yes. He was. But it was so mild, that he didn’t even think he needed to rest. Or...Didn’t he ? He was just so used to still work even when sick.

“What-What about school ?”

He asked, and he was surprised his voice sounded so weak and tired. Was he always feeling like that when sick ? Yes. But...Something was different.

And then it hit him.

“I think it’s ok if you skip a few days’ buddy.”

The difference was that, when he was sick while amongst the League of Assassins, he was always terrified that his grandfather got tired of him and send him hitmen (it happened a lot before, while he was sleeping for example, and it always happened to test him, test if he was ready, and willing to kill and ask questions after). That he didn’t find him useful enough.

While here, with you, he felt safe. He felt loved. He felt warm.

And so his body wasn’t in a “fight or flight” state. He was just...sick. As any normal kid would be.

When with the Al’Ghul, he somehow managed to convince himself to keep going, to work through the pain. And oh, it’s wonders, what the brain can do when you really want to.

But here. Here he didn’t have to act tough. To keep walking or he’d end up dead. Here. Here he was safe. And loved.

So he felt the sickness, the fever. He felt it’s true effect.

“What do sick people eat ?”

He asked, and at first you didn’t think much of it. You started to tell him Dick loved chicken noodle soup while Tim preferred saltines. Cass would never eat much, neither would Jason, but they’d always say yes to some flat sodas.

He seemed unsure of what he wanted, so you asked him a simple question :

“What do you usually eat, when you’re sick ?”

It was such an innocent question. But it made him almost cry.

Usually ?

Usually...

“Well...”

He hesitates, and you sense there’s more to things than you originally thought. Finally, after looking at your encouraging smile, he says :

“When I was sick before, I still had to train. And then they’d tell me I’m weak.”

In one sentence, you understand everything. And you could punch yourself for ever thinking that he got taken care of when sick. And then the next second, you hold him tight in your arms, and once again, Damian is surprised.

But pleased. He had been touched starve most of his life, this was nice.

“My poor baby...”

He didn’t even complain you called him a baby, and let you hug him. And then...Then you spend time with him, trying to find the perfect ritual to make him feel better while he was sick.

You had such rituals with everyone. Formed on the day they first got sick. Damian needed his own thing too...

Thus was created the “couch nest”.

It involved covering the living room’s couch with at LEAST one quilt, then Damian would bring the pillows (and maybe some stuffs animals, or even real ones...Titus often sneaked in) from his bed, and you would tuck him in with one or two more quilts.

He would then spend the rest of the time watching TV and movies with you. Or with his siblings. Or his dad.

And it was so comforting, to be wrapped up like that. Almost like laying in a hug. It made him feel like he was perpetually held by you.

Damian used to hate being sick. Because he hated being weak.

But this changed. Just like he changed. Thanks to his family. Thanks to you.

Now, just like Tim, he almost loved, being sick...

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

“This sort of reminds me of that time Dick got his first fever...”

You were thinking about all those terrible, yet sweet days, of your children being sick, as you walked up the stairs to your house, a hand tightly weaved around your husband’s.

Bruce was holding a sleeping Thomas in one of his arm (the boy was so small he could even fit in one of his hand, really), and felt relaxed. Here. With his son, and his wife, the love of his life. And with the knowledge than when you’d push the door to your house open you’d-

“Father ! Mom ! How is he !?”

Both you and Bruce quickly put a finger on your lips, and Damian throws his hands on his mouth, regretting his scream. But he was just so worried.

He couldn’t come with you to the doctor’s office as he had school (plus you were pretty sure he would’ve been 100 times worst than Bruce, trying to stop Leslie by any means necessary), and had been thinking about his little brother’s first shot all day.

Damian, just like his dad, wasn’t very fond of shots. He hated that his brother (wether the youngest one, or one of the older one, really) had to go through this.

It was always silly to you, how both Bruce and Damian, who’ve been through much worst than small little shots, hated those so much...Silly, and very cute.

Damian was looking critically at his brother, checking him silently for any signs of distress, for any “mistakes” Doctor Thompkins would’ve done, and seemed satisfied that the boy was fast asleep in his dad’s arm.

And Bruce...Bruce was smiling.

He felt so relaxed. And happy.

When you pushed that door, it opened on Damian rushing to the two of you, worried about his little brother. But it also opened on Alfred, who baked some comforting food, and brewed some tea for you, knowing how hard on you this sort of things could be (and yet how you insisted to take your kids to the doctor yourself, and not let Alfred do it, because you wanted to be there for them).

It opened on Cass smiling, and ruffling Damian’s hair as to reassure him.

It opened on Tim, who took a small break from his college study to come down and spend some times with his siblings, ready to relax in front of a movie (it was family movie night !).

It opened on Duke, who’s hands were full of DVDs, and who was excited to try to convince y’all to watch “Ninja and Pirates 6″, or something of the like.

It opened on Jason, who was smiling in such a way that no one would ever know all the things he went through. And it made Bruce feel all nice and warm inside...even as the little shit mimicked him having to take a shot. Squirming and looking as if he was about to faint. And ah, he hated to admit it, but his boy was impersonating him really well.

And it opened on Dick. His first kid. The one that, one day when getting sick, was who made Bruce realize what it truly meant to be a dad. The one who knew the best how much he hated seeing any of his children sick, or getting shots.

On Dick, who was laughing really hard at Jason’s impersonation, and giving him feedbacks about what to improve to make it even better.

The door opened on his family.

And as the ruckus surrounding him woke Thomas, as Damian yelled at Jason and Dick for being so loud, and as Bruce’s eyes fell on you, while you looked at your little tribe with love in your eyes...

Bruce felt relaxed. And so, so, oh so happy.

________________________________________________

This is yet another one of those stories I’ve been posting a lot lately, that do not take me very long to write and in which I don’t put that much effort, but that I really enjoy writing nonetheless ^^. And I hope you enjoyed reading it :), I’m nervous actually this isn’t up to your standards hahaha...Yes, hope you still liked it. Don’t hesitate to leave a little feedback etc etc ^^. Thanks in advance !

See you soon with something much longer and on which I spend a lot of time working ;).

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sgtjbbhasmyheart · 4 years ago

Text

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Three

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1740

Warnings: Nosy (and well-meaning) friends acting like nosy siblings, angst, bad language words

A/N: After I originally posted this chapter on AO3, I got some comments that exacerbated the beginnings of a year long depression. Please be kind. I intended this chapter to come across as the gang being like siblings...always being in each other’s business. Is there a breach of privacy? Yes, but without the ill-intent.

DO NOT copy or replicate without permission

Bucky clutched his phone in his flesh hand as he made his way down a long hallway to the communal kitchen and eating area. A soft, crooked smile rested at his lips as he entered the space. Natasha and Sam were sitting at opposite ends of the rectangular table separating the kitchen from the lounge, enjoying a late breakfast. Steve was at a kitchen counter fiddling with the Keurig machine. He pulled another mug from the cupboard when he saw Bucky approach. “Mornin’, Buck. Sleep well?”

Bucky’s grin broadened as he leaned his backside against the countertop. “I did, actually. Thanks for asking,” he answered, looking to his phone at the incoming text.

(Y/N) Would you rather have skin that changes color based on your emotions or tattoos appear all over your body, depicting what you did the day before?

He missed the way Sam and Nat looked at each other in suspicion at his answer to Steve. He was too busy pressing the keys on his touch-screen.

Bucky The tattoos would be awkward, speaking from a male’s perspective, so I think color changing would be better. Not by much, though.

Bucky Would you rather have edible spaghetti hair that regrows every night or sweat maple syrup?

Bucky saw Steve slide the new mug, now filled with coffee, across the granite-top toward him from the corner of his eye. He glanced up quickly from the screen and nodded. “Thanks, buddy.” Steve answered with a smile.

“What, no grunted thanks or mumbled acknowledgment?” Natasha quipped, standing from her seat to place her plate in the dishwasher.

“Yeah, man. You have been using way too many words lately. I miss the grumpy dude that would brood in the corner,” Sam added, crossing his arms at his chest. “Are we even sure this is the right Bucky?”

Bucky’s phone vibrated again.

(Y/N) I love me some spaghetti! Can you imagine sweating sticky, gooey maple syrup during a humid New York summer?? Your clothes would be toast.

(Y/N) Mmmm, french toast.

Bucky chuckled at the reply, drawing the attention of three sets of eyes.

Sam wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t the same Bucky.

It had been five days since (Y/N)’s first drunken texts. Five days. He couldn’t believe so little time had passed. Somehow, (Y/N) had wiggled her way under his skin.

He had noticed after only a day or two; he was smiling more, less volatile. He felt lighter, happier. He wasn’t skulking about the compound like usual, trying to avoid the rest of the team. Some might go as far as to say he was friendlier than usual.

It felt good to have someone, a friend, learning about the real James Buchanan Barnes, for once, without the threat of The Soldier clouding their perception of him.

“You’re freaking me out, man. Straight outta Invasion of the Body Snatchers or some shit,” Sam declared, rising from his chair.

“Hold on, Sam,” Steve placated, lifting a hand to the advancing man. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to Bucky’s good mood lately.”

Bucky set his jaw in frustration, the muscles ticking. He wasn’t a Pod Person. He was just happy, for the first time in seventy-five years.

His phone went off again.

(Y/N) Would you rather sneeze once every hour, on the hour, or burp every time you saw an attractive girl?

A wide smile split his mouth as he scanned the screen.

Bucky Am I sneezing in my sleep or just when I’m awake?

When Bucky brought his gaze back up to his teammates, he noticed Natasha’s own eyes flick down to his phone. The slightest smirk curved the corner of her lips.

“It’s curious,” she said, a perfect eyebrow inched higher to her hairline. “All the people you text are in this room, yet, you haven’t been able to pull yourself away from your phone.” Her eye contact never wavered from Bucky’s face. “Don’t ya think that’s odd, fellas?”

“Natalia,” Bucky warned, his voice gruff. He knew she was fishing.

Sam laughed boisterously. “Yeah, I noticed that the other day. It’s glued to your hip nowadays.”

“It could be anyone from the team, guys,” Steve reasoned. “I bet it’s Tony.”

Bucky became increasingly agitated as the redhead slinked closer, passing his phone back and forth between his hands.

Natasha shook her head in the negative. “Nuh-uh,” she said, leaning against the counter directly beside Bucky. A hair’s breadth of space separated their shoulders from one another. Tipping back, with her elbows propped against the hard surface, she kicked her legs out casually and crossed her feet at the ankle. “Those two have barely said two words to each other since the good Sergeant here was welcomed back into the fold. It’s not Tony.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” Steve replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I bet it’s a girl,” Sam said in a sing-song voice. “But, where would Ice Man here meet a girl?”

Natasha smiled while looking at Sam as he stepped closer to the trio. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She nodded to Sam and, without batting an eye, lunged at Bucky.

She tapped the underside of the hand holding the phone, causing the device to flip up into the air.

Though he hadn’t seen the attack coming, Bucky’s reflexes were cat-like, and he easily caught the phone in his opposite hand.

Unfortunately, Natasha was just as quick and knocked the phone from his hand again. She effortlessly swatted it out of the air and into her hand. As Bucky clamored to retrieve the cell phone, she swung her arm behind her back and tossed it into the waiting hands of Sam.

By looking at Sam’s broad smile, Bucky knew he was having a field day at his expense. He pounced on his teammate, grappling for possession of the device. He wasn’t sorry for elbowing the other man harder than he ever would if they were sparring each other. He needed his fucking phone back!

Sam managed to flick the phone over his other shoulder in the process of Bucky grabbing ahold of Sam’s wrist and twisting the same arm behind his body. It clattered to the ground at Steve’s feet.

As everyone stared at the cell phone lying prone on the tile floor, Sam backed Bucky into the cabinets, trapping him with his body. “Let me go, Bird Brain!” Bucky huffed.

Steve bent to pick the phone up, holding it in his hand. Bucky could see the war playing within Steve’s blue eyes as he struggled against Sam. Steve was just as curious as the other two but didn’t want to betray his friend.

Natasha quickly snatched the device from Steve and started thumbing at the screen.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Steve protested.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to put a passcode on your phone, Barnes?” Natasha tsked as she navigated to the messaging app.

Bucky knew the exact second she found what she was looking for because her eyes became comically wide. A feral, shit-eating grin crossed her mouth as she raised a brow again.

“Tell me about (Y/N).”

“What?” Steve questioned, crowding the red head. “Lemme see.”

Bucky felt his cheeks go aflame as Natasha angled the screen so Steve could see the message thread. They burned hotter as Steve looked up with his own shit-eating smirk.

“Well, well…” Sam piped up. “If your faces are anything to go by, Vanilla Ice’s still got game.” Bucky twisted his arm back further in retaliation causing Sam to grunt in discomfort.

Bucky watched as Natasha’s thumb skimmed along the screen to delve deeper into past messages. Her thumb stopped as she read a passage; her green eyes rapidly followed the lines of text.

“I always kinda figured you’d be into someone that would call you out on your BS. She sounds fun,” Natasha said as she continued to scroll.

“No one’s into anyone. We’re just friends,” Bucky murmured.

Steve’s head shot up to stare at his best friend, sorrow painting his features. He edged away from Natasha. “Does she know who you are?” he asked.

Bucky shook his head no. “And she never will.”

“Aww, but you guys sound so cute together,” Natasha pouted. Bucky frowned at the insinuation. It couldn’t ever happen.

“There aren’t any rules saying we can’t date,” Natasha mentioned. “Hell, you know how many times I tried to set up this big lug?” She motioned to Steve with her thumb.

“That’s different,” Bucky said after a few moments. He eased up slightly on Sam’s arm.

“How so?”

Bucky rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, the blush starting again. “He’s Captain America, and well, I’m not. Not exactly everyone’s favorite.” He downcast his eyes to the floor.

“Buck, you know that’s not true,” Steve said woefully. “It’ll just take some time.”

“I know, Stevie. Until then, though, I’m still a pariah.”

The super soldier serum couldn’t have been given to a better person, but Bucky always felt like he would be trapped in Steve’s shadow, no matter the amount of good he did. He would still feel weak for what Hydra did to him, or not good enough to be labeled Captain America’s best friend.

Feeling the room take a considerable turn toward somber, Natasha called out, “Holy shit, Barnes! You used Wilson’s toothbrush to clean your toilet?”

“What?!” all three male voices cried out.

Sam rushed forward, trying to see the proof for himself. “You’re a dead man!”

Freed from the weight of Sam’s body, Bucky leaped forward toward Natasha and Sam. Slamming into Sam’s back, he snaked an arm around the other man, reaching frantically for his phone. He was done with them spying on his non-existent personal life.

Bucky smacked against Sam’s hands and arms, trying to dislodge the device.

“Stop!” Sam bellowed. “You’re hitting me like an eleven-year-old girl!”

“Gimme back my phone!” Bucky shouted.

Suddenly, the sound of ringing filled the small space of the kitchen. The scuffling stopped in an instant as everyone tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. Sam glimpsed down at his hands and jumped apart from Bucky as if he’d been burned. He looked horrified!

“Oh, shit!” Sam exclaimed, shoving the phone back at Bucky.

“What did you do?!” Bucky screeched when he realized the ringing was coming from his phone on speaker.

The sound ended abruptly, only to be replaced with the gentle tinkle of a woman’s voice.

“James?”

Chapter Two | Chapter Four

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starlightrows · 4 years ago

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At The End of My Rope

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: Angst, pain, hair pulling, biting, co parenting, insecurity, a bit of comfort, early stages of a new relationship

Summary: All kids go through difficult phases, just because Grogu is an old man baby, does not mean he doesn’t go through phases that drive his caregivers crazy

AN: Normally I tend to write Grogu like we see him in the show. Sweet disposition, a little cheeky and mischievous. But I wanted to try something a little different, I was inspired to take on this challenge by this post. I hope I did an okay job!

Din had bid you and Grogu farewell earlier in the day. Giving his son a gentle pat on the head, and you a hesitant but warm embrace. A newer development in your budding relationship. He promised he would com if this job took him longer than the usual 3 days. You weren’t too concerned, this was the set up after all. He hunts, you take care of the child and the ship. But this time was different. You knew you were in for a long couple of days when he refused to eat his favorite dinner. Grogu beat his little hands against the table, tossing away the plate of steamed vegetables and seared meat.

“You better not be getting sick mister,” you warned, mostly to yourself. His skin didn’t feel hot, and he didn’t seem to be having any symptoms of illness. But it was very unlike him to turn down any food, especially his favorite. You cleaned up the fallen bits of food from the floor, and attempted to offer him some of your dinner. But he smacked it away as well.

You sighed and gave him a ration bar. For some reason he was happy to devour that instead. You would have preferred he eat the fresh food. Ration bars are no substitute for fiber and natural vitamins, and even though Grogu outnumbered you in years he was still a growing boy.

After dinner, you put him on the floor on one of the soft blankets you had purchased for him, and tried to entice him into playing with toys or reading a story from the datapad. But he wasn’t having any of that either. He seemed to be disinterested in everything that normally amused him. The only thing that kept his attention now was throwing anything you offered him.

“I think it might be a good idea to have an early bedtime,” you grumbled after catching the datapad mere inches from the floor. Those things aren’t cheap and you’ve only got the one.

You began your evening routine with Grogu. Dimming the lights in the hull. Bringing him into the fresher to wash his face with a warm rag, and brush his six tiny little teeth. He never liked that part, so you tried to be quick about it.

“Ow!” You yelped, recoiling your hand. “Grogu! Not nice. Don’t bite” The bite wasn’t bad enough to break skin, but it sure did hurt for such a little creature. Grogu squeals with delight, apparently unaffected by your scolding and discomfort.

You took him back into the main area of the hull, and tried to place him down in his crib. That wasn’t happening either. The moment you put him down he shot right back up, and yelled for your attention. He had always been a troublesome sleeper, waking up at least two or three times a night. So you picked him up again, and began walking slowly up and down the length of the hull. Braced against your shoulder, and being bounced gently usually did the trick. But tonight, he couldn’t get comfortable. He cried and complained. And you just couldn’t figure out why. So you just kept walking up and down the hull. Over and over and over again, until your feet were numb, your hips ached, and your eyes began to droop.

Grogu finally seemed to be drifting off. You figured you’d be able to keep this up until he was fully asleep, then you’d be able to get some rest too. A quick glance at the chronometer jars you out of your rhythmic pacing... it’s nearly morning. You’d been pacing all night long. Grogu stirred at your shoulder, snapping you back to the present moment. You continued your walking, and he settled easily.

When you were sure he was fully asleep, you lowered him into his crib, and tucked him in. Without bothering to wash your face or even change out of your day clothes, you collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.

It felt like not even a full minute passed before your eyes shot open again, Grogu was awake and howling for attention. He had managed to climb himself out of his crib, up the storage crates, and up further on to the wall of the crest and gotten himself tangled up in the cargo net attached to the wall. He was dangling from his foot, and wailing. You launched yourself out of bed, and went to disengage him from the netting.

“How did you even get up there?” You ask him. He just giggles and babbles, squirming to get out of your arms. Another glance at the chronometer tells you that the both of you had gotten at least a couple hours of sleep. But not nearly enough by your reckoning. Hopefully he would tucker himself out by playing and the two of you would be able to take a nap in the afternoon. But first, breakfast... another battle of throwing his food at the walls, spitting and crying.

“What’s with you lately?” You ask the little one “You love oatmeal with moon peaches,”

He whines in response. You shrugged your shoulders and took the bowl away from him. Defeated, you unwrapped another ration bar and gave to him. He happily munched on it.

“I know you’re like 50 something years old, but this absolutely has to be your species equivalent to the terrible twos,” you told him, trying to wipe some stray oatmeal from his face and ears. He tried to nip at your fingers again, causing you to pull up short.

“Hey!” You scold him “We talked about this. No biting, remember” He peered at your with those big dark eyes, and shoved the rest of the ration bar into his mouth. You shook your head, and continued cleaning the floor where he’d dropped his oatmeal.

The day dragged on, things got a little better after breakfast. He seemed a little more interested in his toys today, and was content to play mostly by himself. By the early afternoon he was getting cranky and definitely needed a nap. He crawled up into your lap, and whined for some affection. You placed the datapad to the side, and brought him up to rest his head on your shoulder.

“You done being a grouchy pants?” You whispered, patting his back gently “Wanna take a nap with me?” He whimpered out a quiet little response. You decided it would be better not to even get up, instead you leaned back against the wall and closed your eyes. You’ve napped in stranger places.

You woke up again sometime later to intense pain in the side of your head. Your eyes snapped open, and you yelped at the pain. Grogu had a fistful of your hair and was yanking with such ferocious intensity it scared you.

“Grogu! Let go! You’re hurting me,” you cried out. He didn’t seem to be awake yet, it wasn’t on purpose. You shook him as best you could, trying to rouse him from sleep.

His own little eyes snapped open and he gave a final yank. The searing pain intensified as he pulled out your hair. You shrieked in pain. Grogu released the larger chunk of hair still attached to your head. You could not help the tears welling up in your eyes or the pained moans escaping your lips.

You set Grogu down on the play blanket, he rolled over and went back to sleep. The strands of your pulled hair fell to the ground. You rushed off to the fresher to look at the damage. You were relieved to find that it wasn’t all that bad. True he has gotten a fistful to pull on, but he had only yanked out a tiny amount. And it bled a little. Still the pain was excruciating, and it scared you to think your sweet little boy could hurt you this way.

“It’s not his fault,” you reminded yourself. “He didn’t do it on purpose,” You wiped away the blood with a wet cloth, doing a rather haphazard job of it. You went back to Grogu, and did your best to pick up the hair he had plucked.

You hoped the remainder of his nap wouldn’t last too much longer so he would sleep tonight. But alas, luck was not on your side this week. He slept far too long, threw more food at dinner, cried while you bathed him and insisted on being rocked all night long... again. The one silver lining being, he fell asleep at least a little earlier than last night.

The morning came again, and things seemed to be better. He ate two full bites of his oatmeal before throwing it at you. But he ate all of the moon peaches. You decided to count that as a win. He played with you today, and seemed to want your affection. But he refused a nap and by the late afternoon he was getting grouchy and mean. It all came to ahead when he reached up for your datapad when you weren’t looking, and knocked off the edge of the storage crate you placed it on. The screen made an awful crunching sound, and you knew without even looking at it... it was toast.

Grogu was frustrated. He wanted to read stories, but the datapad wasn’t working. “It’s broken honey,” you tried to tell him “it won’t work. The screen is cracked... and there’s probably something else broken on the inside,”

He whined and complained, and just could not be consoled. It occurred to you that he hadn’t had the opportunity to play outside, or with others aside from you and Din in weeks. Maybe this was the reason for his misbehavior and frustration. Maybe if this job Din was on went well you could convince him to take a day or two off at park the ship on one of the safer planets he knew of to let the kid run around and blow off some steam.... but you also knew that he had to keep hunting, and it was your responsibility to keep the kid entertained and safe.

By the end of the night, Grogu was exhausted, not having taken his nap, and unwilling to cooperate. So you skipped washing his face and brushing his teeth. You didn’t even bother cooking dinner for him or yourself, you just gave him the ration bar you knew he would eat. He seemed content to get in his crib, but wanted you to sit by him and rub his back. Exhausted you sat down beside the crib and indulged him.

He’s gone through so much in his little life. And it’s not like human children don’t go through difficult phases. But you were at the end of your rope. Not sleeping or eating enough, you hadn’t showered in a couple days, your head still hurt a bit where he had pulled out your hair... you didn’t even want to think about what you looked like right now.

You wished Din was here. Not that you’d feel comfortable asking for help. He had his own responsibilities to take care of and figure out. But the two of you had grown close in the last few months. A few heated moments and admissions of deeper feelings, but you were both still trying to figure out what it all meant and how to proceed with one another. In this moment you just wanted him close by, if for nothing else another person to witness that you were doing everything you possibly could in this situation.

You fell asleep that night leaning up against the cradle, head bent at an uncomfortable angle and your jaw hanging slightly open. And that’s how Din found you. After pushing his quarry into the carbonite freezer, he was shocked and mildly horrified to see you in such a state.

Puffy bags under your eyes, hair in disarray, what looked like dried blood hastily wiped away on your neck and chin. Grogu on the other looked perfectly fine. Tucked up in his little bed, sleeping peacefully.

Din decided it would be best to take off and leave this planet first, safer in hyperspace. He went up to the cockpit to start the flight sequence. Next he removed all of his armor except the helmet and boots. He gingerly placed your arm around his neck, wrapped his arm around your torso and the other hooked under your knees. He lifted you off the ground, and carried you the short distance to the bed.

He checked you for wounds, the source of the dried blood. He was confused to find no injuries or markings. He would have to ask you about it in the morning.

When morning came you became aware of two things. First, you were warm.... very warm. Warm from being held all night by strong arms, against a warm body. Second, someone was screaming... immediately you bolted out of bed and left Din scrambling trying to figure out why you had moved with such urgency.

Grogu had once again climbed himself up the storage crates, and somehow gotten up even higher on the cargo net before getting stuck. You climbed up on the crate and pulled him down as carefully as you could. Din tumbled out of the bunk, and watched you.

“You have to stop doing that,” you told Grogu, trying to tuck back his whispy white hairs. Only for him to bite your finger, again! You yelped in pain, and retracted your finger. That bite was harder than the first time.

“Hey!” Din’s sharp voice cut through the chaos. You turned to face him, still holding Grogu. Din stuck his arms out to take him, you passed him over.

“Grogu. Did you just bite her?” He asked sternly. Grogu’s ears flattened out, looking guilty.

“We do not bite. You know better,” he scolded. He took Grogu over to the corner of the hull, farthest away from the galley, the bunk, and the storage crates; and set him down.

“Sit there,” he said “And don’t move,”

Grogu’s big eyes watered, as he watched Din walk away. You stood by the door of the fresher, watching this interaction. You turned away, ducking into the fresher when Din turned to you. He followed you.

“Hey” his voice was gentler now “are you alright?”

You tried not to look at him, keeping your back turned. You knew you looked awful, and were feeling extremely insecure about your parenting skills at the moment. So to keep him at bay you nodded your head, “Mhm, I’m fine,”

He took another step towards you, and caught your hand tugging gently. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hide forever, so you gave in and turned to him.

“It’ll be a couple hours before we get there. Why don’t you take a shower and have a little down time,” he said

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay really. I’m just a little tired and a little frustrated with this phase he’s in right now,” you replied. His thumb stroked lovingly across the back of your hand.

“You’ll feel better if you rest. He can come sit with me in the cockpit for while you shower and eat. When he goes down for his nap, I want to talk to you about why there’s blood on your neck,” he said carefully. He wanted you to rest, but he also needed you to know that he was worried.

You’re hesitant to accept. He still needed to fly the ship, and probably had to have a video com with Karga. And someone had to mind Grogu while he did those things. You must have taken too long to respond, or maybe he can really just see right through you because he kept speaking.

“You’re not a bad parent for taking a break and having time for yourself. And it’s not your fault he’s going through a phase,” he told you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You drew him in, needing to feel the pressure of his embrace. “Thank you,” you whispered. He rubbed your back. Before he pulled away to let you bathe and rest, he couldn’t help himself, he had to ask.

“Why is there blood on your neck?” His voice was measured and careful, he really wanted to know, but didn’t want to show how much he was freaking out over it.

You gave a somewhat hysteric laugh, “He yanked a clump of my hair out,”

“Stars! Are you okay?” He was utterly shocked, that was the last thing he would have guessed would come out of your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you shook your head “We really need to let him play outside. He’s got too much energy, and not enough stimulation in this bucket of bolts,”

Din shook his head, “Yeah, if he’s bored enough to pull out someone else hair, we definitely need to get him out for some fresh air,”

#Star Wars #The Mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin #din djarin x reader #Baby Yoda #Grogu #Terrible Twos but for a 50 year old alien goblin #I have actually had my hair ripped out by a toddler before #It SUCKS #But I still love kids #even when they drive my crazy

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bitterepiphany · 4 years ago

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my thoughts on 139

part 1 of 2

***big spoilers for 139 and the manga***

so, i read 139.... and as much as, yeah, it's disappointing (imo), and yeah, it doesn't really make sense (again, imo), this is what isayama gave us, and there's nothing we can do to change it, despite our complaints. THIS is the ending we got, and ill be damned if i don't try and at least understand it

and a disclaimer: these are entirely MY opinions, if you disagree, that's fine! these are just my thoughts and analysis on the chapter and it's perfectly okay if you have different opinions about it. also, this is going to be quite long, just a warning

so i'd like to start by saying that none of us actually know what eren saw back in chapter 90 when he kissed historia's hand. throughout the whole wfp arc we've seen eren (mostly) from an outside perspective. his true motivations have, for the most part, only been revealed to us through the reactions and perceptions of others. take chapter 123 for example, when armin figures out that eren is actually on their side by activating the rumbling, but then is confused as to why he tore down all of the walls, rather than just the one in shiganshina

i guess the way i'm trying to rationalise it is through what eren is desiring to be the outcome of this situation. he cares for his friends. we know this. he loves them more than anything. it seems to me that he is aware of his friend's desires. the people of paradis are in an impossible situation. if they activate the rumbling, they kill off all the other humans outside of the island. if they don't, they all get massacred by marley and the other world forces. so here, eren is trying to give them a solution that doesn't mean (entire) world genocide. he knows that armin and his friends don't support the rumbling, but also understands the cost of the freedom he so desperately wishes his friends to have. so he comes to a compromise - set off the rumbling, make his friends the saviours of the world, and prove to the rest of humanity that they were wrong in thinking that all of the people on paradis were 'devils'.

armin makes a good point here. did eren really have to go this far? and eren's lack of response is really answer enough for us. we don't know. it's not something for us to know. it just is.

so enter the founder ymir. this is one of the only parts of this chapter that really make sense to me and i'm able to piece together in my head. ymir was in love with king fritz. that's something that has already been established. we've all wondered why ymir didn't just break the restrictions holding her as basically a slave to fritz when she was so powerful. and as much as it might seem cringey and boring, it was simply love. since she gained her titan power, ymir was (however superficially and non-genuinely) acknowledged. and after being a kicked-upon slave her whole life, being acknowledged and valued by the king would have been incredible for her. so it does make sense that she would fall in love with the only one who (presumably) gave her life any value.

and love makes us do stupid things. we hold onto the things we love, even if we know that it brings us more hardship than happiness. and that's what ymir was experiencing. she couldn't stop loving king fritz, even though it brought her pain. and that's tragic.

ymir was a slave to love. love didn't mean freedom to her. enter mikasa. mikasa, who has never been a slave to anything in her life. mikasa, who has loved eren unconditionally, and has chosen to love eren, despite his urgings for her to forget him. now, i see the differences in ymir and mikasa's love as being the choice to love. ymir saw her love as restrictive and painful, and wished to be free from it. mikasa actively chose to love eren, despite everything, and was still 'free', so to say - proven by her wrapping the scarf around herself in 138, choosing not to forget eren, because she loved him. and it's quite poignant to me because it is her choice, and her choice alone that makes her do this.

so maybe ymir was waiting for someone who could show her that love isn't just the pain she's become accustomed to, and that love can be pure and freeing, rather than restrictive. maybe that's why ymir was standing and smiling as mikasa kissed eren, because she saw the pure love that mikasa had for him, and how she chose him freely. maybe mikasa was that person who showed her how love wasn't necessarily a bad thing. but again, it's not something we will ever know for certain, and as eren says:

now that's just my interpretation of this whole 'ymir was waiting for mikasa' thing, and there are still some things that don't really make that much sense to me, but that's how i'm rationalising it.

the power's of the founding titan have clearly taken a massive toll on eren. he now exists in all of time itself. as he says, he's just trying to reach an end goal, and even doing that is extremely taxing for him due to the past, present, and future he is experiencing all at once. and i believe that end goal is split into two different parts - eren helping ymir find mikasa; and eren trying to find the best possible outcome for his friends in regards to paradis' fate. he has seen the future, and that future meant the inevitable rumbling, so that was what he had to achieve.

i've always held the belief that eren is a 'slave to freedom', doing everything he can to achieve the freedom he so desperately wants. but now it seems that eren is a slave to the freedom of his friends, and the freedom of the founder ymir, rather than the freedom of himself. and honestly? that kinda contradicts what his character has been up to this point, but again, that's just my opinion.

so eren made the dina titan eat his mum instead of bertholdt. i'm not quite sure why everyone is so caught up on this fact? yes, it's a horrible thing. but you can clearly tell that this was not an easy thing for eren to do. it explains why bertholdt was ignored after he came out of his titan, and wouldn't doing this give eren the drive he needs to have, the hatred that is necessary for him to 'keep moving foward'? i remind you all that eren massacred 80% of the human race; what makes you think he is going to stop his goals simply because he doesn't want his mother to die. but if his mother hadn't died, would eren be where he is today? i don't think so.

these next few pages make me sad. now, this is just me trying to make sense of what happens, not me saying that this is a good thing that isayama did with eren's character. i think here, we see eren as something he tries hard not to acknowledge - human. i think a lot of us forget that eren is only a young 19 year old boy, who has the fate of the world thrust in his hands. did he ask for this? no.

no, eren is only trying to follow the path that was set out for him, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. he's so young, and he loves mikasa and the rest of his friends so much that it hurts him to have to make the choice to be away from them. while he does work for the greater purpose of freedom, and actively chooses to do this and make choices because of this, he is still bound to yearn and long for the things he could have had - just like the little alternate reality we got in 138 about living the rest of his life in peace with mikasa. like he says, he wants mikasa to live happily, but it hurts him to acknowledge that his death is the only way to bring that about (in his opinion, at least).

here, eren is reminded of why he has made the choices leading up to this moment. freedom. that is what he is striving for. even if the founder's powers are messing up his head and making him unsure of why he even did all this, he did it for freedom.

now, i'm not gonna address the 'thanks for being a murderer for us' line. i can't explain that one. it just doesn't make any sense to me and i'm not gonna try and make it make sense. sorry.

i'm only allowed 10 images per post so this will just be part 1!

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #chapter139 #snk chapter 139 #eren jeager #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #levi ackerman #annie leonhardt #jean kirschtien #connie springer #reiner braun #pieck finger #gabi braun #falco grice #aot spoilers #snk spoilers #snk 139 #ugh

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archadianskies · 4 years ago

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wingspan

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Monday Day 1: Post-Apocalypse • Sacrifice; Hank Anderson/Rose Chapman TLOU AU

“Alice needs medicine.” It’s said in a whispered hush, paired with nervous glances over at the feverish child labouring in bed. “Her coughs are wet and her chest sounds congested.”

“Adam’s still about a week out from being able to drive back here,” Rose chews her lip, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hank shrugs, “I’ll make the exchange by myself.”

“No!” Her voice is stern, her gaze even moreso but she knows it won’t dissuade him. They both know this has to be done.

“Make the call. Luther can help me load up the truck and I’ll go.”

“Hank-” Kara, sweet Kara with anguish on her face weighing her down, wearier and wearier with a sick child already.

“I’ll get it done, for your little girl,” he pats her hand and there’s conflict mixed with her gratitude. “Luther will keep everyone safe here while I’m gone.”

They’re easing into winter and they all know if he doesn’t go now, there won’t be a chance later when the roads are covered in snow. Doesn’t mean Rose is any more comfortable with the plan, not when the world isn’t what it was and every single day they’re out here they know they’re all on a knife’s edge.

“The cold slows them down,” Hank tries to placate and she raises one brow and he drops that line and goes for another. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better,” Rose says firmly and eases the beanie on his head. “North’s making the drop this time.”

“Doubly, extra triple careful then,” he mutters. North’s tempestuous at the best of times, so Hank knows there won’t be any casual banter or interesting snippets of news exchanged with the goods.

Usually Josh is the one he meets with, sometimes Simon, and on that one occasion which he still is half-convinced never happened- Markus himself turned up. Jericho is one of the largest communities flourishing in the aftermath and has a functioning hospital, and the Chapman farm has, well, fresh vegetables and poultry. It’s a good relationship in this hellscape, one that gives him hope for a future.

“Truck’s all loaded,” Luther thumps the hatch as Hank makes his way over. “If you leave now you’ll make it back before nightfall. I’ll keep an eye on the house, I promise.”

Hank claps his shoulder. “Thanks Luther, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” the man murmurs, his voice more like a deep rumble in that broad chest. “Thank you for doing this for us.”

“Hey, I’d do anything for her,” it’s the goddamn truth and he isn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d do anything for any of you.”

“Be safe,” Luther squeezes his arm. “It’s your turn to read to Alice tonight, remember?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

He pulls out of the driveway, sparing Luther one last glance in the rearview mirror before it’s just him and the road and all the thoughts he tries so desperately to keep at bay. It’s been ten years since the outbreak, ten whole years since that cursed day he held Cole as his son bled out in his arms. It’s been nearly five years since Rose Chapman found him, half mad with grief and nearly feral with hunger yet too stubborn to die.

He doesn’t really remember the years between Cole’s death and him wandering onto the outskirts of Rose’s farm. She’d saved him, continues to save him day in and day out because he has a purpose here, he matters here, and there are people here he’d kill to protect.

Once the initial wave was over, once the violence cannibalised itself, people did what people do best- they come together, they rebuild, they reconcile, they strive forward. It doesn’t mean it’s completely safe, it doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing, but Hank can see a future now where he couldn’t see one before.

*~*

There’s three kids walking along the tree line; it’s a blink and miss situation, but he definitely didn’t miss it. Three kids, all alone, heading somewhere but nowhere close enough they’ll make it by nightfall. Ah shit. Hank pulls over and the kids are smart enough to dart for cover.

“You kids alright?” He takes out his gun and sweeps his gaze around, trying to spot any infected who might be lurking nearby.

“We’re alright!” One of them calls out.

“Shut up Connor!” One of them hushes the one named Connor.

“It’s only a couple of hours until sundown and there’s no camp you can reach safely on foot in time,” Hank approaches slowly, keeping his voice low. He sees them now, all three of them, skinny boys in ill fitting clothing with backpacks too big for them.

One of them has a bandaid stuck to an old crusted wound right in the middle of his forehead. The other has a bandage wrapped around his forearm, brown with age. And the last one is pointing a gun at him.

“We said we are alright.” The one holding a gun says icily. He can’t be more than ten, yet the look in his eyes says everything; the boy has been through things a ten year old shouldn’t have, but then the same could be said about most children in this hellscape.

“Two of you are hurt. I’m going to Jericho and-”

“Jericho?” The one named Connor perks up. “We’re going to Jericho!”

“Shut up Connor!” The other says exasperatedly, and Hank can see they’re identical twins with the only difference to be found in their expressions.

“I can take you there. Plenty of room in the truck.”

“What will it cost us?” The one with the gun demands, and Hank shakes his head.

“Nothin’. I just don’t want you boys out here all alone, especially once it gets dark and the temperature plummets,” he tries to reason with them, but can’t fault them for their caution.

“We managed to make camp just fine,” one of the twins says stubbornly but Hank can see it, can see that small hopeful expression he’s trying so desperately to mask.

“I’m sure you did, and I’m sure you can tonight. You just shouldn’t have to, that’s all,” he gestures at his truck. “This way’s pretty deserted but Jericho’s much safer and the truck’s much faster than going on foot. What do you say?”

“If you try something funny, Ronan will shoot you,” the stubborn twin threatens, and Hank nods.

“Alright.”

It’s a tight squeeze but three boys under ten are about the size of one grown man so it spares Hank the effort of rearranging the produce on the back. There’s a blanket Kara crocheted on one of the seats, and he tucks it over them and doesn’t miss the way they snuggle closer, huddling for warmth.

“Is Jericho nice? How long have you lived there?” Connor asks after a while.

“Jericho is very nice. It’s big and safe and there’s other kids in there too,” Hank explains, “but I don’t live there. I live on a farm down the other way, and we supply vegetables and chickens to them in exchange for meds and materials and shi- stuff.”

“You’re making an exchange now?” The one named Ronan asks quietly, the gun still held tightly in his hands now resting on his lap.

“Yeah, uh, Alice, a little girl about your age, she’s sick,” Hank spares them a glance. “Her cough’s getting pretty bad so we’re hoping to get some meds to help.”

“Maybe they’ll have something for me there?” Connor says so softly Hank barely hears him.

“Are you sick? What do you think you need? I’m sure they’ll have it there.”

“You’re not sick!” The other twin hisses, and Connor huffs stubbornly.

“That’s the problem Sean, and maybe that’s why I need help!”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Hank looks over at them and both boys click their jaws shut and refuse to meet his gaze.

“It’s fine,” Ronan says, the ice back in his tone. “We just need to get to Jericho.”

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, and Hank’s glad when the large gates loom up on the horizon. He doesn’t drive up to the main entrance, but takes a side road and stops the truck by a clearing where there’s another car waiting.

“Hey Hank,” the redhead greets with a lazy wave, leaning against the trunk.

“Hey North,” he nods respectfully as he kills the engine and hops out.

“Oh,” she blinks in surprise, “new survivors?”

“Yeah I picked ‘em up on the way,” Hank gestures over at them before busying himself with removing the tarp over the cargo. “They were headed this way so I thought I’d get ‘em here safely.”

“Doc will want to check them over,” North looks at the boys and Connor is the only one who offers a wave. “It’s just protocol of course.”

“They’ll need her help anyway- Sean has that wound on his forehead and Connor has the bandage on his arm,” Hank looks over his shoulder at the boys. “Blood looks old but it can’t hurt to give it a once over and a dressing change.”

“And the other one who looks ready to murder me?”

“That’s Ronan. He’s holding a gun.”

“Clever boy,” North smirks, coming around to the driver’s side and peeking in through the open door. “You boys want to come stay here with us, you have to get checked by the Doc first okay?”

“Okay,” they chorus obediently and Hank finds himself grinning helplessly.

“Got the meds and some honest to god wool yarn for Kara,” North informs him as she loads up a crate onto the back. “Otto farm about six hours away made the exchange and I kept a couple of skeins for her.”

“She’ll love that, thanks North,” he pats the crate happily. “And we all profit it from it, so…”

“It’s more an investment than a gift,” she grins before beckoning to the brothers. “Alright kiddos let’s go. Come in and grab a coffee Hank, while the guys unload the rest and refuel.”

“You’re a saint, thanks.”

*~*

Jericho is a nice place. It’s a really really nice place. It’s full of life and learning and healing. No matter how hard others try to take this place for themselves, no matter how much violence they try and inflict, the sheer resilience of its people keeps the place running. That, and well, having nearly an entire SWAT team complete with a Captain in residence can’t hurt.

Far better, kinder, saner team than the rabid FBI team led by Prickins from a few years back who tried to destroy Jericho and take it for themselves. The whole debacle saw over half of Jericho burned to the ground and dozens slaughtered.

It’s when he and Rose took in Kara and her family, because the sheer trauma was too much for Alice to process and she could never return. Adam stayed on as a nurse and found his calling. It feels like a lifetime ago too.

He takes his coffee over to the little clinic at the side entrance where newcomers are screened because he wants to make sure the boys are alright.

“This is a burn,” Adam frowns as he inspects the wound on Sean’s forehead. “How did you get this?”

The boy doesn’t answer, looking over nervously as doctor Anthea unwraps the bandage from Connor’s arm.

“Oh my god-”

“Fuck!” The expletive leaves his mouth before he can stop himself.

“It’s three weeks old we swear!” Connor cries, nursing his arm to his chest, tears in his eyes. “It’s three weeks old!”

Before Hank can comment any further he’s being slammed to the wall, North placing a gun under his jaw. “You brought a fucking kid with a bite into Jericho and expected to leave him here?!”

“I didn’t-”

“He didn’t know!” Ronan shouts, clenching his trembling hands into fists. “We didn’t tell him in case he left us behind!”

“He should’ve left you behind!” North growls.

“It’s old,” Anthea raises her voice. “The teeth indentations have healed over. This is new scar tissue right here.” She’s gently tracing the mark on Connor’s arm, the boy’s bottom lip trembling as tears spill down his cheeks.

“How the fuck is that possible?” North steps away and lowers her gun, too shocked to be angry now it seems. “Everyone who’s ever been bitten turns after eight hours at the most.”

“He must be immune, then,” Anthea smiles in disbelief as she smooths Connor’s hair away from his face. “You are one of a kind, Connor.”

“We keep him in holding overnight,” North declares, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just to be sure.”

“No, you keep us together!” Sean spits, fuming at the mere suggestion of separation.

“I don’t have time for that, I have to get back to Alice!” Hank argues and North cocks her brow.

“No one’s asking you to stay, Hank, you can go.”

“Bullshit! I’m not letting you lock up these kids outside of Jericho’s walls!”

“You can go, you got us to Jericho, you don’t need to do anything else!” Ronan adds and oh Hank can see it, Hank can see the fear of being left alone in those big grey eyes.

“I’ll go, I know the way,” Adam offers, holding his hand out for the keys. “It’s my home, after all. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I’ll spend the night in holding, then,” Hank nods as he hands over the keys to the truck. “Tell Alice I’m sorry I’ll miss storytime.”

“You spend the night in holding,” North orders as takes his gun from the table and presses it back into his hand, “and you put him down yourself if he turns.”

“And then us too,” Ronan says in a voice so steady, so resigned for a child. “If you shoot him, you have to shoot us too.”

“It won’t come to that,” Hank says firmly.

“For everyone’s sake, I hope you’re right,” Anthea runs her fingers over the bite on Connor’s arm again before gently thumbing away his tears. “I guess we shall see in the morning, hm?”

The holding area must have been a security control room at some point. It’s now been caged by wire completely, with a chained and padlocked gate. He must be losing what little sanity he has left, but at least he’s not losing his compassion. No way in hell he’s about to abandon three boys to an uncertain fate, no matter how brave they’re trying to be.

“You could’ve gone back to the farm,” Ronan points out as Connor curls up on the lumpy mattress under the covers with his twin.

“Yeah I know,” Hank shrugs, nursing his coffee mug. Simon had left them with provisions to last the night, including a large thermos of coffee because he’s an angel in this apocalyptic hellscape.

“What if we’re lying and Connor turns and kills you?” Sean demands, though it’s not so effective given Connor’s clinging to him tiredly.

“Then I’d die,” Hank offers them the soup thermos. “Alice is still getting her medicine tonight, so that’s perfectly fine.”

“Don’t you have family at the farm?” Ronan accepts the thermos and pours out a cupful, handing it straight to Connor.

“Losing me won’t be that big a loss for them.”

“That’s a lie! Everyone has someone who’d miss them!” Connor shouts, nearly spilling the soup in his outburst. Hank admits defeat there. Rose would miss him, he thinks, because she’s all heart and soul.

She took him in when he was a husk of a man and together with Adam they toiled and tilled the land, took in every broken survivor and sent them on their way to Jericho with a full belly and provisions to spare. And Hank shot anyone who ever dared to raise their hand against Rose because people like that, greedy fuckers who want to take and take, have no place in this new world.

“What happened to you boys out there? What happened three weeks ago?” It’s The Question and no one seems to want to answer it.

“We wanted to go to the stream to see the fish,” Ronan eventually starts quietly. “We snuck out because Amanda didn’t give her permission.”

“It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have insisted,” Connor stares into the soup as if it could offer comfort. “I just really wanted to see them.”

“We didn’t see the infected one until it was too late and it bit Connor,” Ronan reaches over to hold his hand. “We tried to hide it but it was bleeding a lot and Amanda heard us in the bathroom getting the first aid kit.”

There’s a pause and Hank realises Sean hasn’t said a single word, resolutely avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“She dragged Connor out the back and-” Ronan falters, pressing his lips into a tight line as he darts a look at Sean. “She gave Sean a gun and told him to shoot Connor as punishment for sneaking out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank swears, recoiling in horror and it makes sense now; the small burn mark on his forehead is from the shell casing hitting him.

“She made you do it, Sean, I don’t hate you!”

“Well you should!” Sean yells. “You should because I pulled the trigger!”

“She made you do it!” His twin insists, squeezing his hand. “She made you and if you didn’t she would’ve killed you!”

“So I killed her,” Ronan says evenly, as if he’s simply stating the sky is indeed blue. “I took the gun from Sean after he missed, and I shot her in the chest and after she fell over I shot her in the head.” Ronan looks at him defiantly. “So we’re fine. We can look after ourselves, you don’t have to care about us.”

Hank slowly sinks to his knees, taking the cup of soup from Connor and setting it aside before gently gathering the boy into his arms and reaching for the other two. He’s a big guy, he has enough wingspan for all three, and he enfolds them in as tight a hug as he can manage and that’s it, that’s what sends the last of their defences tumbling down. They cry loudly, the trauma of it all finally being given a proper outlet and he holds them and he vows to himself that he’s never letting them go. There will be no more Amandas in their life, not now, not ever again.

“Takes us with you,” Connor sobs. “Don’t leave us here.”

“We’re leaving once Adam gets back. All of us,” Hank promises. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

He’s used to watching the dawn, used to getting up this early now to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. He’s even used to waking up with a child still fast asleep on him, now that Alice treats him like a grandfather. There’s something different about this moment, though, with all three boys snuggled against him.

There’s something hopeful about this because it’s eight hours later and he’s still whole and alive and unbitten. And that means Connor is indeed immune. With Sean being an identical twin, that means he too could carry the natural immunity. The hope of the entire world, fast asleep in his arms. It’s a beautiful sentiment.

“Good morning Hank,” greets a voice at the gate and there’s Mister Markus Manfred himself; Jericho’s saviour and leader. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is Adam here yet?”

“Not yet,” the man shakes his head. “But Simon made breakfast for you and the boys. They’ll have a room near the creche with the other children, and we can get them settled in afterward.”

“We’ll have breakfast, and then as soon as Adam gets back, we’re heading for the farm,” he meets Markus’ gaze steadily. “They’re not staying.”

“Hank, Dr Anthea told me Connor is immune. That means we could work towards developing a vaccine.”

“You still can,” he shrugs as best he can with three sleeping kids piled on him. “We can make the trip every weekend. But these boys are coming home with me.”

Markus looks at him, scrutinising him, and Hank can see both the leader and the saviour at work, weighing up the pros and cons and trying to find the common ground for the greater good. Hank would never want to be in his shoes, no sir, no thank you.

“Breakfast, then?” Markus smiles one of his charming presidential smiles as he unlocks the gate and gestures towards the entrance. “Simon made pancakes and we cut up some of the strawberries you brought over from the farm.”

“Pancakes?” Connor stirs sleepily, rubbing his eyes and there it is, there’s the bite on his arm, three weeks and one day older.

“Yeah kiddo, pancakes for breakfast before we head home.”

“Home,” Ronan echoes with a soft smile.

“We’ll be good, we’ll help out on the farm and work extra hard,” Sean whispers nervously, and Hank runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

“I know you will.”

Connor and Sean Dechart are ten years old- very nearly almost eleven, Connor points out. Ronan Dechart turned nine two weeks ago, a birthday forgotten entirely in the struggle to survive so Hank makes note to bake a cake. Their parents had died in the initial outbreak, and Professor Amanda Stern had taken them in after finding them hiding at the nearby university where she taught. The story unfolds on the drive back to the farm and the more he learns about their time with Amanda the more he’s glad Ronan shot her and shot her again.

Luther greets them on the driveway, Alice bundled up in a thick down jacket and blanket sitting on his arm. She waves enthusiastically, cheeks rosy and smile bright and Hank feels his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. Rose is standing on the porch and she’s giving him A Look and he wants to say sorry reflexively but he’s not actually sorry for anything.

Alice takes Connor’s hand and drags him inside, the boys trailing, and she announces loudly that she’s giving them the grand tour. Luther claps him on the shoulder before following Alice.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Rose sighs heavily as she pours him a generous mug of freshly brewed coffee. Her tone is reprimanding, but there’s something fond in her eyes as they take a seat at the dining table.

“I couldn’t leave them,” he shakes his head. “Not out there on their own, and not even at Jericho. Not after all the shit they’ve been through.”

“Because you’re a parent, Hank,” she says it so softly, so gently and his breath hitches in his throat. “You’re a father. It’s just what you do. It’s just who you are.”

“They’ve been through hell, and they deserve better. They deserve a second chance.” His vision blurs as he raises his head and looks at you. “You taught me that.”

“I did, and now you’re teaching them that,” Rose is smiling, a big radiant smile and he can’t help but lean over to kiss that beautiful smile. As far as second chances go, he reckons this is about as perfect as it gets.

#Hank Anderson #rose chapman #connor rk800 #rk800 60 #rk900 #Detroit: Become Human #detroit become dad #dbhrarepairsweek #tlou au #annie writes: dbh

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jjuzoir · 5 years ago

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To Date Itaru Chigasaki

Request: “insert here”

A/N: I had to split the request in 2 posts!! due to formatting 🙇‍♀️ so sorry!!

- You two met at a gaming shop!

- You were looking for a gift for your best friend’s younger sister, as much as you liked games yourself- buying one for a 12 year old was another story.

- You were freaking out- you had been in the store for almost an hour searching and nothing would come up.

- You were afraid of not getting a gift at all- that is until you felt a tap from a man in a suit.

- “You look like you’re ten seconds away from crying,” Itaru looked at you, “Need some help?”

- He didn’t know why he’d helped you, you were kind of cute and, unlike with other things, he was a bit more open to helping others when it came to video games.

- “Please,” you turned around, “I need a game for a 12 year old but I just don’t know! I-I don’t want her to think I think she’s a child but she can’t play anything too… you know, grown up or else her parents will kick my ass.” You whine, maybe if things had gone better you’d be embarrassed but embarrassment is simply something you cannot feel right now, you’re against the clock and you’re tired.

- “Hmm, a 12 year old girl… thought about Puppy Crossing?”

- And that’s how you spent the next 30 minutes, discussing a game for the kid with a 20-something year old blue collar.

- By the end you had bought the gift plus a recommendation Itaru had given you based on your short, but surprisingly sweet, interaction.

- The second time you met was, again, at the store but this time it was for you instead of a kid. Thankfully.

- He was wearing another suit, you guessed he really was an office worker; what was he doing here though? What business would guy with such a high paying job, you assumed by his suit and clothes, have in such a small game store in the middle of a gaming street.

- You shrugged it off before returning to browsing, you really shouldn’t judge.

- After a few minutes he noticed you and approached you asking about the game he’d recommended for the girl last time. After gladly informing him about the success the gift had- both of you quickly began talking about the game he’d recommended you.

- After that you two began meeting up in the shop- not on purpose or anything, it just kind of happened.

- In most situations he might’ve been annoyed but for some reason he couldn’t really bring himself to be mad. He enjoyed being able to shamelessly talk about games, online and competitive, pay to win or free to play, with a cute person who didn’t judge him.

- It became a weekly occurrence and you really enjoyed it. Eventually he asked you out on a date, it’d be in an internet cafe near the store, and you said yes.

- You were looking forward to being able to know him better, not in a store or just as friends but maybe… as a possible s/o? You slap your cheeks at the thought, silly [Name], that wouldn’t happen... right?

- That is until he called in sick stating he had grown ill with the flu and you were worried, he sounded like he was in hell based on the phone call. He was coughing, his voice sounded muffled, he kept sneezing too, you were surprised he could even dial with how bad he sounded.

- When you tried to call him his number went straight to voicemail so you did what anyone would do;

- You called in to his home number (which he had given you when he gave you his business card, yes he gave you his business card instead of giving you his phone number like a normal person).

- “Hello, Izumi Tachibana speaking.” Your heart kind of stops when you hear a woman’s voice and you wonder if maybe you’d been a side piece, but thinking back to Itaru and how he acted with you - you doubted it.

- “Izumi? Ah, eh… is a Itaru Chigasaki there?”

- “Itaru? Yes, I can give him a message, who’s calling?”

- “Ah, tell him it’s [Name] from the store, I was just worried about him…”

- “[Name], huh? Wait, you mean you’re [Name] [Last Name]?”

- “Ehh… yes?”

- Turns out Itaru had told his roommate maybe wife maybe kid(?) about you?

- You didn’t know he had roommates, he looked well off so why couldn’t he afford a house? Maybe she was a girlfriend and they were in a open relationship? So many questions…

- You thought you wouldn’t really mind but it turns out your cheeks were now bright red when Izumi explained how Itaru had been talking about you often and promptly invited you to check up on Itaru, who was in fact ill. She also gave you a rundown of the situation, turns out he was part of some acting company and she was the director, so with a lighter heart you decided to take her up on going over to check on him.

- Big mistake.

- You were going to stop by after work, you decided, you’d also go and buy him some soup for his stomach just in case. You arrived at the house and welcomed inside by a smiling Tachibana and a strange bird before you were given a rundown of some rules.

- “Knock first, always knock first. If you hear anything between a grunt or a yes you’re in the clear, if you hear anything like a groan or a curse wait before knocking again. If you happen to hear something falling over or a scream I’ll text you when it’s safe for you to come over again. You seem like a nice person, so please don’t forget any of the rules! Now- go!”

- She quickly pushed you in front of the door and knocked for you before bolting behind the stairs, you received a quick thumbs up before she hid again.

- You were now alone in a dorm room looking for a grown man who had called in sick to a date with you, this wasn’t exactly how you thought your friday evening was going to go. You knock the door and put your ear next to the wood… no grunt, had Izumi explained what a no-grunt meant?

- You look at her general direction where she looks confused but encourages you to go in, so you shrug it off before turning the handle around - you end up falling over when the door is opened by the man of the hour himself.

- “Oi, Izumi- now that this match is over you can come in with the-! Ah… [Name], this is… embarrassing,” Itaru had turned around ready to scold Izumi when instead he came to see you.

- He looked like shit- he really did, not only because he was sick but because his room was a mess. You knew he liked gaming but this… this was too extreme, was this what they called a gap moe?

- “What the hell…?”

- He invites you in quickly- shoving chips and cans left and right before sitting you down on a couch.

- “What are you doing here- ACHOO!”

- You explained how worried you were about him- how he didn’t answer your calls and so you came to visit with soup (you felt the need to highlight the soup).

- He thanked you for the thought before looking around the room awkwardly remarking it’d be best you left- the flu was contagious after all.

- It was an awkward reaction, even for him- something Izumi doesn’t fail to note once you leave, unlike when anyone else would come in; Itaru couldn’t find it in himself to scold you or threaten you with an immediate and painful death.

- You leave the room quickly and wave goodbye- but not before he slips you a note with a bunch of numbers scribbled on.

- When you arrive home that night you finally realise what it said; it was his friend code.

- And that’s how your first date was on a island in ACNH he made for the date. And that’s how he asked you out too.

- Fucking nerd.

- You were crafting some furniture for your island (which he had happily helped you plan out) when he asks you out via chat.

- Your response? You used the shocked and glad reactions, the only valid reaction.

- Dating him includes video game dates; any server based game multiplayer is used to seeing you two doing some cringe couple shit.

- You will have to bathe him, he can go days without taking a bath so get ready to shove him in a tub.

- He’s not very good at being a boyfriend sometimes, he struggles in the emotional aspect. He’ll base himself a lot in dating sims, like it’s kind of cute but it can be scary if he uses the wrong dating sim.

- Will kabedon you for 2 reasons and 2 reasons only; one, he genuinely wants to know if it works like ??? does it really make people swoon is it really that cool ?? and two, it’s been a life long dream of his let him have this.

- Itaru can be both mature and kind of childish, you’ll have to stomach a lot of tantrums when you get in the way of gaming. But he’s also not a kid, he can be surprisingly mature when he wants to.

- He takes the relationship very seriously, most of the time; he genuinely likes you and he tries to leave gaming but he struggles.

- So, you decide to combine two things; you + games. You’ll go visit him often and play games together on his couch.

- He’s so fucking happy when you do that, it’s cute. He doesn’t mind you using his clothes but do not touch his yellow-tiger bomber jacket he only uses when gaming. Do not.

- Itaru will let you play with his hair while he plays games, he lets you use butterfly clips and shit too.

- Just don’t expect him to go out like that he’ll fucking riot.

- “Banri will freak out-“ “Omi bring the camera Itaru has fucking butterfly-clips on, Taichi film this shit- he’s wearing clips! And they’re buttefly ones, funniest shit I’ve seen!”

- Banri 100% teases the fuck out of him when it comes to you but Itaru will come back with some cheesy shit to make him uncomfortable.

- “It’s not my fault we two fell in love-“

- “I swear to fucking god if you go on another rant I’ll destroy you and your whole blood line with my pinky.”

- The dorm is kind of surprised how much more social Itaru can be with you- they’re so used to seeing him shut himself in with games, but now that you two are together he comes out more often to spend time with you.

- He can be kind of cold and emotionally distant but after awhile you learn that that’s just how Itaru works. He’s kind of aloof and awkward and he can come off as rude sometimes? He just be like that you know.

- That both the shut-in gamer and businessman are the same guy and that you… l*ve him for it.

- Play games with him please- just do it.

#—🎀 a3!#a3 #a3!#act addict actors #a3 itaru #itaru chigasaki #itaru chigasaki x reader #itaru x reader #—✒️ sora’s scripts #—💌 mysterious messenger!#—📨 request

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doof-doofblog · 4 years ago

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"It's All Her Fault!"

Double Episode Special

Thursday 25th February - Friday 26th February 2021

Hello everyone! I apologise for this post being so late, I've been away from my computer since Friday and I've not had a chance to watch EastEnders at all. I realise I'm a few episodes behind, but in this blog post, I've decided to review both Thursday's and Friday's episodes together, that way through-out the week I can catch up and be up to date with you all. I do however have to say that this week, I will possibly be missing out Thursday and Friday again as I have some personal time away from my computer. I want thank you all though for being incredibly patient with me and allowing me to write up my blog as and when I can. You're all amazing people and I can't thank you enough for the on-going support.

There is SO much to cover, so let's discuss a few things, the first thing I'm going to focus on is Ben, Phil and this new business deal that's supposed to be going on. I have to be honest though, this storyline I'm finding a little bit confusing. Maybe because I've been away for a few days, but what was the whole business agreement/plan that Ben, Phil and this new character were involved in in the first place? All we know for sure really is that this new character, who I still can't recall the name of, "Stas" or "Stan", has been a loyal customer/client of the Mitchells for years and now he's taking his business elsewhere, to Kheerat. Of course this is going to upset and annoy the Mitchells, but after a lot of confrontation between Ben and Kheerat about nicking potential business plans/propositions, it looks as if it all comes down to money at the end of the day. Who is this new character? We really don't know much about him at all, and to be honest, I'm getting sick of seeing his face ... he doesn't speak clearly and I can't quite understand what's going on when he's onscreen! Thursday's episode shows Kheerat celebrating his new business prospects, and of course Ben kicks off as he feels that Kheerat is flaunting his celebrations right in front of them, nicking their clientele.

However, the following day, it looks that maybe Kheerat has got himself in a bit too deep as "Stas"/"Stan" demands more money that was originally agreed. Vinny notices that his brother appears to be doing some kind of business and might have been in the foresight of the Mitchells. He warns his brother to be careful and whether they should include their Mother, Suki, for help. But Kheerat is adamant that he was to do the business his way and will only inform Suki when he's ready. Has Kheerat taken on a bit too much? Meanwhile Ben seems to be seething that Kheerat is laughing at his family, mainly himself and Phil. But Phil informs his son that they should do absolutely nothing. Instead of getting worked up about lost business and money, he suggests that they should just lay back and watch from the side-lines and watch things go to pot! As that way, if things do turn out wrong, it won't be their problem, it'll be Kheerat's. As much as that appeals to Ben, watching things crash and burn would be some form of entertainment for him, he seems to ignore his Dad and approaches Kheerat whilst he's sat in Ruby's club. Interestingly, he seems to warn to Kheerat about the clientele he's working with, informing him to be on his guard and proposes that if ever he needs help in anything, he's willing to step up. Ben is clearly trying to worm his way in to be involved, just once I wish he'd listen to his Dad's advice and leave things be.

Whilst on the subject of the Mitchell's, who else has Phil been involved with lately? Kat! And after overhearing him bad-mouth her and humiliate her to Ben after their romp, she took it things into her own hands. Initially, she is the one who kind of caused the Mitchell's to lose their business proposition as she went blabbing, which turns out why Stas/Stan took his business to Kheerat instead. During this whole section of Ben trying to figure out who blabbed, Kat has been lying low, but her family are starting to notice that someone or something has seemed to upset her. Stacey mentions that if it happens to be a bloke who has let her down, then he's not worth it. Eventually Kat takes it upon herself to give Phil a visit, informing him that she's not someone to be messed around with, also dropping the bombshell that she was the one to blabbed, I think it's this point that Phil realises he has met his match in Kat, after their little fling, Kat announces that things are over between them. Only later on, it looks as if Phil realises that Kat is right and he shouldn't have bad-mouthed her the way he did, he decides to pop over to her and, in not so many words, apologise. Maybe things between Kat and Phil could get serious? Who knows, I think they'd made a very big power couple!

The next thing I have focus on is Isaac. So it's now been revealed that the illness that Isaac is suffering from is Schizophrenia. Now I've had to do a little bit of research for this as I'm not 100% sure what that entails. I think this is the first time that EastEnders have brought up the subject of Schizophrenia. For those of you unsure, Schizophrenia is a mental illness which affects how people think and how they understand the world around them. The symptoms brought on could be things such as hallucinations or delusions to an extent that they can't tell what's fantasy and reality.

But now we know what Isaac is having to deal with in his personal life, it all makes complete sense as to why Sheree has been acting so protective of her son. Of course, at this moment in time, only Isaac and herself are aware about his diagnosis. I'm intrigued to see how the rest of the family are going to react once they find out the truth, Patrick, Denise and Kim. One thing I hope, is that Isaac isn't seen as a freak or anything, I don't mean that in a harsh way, but people might begin to think they he hears voices or something? I don't know, we'll have to wait and see. But poor Lola has also been left in the dark, for now. Sheree has warned her to stay away from her son, of course she means well where he son is concerned, but she didn't really go the right way about it. Isaac is left furious at his Mum when he learns that she was the one who warned Lola to stay away, but Isaac truly feels that he's ready to move on and have a relationship.

After learning from Patrick that Sheree warned Lola to stay away, Isaac storms to the salon to confront his Mother. In this moment, I kind of feel sorry for Sheree - well both of them really. I'm not too sure how long Isaac has had this illness, but he claims to have things under control where his medication is concerned. The fact that he hasn't had a normal life for a long time seems to be interesting, he admits to his Mum that he genuinely has feelings for Lola and is ready for some happiness in his life. But Sheree is deeply concerned, concerned that she doesn't want her son getting hurt if people find out the truth. This is where Isaac really passionately aches to be heard, he's not scared of his diagnosis and is ready to reveal it to the people close to him. He demands his Mum to say the name of his illness, but she simply refuses, which is when the big reveal is announced and we learn of his Schizophrenia. Later on, Lola is sat alone in the Cafe and Isaac is quick to join her, she claims that she's not willing to put her job on the line if her job is at risk if they were to start dating. But Isaac reassures her that he will put his Mother straight, regardless of her worries, and he convinces Lola to go out on another date.

I know this has have already, but I'm really looking forward to seeing Monday's episode tomorrow so I can comment on Lola's reaction to Isaac's medical news. Let's just hope things won't get worse for Isaac and he and Lola might be able to have a relationship that works, regardless of his mental illness.

Okay so we know that Ruby has been the main focus of these two episodes, but before we delve into her storyline, I want to mention Dotty. Early on in the week we saw her approach Ruby with a business proposition of having a hostess at the club, as a way of gaining more customers and making more money for the club. At first, Ruby seems really against the idea as it'll look as if they're prostituting young women. However, as the episodes have gone on, Dotty seems to have convinced Tiffany to be the hostess of the club, as she would be earning more money for herself and Keegan, in an exchange Dotty has allowed them to move into Sonia's house and live with her, Whitney and Kush. I guess it's fair to say that both Tiffany and Keegan have been struggling for money in recent months, with Keegan working at the club as bar-staff as well as doing his own sandwich business. But to get Ruby on board with this hostess idea, Dotty is eager to find out more information on Ruby. She approaches Tiffany and asks her to tell her everything she knows about the club owner, when she learns about Ruby's Dad and her past and how she became so wealthy, Dotty seems to approach Ruby - I'll mention Ruby's mental state and emotional state shortly, but Dotty catches her at the worst possible time. I thought that Dotty kind of manipulated Ruby into allowing to go forward with the hostess job, complimenting how far she has come in her life and how successful she's been, mentioning that they both have Dad's with bad reputations and she simply wants to make something of her life and make her Dad proud. All this seems to fall on deaf ears, Ruby understandably has other things on her mind, but when Dotty claims she wants 50% of the profits, Ruby claims that she'll have to settle for just 10% otherwise there will be no deal, to which Dotty happily agrees.

I wasn't going to mention much about it, but I do fear for Tiffany. Maybe taking this job at the club may not be a good idea? And how on Earth with Keegan react when he finds out? Tiffany has said she's going to keep it a secret from her husband for a while, until she's ready to tell him. But I guess she's only doing it so they can afford a house for themselves? What do you think? Could Tiffany be putting herself in danger?

Okay so the main event I need to mention is Ruby. Oh Ruby ... poor Ruby! I do really feel for her, but I feel like she's so struck by grief and loss that her whole world is crumbling around her. She tries to do something nice but things get thrown back into her face. So, before I mention the devastating loss that Ruby has gone through, we need to start with how this all happened and kicked off. Martin proposes to his wife that she deserves and break and plans a holiday to Greece during the Easter holidays, but Ruby voices her concerns about leaving the children behind during Easter, to which she suggests maybe taking the children with them. Of course that is a really nice gesture, I still can't tell whether she's trying to do one over Stacey or not, but it could simply be a nice gesture for the children, considering that during this moment, Ruby is pregnant and her child would be a sibling to Stacey's children. Unfortunately though, Stacey isn't too keen on her taking the children on holiday. It's revealed that they would take the children away for two weeks, which in Stacey's mind, gives Ruby enough time to turn her children against her. But really, why would Ruby do that if she was pregnant with her own child? Know what I mean?

To try and come up with some sort of an agreement, Stacey, Martin and Ruby decide to meet for a discussion about the holiday plans. However Stacey is furious when Ruby turns up with nail polish for Lilly, when just a few moments before Stacey refused to buy it for her daughter. Stacey once again feels like Ruby is wading in on her children, but honestly, I really don't think that's the case. All Ruby has ever truly wanted is to have a family of her own. To get away from the confrontation she goes to visit the restroom whilst Martin tries to calm Stacey down. Only when Ruby returns, she is visibly very quiet, only she doesn't approach the table to join Martin and Stacey. She grabs her phone and calls up the clinic, informing them that she's 7 weeks pregnant and worryingly, she's bleeding. Without anyone's knowledge, she goes on her own to the clinic where unfortunately the nurse can't seem to pick up a heartbeat on the baby monitor. Devastatingly, she has last her baby, the child she has always wanted.

The following day, she seems to be completely in a world of her own and the previous days events seem to play over and over again in her mind. Martin is trying to do his best to cheer up his wife, even making the kind gesture of putting the baby scan picture in a cute small baby picture frame. However, I still have to mention that that baby scan picture, really isn't hers. Perhaps she never got to have a picture scan? I'm assuming because she was only 7 weeks, she doesn't get a picture? Do you only get a picture when you're 12 weeks? I'm unsure. But regardless, she sadly has no baby scan picture of her own baby. Ruby tries to go on about her day, heading off to work, but whilst she's there Stacey pays her a visit, informing her that if she wants to take her children to Greece for a holiday, then she can pay for it because Stacey simply cannot afford it.

I found this scene between Ruby and Stacey really really gripping actually. Even though they seem to be at each other's throats right now, it was nice to see them actually having a conversation about their teenage years. Recalling on how their memories as best friends and their wishes of having children around the same time as each other, both being Mum's walking their prams around the Square, each of their children calling them "Auntie". I really enjoyed watching this moment, they truly were very best friends for a long time. It's a crying shame how things have changed between them. Okay, Ruby being with Stacey's ex-husband isn't a good start, but I don't know about you guys, but do you miss the friendship that they once had? Would you like it if they were to move on and forgive each other for their wrong doings and become friends again? Honestly, I think they both could do with a good friend right now.

Sadly, their discussion and happy memories doesn't last for long. Ruby claims that she can't see what Martin saw in Stacey, but to clash once again, Stacey gives her the same insult. Does Stacey still have feelings for Martin? Before she found out about them being married, Stacey did confess to Martin that she still loved him, but does her feelings still remain the same? Stacey claims that because she was married to him for quite a long time, plus she's the Mother of his children, she and Martin will always have a history and he will always hold a spark for her. As she goes to leave Ruby alone in the club, Ruby follows her asking her to elaborate on what she means. She stands her ground and informs her ex-best friend that she and her husband are solid and nothing and no one is ever going to come in between them.

As Stacey goes to leave, Ruby follows her up the stairs, but in the commotion of their argument, as Stacey turns to tell Ruby to leave her alone, Ruby's ankle gives way as she steps on one of the stairs and she goes falling backwards along the stairs. Of course Stacey is absolutely terrified for Ruby, knowing that she's pregnant and had a dangerous fall. She stays by her side and places a cushion under her head, calling up Martin to inform him of his wife's accident. Poor Ruby pleads Stacey not to leave her and they both clasp hands. Later on, when Ruby is alone in the hospital, Martin arrives after hearing the news from Stacey. As Ruby looks up at her husband, she absolutely crumbles and bursts into floods of tears. Apologising to her husband and claiming that she really tried, Martin tries his absolute best to console his devastated wife over the loss of their baby. Only, when me mentions that Stacey called him, Ruby is more than furious, I don't know whether it's the grief that's really struck her, or whether she's feeling angry for losing the child she's always wanted, who knows what she could be feeling? Maybe everything just builds inside of her, she makes the horrendous claim that Stacey is to blame for her losing her child as she sobs into Martin's arms.

I do feel that things are going to going to turn dark and more upsetting for all involved in this story. Of course Martin is going to believe his wife, which means that Stacey is going to have a huge battle to fight. If there wasn't a battle before, there most definitely will be a war. Ruby did sadly lose her baby, but Stacey was not to blame. To be honest, she had lost the baby even before she fell, she had miscarried the previous day when she bled and they nurse couldn't detect a heartbeat. But now she's taken a bad fall and Stacey was there, I suppose it gives her the opportunity to put Stacey in the frame and blame her, anything to get back at her, or to even keep her husband on side. Who knows? I do feel for Ruby, I really do, but blaming Stacey for something which wasn't her fault is really not the right thing to do.

As I said, I don't know whether because she's grieving, she's angry, jealous? She could be feeling all these emotions right. But one thing is for sure Stacey is going to have a huge battle on her hands now to prove her innocence. I'm really looking forward to reviewing Monday's episode. I might do the same thing tomorrow and blog about Monday's and Tuesday's episode together, just to make sure I catch up! Thank you all for reading, I apologise for this being so late, but all your support really means the world. I'll be back again tomorrow! Love you all xXx

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rosethornewrites · 5 years ago

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 6

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Phobias

Summary: When Wei Ying wakes, they have a long-overdue conversation.

Note: See end.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

———

Lan WangJi stirs naturally at mao shi, confused by the feeling of someone against him at first. Wei Ying is still curled in his arms, his face pressed against his chest, one hand fisted in his robes.

When he tries to disentangle himself, it’s more difficult than expected. He finds Wei Ying’s other hand is clinging to a lock of his hair, and both fists tighten at the movement.

Then Wei Ying stirs, jerking back immediately and yelping, “Dog!” as though still trapped in his panic of the night before.

Lan WangJi finds himself pulled part way with him, as Wei Ying neglects to release his hair.

“Eliminated, Wei Ying,” he says softly, watching the bleariness of sleep slowly fade from his eyes.

Thankfully, the remnants of last night’s panic fade with it, and Wei Ying lets go of his hair, wincing in sympathy as he realizes he’s pulled it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“There is no need, between us,” Lan WangJi gently reminds him. “I did not realize you were afraid of dogs.”

Wei Ying flinches, and he realizes the fear is strong enough that he reacts to just the word.

“Wei Ying?”

He keeps his tone soft, a request, but one that can be ignored if he so wishes. Instead Wei Ying sighs, and reaches down to pull up a leg of his trousers, revealing flesh marred by old scars.

“The other one is the same,” he says. “And they go higher. Living on the streets means fighting dogs for food. You learn pretty quick they’re mean.”

“How long?” Lan WangJi asks, trying to keep the horror from his voice.

Wei Ying shrugs, rolling his trousers back down.

“I don’t remember. A few years. I didn’t keep much track of time. Too young when my parents died, and no one really knows exactly when that was.”

He can see Wei Ying shiver, and wraps the blanket around him.

“It’s only mao,” he tells him. “You can sleep longer.”

That gets a grimace. “Not likely to sleep. Even if you got rid of that damn thing. I’m surprised it didn’t give me nightmares.”

“Of your childhood?”

Lan WangJi knew he had cried out about dogs in his fevered sleep, but that was during a fever. Though, perhaps, after trauma…

Wei Ying shakes his head.

“I never told you. In Nightless City, when Wen Chao took me for ‘questioning’...”

He trails off, his mouth a thin line, and draws the blanket around him tighter.

“When I didn’t have information on the missing Yin Iron he put me in qi-suppressing chains and tossed me in the dungeon, in a cell with a very hungry dog. So big its teeth were level with my face.”

Wei Ying smiles, but it’s without mirth.

“Said if I was still alive in the morning, all would be forgiven.”

Given what had happened only hours ago, Lan WangJi doubts Wei Ying, even with his qi, could have fought effectively. Wen Chao wouldn’t have known of his crippling fear, but had not expected him to survive regardless.

He remembers that morning, the blood on Wei Ying’s skin, the rips in his clothing, and his show of flippancy. But he also remembers he had been quieter after that, putting on a mask of carelessness, but also careful to toe the line.

Suddenly Wei Ying’s fear of dogs in the delirium of fever has a new context.

“You survived,” Lan WangJi comments.

Wei Ying laughs shortly.

“Only thanks to Wen Ning. He knocked it out with needles, and gave me energy boosting medicine and herbs to stop the bleeding. I was able to save some of the herbs. That’s why I had them in the cave.”

For a moment, silence stretches between them, and Lan WangJi reflects on the scene Wei Ying had caused at the banquet, his anger and grief at Qiongpi Path. Wen Ning, who had also saved Jiang Cheng from Wen Chao after the fall of Lotus Cove, who had sheltered them.

Wen Ning, who the Jins and many of the other sects would, and had, happily killed. Just as, he suspects, they would Wei Ying, particularly with the prize of the Stygian Tiger Seal. Jin Guangshan’s obsession with it bothers Lan WangJi, with his zhiji now unprotected by a sect, alienated from the cultivation world.

“I would have died in that dungeon,” Wei Ying comments, “a warning to all of you to behave, if he hadn’t stepped in.”

Lan WangJi tries not to imagine it, but he can, all too easily. Instead of Wei Ying joining the line at indoctrination and complaining of hunger and boasting of his glorious scars, his corpse being dragged to be dumped in front of them.

Wei Ying’s death would have crushed him, he thinks. With his brother missing and father and uncle injured, his sect decimated, the promise to Lan Yi broken… to lose Wei Ying at that point would have destroyed what was left of his sanity.

Lan WangJi, too, owes a tremendous debt to Wen Ning.

“But maybe they wouldn’t have attacked Lotus Pier, then.”

It’s barely a whisper, one so filled with grief and guilt Lan WangJi is reaching for his arm, gripping it through the blanket, before he realizes it, imaginings of Wei Ying’s bloody body in various states of brokenness on the steps of Nightless City haunting his mind. He can feel the tension in his body, as though Wei Ying is on the verge of shattering.

“Wei Ying. They would have attacked regardless.”

“They were just going to make it a supervisory office at first. If I was punished.”

Lan WangJi isn’t sure he wants to know what that entailed, but he asks anyway.

“Punished?”

Wei Ying shrugs. “My hand. It would’ve prevented the massacre. I think Madam Yu was going to do it, too. But then they mentioned Lotus Cove becoming the supervisory office.”

He feels a chill at the idea of Wei Ying mutilated like that, of having never heard him play the dizi, of the pain he would have accepted for the sake of others. This image, so quickly on the heels of the previous… He knows Wei Ying would have given his core anyway, even with such an injury.

“Wei Ying, they only would have started with your hand,” he says softly. “They would have come back and wanted more.”

He receives no response, and he knows nothing he says will convince Wei Ying that the fall of Lotus Pier, the deaths of the disciples and Jiang FengMian and Yu ZiYuan, perhaps even the war itself… None of it was his fault. Worse, he knows Wei Ying would feel any loss on his part would be acceptable, that Wei Ying always feels thus.

But he can’t help himself, and can only try anyway.

“You lost enough in the war, Wei Ying. Wen RuoHan was to blame for the fall of Lotus Pier, not you. Likely he was only defeated because of your contribution and sacrifices.”

Wei Ying had been avoiding looking at him, but his gaze lifts to meet his finally. His eyes shine as though he is on the verge of tears, and there’s a tightness in his jaw. He had this look months ago, during the hunt when Jiang YanLi defended him publicly against the ugly accusations of Jin ZiXun. He truly isn’t used to being defended, to being valued.

Lan WangJi takes a moment to collect himself, to find words.

“I wish you had not suffered as much as you did. I wish you did not suffer still. You do not deserve to suffer, Wei Ying.”

Normally he would expect Wei Ying to be flippant, to make light of everything, but for once his zhiji has let himself be open. Lan WangJi can only hope it means he has regained his trust, but it could simply be the early hour and weariness following the panic of the dog spirit.

“‘A candle illuminates others at the cost of burning itself up.’” He tightens his hold on his arm. “You cannot shoulder the burdens of the world yourself. Let me help you.”

Silence stretches between them for a short while.

“Lan Zhan, do you think you can help me?”

A year ago, the question would have been asked in a hard voice, defensive. Now, Wei Ying’s voice is so small, as though he wonders if anyone can help him. It tears at Lan WangJi, reminds him of how very late he is, reminds him of when he asked Wei Ying to let him help before, and failed to see it through.

He can find no words to answer; instead, he decides to let his guqin speak, let the music speak, and hope his zhiyin truly understands. He lets go of Wei Ying’s arm and manifests his guqin, begins the gentle melody of “WangXian.”

Wei Ying relaxes by increments as he plays, easing to lean back against the wall of the cave. Lan WangJi runs through the song twice, then stills the strings, dismisses the instrument, and waits quietly.

“I remember where I heard that now,” Wei Ying says, breaking the silence left in the wake of the music. “The cave. After we fought the XuanWu. You sang for me.”

“Yes. You were ill from your injuries, from infection.”

Wei Ying hums softly, his eyes closed as though remembering.

“I think I asked what it was called, but I don’t remember the answer. I must have passed out.”

So he truly hadn’t heard; his behavior upon his reappearance had been unconnected to what Lan WangJi had thought was his confession.

“You were delirious with fever,” he tells him, hedging. “Do you know the significance of the Lan forehead ribbon?”

Wei Ying frowns at him, clearly confused by what appears to him to be a change of subject, peering at him through the dusky gloom of the cave.

“Something about restraint. No one’s supposed to touch it.”

Lan WangJi sighs softly.

“‘To regulate oneself,’ more precisely. Only family and cultivation partners are permitted to touch it.”

There’s a minute change in Wei Ying’s expression, but he can’t quite see well enough in the dim lighting to tell what it is. He pulls a talisman from his sleeve and activates it, lighting the candles that line the cave on small juts in the stone.

“Do you remember the Cold Spring cave?” he asks, pressing on, watching his face.

Wei Ying is silent, but his brows knot. It takes less than a minute for him to realize, his lips parting in shock.

“We bowed,” Wei Ying whispers, his voice hoarse. “That was a handfasting? I didn’t know. You never said.”

Lan WangJi doesn’t know how to reply, so says nothing.

“Why didn’t you?” Wei Ying looks confused now. “It’s not… We never… You can have it annulled.”

He tries to find the words, anything that would help him convey what he means, but speaking is not his forte, especially with Wei Ying trying to point out the marriage is technically not valid because it was never consummated, which isn’t the path his mind needs to embark on at the moment.

“I did not wish to,” Lan WangJi finally says. “I still do not.”

Wei Ying stares at him, looking frozen, as though the words have paralyzed him. He still looks confused, uncertain. Lan WangJi returns to the music.

“The title of the song is ‘WangXian.’”

Wei Ying’s reaction is a small intake of air, almost a gasp. Emotions flit across his face too fast to decipher, before he hides it in the blanket.

“Lan Zhan.”

His voice is muffled and rough.

“I can’t cultivate to immortality anymore, Lan Zhan. The resentful energy… you were right, when you said it harms the body and mind. I don’t know if I’ll even… if I’ll even have a mediocre lifespan. I’ll leave you.”

Nowhere in what he has said, Lan WangJi realizes, is a rejection. Rather, it’s an attempt to convince him that Wei Ying isn’t good enough, isn’t worthy. To remind him that Wei Ying accepted a shorter lifespan and pain to help his brother. As though his selflessness would ever make him unworthy.

Lan WangJi reaches out, grasps Wei Ying’s arm under the blanket again. It is still painful to be reminded of the fleeting time they’ll have, but at the same time it makes what he has to say more important, makes the idea of wasting any more devastating.

“Then I will find you again in your next life, and every life thereafter if necessary,” he promises.

He recognizes the sound Wei Ying makes in response as a choked sob, and pulls him close, into his arms.

“You deserve better,” Wei Ying mumbles against him, still hiding his face. “I’m not—”

“Wei Ying,” he interrupts, not willing to hear his zhiji put himself down. “I want only you.”

Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and he finally looks up, his face wet, his lips trembling. Lan WangJi abandons decorum, reaching to card one hand in the hair below his ear, curling his fingers at the nape of his neck, and leaning in to kiss him.

This first kiss is clumsy, as he isn’t quite sure what one is supposed to do with one’s lips, and it doesn’t seem Wei Ying is entirely clear on it either—but Wei Ying is reciprocating. He’s reciprocating, and Lan WangJi’s heart sings with the understanding that this is truly not rejection.

When he pulls back, Wei Ying looks startled, flushed, maybe even shy. But he doesn’t seem to be crying anymore, which Lan WangJi counts as a win.

He finds himself relieved when Wei Ying softly teases him, that he’s moved away from the brooding and seriousness that has plagued him since they woke. He’s been pulled out of his melancholy depression, and there’s a kind of power there—Lan WangJi did that.

“You stole my first kiss,” he murmurs, his voice almost coy. “You’ll have to take responsibility.”

“Mm,” he agrees. “I did when we were fifteen.”

Wei Ying’s startled laugh is like music to him, and he pulls him gently down onto the pallet to kiss him more.

All else can wait.

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

AND THEY WERE HUSBANDS. I’ve been thinking about this chapter for a couple weeks now. Glad it’s finally written.

“A candle illuminates others at the cost of burning itself up” is a Chinese proverb I felt fit in this situation.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #chen qing ling #cql #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #untamed fanfic #lan zhan #wei wuxian

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prettystabby · 5 years ago

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the end.

it’d be a crime to not do the end and dead together. i guess i did commit a crime. here’s a transgendered analysis of the end. you can find my post on dead here.

thank you for reading.

i’ve always seen this song as being about realizing you’re trans.

Now come one come all to this tragic affair Wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair

this reminds me of when gerard talked about when he tried on makeup for the first time- something about it felt right, felt interesting to him. i don’t have it on hand, but it’s an interesting parallel.

So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not

this directly contrasts the last line- if you’re wiping off makeup, why would you be dressing up? it’s an interesting contrast. he orders you- or maybe himself- to mix in with the lot, to do your best to fit in.

but in doing so you’re going to lose who you are- “notice you’re someone you’re not.” dysphoria- that sensation of being separate and disconnected, unhappily, from your appearance and body- is what it reminds me of. you’re trying too hard to be something else.

If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see You can find out firsthand what it's like to be me

i don’t think i have to explain the significance of this line. but i’m putting it here anyway.

Another contusion, my funeral jag Here's my resignation, I'll serve it in drag You've got front row seats to the penitence ball

(actually, this is off topic, but just like how the beginning of a play summarizes its events, so does the end. the “funeral jag” (a jag = binge/spree, esp. of substance use) refers to the sharpest lives, the next line refers to the thread of giving up in style that runs through all of tbp but especially mama, and the “penitence ball” can refer to sleep and disenchanted, as it literally means “apology party” in simplest terms)

the theme of destroying yourself with style runs through a lot of mcr’s songs, and other people have made incredibly intelligent posts about it, but i’d like to point out the “in drag” line specifically here.

it’s an interesting word choice, given the gnc overtones that i’ve pointed out previously. gerard thinks that the way to best express that he’s completely ruining his life is that he’s doing it in drag. something looked down on and ridiculed by society, and yet another form of gender nonconforming self expression.

it’s pretty interesting.

When I grow up I want to be nothing at all!

ive always related this line to both mental illness and the lgbt community. um. mentally ill people have that difficulty- especially people who struggle with suicidal ideation- in imagining themselves ten, fifteen years from now. and for lgbt people it’s even harder, because- especially in the time we live in, post-aids crisis- there are so very few senior lgbt people, almost none of which we got to see as children.

all of this combines into just... not being able to see a future for yourself. you have no concept for it. what does a trans person look like at 40, 60, 80? can trans people even live happily?

there’s nothing you think you can grow up into. nothing at all.

(Save me!) Get me the hell out of here (Save me!) Too young to die and my dear (You can't!) If you can hear me just walk away and (Take me!)

i’ve always loved the transition between the end and dead, as do most of us. the lines “too young to die” and “if you can hear me, just walk away and take me!” always get to me.

thank you for all the love on dead!, i appreciated it a lot. i’m pretty nervous about posting stuff.

#the black parade #my chemical romance #mcr #io's stuff

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hyperionswrath--archived · 4 years ago

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@onepartbrave

If there was one thing that had finally gotten through Squall’s head that night, it was that Seifer genuinely seemed not angry with him. Despite the fiasco the previous night, despite the unwarranted trip down memory lane, despite his frosty nature that had only warmed due to inhaling too much drink. The blond was still amicable, considerate and bizarrely accepting of all Squall’s current problems and flaws digging out of the technical woodwork. Yeah, he’d just been called a constant pain in the ass but the tone infusing the words suggested nothing but camaraderie backing them. No vexation. No resentment. Just… comity.

Those facts eased a huge chunk of Squall’s stress away. Shoulders sagging slightly from the sudden weightless feel of being almost tension free, he pondered on what that implied next. Would they become friends, if only for the drunken night? Even if they weren’t, his unspoken trust in Seifer was starting to show. Considering over the last month alone, he’d allowed none to come near him, let alone take his hand. Here the man had held his numerous times and Squall hadn’t even decked him for touching—

No. Nope, we’re not going there. It was an accident, don’t overthink this for Hyne’s sake.

Eyebrows lowering into yet another frown, this time directed at his inner thoughts, Squall successfully banished them to the recesses of his mind and concentrated on the now. Like—how close the blond was. Sitting next to him, he predicted if he shifted his left knee a smidgen, it’d bump Seifer’s. Why was he so close? When had he gotten so? Had he really been so deep in thought he completely missed what occurred in reality?

Swallowing down what felt like a knot of trepidation forming in his throat, it feeling less ‘bad’ anxious and more ‘puzzled’ anxious, the entire night was becoming a far cry from the picture he’d had in mind. Previously, he thought they’d drink, eat, sass each other and retire to not see one another again. Now… they were still here, still hanging out, and had plans for tomorrow. I—I’m… Unable to finish the thought, he relaxed back against the rear of the seat, frown softening.

Should he feel uncomfortable? It wasn’t like they hadn’t had close proximity before; sparring ensured that, but this was different, new. New worried him but for a reason that consistently eluded him. True clarity was becoming a drawn-out battle and he’d always been better at the quick-paced, adrenaline fuelled altercations instead of a marathon skirmish. Sighing softly, he allowed his head to loll back against the squishy, warm backrest. …That shouldn’t be warm since they’d vacated their seat. Not daring to turn his head obviously, while Seifer made short work of ordering their water and some bread, he flicked a sneaky glance behind him—to see the blond’s arm present. Almost… around him?

Wha…?

Comprehension fleeting, Squall’s head turned to face forward and, with dawning realisation of horror, felt his face heighten a few degrees in natural warmth. He was blushing like a goddamned idiot and there was no way Seifer’s perceptive glare wouldn’t pick up on it. Shit. What’d I do? Do I leave? Move? Shove him away? Stay still and pretend I don’t know? Fuck—

Inherent ranting cut short by Seifer’s slurred baritone registering. Embarrassingly, clouded grey-blues shot up to try and meet vibrant greens. His mission failed as Seifer was busy thanking the waitress and looking all weird in the dim lighting and— Oh my god, I will stab myself if it makes me stop thinking.

“I—what?” he asked feebly, missing the man’s question entirely as his whirlwind of a mind had been occupied. With him. Ugh. “The… bread? Wa’ that it? S’good lookin’.”

Zipping an imaginary line over his dumb mouth, Squall sat slightly more forward and reached for the aforementioned bread. Breaking a piece off, he guided it to his mouth and took a generous bite out of it. Instant gratification overcame his tastebuds and (finally) his conscience silenced to appreciate the tasty morsel. Swallowing the bite after chewing, he quietly confessed, “Damn, t’is good,” before resuming his previous task, albeit with more enthusiasm.

When finished that portion, Squall grabbed a whole other small loaf to nibble on, mindful there was enough left for Seifer. His worries were amiss as many more little loaves remained. Satisfied with his finding, he shimmied back in his seat, and, in his blissful state of mind of not worrying, all caution was thrown to the wind. Reclining back as he went, he instinctively pressed closer to the searing warmth on his left side, relaxing honestly for the first time in weeks. While he worked on consuming his latest bready goodness, he observed the pub settings with muted interest, wholly uncaring he was essentially using Seifer as a leaning post.

…Warm.

Truth be told, there was an ever-burning fury somewhere deep inside of the tall blond, constantly burning and eating away at him. It had been there his whole life but had started blazing higher, burning fiercer during and after the war. Yet it wasn't directed at Squall. Not anymore, at least. While he had been the Sorceresses Knight, there was wrath in his every fiber, not his own entirely, clouding his mind and judgment. After the war, there had been seething anger about the fact that Squall had not only bested him inside the Lunatic Pandora, but also left him there to die. But that grudge wasn't upheld for long, for once he was able to reflect on everything that had transpired, the act seemed more than plausible. There hadn't been much humanity left in him when the witch pulled his strings and made him believe sacrificing Rinoa would be the right thing to do. The only right thing.

So, no, he harbored no ill feelings for the man anymore who in his mind had far more reason and justification to hate him instead. But so far, except for their first encounter the night before, there seemed to be no ill-feeling at all between them and it felt both odd and relieving. Seifer had carried the shame, guilt and self-loathing with him for so many years, he would have never expected to be treated as friendly as he had been, all things considered. Sure, Squall was still his old self in some ways, but there were also other sides to him he had allowed the blond to see and for all that he knew, they were good changes.

What exactly all of this between them meant, he dared not think about. Granted, he had always been a man of action first, thoughts second, and right now he was willing to just let things happen as they did, not question anything. And if they never saw each other again after tonight (well, there were already plans in place for the next day though), then so be it. Still, a small voice in the back of his head dared to hope that this was a way to redeem himself, if only a little. Maybe that, too, was the reason he felt so protective of the younger one?

Happily chewing on his spoil, namely the goodness that was the potato wedges, thoughtful eyes following the retreating waitress, he only paused when he felt a slight bump against his right arm, making him glance to the side. The look on Squall's face was enough to make the tall blond chuckle lightly, pulling in his lower lip to bite on it though unable to completely wipe the grin from his face. He'd be a liar if he'd claim he didn't push the boundaries between them right now, and much against his better judgment too. What about the whole 'I can never touch him' vow he had taken? But then again, the reaction this small brush of head against arm had caused was entertaining enough to throw at least part of that determination out the window. After all, he was still the smug shit of the town, right?

Even more intriguing, however, was the observation he now made. Squall blushed. And not just a bit. Most interesting. He'd probably be pushing his luck by now but before he could even stop himself, his hand had shifted just so, allowing his thumb to briefly flick over the now heated skin of Squall's neck, brushing at the soft brown strands there. Dangerous as this game may be, he had to admit it thrilled him, and whatever was able to do that to him usually flicked the switch of being reasonable (well, as much as he was able to, anyway), and just go all in. And right now, he was most curious what kind of reactions he could provoke and, most importantly, how much deeper this blush could get.

Apparently, it was enough to distract the brunet from what he had asked, flustering the guy enough to give some entirely unrelated answer which only served to tug on Seifer's lips more, creating a lopsided smirk. "Very." he hummed in agreement, not even sparing the damn bread one single glance. Willing to let his teasing of an entirely different kind go for the time being, he busied himself with his water, glad for the chance to help to mellow his drunken state a little. He wanted his attention on full alert right now. Also, Squall was well advised to eat that much bread to help him along with the amount of alcohol in his system. It wouldn't magically sober him up but at least help a little, which had been the plan when he ordered it. On top of that, for some reason watching the other eat had some kind of fascinating appeal all of a sudden?

Emptying his glass, he placed it back on the table, releasing Squall from his observing stare as he leaned forward to snatch his own small loaf, chewing slowly while he mulled over the entirely unexpected development of events right there. More so even when he felt the smaller body sink against him, leaning on him. Looking down at the brown tuft of hair he hummed, half astonished, half content because he'd be damned if this hadn't been one of his ultimate teenage fantasies. Well, among others, but he'd be content to have this to remember in the future. Lingering in his position, his arm on the backrest still, he swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. Not the kind he had noticed a while ago when dark memories started rushing in. This was different. Better. "You good?", he heard himself murmur and only then noticed that somehow, he had leaned down, the tip of his nose not far away from brown hair, close enough that he could breathe the other in. Shit, what exactly was he even thinking here? Was he thinking at all?

#onepartbrave #.me while typing: seifer NO #.him: seifer YES #.there you have it #.you set him loose #.have fun with what you did #. xDD ahhhhh~

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jj-lynn21 · 5 years ago

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A little extra for the extra

I came up with this story recently after reading an article about how many actors have dated co-stars and back ground actors. Adam Sandler even married the extra in one of his movies. So its possible. Of course its highly unlikely but it was a fun story idea. I didn’t use any specific actor for this story so you can fill in the names you want. I’m going to tag a bunch of names that it could be. Yes I know some are not single but for this story they are so no guilt. If you like it I can write more than one chapter but ending where I do is fine also.

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It was your first time on a movie set. You internalized your excitement so you were not thought of as just some fan girl trying to get closer to actors you respected. You were only brought on for some background scenes but that was still exciting to you. There were rules of course. No cellphones on set. No photos of any kind. Never post info about the movies you are filming on social media . Your scene could easily get cut anyway. And absolutely no talking to the actors unless of course they talk to you first. You were told by other background actors the odds of even working near a main actor wasn’t good anyway. Still you were booked in this film with some of your favorite actors and you are almost vibrating with excitement each day you get to work on set.

Your first day on set was pretty awsome. You got to see the main actor from afar . Not the guy you were really there for but still pretty cool. You made friends with a PA who let you hangout and watch some scenes being filmed which you thought was really interesting. The gun firing blanks going off made you jump when it went off. It was way louder than you expected . when you had to run from that sound it was easy to jump up and go. You knew it wasn’t real but your body wasn’t so sure. Your heart jumped as you ran around the corner so you wouldn’t get shot.

You went where your handler told you. You stood where he told you. You never tried to get closer than you were allowed. On a particularly cold day, 42 degrees, you were put in a thin windbreaker and told to stand near a corner tree and wait for your walking scene. You were just neighborhood dressing really. If anything maybe a second blur. You are standing there with your co-actor who earlier showed you the pictures of himself in other movies. This was encouraging to you. You did remember seeing him. You are chatting with him and see main actor walking towards you.

Outside you are completely calm. Inside you are hyper. He is blocking his shot. You were put right in his path. He glances up, his set make-up makes him look very ill. He says, “hey” and pivoted to continue working. Your handler rushes over to have you move to stand a bit farther from scene. You happily watch the scene without complaining about the cold but you are freezing. Large outdoor heaters are brought out after the handler asks if you are cold and you say, “yes, a little “ as your teeth chatter a bit. Your co-actor says, “you want closer to the heat?” But you are way to interested in watching the scene to move from where you are standing. He really tries to insist you stand closer to the heater. You finally look up to him with a bit more excitement in your face and say, “I am perfect where I am. I can feel the heater just fine.” He finally gets it and chuckles a little.

You can feel the heat good enough. It’s even better when they set up another heater right in front of you. Then the main actor comes over freezing his ass off in a T-Shirt and track pants and tries to warm up by the heater. He looks you up and down. Grins slightly and says, “its fucking freezing out here isn’t it?” Not wanting to be rude of course you answer, “It is really cold.” You both bounce around a bit. Your insides are a bit excited. You hope your outside is calm and you don’t get in trouble for talking to him. You were just being polite. Someone yells they have a coat for him. Next you film your scene a few times before the it’s a wrap for the day.

The next day your scene is cut at the last minute but you still get to hangout and watch filming. The actor comes by you and others and says good morning to everyone. Everyone says, Good morning. It seems like most if not all the women’s voices have become like high pitched teens with some giggling as they say, “Good morning.” He looks to you and asks, “How are you.” You say, “It’s a good day.” And it was a good day of watching behind the scenes and chatting with other extras and Taco Tuesday for lunch. You have to enjoy the small good things in life. You weren’t used but you still got paid.

This has been the most fun job you have ever had. You have been in several scenes so you can’t imagine they will be able to use you again. When another day of filming comes to your attention you still apply and tell them all you have filmed so far. You get another call back to be on set for a big crowd scene. You think maybe this time your favorite actor will be filming with the main actor. You think you have been pretty cool so far but part of you isn’t sure if you will be able to keep so together if you see the man you really fantasize about. You have a new found respect for the main actor, but you really want your favorite sexy actor to give you a little attention when you see him.

You wear navy blue dress pants and a navy blue and white striped off the shoulder fitted shirt to this filming day. Since you have to bring two other options you pack a navy blue high-low dress and some Jean’s and a red, white and blue striped long sleeved shirt. You have your chunky navy blue heels on that will go with whatever outfit they desire you should wear. Only once have they given you something to wear from the costume department. It is definitely better to have options with you. This time they approve of what you are wearing so no quick changes before filming.

Todays scenes are at an air port. A section is closed down just for filming. Everyone sitting around are extras. Some, like yourself, are given a specific task. The crew, who have started getting use to you being on this movie set start calling you by name. It feels great when they say how perfect you look for todays scenes. The hair/make up person tells you how beautiful you look as she touches up your look and makes your hair look shinier. You know she says that to everyone but you thank her and smile. She goes around touching up several people in a short amount of time. Working quickly to get her job done.

The scene is explained to everyone .The assistant director says, “Everyone is waiting for loved ones to come off the plane who were in the military . You have not seen your family in one to three years. It’s a fantasy scene that the character hope’s will happen when he finally returns home with all his military brothers and sisters with him. The main actress will of course run over to our main actor. But since the character has no idea what his new military friends’ families look like some of you will be paired with our military actors to welcome them home. It’s great we have some real couples for this scene. (your name) I want you to run and greet the second soldier off this plane. The first will be our main actor and the main actress will greet him. Other background actors of the soldiers, run to your soldiers when you see them. The rest of you stay seated where you have been placed as if you are waiting on other flights. We will all clap when soldiers are reunited with family. Watch me for the go ahead to clap. Ok let’s do a run through when the director is ready.”

“Quiet on set. Action.” The main actor walks out of the tunnel like he just got off a plane. The main actress runs over and throws her arms around the main actor. You have some fake happy tears going as you start to see the next person step out of the tunnel. Inside you scream, “Fuck” as your favorite actor emerges. You use all that excitement to run to him. He picks you up easily. You wrap yourself around him and smile. He says, “I missed you so bad sweetness.” And plants a lip-lock on you. You kiss him back until they the Director yells, “Cut”.

Your heart is pounding as he puts you down slowly. He says, “Hi, I’m (your fav actor). I usually try to get to know the actress I make-out with before it happens, but they wanted to keep us out of sight from the gawkers lined up over there as long as possible. What’s your name?”

You manage to speak up and tell him your name. You try to breath normally. You say, “I guess the secret is out now.” You giggle to basically release some tension. He chuckles.

The assistant director says, “Ok that was a good run through. I hope if you didn’t already know each other you got to know each other better. (Your name & your fav actors name) you did great. We want a bit more passion from everyone. Louder applause.

The AD says, “Quiet on the set. Let’s move that barricade back a little farther. We will not be able to keep the fans quiet. Action.” As soon as you wrap yourself around him, he grabs your ass holding you up. He again says, “I missed you, sweetness.” He kisses you stronger this time and parts his lips. You kiss him back just as passionately your eyes closed as you run your fingers through his hair. The two of you don’t even hear the director say cut until he says your names. (Your fav actor) puts you down slowly as you look at him for a first reaction.

You know it is all just acting, and he has been doing this a lot longer than you but damn how can anyone not feel anything from this. You think this is probably why co-stars date for awhile after making a movie. Its easy to get wrapped up in the feelings your body is forced to have in the moment. You already had a crush on this guy. This scene is practically killing you in a good way.

He says, “I hope I wasn’t to handsy and It was ok to kiss you like that.”

You say, “Anything to get the scene to look good. You have my permission to do whatever the scene calls for here. You know this stuff more than I do. I’ll just follow your lead.”

He says, “Cool. You ok with me kissing you deeper then? We probably got a hundred more takes.” He chuckles a bit nervously.

You laugh but underneath all the coolness you are trying to exude your body is on fire. Your legs are weak, and you can’t believe what he just asked you. Of course, it ok for him to kiss you any way he wants. Even if it is just acting you have loved every minute of this shoot so far. You say, “It’s cool with me.”

The assistant director says, “Back to start places everyone. We are just going to roll a few takes without stopping when the director is ready.” The scene rolls. You and your fav actor get into each other more and more with each take. You are happy. You can barely catch your breath between resets of the scene. You can’t believe this is currently your life. You lose track of time completely. The director must tell the two of you to stop after he yells cut more than once. You blush a little. Your favorite actor whispers in your ear how cute it is when you are embarrassed by the director’s firm tone telling you two to cut when he says cut.

Lunch is called. The assistant director says, “Take the extras back to holding. We only need a few of them after lunch.”

You start to head out with the group. The PA comes up to you. He says, “You can stick around. We will need you after lunch anyway.”

You say, “cool” and turn around.

Your favorite actor motions for you to come over to him. You sit beside him. He says, “Can I buy you lunch?”

You answer, “sure.”

He says, “They will bring me whatever I want. I was just going to get a green tea latte and a panini from Starbucks.”

You say, “Cool I’ll take a chai latte and a ham & swiss panini.”

He snaps his fingers and a PA rushes over eagerly. He tells her what he wants for lunch. The other actors sit around the same area and over-hear where he is sending the PA. They all put in their order for her to bring back coffees, lunches and snack items.

The main actor looks over at you. He says, “You’ve been on this production several times, now haven’t you?”

You say, “Yes I have. I guess I’ve been lucky. It’s been a lot of fun.”

Grinning your favorite actor says, “Oh, so I’m not your first?”

Main actor says, “Oh, you are her first. We just froze together.” He laughs.

You said, “Yeah, it was freezing that one day. But the heaters worked so we didn’t freeze to death. I rather be shooting this scene any day.”

The main actor says, “I bet you would.”

You blush a little. The PA comes back with everyone’s lunch. You take a sip of your drink and break off a small bite of your sandwich to eat. Your favorite actor says, “not to sound like a line or something but are you from around here?”

You say, “I don’t live to far. It was a little over an hour drive this morning. One day of filming was a little under an hour.”

He says, “That’s not to bad. “

The two of you start to talk about family and friends and life in general and find out you have very similar background. Ok, you already knew you had similar backgrounds, but it was cool that some of the things you have read were true. You are now getting very comfortable chatting with him and the other actors around you. Then its time to go back to work. Best job ever.

The director comes over to say how he wants to set up the next shot and what you will be doing. He says, “As you each head towards where the crowd is over there we will fade out. Our main actor will finish his lines and we will be done for the day. Should only be an hour or so.”

A few more extras are brought in. Everyone takes their places. You run through the scene before cameras roll. As you walk hand and hand away from the main area the crowd goes wild the closer you and he get to them. You just keep a smile on your face. The director yells cut each time before you get to close to the crowd.

Some hold out pictures of the actors and pens so maybe they will get some signatures. Others attempt to take pictures but, their phones are grasped from their hands and pictures are deleted before their phones are given back and they are taken from the crowd. You have been on the other side of this and never acted that insane to get an autograph. Some of the people seemed a bit to crazy looking. You now knew why some actors are scared to start auto graphing pictures when there is a crowd like this. It gets scary quickly. Your favorite actor gaves them a little nod each time the scene was film. He took your hand to kiss each before each cut was yelled. Then back to your mark. After about three hours and multiple camera angle changes including one where the camera was pointed directly at you two as you walked away, the director says, “It’s a wrap.”

Your favorite actor picks you up and swings you around. He says, “Its been a good shoot today. I’m so glad I met you sweetness.” He kisses you and you instinctively wrap yourself around him. He eventually puts you down. You realize this was not a scripted moment. You are kind of in shock. He takes your hand and pulls you over to the side.

He says, “I’m sorry. I just got carried away. I hope you don’t want to charge me with being a predator. I know that’s common place now a days, but I wasn’t meaning to…”

You say, “Hold on. There is no need to panic. I’m fine. I was kissing you back just as much as you were kissing me. I’m fine.”

He says, “Oh good. So um, can I get your number in my phone? Maybe if you want, we can hangout a little more tonight. I have a few people to meet and reporters to talk to, but I should make it out of here in an hour.”

He hands you his phone. You put your number in his contacts list under Cherry Sweetness. You show him and he chuckles. You say, “I have to get back to holding to pick up my things before making it to my car. That will take me about and hour or so. If I hear from you very cool. If I don’t know big deal its been fun. You leave him. Heading out with the other extras to catch a shuttle to holding to get your things and maybe you will head home.

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luvknow · 6 years ago

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out of my mind | lee minho

genre: lee minho x fem!reader feat. jisung, woojin, & chan | angst ; fluff ; science experiment au ; kind of soulmate au ; “maniac” tv series au ; au within an au ; mentions of mental illness summary: you and minho are two of ten strangers who are test subjects for a series of pills that supposedly cures all disorders of the mind. while under the influence of the pills, you fall into your dream world that overlaps with minho’s every time. as you two live multiple lives as partners in crime, lovers, or simply strangers in passing in the dream realm, the bond between you only strengthens as the testing continues. wc: 15.6k a/n: based off of the netflix show “maniac” and this gifset i made! this is a wild genre i’m not used to, in both writing and reading, so i hope it’s not too far-fetched for this fandom and i hope you guys like it!

You can’t count on your hands how many e-mails your school would spam you with about participating in some sketchy experiments with promises of some pocket cash. What you did know though was that each time you received one, you trashed it right away. What was the point in wasting so much time for such little money? Might as well just get a job.

Last week’s email was the only one you didn’t throw away.

Essentially, the email went like this:

Participate in District Pharmaceuticals’ trial for their new and radical product, The ABC pills! Designed by Dr. Kim Woojin, The ABC pills are a sequence of pills made to cure anything and everything about the mind, from mental illness to heartbreak, without any side effects. Our company is in the final stages of testing, just before we are able to release this on the market, where participants will test out the effectiveness of the full sequence for the very first time. With your help, you will be helping us change the lives of billions.

As a participant, you will:

Stay at our facility for an extended period of time (food and housing provided).

Consume and test the potency of the pills within that time frame.

Answer post-testing questions to help us better understand the effectiveness of the pill.

All participants who complete the entire testing scheme will receive a whole year of free tuition, regardless of whether or not testing passes FDA approval. Are you interested? Stop by District Pharmaceuticals for more information.

This company was obviously catering to your young adult needs, as nothing else could convince you to do something this stupid besides being offered a whole tuition-free year at school. It was one thing when hospitals would ask to monitor your sleep patterns or your diet and exercise or take multiple pints of your blood, but this company was asking you to ingest not just one drug, but a whole sequence of them! That meant they would only get stronger as the pills progressed, which could mean a high potential for you or someone to experience side-effects that the company claimed wouldn’t happen, develop a dependency, or even die of overdose. For a reward that generous though, you expected the risk would be at a maximum.

For now, as you stood in line at District Pharmaceuticals, the only thing you had to worry about was whether or not they would allow you to test. You would think that most people in line have seen a professional and have been diagnosed properly with whatever they had, so obviously their chances were much higher than yours. You’ve never been to a therapist, or a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, but you didn’t need a professional to determine that something was off about you. When there were days you couldn’t get out of bed; or when you cried for three hours straight so you could sleep; or when your wrists bled but you felt nothing; you figured that they would up your resume even if it was just a little bit.

Even with such a high reward, you had to be out of your damn mind to be signing ten pages worth of consent forms along with a questionnaire with only a backpack full of your belongings in the building today. Maybe the pills could cure your stupidity, too.

After completing the forms, you walked back up to the counter to hand them to a lady behind the counter. She told you to wait so she could confirm a denial or approval of your stay in just a couple of minutes. You took the time to look around and see who else was willing to go through such high-risk testing. Though your email provided promises of free tuition, some of the people here looked way beyond their years of college. Sure, they could be just older folks who decided to go back to school, but there was no way all of the potential participants here were like that... You had to have been the youngest person here.

You finally saw someone your age next to you in another line. A boy with dark brown hair handed his consent forms over to the same lady and waited patiently alongside you. He must have felt your gaze on him as he turned to face you and gave you a friendly smile.

He looked exhausted - like maybe the testing was his last chance at something.

After shyly returning the gesture, you quickly turned away, deciding that maybe it was best that you mind your own business in a place like this. Who knows what kind of skeletons people were hiding?

The same lady came back and stood between you and the boy on her side of the counter. She handed you and him laminated cards on a red lanyard. You had number one and he had number nine.

“Take a seat in the waiting area. When it’s time, we’ll call you both up.”

You and the boy gave each other a quick look, questioning the vagueness of her statement. Did this mean you both passed and were approved for testing? You decided not to question her though, as she looked annoyed that you both hadn’t moved since she said anything. Before she took your badges away, you did as you were told and walked towards the waiting area with the boy following closely behind you.

Minho sat across from you in the waiting area and tried to figure out what was it about you that made you familiar. It wasn’t the clothes you wore, or the way you tied your hair, and it certainly wasn’t the way your eyebrows raised as you read your badge, but there was just something about you that made him believe he knew you.

Maybe it was in a dream.

The way you looked at your badge must have meant there was something interesting on it, so Minho took a look at his, too.

9. Lee Minho Occupation: Student Defense Mechanism: 7 Level: X X X X X

Nothing else was on it. Not his birthday, height, weight, IQ, literally nothing else that would indicate he was a good candidate for testing. It seemed like District Laboratories only cared about his occupation and his defense mechanism, but he was unsure what ‘level’ meant and if five X’s was a good or a bad sign.

He wondered what was on your badge.

“Hey.”

Your voice pulled him away from his thoughts. As if reading his mind, you openly exposed your badge to him and pointed to the bottom line, where your ‘level’ held the same five X’s. Your name was _____ _____, you were also a student, and your defense mechanism was four.

“What level are you?” you asked, hoping it didn’t sound as stupid to him as it did to you.

“U-Uh, I also have five.”

“Really?”

“The Level just means the risk of the study,” another voice chimed in. “It has nothing to do with you personally.”

A couple seats down was a boy with blond hair who was also around your guys’ age. He didn’t look up from his cell phone as he said those words nonchalantly, indicating that he seemed familiar with this whole process.

“Have you done this before?” the boy across from you asked.

“A few times. Enough for them to pay for a bit of my schooling, at least,” the handsome blond boy finally turned his attention to the both of you, finding it amusing that you two seemed terrified of what’s to come. “I only participated up to Level Three testing, though. I have no idea what Level Five entails, but hey, high risk high reward.”

“You're not scared or anything...?” you asked.

“Nah ~ I’ve tested here plenty of times to know that these things are harmless, regardless of which Level I’m in. Is this your guys’ first test?” Both you and the other boy nod. “Ah, not surprised - you two seem like newbies.”

“Odd numbers, please report to Gate Three. Odd numbers, please report to Gate Three,” said a voice over the intercom.

“That’s us,” the blond sighed, slinging his roughed-up duffel bag over his shoulder. As his tag swung around, you noticed that the number on his ID was five.

Numbers one through nineteen lined up in numerical order at the gate, where two heavy-set body guards stood at the entrance and one walked up and down the line confiscating all electronics, including cell phones. You should be intimidated and feeling vulnerable without your phone, but somehow you felt calm in their presence, like you hoped they would be the ones to protect and save you throughout the duration of this experiment.

When the doors swung open, you saw the most handsome man you’ve seen in your entire life wearing a long white coat.

“Hello, everyone,” he greeted happily. “My name is Dr. Kim Woojin and I will be leading this experiment for the entire duration. If you will all follow me, I will take you to the facilities and we will have an overview of what’s to come.”

Dr. Woojin gives you a gentle smile before gesturing you to follow, to which you gladly obliged. With a man like him being the lead, maybe the testing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

He led you and the single file line behind you through a long, dark corridor with no windows. You and the other nine subjects followed Dr. Woojin mindlessly while trying to pay attention to the history lesson he gave you as you walked through a confusing series of different doors and hallways. He talked about the time his father found the cure for the common cold, how his grandfather found the cure for HIV/AIDS, and how his older brother just released the famous cancer-killing pills out on the market for hospitals all around the world to purchase. Dr. Woojin had some big shoes to fill.

He must have recited the history enough times to know that as soon as he finished, you all arrived to the facility. Through the sliding doors, you were the first to enter a huge room shaped like a perfect cube with no windows to the outside. In the center was a circular table with ten chairs meant for all of the test subjects with a bright, white light that simulated a sunny day shining down on it. On one of the walls was a huge window that looked into another room with another set of ten chairs and two metal plates at the headrest - a room you promised to look into more later. The third and only thing that mattered to you was the wall that contained all of the beds. Well, more like sleeping pods or incubators arranged like a morgue. No matter the look, since the mattress was soft and the blankets smelled like fresh linen.

When you popped out of your pod, you noticed that number nine took the pod right next to yours. For that, you were thankful, hoping that either he or number five could be your friend until this was all over, whenever that was.

You sat next to each other at the round table and you wondered if he felt the same familiarity about each other as you did. You’re not sure what it was, but you found yourself dangerously less nervous than you should be and you think it’s because of number nine. Not knowing his real name was killing you, so without him noticing, you took a peak at his card.

His name was Lee Minho and his defense mechanism was seven, which doesn’t seem much higher than yours, but if this was on a scale out of ten, then you were screwed.

Lee Minho... the name was unfamiliar, but you thought it suited him nicely.

“Welcome to your testing facility,” Dr. Woojin began. “You are sitting in the common area, where all of you will stay when we are not testing or conducting a post-testing review. You can talk to each other, read a book, do some crafts, play a game - we have provided endless amounts of entertainment during your awake hours. The room over there,” he said, pointing to the huge window, “is where the actual testing takes place. I will explain more later tonight when we conduct our first test. Next, are the sleeping pods, which you all have already settled into, the bathrooms are over there, and lastly, this is the round table, where all meals will be served.”

“Question,” the blonde boy piped. “How long is this testing?”

“Six days.”

“Wait, a week? That’s it? For a Level Five testing?”

“Correct.”

Dr. Woojin didn’t elaborate further on the topic, raising the suspicion of all the test subjects. As much as he wanted to, Number five didn’t press the matter further.

“The testing scheme will go as followed: as I said, tonight we will conduct our first test, which will be for Pill A, followed by a post-evaluation. Tomorrow we won’t test. The following evening will be Pill B and a post-evaluation, then another day of no testing. On the last night, we will be testing Pill C, which will go into the morning the next day. A final evaluation will be recorded, and from there, we will determine whether or not you are cured.”

“Just like that, we’ll all be cured?” Minho muttered incredulously.

“I wouldn’t say ‘just like that’... It may not work the same way for you as it does with someone else who was cured. That’s what this study is for, though, to make sure that everyone will be cured.”

“In just a week...” you trailed off. There was no way this only took six days. There had to be a catch.

“We will discuss more later tonight in the testing room. For now, please enjoy your dinner. I will see you all at midnight.” With that, he left the room.

“Cryptic, but ok,” you scoffed as a plate of food was placed in front of you. At least it looked good.

“He has to be hiding something from us, right?” Minho whispered to you. “There’s no way this is that easy...”

“Like he said, it may not be that easy.”

“But come on, look at all of us! Clearly we all have a lot of damage and it’s impossible that three pills would be capable of curing all of us in six days, right!?”

“Well, people once said curing the common cold and HIV was impossible and look where his bloodline got us.”

“You’re uncomfortably optimistic.”

“One of us has to be. Lee Minho doesn’t sound like an optimistic name, anyways.”

An embarrassed blush spread across his cheeks when you said his name. “Agree to disagree then,” Minho sighed.

He prayed that this would all be worth it in the end.

Dinner was quiet due to the fact that everyone was still trying to get used to the fact that testing had technically already started. Jisung, number five’s name you found out, was the most calm out of everyone. Naturally, since he’s done this plenty of times, but he was still wary.

“Something doesn’t add up,” he told you and Minho in secret by the sleep pods. It was only 9:00 PM when you three met up. “Never, in my two years of being a test dummy has the testing scheme lasted shorter than a couple of months. A couple of weeks is one thing, but six days? To complete an entire Level Five testing scheme!? That’s sus, you know?”

“Do you think we’re in danger?” Minho asked.

“We might be. Even so, we signed a contract and consent forms... We knew what we were getting into when we signed them. Legally, we can’t back out.”

“You think we’ll die?” you asked nonchalantly while casually flipping through a magazine. After listening to Jisung and Minho panic for over an hour, you were begging to get bored and desensitized of the fear.

“No ~ They wouldn’t let that happen to us...! I think...” Jisung gulped.

Until midnight, you three stayed together and talked about life outside of these sleeping pods. Turns out, all three of you had a lot in common. You all also agreed that despite going through your own struggles with mental illnesses, the other test subjects probably had it much worse. Everyone else’s IDs had a green sticker on them, while the three of you had red, which Jisung said it indicated that everyone else was mature enough to actually seek help while you three didn’t have the time, money, or patience for all of that.

The one thing you noticed about Jisung’s ID was that his defense mechanism was eight - double the amount of yours.

“Do you know what it means?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve never had that section on my ID before. If it’s out of ten, I think Minho and I are good. You, on the other hand...”

“Lucky me, huh?”

“Maybe it’s not important,” Minho reassured. “Could be just a random stat. Like your blood type, or something.”

“Even if it was important, it’s not like they would just blindly throw you into knowing that.”

That, and Minho’s gentle smile, calmed you down a little bit. “Thanks, guys.”

A few minutes before the clock struck midnight, the entire cube fell silent, anxiously awaiting orders from our doctor. Everything was so up in the air at this point that the best you could do was expect the unexpected.

On the dot, Dr. Woojin walked into the room.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “Let’s all go to the testing room.”

The testing room was a lot bigger from the inside. Ten reclining chairs were nailed down in a circle all facing each with two large metal plates hung on each side of the head rest. The security guards instructed all of you to choose one to sit in and you, Minho, and Jisung decided to sit next to each other. Once the seats were chose, the security guards handed each of you a small cup with a pill shaped like the letter A.

“Tonight we will be studying the effects of Pill A. Out of the three pills, Pill A has the lowest concentration of the active ingredient, so the team behind the double mirror,” Dr. Woojin paused, pointing behind him, “will be making sure that everything is within the range of that concentration. All of our data is measured through the metal plates on each side of your head. The data measured is just like any other sleep study - brain waves and eye movement are measured through the built-in electroencephalograph and the electro-oculogram. The duration of the test will take six hours, around the average time a person spends going through all of the sleep cycles. That’s about it - the other two tests will be conducted similarly. The only precaution that I have to offer is that you may experience extremely vivid dreams to the point where you remember every detail, to which we will use in our post-evaluation. Are there any questions?”

No one raised their hand even though it looked like you all had a million questions to ask.

“Perfect.” Dr. Woojin and the body guards exited the testing room to go in the room where his team would be monitoring your sleep. “Please take the pill,” he ordered over the intercom.

You, Minho, and Jisung gave each other one last look before downing the chalky, cherry-tasting pill without water. You felt the sedative kick in right away like it was the strongest form of Nyquil you had ever experienced.

“Lights are dimmed. EEG and EOG are on. Pills are ingested. Testing will begin in three... two... one...”

You’re in a coffee shop sitting at one of the tables in the corner by the large window-wall, casually flipping through one of your many dating apps waiting for your partner to arrive. He was always fashionably late. Even if you purposely told him to come at an earlier time, he saw right through you and would still arrive later than you expected. Luckily, you hadn’t ordered anything yet, so at least your drink wouldn’t be cold.

“Sorry I’m late,” Minho said half-assed as he plopped down on the chair in front of you. He held two cups of coffee in his hands, to which you gladly took one.

“No, you’re not.”

“I bought our drinks, so we’re even.” From his backpack, he pulled out several folders stuffed with papers and documents and dropped all of them on the table. “Are you ready for this?”

“Why are we doing this here? This is so not discreet, like what kind of a spy are you!?”

“That’s the beauty of it, love - they would never expect us to be this stupid that we’d be discussing our business in the open like this.”

“If I die on the clock, I’m blaming it all on you and will spend my time in the afterlife haunting you until you join me,” you scoffed before sipping your coffee. “So who’s our target this time?”

“Son Chaeyoung, heiress of one of the country’s most popular airline companies. She’s supposedly one of ten people in the entire world who owns a pair of the famous pink diamond heart-shaped drop earrings.”

Her name sounds painfully familiar. You recognized the stinging pain in your chest at the sound of her name, but chose to ignore it, unsure of why this was happening to you.

A whistle escaped your lips upon hearing her history. “Must be nice to be rich.”

“Actually, her fiance gave it to her.”

“That must be nice, too.”

“... Anyways, the plan is to go to the party she’s hosting at her mansion and steal it then.”

“You and I are going to steal from her own home?” Minho nodded casually as if it was a simple favor he was asking of you. “How do you plan on doing that without getting caught!?”

“Seduce her, of course.”

“Yeah, like you could seduce an heiress,” you scoffed.

"Wanna bet on it?” he challenged with a smirk.

“Didn’t you just say she’s engaged? Isn’t this really risky?”

“When have either of those factors ever stop us before!?” You fell silent at his truthful statement. Seduction was just one of your’s & Minho’s many fields of expertise. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of flirting with engaged men just for Minho to snatch up whatever was on the wanted list, but that didn’t mean you never felt bad about it. “Look, the resell price we could make from this set is far too good for us to pass up. Think about it, we wouldn’t have to heist for months! We can take a break and buy a ticket to any corner of the world - just you and I. You’ve always talked about going to Singapore, right? Let’s go there!”

There’s something in you that says that seducing this poor girl for her beautiful jewelry given by her fiance is totally wrong and that you should move on to some other poor rich sucker, but there’s a stab in your chest whenever you hear her name and for whatever reason, you really wanted to take those earrings away from her.

“Fine, I’m in.”

“Yes!” Minho cheered, rubbing his greedy little hands together. This was the type of adrenaline that he lived for. “Let the heist begin.”

For the duration of your time at the coffee shop and up until the weekend, you and Minho spent nearly every waking hour together coordinating the master plan. You were in charge of getting the blueprints of her mansion, finding out what type of man she was into, and somehow receiving an invite to the party. Minho was in charge of the attire, the equipment, and the itinerary. The blueprint was the most important tool in the heist, which allowed you two to gauge where her bedroom was so no time was wasted aimlessly wandering around. Of course, her bedroom was at the farthest corner relative to where the party was being held, but you’ll make your way there somehow. You just hoped Minho would be able to distract her long enough.

“How did you manage to get an invite?” Minho called from your room as you were getting dressed in the bathroom.

“I had Jeongin hack into her assistant’s laptop and add us to the guest list. We couldn’t get a physical copy of the invite, but apparently that’s just for aesthetics - they still check off names at the door.”

“That’s incredible! We should hire that Jeongin kid one day. Maybe we can be a threesome.”

“That sounds like a great idea as long as you don’t call us a threesome.”

Minho halted his snickering when you waltz out of the bathroom head-to-toe in the ensemble he picked out, jewelry on and everything. He’s seen you in this type of clothing all the time, but you were always a sight for his sore eyes.

He whistled lowly while cheekily eyeing you up and down. “Lookin’ good, partner.”

“Not so bad yourself,” you grinned while you smoothed out his suit. “Are you wearing your Bluetooth set?”

He tucked his hair to show you the little pod in his ear. “Yup. Got your cute and tiny gun?” he teased.

"It’s not cute and tiny, it’s stealthy and practical,” you pouted while exposing the gun strapped in by your garter.

“Whatever you say. But anyways, I think we’re set. Are you ready, partner?”

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s get our tickets to Singapore.”

Minho drove his fancy all black car that had those butterfly doors that opened upwards just so he could flex on all the other rich men who thought they were all that. You thought it was a bit too extra and might raise suspicion from some wary guests, but there was no turning back now. On the way to the mansion, you quizzed Minho on the topics that would make Chaeyoung fall head-over heels for him.

“Ok, so she collects art pieces from all over the world, right? She loves the Baroque period, but she’s gained a huge interest in Surrealism so I’ll say some shit like I have an original Dali piece, or something.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good. I'm feelin’ pretty seduced right now.”

“Really!? That’s a good sign coming from you,” Minho chuckled cutely.

The mansion was nothing short of what you expected it to be. It was huge, with white columns, each covered with flowers that were different shades of pink. The valet took Minho’s car keys once he approved both of your names on the guest list and that was the green light for you two to start the heist.

The inside was naturally even more stunning than the outside. From the marble tiles, to the staircase, and to the shining chandelier, everything was all-white and gilded in gold. You’ve seen more extravagant mansions, but for an heiress no older than you and Minho, this was pretty impressive.

“All right, partner - seduce away,” you teased.

“Will do. Don’t get caught or die or anything, ok?"

“No promises. Give me the green light whenever you’re ready.”

With that, you both went your separate ways. It still felt like you were near each other though, because every once in a while one of you would comment on some cool thing you saw in one of the infinite rooms or hallways. While exploring the depths of Chaeyoung’s palace all the while trying to layout the blueprints you memorized, you noticed there was a tall staircase just as beautiful as the main one that was closed off with a velvet rope.

“I think I’m close,” you muttered to Minho in your earpiece. “I found the staircase that led up to one of the corners of the second floor.”

“Hey, great. But don’t go in there yet - I think Chaeyoung’s still making her rounds.”

It wasn’t until two hours into the party after you and Minho devoured in hors d’oeuvres and painfully resisted champagne when Chaeyoung finally approached your handsome partner who was eyeing the Vanitas Flower Still Life by Willem van Aelst.

“This is one of my favorite paintings in my collection,” you heard Chaeyoung say through your earpiece.

“A fan of the Baroque period?” Minho replied.

“Oh, yes. I can’t explain why, but there’s something about this style that just draws you in, right? Maybe it’s the way the pastels sit on a dark negative space.”

You wondered if he understood what any of those words meant. “I’m more of an Impressionist kind of man.” Minho ignored your ugly snort when he said that. “Monet is a classic favorite, you know?”

“Agreed!”

“But do you know what my absolute favorite movement is?”

“What is it?”

“Surrealism.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I have an original Dali piece hanging in my study.”

When Chaeyoung bit her lip and grabbed Minho’s hand to take him to God knows where, he figured he got this in the bag. As the two of them were walking through a crowd of loud and drunk guests, he took this opportunity to talk into his earpiece.

“Go now.”

“Huh... That was easy.”

“So is she, I guess.”

As quick as you came in, you hopped over the velvet rope and ran up the stairs. You ditched your heels in one of the laundry chutes in the process, as you found out that even the second floor was laid out in white marble. If you remembered the blue prints correctly, you knew that her bedroom was on the other side of that floor level, which might not sound so far in a normal home, but considering that was the size of a hotel, you had to figure out how you would make your way over without getting caught.

It was hard to stay focused when you could hear sloppy kissing on the other end.

“Can you be quiet, for Christ’s sake!? All I hear is saliva!” you whispered.

Minho ignored you scolding and continued on with his task. So you wouldn’t puke all over her nice floors, you lowered the volume and kept going. This was going to be a long night.

After avoiding Chaeyoung’s house staff and running down several long hallways, you were finally face-to-face with the only black door in the whole house. This had to be her room.

“Hey, I think I found it,” you told Minho.

“Mm,” was all you received, either as a confirmation or he was in the moment still with his new heiress friend.

The door was unlocked and inside was a man dressed in his pajamas casually sitting on the ginormous king-sized bed. Panic began to rise in your chest and you think you have to use your gun, but he didn’t seemed startled when he saw you. Rather, he gave you a gentle smile that flipped your heart and a simple wave. There’s something familiar about him and it pained you the same way when you saw or heard of Chaeyoung.

“Hi,” he greeted. “Can I help you...?”

Fuck. “O-Oh...! This isn’t the bathroom?” you burst out into a loud giggle that hid your panic. “Silly me! I must have drank too much champagne.”

“Yeah, that can happen. There’s a bathroom around the corner if you need it.”

“Oh, thanks!” Before the handsome man could say anything else, you run into the room next door.

On the other end of the line, you heard Minho excuse himself to find a bathroom of his own. “What happened!?” he whispered.

“Her fiance is in the bedroom! What do I do?”

“Guess you have to seduce him, too.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Do you want to get the fuck out of here, or not!? I’m sacrificing myself by seducing Chaeyoung, you should, too!”

“Oh, shut up, you’re enjoying this way more than you should be,” you mumbled. “Fine. I’ll let you know what’s up.”

“Ok, good. I guess I’ll get back to making out with my target now...”

You ignored his last remark and check the time on your watch. The hands read 00:00, but that couldn’t have been right... You swear that you and Minho have been there for hours beyond that. The seconds hand was stuck right on the twelve mark and you’re not sure if that’s a coincidence or if something was up. You let it slide, thinking that your watch was simply broken.

You invited yourself into their bedroom once more, making sure to give the fiance a knock on the door as a warning. Again, the man is not surprised nor is he upset. Instead, he found this quite amusing.

He found you quite cute, too.

“Can I help you again?”

“Yeah, uh... I’m not feeling too hot. Do you mind if I sit with you...?”

“Please,” he encouraged, patting down a spot next to him. “I’m watching some trashy drama. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! I love shitty dramas. But why aren’t you downstairs with everyone else?”

“Ugh, I just hate huge parties like this. I tell Chaeyoung every time that I never want to attend these functions, but you know her, she just goes and does whatever she wants. I’m just her fiance, after all,” a tired chuckle escaped his lips. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever introduced myself. My name is Bang Chan.”

There’s a sting in your heart that felt like several nails were being hammered in at all angles and all crevices when you heard his name. You know you’ve heard it somewhere before and you know there’s a reason for all the heartache, but you can’t put your tongue on it. But that was crazy for you to believe you knew his name - you’ve never met this man in your entire life! You didn’t even know what Chaeyoung’s fiance looked like before this heist, and yet there’s something about him that made you believe you’ve spent at least one lifetime together, just by hearing his name.

Maybe it was in a dream.

“And you are...?” he trailed off.

You swallowed hard. “_____ _____.”

“Nice to meet you, _____.”

“Bang Chan, have we met before?”

He thought for a moment and shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so. I would have definitely remembered you if we have.”

Your cheeks warmed so quickly so embarrassingly, but Bang Chan thought it was charming, so he laughed. It sounded like hearing your favorite song for the very first time.

“_____, get out of there!” Minho hissed, breaking you away form your broken thoughts. “Chaeyoung is wearing the earrings right now and she’s going up to her room to change!”

“U-Uh, I have to go,” you muttered, hopping off of the bed.

“Oh, ok...” For a moment, you thought he was sad you’re leaving, but that couldn’t be it. “I’ll see you again sometime?”

“Sure.”

“Promise?”

You didn’t answer. “Good bye, Bang Chan.”

You then slipped away from the bedroom and hoped to never see his beautiful smile ever again. But the feeling of leaving his side was more painful than when you met him.

When you turned the corner, you bumped into the ever-so famous and beautiful Son Chaeyoung, who looked annoyed that someone had dared to touch her other than Bang Chan or art-enthusiast Lee Minho.

“Watch where you’re going!” she scolded, not even questioning why you were up there in the first place.

You didn’t let her snobbiness bother you. How could you let it, when one of her pink heart-shaped diamond drop earrings fell on the floor right in front of you?

You snatched it off of the floor and sprinted down the stairs, where an impatient Minho waited for you.

“Go go go!” you giggled, grabbing the hand of the confused man. He didn’t question it though, thinking that your giggling was a good sign.

Minho grabbed his keys from the valet, telling the nervous boy that he’d retrieve his car himself, since you were already halfway to the parking spot. Never in either of your careers had you two so messily escaped a scene just now and never had he heard you laugh like a hyena before.

“Why are you being so weird!?” he asked after speeding away from the mansion. “I’m sweating so much right now.”

“Look!” you beamed, holding up the one heavy earring, and soon Minho joined you in your wild laughter.

“You know how that happened?” Minho began his story, rather than making it a question. “While I was, you know, ‘doing my job’, I would have my hands on the back of her head and I’d try to loosen the backing of the earring. I can’t believe it fucking worked!”

“I feel like crying,” you said once your giggles subsided. “Ready for Singapore, partner?”

“Yeah, but we only have one earring, so spend your half wisely.”

You awake in your chair sweating like your finished a marathon. It took a second for you to realize that yes, you are definitely breathing, but you should calm down before you pass out. Other than the heavy breathing and gross amounts of sweat, you feel just fine - as fine as you were before taking Pill A.

Oh, that’s right - you must have completed the first phase of testing just now. You were in District Pharmaceuticals, you were a test subject for a sequence of pills, and you just had a vivid dream with Minho in it. Dr. Woojin warned you and the other subjects six hours ago that these dreams were possible, yet knowing that Minho, a complete stranger to you, was in them felt... not necessarily wrong, but it definitely didn’t feel right, either.

Next to you, Minho was thinking and feeling the same thing. He was sweating, it was hard for him to breathe, and when he looked at you, it was like he knew what you dreamed about just now because hes was in there with you. Maybe that’s what happened when a bunch of people are dreaming and are surrounded by all the rays that measured their brain activity. Maybe other subjects’ dreams overlapped with each other’s, too.

“No, I was alone in mine, with only people that I knew poppin’ up here and there,” Jisung said when you asked him. It was just you two sitting at the table drinking some water while Minho went straight for his sleeping pod, clearly not wanting to socialize after something like that. You didn’t blamed him. “Were you not alone?”

“No, Minho was in my dream.”

“Really!? That’s crazy! Were you in his?”

“I have no idea. But you what else is crazy?” Jisung leaned in. “I have this feeling that he and I were having the same dream.”

“What? Like you two had two separate dreams and you just somehow appeared in each other’s?”

“No, even weirder - I think we had the same, single dream bubble.”

“Maybe Dr. Woojin can help you figure it out during post-evaluation.”

“Number one, you’re up first,” ushered one of the security guards.

“Speaking of. Good luck in there, friend. Let me know how it goes,” Jisung reassured.

“Will do.”

The security guard led you through an unfamiliar hallway that you swear you didn’t pass through yesterday. Who knows though, maybe you did and you just didn’t realize it. All of the hallways were starting to look the same at this point.

It’s been about half an hour since you woke up from you vivid dream with Minho. You could still picture every second of that scenario and could describe it in detail if Dr. Woojin asked that of you. You didn’t question why that specific plot line was how your dream went because did any of your dreams ever make sense? No, but you couldn’t figure out why Bang Chan and Son Chaeyoung, of all the fucking people in the world, appeared in your dream. After today, Dr. Woojin was probably going to tell you how your traumatic experiences with them contributed to your well-being, or some bullshit like that, but you didn’t need an expert to tell you that. Somehow, though, seeing them felt... relieving?

“Welcome, number one,” Dr. Woojin greeted as you stepped into the room. “It’s _____, correct?”

You were too mesmerized by all of the cameras surrounding the chair you would sit in that pointed at different angles. A bunch of monitors hung on the wall behind you and you were starting to get nervous. You didn’t like being recorded.

“Y-Yes, _____ is right.”

“Please, have a seat.”

And so you did, with the eyes of at least eight cameras staring right at you. Then, with you barely noticing, Dr. Woojin linked you up to some heart rate monitor or brain wave monitor - you couldn’t tell the difference when only your hand was connected.

“I will be asking you a series of questions and monitoring your answers as we go along. Do your best to answer as clearly, concise, and honest as possible, ok? This won’t hurt, or anything.”

His reassurance was enough to calm you down just a little. “Ok,” you replied.

“Good. First question. Describe your experience when you took Pill A.”

You take a deep breath to calm you beating heart. “Pill A was chalky. Kind of like those Flinstones vitamins you used to get when you were a kid, you know? Cherry flavored is what I can recall. After that, I fell asleep.”

“Would you say your experience was satisfactory?”

“If the purpose of it is to knock me out, then yes, very satisfied.”

“Excellent,” he jotted down several words you couldn’t read and check marked several boxes. You hoped that was a good sign. “What was the first thing you noticed after that?”

“I noticed that I was out in public.”

“What did you see?”

Minho. “A coffee shop. I was in a coffee shop.”

“Did you see anyone you recognized?”

You lied and shook your head. “No, not there.”

“But somewhere else?”

“Yeah, I... It was weird. I was like, a spy or something? I was on a mission to steal some really expensive earrings so I could travel to Singapore.”

“How did the heist go?”

“It went well - I got one earring, hopped in the car, and drove away. The dream ended there.”

“So you saw someone you recognized sometime during the heist?”

Your jaw was beginning to hurt from the grinding your teeth. “Yeah, I saw my ex-boyfriend and the girl he cheated on me with.”

“What was their role in your dream?”

“I was stealing the earrings from her and my ex was her fiance. Weirdest fucking dream I’ve had in my entire life.”

“How did you feel after that?”

“Invigorated. Like they got what they deserved, and I didn’t even have to punch them in the face for it. But god, just seeing them was so painful... I mean, really I should be over it by now... It’s been over a year since that happened. But I could never seem to let it go.”

“Would you say you could now?”

“Well, since I’m not actually in Singapore, not 100 percent but... I feel like I’m a one step closer to doing so. It’d be the most progress I made since it happened.”

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Dr. Woojin gave you a calming smile. “Your evaluation is over. You may return to the common area.”

A heavy weight lifted from your shoulders and you’re starting to see the purpose of the study a bit clearer than last night. You initially thought you were just going to pop some pills and call it a day, but oh no, this was way beyond your expectations and you’re not sure if you should be glad you took up this opportunity or terrified that this could actually work.

And where did Minho tie in with all of this? You had to find out.

When you arrived back in the common room, you spot Minho’s head lift up from his book to catch your gaze. He looked both terrified and unsettled as he made his way back to his sleeping pod and shut the curtains.

You needed answers from him. You needed to know if he dreamed the same thing.

“Hey,” you muttered, opening his curtains just a tad. His back was hunched over facing you, not wanting to acknowledge you even a little bit. “I need to ask you something.”

“Please close my curtains,” he asked, not turning around.

“This is important.”

“Can’t it wait until later?”

“What did you dream about last night?”

Minho’s brief moment of silence was enough to answer your question. For some reason, he just wasn’t as excited or interested in this as you are - you, on the other hand, found this fascinating. How was it that two complete strangers were able to experience some form of life together? In that dream, you felt like Minho was your best friend. Was it destiny or some weird fate that brought your dream bubbles together?

Minho sighed and turned around to face you, surprised that you made yourself comfortable inside of his pod. Clearly, you wouldn’t be leaving without an answer, and in a way, he knew that. “You know what I dreamed about.”

“I knew it! You were totally there with me!” you beamed. “That’s crazy, right!?”

“Yeah...”

“How do you think this happened?”

“Computers and testing go wonky all the time. Maybe they accidentally crossed us over, or something.”

“For the whole duration of the dream? No way.”

“I don’t know.”

“You know, you weren’t this shy in our dream.”

“Do you want me to steal jewelry for you, too?” he scoffed. He gave up trying to ignore and turned around to face you, who was already inside his pod uninvited.

You only rolled your eyes. “Hey, tell me something - did you see anyone you knew in our dream? Like, a friend you know or like a teacher while we were separated?”

Minho shook his head. “I was confused, if I’m being honest. Usually when you dream, your brain uses faces you recognize to form the people that pop up in your dreams. But I didn’t recognize anyone. Did you?”

“Yeah, a couple.”

Minho didn’t press you for an answer, thinking your matter was private and he respected that. He had to in a place like this.

“By the way, about the post-evaluation,” you whispered, leaning in closely. “I didn’t tell Dr. Woojin that I saw you. I was afraid he’d throw one of us out, or something if he found out we’re overlapping.”

He nodded and understood. “Thank you. I’ll do the same.”

“Thanks!”

Minho kind of liked the way you smiled and leaned back against his pod like you were at peace with this moment in such a place like this. You seemed to be taking this whole testing thing a lot lighter than everyone else here, aside from Jisung who was used to all of this by now. Maybe that was the right attitude you needed to survive all six days, but then again it was only day two.

He can’t explain why, but he’s glad it was you of all people he got to share his dream bubble with. If it were anyone else, he’d probably beg to be taken out of the experiment saying some shit like he was unstable to continue forward. But he trusted you as much as he could trust just any random girl he met at a testing facility. And he enjoyed his dream with you, at least. You were fun to be around in that world, like he had experienced it with you hundreds of times before.

“Do you think we’ll see each other again tomorrow night?” you asked, breaking his thoughts.

He shrugged, "It’s possible. I won’t be too surprised this time around.” Though he secretly hoped he’d see you.

“Let’s hope the next time won’t be as dangerous,” you teased.

“Oh, but Danger is my middle name.”

“As long as we don’t die. You know what they say ~”

“You die in your dream, you die in real life?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll make sure to be extra careful then.”

You were oddly excited for the following night. You couldn’t wait to see what type of dream you would have next, and whether or not Minho would be there to join you. It wasn’t that you needed him to be there, and was fun having a buddy with you to live a life you could literally only dream about living, but if the rest of your dreams would be as traumatic as the first, then having him there would help a ton.

You wondered what kind of dream you’d have next - maybe you would pass through a different era? Maybe this time you’d solve a murder mystery? The possibilities were endless! But you couldn’t control anything, so all you could do was hope.

And there was something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on - it was on the tip of your tongue - that made you feel a sort of natural attraction to him. He pulled you in without any intention. It was like you were meant to meet here. All the more reason for you to figure him out while you run through more adventures in your dreams together.

The daytime went about calmly. You, Jisung, and Minho were just hanging out talking more about your lives before any of this. Jisung tried to see if there was any kind of overlap with your’s and Minho’s lives that would explain why you two experienced the same dream, but nothing was connecting. You and Minho came from two different sides of town, different social class, different universities - pretty much nothing about you and Minho was even remotely similar, so yeah, Jisung concluded that this was some act of fate.

“Wow, nothing adds up at all,” Jisung said, completely baffled.

“Pretty cool, right?” you admitted.

“I don’t know if cool is really the right word...” Minho mumbled.

“Maybe you two were fated to meet.”

“In our dreams as test monkeys?”

“Fate is fate, Minho. Who knows, maybe you guys are soulmates, in some twisted way. That’s kind of romantic, right? Are both of you guys single?”

“Shut up, Jisung,” you and Minho said simultaneously.

Although you couldn’t wait to take Pill B, when you entered the testing room for the second time, the chairs and head plates were still terrifying. To maximize the likelihood of merging dreams, you and Minho sat in the same chairs right next to each other. Pill B was then given to everyone in a small dixie cup. This time, the pill was blue.

“We will now commence the testing of Pill B,” Dr. Woojin said over the intercom. “Ingest Pill B.” You all did as such with much less hesitation. This one tasted like blueberry. “Everything is set. Testing will begin in three... two... one...”

The first thing you saw was yourself as you looked into the mirror, dressed in an elegant jewel tone gown ready for a night out. You must have been inside your bathroom and not a public one, as you saw all of your expensive make-up, perfumes, and some jewelry scattered all over your side of the Jill sink. On the other side with the Jack sink laid shaving equipment, skin care products, and cologne untouched as their owner was out of sight.

Just as you were thinking about him, a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist.

“Hi,” Minho whispered, nuzzling his head against yours in the softest manner. His stray hairs, all messy from bed still, were tickling your neck. “What are you looking so beautiful for?”

“Nuh-uh, don’t even try to compliment your way out of this one. We have your parents’ wedding anniversary, remember?”

“Mm, I was hoping you’d forget so we wouldn’t have to go.”

You turned yourself around so you could face your loving husband who now pressed you to the side of the sink. He wanted to be as close to you as possible because he could never get enough of touching you. It was his way of telling you how much he loved you without having to say a word.

“Don’t be so pouty tonight, ok? Let’s have some fun - tonight’s a night to celebrate love.”

“We can do that in the bedroom ~” he mumbled lowly, lips travelling to the crook of your neck to that one spot that made your knees weak.

Playfully, you shove your handsome man off before you caved in and made your way out of the bathroom. “I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

“We can celebrate there too, if you want!”

You ignored his whines and waited a patient half hour in the kitchen while he got ready. Tonight was your in-laws’ celebration of their 25th wedding anniversary. Before meeting the Lees, you’ve never even heard of an anniversary celebrated before the 50th year, but the Lees were a special kind of expensive family who celebrated anything and everything. If you thought their 24th anniversary party last year was huge, this year’s was going to be ginormous.

Mr. Lee Minho, CEO of the Min Hotel and your loving husband, slyly walked towards you with his signature smirk that made you fall for him at first sight. He wore some designer suit you couldn’t pronounce and his cute dangly earrings.

“Hey, handsome. Come here often ~?” you teased.

“Can you imagine if that’s what you asked me when we first met?”

“Instead of ‘hi, would you like to try our special peppermint latte today?’ No, I can’t imagine.”

“Did I ever tell you that was the best peppermint latte I’ve ever had?”

“Only every other day. Are you finally ready to head out?”

“Do we really have to go...?”

“Yes, we do. We don’t have to stay long. At least to go see your mother.”

“Fine, but don’t you dare leave my side unless it’s for food, booze, or the bathroom.”

“Ok, whatever you say ~”

Minho’s driver pulled up to meet you at the front door. He was also your driver, but you’ve never found a need to use him so often when you could just drive yourself. You don’t think you could ever get used to your husband’s lifestyle, no matter how long you two have been together.

The car ride was spent with your head on Minho’s shoulder while holding his hand. He liked playing the game of drawing little shapes and words on the back of your hand and you’d have to guess what he drew.

“That’s a star,” you said.

“Mhm.”

“That’s a... cat face?”

“Soonie or Doongie?”

“Soonie!”

“Wow, you’re good. How about this one?”

“That’s inappropriate, Mr. Lee,” you scolded, slapping his hand away.

Minho chuckled and held you closer, peppering little kisses all over the top of your head until you finally looked up and pulled him in for a real kiss. Neither of you could stop smiling nor kissing like newly weds on their honeymoon.

“We have arrived,” your driver announced through the crack of the partition.

“I really don’t want to go,” Minho sighed into the kiss, feeling a painful sting in his chest.

“Just for a little bit,” you reassured. “C’mon, we’re already here.”

Hand-in-hand, you and Minho walked into The Min Hotel, the number one luxury hotel in the country. Minho was already overworked running this place and now he had to actually socialize and attempt to enjoy such a place. You could tell he was tense the second you both walked through the doors, so you squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Remember to have fun, ok? You’re not working today or anything.”

“I’m here with you, so of course I’ll have fun,” he said.

The ballroom was decked out in twinkling lights and white lilies, the same decorations that were arranged at his parents’ actual wedding. Only the finest plates and crystal glasses were at the tables with open bottles of expensive champagne ready to be poured. Even if you could think up the biggest most expensive wedding reception of your dreams, this venue could not even come close to your imagination.

But that’s ok, because you already lived your dream wedding - just you and Minho, alone with the minister in a rose garden as you said your vows. Neither of you needed a huge audience to witness.

“Minho!” you both heard his mother call.

Like a true mama’s boy, he ran up to his mother happily and gave her a big hug. She was dressed in a beautiful long, white gown and looked like she hadn’t aged since she got married twenty-five years ago.

His father was nowhere to be seen.

“_____, you’re as stunning as ever,” his mother complimented, immediately going in to hug you.

“I’m nothing compared to you,” you said back.

“Ah, you always make me feel so young ~” she gushed happily, blushing as pink as a rose.

“Where’s Dad?” Minho asked reluctantly.

“At the bar, as usual.”

“Well, that’s one corner I know to avoid.”

“Hey, be nice tonight, ok? It’s our anniversary, for God’s sake,” his mother scolded, pointing an accusatory finger at her pouty son. “Now you kids have fun, ok?”

“Yes, mom...”

For the first half of the night, you and Minho delved into the luxuries of the party. You both snacked on caviar and capers that the waiters handed out on silver platters, drank golden champagne from the crystal glasses, and spent an eternity at the dessert table. The entire affair was too way too extravagant for such an occasion, but at least the food was to die for.

While you were trying to have fun for the both of you, Minho couldn’t shake off the anxiety he felt whenever he saw his father. He was boring holes into his stupid, designer tuxedo, yet he never gave him the time of day. He didn’t stop to say hi on his way to the bar for the fifth time, didn’t wave, and didn’t even look his way. Even though he was the star heir to the hotel, Minho might as well have not existed to his father. It was like he was the child of disappointment and regret all over again.

This dream was starting to get too real... Then it clicked.

Fuck this pill.

“Hey,” you said, tearing him away from his moment of existential crisis and self depreciation. “Dance with me?”

You must haven’t realized this was the effects of Pill B yet, but your smile was so warm and loving, how could he say no? In this lifetime, in this world, this version of you, you were so deeply in love with him and he needed that so desperately right now.

In this dream, he loved you so much, too, so he’ll play along until it was time to wake up.

“Of course, love,” he said, taking you to the middle of the dance floor where the whole venue could see.

You delicately wrapped your arms around his neck while he rested his at the small of your back. For three dances, your husband was quiet, eyes drooping lowly like he was about to fall asleep. Was it that late already? You checked your watch for the time.

00:00, with the seconds hand stuck on the twelve.

Everything clicked.

The space around you both began to change and it did not go unnoticed. By the fifth song, the twinkling lights dimmed to blackness. No longer could either of you see the rest of the guests and even his parents, who you thought were approaching you two just a second ago, were nowhere to be seen in the darkness. All you could see was Minho’s handsome face just centimeters from yours.

“Are we still dreaming?” you whispered, though already knowing the answer.

“I really, really hope so,” he admitted.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.. Uh hey, since we’re dreaming... can I kiss you?”

You only nodded in response, and before you stopped, Minho immediately leaned down to press his lips to yours. Even if this was a dream, it felt so, so real - his lips were soft, warm, and desperate, finding solace by molding with yours. You felt ever bit of sadness he experienced in the dream in his kiss and you figured this was something he needed.

The second he pulled away, he disappeared and your vision went black.

You awoke in the same manner from two nights ago - covered in sweat, gasping for air, with a sped up heart rate. Minho woke up the same way, and neither of you could look each other in the eye after that dream.

Pill B contained a higher concentration of whatever active ingredient it had, and you supposed that correlated with the intensity of the dreams. Compared to the dream from Pill A, Pill B felt much shorter, almost half the time you experienced in Pill A, but the realness of the dream felt like it was ten times stronger. This dream was about Minho and his relationship with his father, but the minor details of the dream were meant for you to delve in.

You had complete and entire memories in that dream bubble. You and Minho had memories of when you first met, of your first date, of the day you got married, and every kiss, fight, and laughing fits you ever experienced. Truly, you two lived an entire life filled with love under the influence of Pill B - a life you could only ever dream about. When your ex-boyfriend Bang Chan left you for Son Chaeyoung, you never thought you could experience a love so true ever again. You lived in constant fear and pessimism that love was never real and that everyone was only lying to themselves when it came to the matter. But in this dream, you experienced a life full of love that you’ve always wanted with Chan. And even if you would never experience that with Chan - even if you experienced it with a stranger named Lee Minho - you knew this was something you wanted in your next relationship.

Soon you would learn and accept that a love like your’s and Minho’s would come easily - as easy as it would in a dream.

Again, you were the first to give your post evaluation. You said all there was about it, from beginning to end, and what you thought it could mean. You didn’t say you were with Minho. You said you were with some faceless man and said how that represented the void that you felt when Chan left you. Or some bullshit like that.

You didn’t care about the post evaluation. You just wanted to talk to Minho again.

But maybe you would be over-stepping your boundaries. This was pretty much his dream, after all. You didn’t want to be nosy by asking him what the dream and the kissing at the end meant to him.

Maybe you were taking this testing too seriously. You would never see him again after this was over anyways, right? But for some reason, just thinking about that made your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

There was something in Pill B that made you feel extra light headed after your evaluation, so you headed straight for your sleeping pod, ignoring the curious stares of Minho and Jisung. Today, you were the one not up for any socializing.

Hours passed as you not only napped in your pod, but read a few chapters of some book, ate your breakfast and lunch, and did a couple of puzzles in your pod, also. You had to keep yourself occupied in a prison like this. How else were you going to survive such a powerful and painful mental cleansing? Even after all of that, your light headed-ness was still present. Didn’t Dr. Woojin say there were no side effects? Maybe that was due to your level four defense mechanism.

To your surprise, sometime at around 8:00 pm, your curtain was pulled open.

“Hey,” Minho greeted shyly. “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, you nodded, scooting over so he could sit next to you. You could really use his company right now.

“I, uh, figured I should explain why our dream was like that.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to, if that’s ok.”

“Of course, Minho.”

Hearing his name sent a shock through his body. “You met my mom in the dream. She actually passed away a couple of years ago. Since then, my dad hasn’t been able to keep a job or complete any regular daily tasks other than downing any alcohol he can find. He’ll put the blame for her death on himself and then on me, and soon I really began to believe it was my fault. He can’t even look at me anymore.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok.”

“Why are you telling me this, though? I’m just a strange girl in your dreams, for all you know.”

He shrugged, not really knowing the answer himself. “I don’t know. I just... wanted to talk to you. I also thought me giving you some background information would somehow justify me asking to um, kiss you earlier, but it really doesn’t, does it?” he chuckled nervously.

“Is that the reason you ended up here?”

“Yeah... that, and other personal struggles, but yeah. I miss her a lot, you know?”

“You look a lot like her.”

“Do I really?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I bet she would be proud of you for coming here and trying to seek help for yourself.”

Cautiously, Minho laid his hand on top of yours, painting the same little shapes on the back with his thumb. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Wanna hear my story?”

“I would love to.”

“You know our first dream with the heist?” Minho nodded, listening attentively. “Chaeyoung is the girl my ex-boyfriend cheated on me with.”

“Ouch...”

“Yeah. Her fiance I met upstairs in her room was my ex. I caught them at a party one night last year. He left my side and said he was just going to make his rounds and say hi to his friends, but when I went to look for him after a while, they were in some stranger’s bed. It really doesn’t sound like a big deal - other people who get cheated on, they could just drop him right away and move onto the next person just like that. But how could I when he made me feel like I could fly for those years we were together? It wasn’t even him cheating on me that made me lose my sense of self, you know? I was just so dependent on him for self-worth... It was like I didn’t know who I was without him. This past year without him has been really hard, to the point where I almost flunked out of school. And so I ended up here, because my heart is so very weak and pathetic and I need to fucking fix it.”

“You’re not weak or pathetic. Just fragile.”

“That’s just a nicer word for it...”

“Eh, yeah. That’s what my mom used to say to me. My dad would call me weak a lot and then afterwards, my mom would wipe my tears and say that I wasn’t weak, I was fragile. I just needed to be taken extra care of.”

“Your a soft dude, Minho,” you teased. “Is it weird to say that I really enjoyed being married to you for those five fake years?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You took extra care of my fragile, level four defense mechanism of a heart while we were together. It really, truly felt like you did that for five years.”

A dark blush burned his cheeks. “I’m glad you thought so.”

“Mm. I hope to feel the kind of love I felt for you for real one day.”

“Me, too.”

“Tell me your life story, Minho.”

“Ok. I was born on October 25th...”

You spent the next couple of hours talking to Minho like he was your best friend while you both continued to play with each other’s hands. He gave you a very detailed timeline of his life from the day he was born up until he met you and you did the same, losing track of time completely. Then the next morning you continued on talking about your favorite movies, books, foods - anything you could think of to fill in the gap until it was time to test the very last pill, the strongest of them all.

“What do you think we’ll dream about this time?” you asked excitedly.

“We’re both idols.”

“Ugh gross, I don’t wanna dream about that! Besides, I don’t think Pill C would be called the strongest pill if that’s all we end up dreaming about.”

“Ok, how about we’re cowboys in the wild west with those weird American accents? We have guns and stuff.”

“Ooh interesting, I like that one. Or how about assassins?”

“A little risky considering if we die in the dream, we could die in real life.”

Then midnight came around. After tonight, everyone would have their final evaluation and then you’d be cured! Well, maybe. One thing for sure was that in a matter of hours, you would no longer be with Minho. You two would move on with your lives like you never met, like those fake five years married together and being partners in crime meant absolutely nothing.

It broke your heart, just a little.

“Welcome to the last test, Pill C,” Dr. Woojin said over the intercom after everyone was settled in their seats. “Pill C has the highest concentration of the active ingredient. You will experience the most vivid and possibly violent dreams you will ever experience in your lifetime. The final test and the evaluation that follows will ultimately determine if you have been cured - a confrontation of some sorts. Although my description remains to be as mysterious as ever, I hope by now that you all have faith my testing scheme to continue forward through completion. We will now commence the testing of the last pill. If you will now please ingest Pill C.”

The flavor was grape.

“Excellent. Pill C has been ingested, instruments are operating, and the last testing will begin in three... two... one...”

You see black; you smell blood; you taste fabric that’s been wrapped around your mouth to keep you quiet; you feel your wrists chafing against the rope that held them together; and lastly, you hear a gun cock before it’s being pressed to your forehead.

The gag in your mouth gets yanked off and you can finally breathe, though you’re not sure for how much longer.

“Who do you work for?” an unknown voice threatened lowly in your ear.

“I work for no one,” you said as you were always taught.

A hard slap hits your cheek and you feel high levels of heat rising to the point of contact. Your whole body stung in various ways so a slap to the cheek just added to the pile.

“Who do you work for?” he repeated.

“I work for no one.”

Another slap to the other cheek and this time you think you taste blood.

Your sweat-covered blindfold finally gets taken off and thrown to the floor. It takes you several seconds for your eyes to adjust to the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Your surroundings are familiar - you’re in a clean, smooth-walled room with no windows, a table, and a single man standing in front of you inspecting his shiny glock. You were still in their interrogation room.

The cold metal of the gun rested on the bottom of your chin and forced your head up to look at the handsome man straight in his catty eyes. Despite his position in front of you at the moment, you would have never expected such playful eyes to take part in the mafia.

“Are you a cop?” he asked.

The longer you refused to answer, the more the gun was being pressed to your throat until the back of your neck hit the chair and you were trapped in between.

“No, I’m not,” you spat out.

“Then who do you work for, hm? That snake Seo Changbin?”

“No.”

“If you don’t work for anyone, why were you at our rendezvous spot?”

“Mere coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” he scoffed, finally letting the gun fall so he could twirl it around careless like a toy. “You think it was a coincidence that you ended up at our spot while our drug-moving got busted? At the fucking pier?”

“I like to jog by the ocean.”

The young mafia lord burst into a loud fit of laughter, really surprised that you were keeping up this facade for as long as you could. He had to give you props - no one had ever sat in front of Minho without confessing right away or pissing their pants on the spot. Either you really didn’t care to live or you were extremely loyal.

He’ll give you credit for that.

Your not sure what’s taking this guy so long to just pop your head off. There’s something he wants from you, and you know it, but he should know by now after days of interrogation that you weren’t going to spill. And it wasn’t like the precinct was going to find you anytime soon. It would be so easy for him, too - like ok, you weren’t going to give him any sort of information? Fine, he’ll just end it there, saving both him and you tons of time and unnecessary torture.

But maybe that’s what he wanted - to torture you and starve you to death. He would never actually shoot you. No, that would be way too easy. Lee Minho, The Boss of his Mafia in District 9, wanted to squeeze you dry until the very last drop where you’d confess everything and he’d let you go.

If that was the case, this guy was a cruel man, though you didn’t expect anything less.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Why did it matter? Shouldn’t he have asked you this two days ago? “_____.”

“_____,” he repeated with honey dripping from his voice. “Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“I guess...”

“And what does _____ like to do for fun?” The man was now sitting on the other chair with the gun on the table, not really interested in using it at the moment, accompanied by his feet. We he trying to make small talk with you?

“I like to read...”

“That’s not very fun.”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Do I look like I have time for fun, my love? Well, actually this is quite fun.”

“Is this a normal thing in daily Mafia Boss life?”

“For Lee Minho it is.”

“Why even bother? Can’t you just shoot me and get it over with?”

“Because there’s no fun in that, silly! Besides, I kind of like you,” he winked.

“Wh-What?”

“You’re not scared of me, you’re loyal to your team, and you’re obedient. It’s a shame you don’t work for me - I would have loved to have you on the team.”

“It’s not too late ~”

“Ah, nice try. You’re funny, _____.”

There’s an odd shiver that traveled down Minho’s spine whenever he said your name. It felt hot, as if someone spilled hot coffee down the back of his shirt. There’s a weird familiarity about you that he can’t put his tongue on, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind when he saw you falling asleep again.

“What’s your favorite food, _____?” he asked, jolting you awake.

“I don’t know... pizza?”

“Hm, good choice. I’m more of a fried chicken guy.”

“Fried chicken makes me break out.”

“Ah yeah, it can do that.”

“Lee Minho, is it?”

Another hot sensation runs down his spine. “Yes it is, my love.”

“Do you like being the Boss?”

“Do I like it? Huh... Honestly, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know...?”

“I’ve never been asked that question before.”

“How did you end up in your position then?”

“My father was the boss before me. When he saw that it was time I took over, I did. Whether I wanted to or not, I didn’t have a choice. So I can’t really answer your question if I’m here against my free will.”

“You either like murdering people and pushing drugs or you don’t, which one is it?”

Minho shrugged, too lazy to punish you for such a tone. “Asking if I like what I do is a hard question to answer. I have to do it, so why go through the trouble of trying to like it when I’ll be doing it anyways?”

“Are you always this difficult?”

“Are you?”

“I’m still here on day three, aren’t I?”

A sharp tisk left Minho’s lips. “Maybe I should have just killed you...”

Suddenly, the entire room began to shake. The table, the chairs, and you and Minho start to vibrate with the floor and nothing is heard but a low hum for a solid ten seconds. Panic was rising in both of your chests, unsure of what the source of such a phenomenon could be. You constrictions only raised the panic even more.

An army of footsteps could be heard from above followed by an overkill of gunshots.

“Fuck,” Minho cursed, grabbing his gun. “Looks like your crew came and found you. At midnight on the dot, too.”

“Midnight?” you muttered, swinging your head around to where Minho saw the time.

A white clock is hung high on the wall, completely mismatched from the environment of the interrogation room. You saw your trigger - all three black hands are on the twelve, with the seconds hand struggling to pass. In the midst of all the madness, you thought to yourself that Dr. Woojin was fucking insane for formulating Pill C this way.

You see Minho start to panic, unsure of whether he should kill you first before making a break for it.

“Minho!” you cried out. “It’s me, _____!”

“No fucking shit, Sherlock -”

“Listen to me, we’re dreaming right now. This is it, this is Pill C! Do you understand?”

Minho tried to understand. Your words made sense, but they didn’t make sense to him, at least not fully. Pill C... what was so familiar about Pill C?

“Pill C, Minho! We’re testing, remember? You’re number nine!”

The gears in his head clicked. Number nine, Lee Minho, with a level eight defense mechanism.

“Fuck, we have to get out of here,” he said, rushing to your side to untie you.

The footsteps and gunshots sound like they’re coming closer and there wasn’t much time left to lose. After successfully freeing you from the ropes, Minho worried deeply about your well-being, as your wrists bled from all the chafing and it really looked like you were roughed up those past fake-two days of interrogation. But that didn’t matter now, because you thanked the heavens that Minho snapped out of it before you died in your own damn dream.

Mafia Boss Minho took your hand and ran out the only door in the room with the gun in his free hand just in case. He has a faint fake memory of the layout of his base and if both of you could get to the elevator, you would both be safe for the time being.

A bullet whizzed by you before breaking a window.

“Guide me that way. There’s an elevator that can get us out of here. I’ll shoot,” Minho ordered, already taking down a bunch of unknown men.

“Who are those people!?” you asked while gripping onto Minho for your life. Shooting enemies while running backwards was not an ideal tactic.

“I think it’s your defense mechanism? Dreams have that, right? They must have sensed you were in danger.”

“That’s so fucking stupid. Way to go, Minho!”

“What!? I didn’t do anything!”

“In front, in front!” you screeched as you saw some men sprinting.

With ease, Minho eliminated them like it was nothing. He handed you a gun from a fallen soldier on the way to the elevator and you thought that probably wasn’t the best idea, considering you haven’t held a gun in your entire life, but anything can happen in dreams as you eliminated with one-shot kills each time. Minho never thought that he could be attracted to you in this way.

“This is supposed to be level four!? What the hell would level seven be!?” Minho cried out.

“Just be happy we won’t ever have to know!”

After shooting dozens of men down, cutting hundreds of corners, and nearly dying every five seconds, you both made it into the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, you both fell to the floor with a heavy thud, still hand-in-hand.

Neither of you were willing to let each other go.

“Where do we go from here?” you asked after catching your breath.

Minho shrugged. “Try the star button.”

So you pressed it. “What do star buttons mean in regular elevators again?”

“The lobby.”

“Do mafia properties usually have a lobby...?”

“Not mine.”

From whatever floor you were at below ground level, the elevator began to take you all the way up to the star floor. It was a long, torturous, raggedy ride and you thought at any moment, the elevator was going to give out and drop you all the way down. Minho figured you were nervous for what was to come as you haven’t loosened your grip on his hand since he freed you from your ropes.

You flinched when he ran his thumb across your wounds.

“I’m so sorry I did this,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“You didn’t do it. Maybe one of your minions did,” you teased.

“But what if I did?”

“We’ll never know. Even if you did, you were just being Big Scary Mafia Boss Minho, right?”

“Still...” He returned his hand for you to hold again, which eased his anxiety tenfold. “Were our guesses for what our dream would be way off, or what?”

“I don’t know, I think my assassins guess was pretty close.”

The elevator made a dinging noise and stopped at level nineteen. You and Minho stood up, getting ready with your guns in your hands with whatever was to come at you next. But as the doors slid open, you see test subject number nineteen still living in their dream bubble, running through a meadow of sunflowers without a care in the world.

“This testing scheme is... elaborate...”

“I can’t believe Dr. Woojin did all of this. Why weren’t any of our dreams like that?” you pouted.

The next level the doors opened for was seventeen, and you figured the elevator was going to open its doors to everyone’s dream bubble until the very last subject, which was you. This must have been how everyone else got to this point - this very elevator.

“This must be what that confrontation thing Dr. Woojin was talking about,” Minho sighed. “Do I have to face my dead mom, or something?”

“Pill C for confrontation? Clever.”

Level nine was next and the last thing Minho wanted to do was leave you in the elevator to face what was to come. But he made it to the very end - both of you did. You both came all the way from opposite sides of the country to make yourself better again and neither of you were going to back out of this one like you backed out of all the other important decisions of your lives.

Level nine was here and the doors opened to reveal Minho’s beautiful mother sitting on a couch reading one of her many books she’s read many times over. She looked up to you two with a bright smile and waved like you were coming to visit for some lunch.

“I can’t do this,” Minho told you.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He only nodded in response. “Ok. I’ll be right behind you. But you have to do this on your own.”

He bucked up the courage to leave the elevator first and you soon follow, only taking a couple steps out. From afar, you watched Minho join his mother on the couch and pull her into a long, warm hug.

“I miss you, mom,” he told her.

“I know you do, dear. I hear you’re not doing so well?”

“No, I’m not,” he admitted, holding back his tears. “I don’t have you, I don’t have Dad, I have no one. How am I supposed to go on without you?”

“You just do,” she said. “I know it’s not something you want to hear, but sometimes people leave and you don’t know why. You can’t keep dwelling on my death, love. You have to live your life to the fullest and go see the world! You can’t do that if you’re stuck here with me.”

“You expect me to get over this just like that?”

“Of course not. It’s not easy losing your mother. But I promise you, with time, it will get easier. You love me, don’t you?” Minho nodded. “Then live your life the way you would if I was still around.”

“Ok... I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask of you.” She pulled her son in for another loving hug. “I’m so, so proud of you, my son.”

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you, too. Promise me something else?”

“Anything.”

“Try to be more understanding of your father. It’s not easy losing someone you’ve loved for twenty-five years.” With tears in your own eyes, you watched his mom wipe away her son’s tears gently. “Now leave. You’re almost done.”

Before he changed his mind to stay, he followed you back into the elevator. He grabbed to hold your hand again hoping it would fill the empty void of what was left of his mother.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

Through the tears, he gave you genuine grin, one you haven’t even seen in your dreams. He looked so beautiful this way.

“I feel good.”

“I’m happy,” you smiled back.

“Are you ready for yours?”

“No. Can you come with me?”

“Of course.”

Level one - the last level before the star. The doors revealed to you a patiently-waiting Bang Chan at a coffee shop, the very one where he asked you to be his girlfriend.

He saw you once the doors opened and shot you the same dimply smile you fell so deeply in love with and you think to yourself that there’s no way you can do this. Then Minho’s hand is at the small of your back and he guided you out the elevator.

“I’ll be right here,” he told you.

You made your way to the empty chair in front of Chan. In front of you, he ordered your favorite drink, customized just the way you liked it. He always paid attention to the littlest details about you.

“Hello, _____,” he greeted first.

You wasted no time jumping right into it. “Why did you cheat on me?”

“You know I can’t answer that when you don’t know the answer yourself. I’m your subconscious, remember?”

“But I need to know why!”

“Are you going to let that question keep you from finding love again?”

“Yes, because you made me believe that you were in love with me as much as I loved you! What if I never meet someone who will love me the same way? What if my love is never reciprocated? What if I’m not lovable!? I can’t trust myself to find that person.”

Chan reached across the table to wipe away the one tear you allowed to fall. He took your hands in his and looked at you with the same intensity of the sun.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person who you wanted me to be. But there is someone out there who is. He’ll love you and care for you way better than I ever did. He’ll make you feel like you’re flying above the heavens among the Gods. You have to believe that one day you’ll find a man who will look at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this cruel world.”

“I hate that you made me feel this way for so long.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I thought I couldn’t be loved because of you.”

“I know.”

“And I hate that you’re right.”

“I know,” he chuckled lightly.

“But I can’t forget about you...”

“Maybe you can’t now, but when you find that someone, you will.”

“Promise?”

“I pinky promise.”

“It was nice loving you, Bang Chan.”

“I’m glad. Now go back - you’re almost done.”

Before you reached the elevator, your vision went black.

You woke up clean and dry without a single drop of sweat on your forehead, which was surprising considering the dream and the confrontation. You were the last to wake and the last to enter the common area where Dr. Woojin and his crew were waiting with bright grins on their faces. You and all the other test subjects looked the same - confused, exhausted, and ready to go home.

“Congratulations, subjects,” Woojin greeted. “You all have completed the final test - the confrontation. From your results, I can conclude that you are all cured.”

“Just like that!?” Jisung exclaimed.

“Just like that.”

Nothing made sense. Sure, the dreams had their purpose, but literally nothing made any fucking sense, I mean how as Dr. Woojin supposed to confirm something huge like that!? But no one argued, and you weren’t about to either because you think, well... maybe he’s right.

Like zombies, everyone gathered all of their belongs they came in with and mindlessly and silently walked out of the common area back to the main lobby of the company building. The same lady who you handed in your evaluation to six days ago handed you a pamphlet and said something about making sure you completed a satisfactory rating and that a follow-up email would be sent regarding your tuition, but it went in one ear out the other. All you wanted to do was leave and take a taxi home.

Wait, where was Minho?

You were afraid it was too late when you lost sight of him. He was nowhere to be seen in the lobby nor among the crowd of people and you think that was it. Not ten minutes out of the testing facility and you already lost the only person you wanted to see. You would never see him again.

Begrudgingly, you walk outside to the line of taxis. You were about to get into one until you saw Minho sitting alone on one of the bus benches staring off into nothing. You ran to him.

“Hey, handsome. Come here often?”

Minho didn’t have to look up to see that it was you. He smiled at your flirty comment, but he wished you didn’t find him.

“Why did you leave so quickly?” you asked.

“I just want to go home. I’m so tired. I want to sleep for days and dream of nothing.”

“Did you... not want to keep in touch...?”

He dared to look at you and instantly regretted it, seeing the hurt look written across your beautiful, gorgeous face.

“What happened in there was crazy, right?” he began. “Never in a million years did I think I could live as a spy with my best friend, or be happily married for five years, or even a damn Mafia Boss all within a span of six days and sharing that experience with you. I’ve lived three fulfilling, loving, and thrilling lives with you, and you’ve seen the deepest parts of me that no one else ever has. It’s as if we really knew each other for those five years, and there’s something telling me that maybe you’re meant to be in my life, but... I can’t think anything of this.”

There’s a sting in your chest, but you’re unsure why when you wholeheartedly agree with what he’s saying. Regardless, you asked, “Why not?”

“We barely know each other, _____! We spent what, a couple of hours actually talking and getting to know each other? That’s nothing!”

“Then let’s get to know each other.”

“You don’t understand. The same thing happens every time I meet someone or get close to someone. I mess it up. You don’t know me outside of that facility. I’m gonna get frustrated with you one day and… and then you’ll stop calling back. I’ll be so deeply in love with you, but I’ll get frustrated and you’ll change your number and it’ll break my heart,” his voice cracked somewhere in between. “I wish you stayed a dream. It’s just easier if you’re not real...”

“But I am real,” you insisted, taking his shaky hands in yours. He forgot what it felt like to hold your hands and he begins to miss the feeling even while you’re still holding them. “I really like you. I want to get to know the spy Minho, the Mafia Boss Minho, and even the husband Minho.”

“What about the emotionally unavailable Minho?”

“He can me the emotionally unavailable _____.” You take Minho’s chuckling as a good sign. “Why can’t we just start off simple? Will you grab food with me?”

His mom’s words echoed in his head and he can’t believe he’s about to spend the day with a stranger he stole with, fell in love with, and almost murdered in his dreams.

“As long as it’s not caviar and capers again.”

“Ok, then you choose - pizza or fried chicken?”

“I think you already know my answer to that question.”

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serbrienneoftarth · 6 years ago

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GoT 8x4 Jaime/Brienne Thoughts

Please have my still incredibly disjointed order incomplete ramblings post 8x4. My apologies for how I’m not even bothering to edit this, I’m sick of looking at it now lmao.

I am of course missing so many things, there is so much to cover and I’ll never manage to get it all in one go. I’m only going to cover Brienne and Jaime related things here, but I’m glad to chat about the rest of it outside of this post.

There are things I did not necessarily enjoy within the episode. I would have written it quite differently, but as a whole, I’m not as mad at it as I know much of the fandom is.

What I am irritated with is mostly due to the way things were written and presented rather than the actual series of events.

This is honestly part of the scenario that I have always said would be my want for a canon ending. While I would love a happily ever after, I have never thought that I was going to get it in any way. Realistically the narrative supporting anything of the sort isn’t going to happen. If they offer it, I’m gonna take it happily lol. But let’s be real, one of the two of them is likely to die by the end. They have always been heading in the direction to be together. But I have long since assumed that it would also be ill-fated.

My want for an end to their story has always been something along the lines of Jaime and Brienne briefly realising they wanted one another and being together for whatever amount of time during the war. I have always expected that Jaime would then go back to Cersei, not necessarily to either be with her or to murder her perhaps to try to convince her to give up or to aid in her removal from the throne. And then he’d possibly die with her, though not necessarily intentionally. Brienne would mourn him heavily, but she would understand that he couldn’t have stayed no matter what she said. And in mourning him she would come to find that she was carrying his child. She would lose Jaime, but she would have a physical reminder that he loved her once too. Brienne would then have the heir she hadn’t ever married for. The child would perhaps be legitimized a Tarth, though she would never deny who was her child’s father. And if she had Tarth to go back to she might, and if not she would spend the rest of her days at Winterfell.

I know. I’m used to that being an unpopular want for a ship.

*cracks knuckles* Let’s get into the events of the episode.

I’m incredibly pleased that Jaime and Brienne became canon in a sexual sense. I wouldn’t have written it the way it happened. But I have some thoughts on it as it is. The problem with television is that often times everything is cheapened for a laugh. And the way they presented it as Jaime stumbling in drunk does that. Though Brienne is far soberer than I think people assumed. And while some of the chemistry is missing between the actors in the scene, the fact that Brienne is confused and a little scared makes that a little easier to take. She is very bold in her actions in the scene, undressing Jaime and herself with really no hesitation. They’ve seen each other unclothed before, take care of each other, in the past and recently, that isn’t where hesitation would be anyway. She trusts his sincerity but is unsure of his intentions because for her it’s all very new. Until he lifts onto his toes to kiss her (which was also played for the laughs *sigh*), it wasn’t quite yet real.

Asleep in her bed, Brienne is quite content, and Jaime then looks restless. I’d expect him to be. Not necessarily because he regrets it. (Please note for all I know he is and canonically Brienne is terrible in bed lmao.) This is the first time that he’s been with a woman other than Cersei. For 40 years he has loved the same woman and never strayed. His relationship status is a recent change even if it’s been a long time coming. And Jaime still thinks that Cersei is pregnant with his child. (Is she? Who knows at this point. I’ve stopped guessing.) Perhaps it’s long enough later that he’s fully sober, woke up for a glass of water, and has a headache and feels guilty for how he initiated the whole thing. But regardless, I’d expect him to have a lot on his mind.

At this point, I’d almost skip commentary on Tyrion and Jaime’s conversation, but really Tyrion? A couple of days earlier he was respectful and then this episode he’s back to his drunken little beast persona. What’s she like down there Jaime? What sort of answer is he even looking for here? (Jaime: Like Highgarden. Tyrion: Super gay? Full of thorned bushes? Jaime: No, now that I’ve plundered it I’m back off to see Cersei.)

So here is where I complain about the shit was this show portrays the passage of time, it’s all over the place. But I’m going to say at this point now Brienne and Jaime have been lovers for weeks, a month, maybe more. At least by the time he leaves.

On Jaime leaving…

I fully expect to find out something has happened off camera, more than just Jaime finding out what he did from the raven that Sansa received. But until we know, it doesn’t yet apply.

Cersei has done something to anger Daenerys more than she had been, Jaime knows that Tyrion will not be able to temper his dragon queen and that Cersei’s life is likely now forfeit pregnant or not. And how can Jaime allow that to happen without doing something? Even if he doesn’t love her the same way now, even if he left, Cersei is still a woman he has loved his whole life and she is carrying his baby. He still loves her in some ways and nobody should expect him to be able to just turn that off with a switch.

And beyond that, he knows what she is capable of. I’m not going to call her mad, because I think she is smart and strategic and that people let their dislike of her colour their views of her as a whole. But she has limited things left to lose, and if she has to, she is capable of great destruction. And Jaime has always made himself invested in the city, he ruined his reputation for it.

We don’t know what didn’t get shown between Jaime and Brienne. But I don’t think he has ever told her about the baby. I don’t think Brienne would have even tried to stop him if he had. She tells him that he cannot save her and that he’s better than Cersei. But canonically she doesn't know Cersei or her life and what drives her to her decisions. And I personally would say Brienne would understand parts of her if she did. And anyway, I think that if she knew why Jaime needed to leave, beyond him pushing her away with ugly words, she might have said give me a half an hour, we’ll both go. It’s not that he’s leaving at all, but she knows that he’s throwing away his life to go. Brienne knows that if he leaves he’s going to die. But he doesn’t tell her anything and instead he pushes her away and breaks her heart and leaves alone.

Fuck, I half want Brienne to just tear out of Winterfell after Jaime and be like no, you're going back and that's fine, but you aren't going alone. I’d do it.

He was an idiot. But Brienne will always love Jaime even if he goes back to Cersei, if he dies or doesn't. And she will NEVER hold love against him. You don't get rid of love for anyone so easily. Neither one of them.

Jaime Lannister and his lack of honest communication jfc.

Maybe he did the best thing he thought he could for her, which was to make her hate him a little bit. Or maybe he just hates himself a little for it. For all he cannot be yet, if ever. He is still tied to Cersei and her fate, he’s not free yet.

I'd have preferred if he had said I love you in a clear conversation on screen, but I think he still doesn't trust that it can last either. That he can have happiness. Jaime was awake and watching her. Not with what I think are regrets for loving her, but just a lot of things he hasn't said. And things he has to do still. He's not free yet at all. He’s with her, but his head and his sense of duty are still somewhere else too. He had a taste of a normal life with Brienne, loving someone openly. Because I have no doubt that he loves Brienne and loves her still. But it couldn't last for him at that moment. So much remains unfinished. And now it might always be.

#jaime x brienne #got spoilers #got season 8 #{ otp; i dreamed of you } ♥♥ { brienne x jaime }#{ the name was a knife twisting in her belly } ☽☼ { jaime }#{ My father’s only son } ☽☼ { Brienne }#long post #1600 words of wtf bryn #i know #i'm so sorry i'm like this

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westallenfun · 6 years ago

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Before the Hood - 1/6

For @jade4813 from @backtothestart02 -I’m not going to lie. This gets pretty angsty pretty quickly and ends on a bittersweet note. But it’s meant to be the prequel to my Robin Hood westallen AU that I plan to write eventually (yes, this is a Robin Hood AU, you got me), and that fic will end very happily, so if you’d like, you can consider that your fic too. I hope you’re able to enjoy this fic though!

I so appreciate you as a person and a shipper and a writer. I am always so inspired by you and your talent and appreciate so much how kind you are. So I was unbelievably excited when I received your name as my giftee (you write such incredible AUs!). Hopefully you will enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it and be hopeful about what comes after instead of in a puddle of tears. I hope I can do your masterpieces some justice and that you have an amazing Christmas and holiday season!!

Merry Christmas!

…

(All of these chapters have been lightly proofread, so feel free to do a re-read once I post them to AO3 & FFnet, b/c I’m sure they’ll be in much better condition then.)

Fun Fact: I did some medieval research for this story that I did try to incorporate. (1) People were not meant to be educated unless they were upperclass/royalty/clergymen. (2) Women were rarely educated period, unless upperclass and then very little. They were expected to marry and raise children. (3) The Crusades and everything according to the Robin Hood legend that I googled I tried to incorporate to some degree, since I did keep the story set in the Middle Ages. (There’s prob more, but I can’t think of what at the moment.)

…

Chapter 1 -

Collin Woods.

A place thick with trees, alive with wildlife, and far from any central city on the map, two hundred miles away from the literal Central City. Within the woods contained the small town of the same name, the only structure cresting above the trees being the stone castle of the royals. Previously residing there was King Richard – a loyal, good king who took care of his people and flourished the town with bountiful riches and a thriving population. But within the past several months he had left the town and its people to embark on the noble quest of fighting in the Crusades. In his place, he left his younger brother, Prince John, a selfish, spoiled, adolescent fool who little by little drained the small town of its resources until the only thing rich and satisfying to the eye could be found within the castle grounds.

Many of the young men of the town had gone off to fight in the Crusades with their King. Not all could go, because work needed to be done that could not only be sustained by older men, women, and children. But some left not only for the cause itself but to escape the death trap that had become their once thriving homeland. War with all its drudgery, pain, and rate of death on the battlefield was still a welcome reprieve. To those that survived, they only hoped their king would return with them and so sustain the lands they used to call home and create a small paradise once again for themselves and those they loved.

Beside Prince John was his wise and yet often taken for granted advisor, Sir Hiss – not his actual name of course, but his natural born lisp that often affected his speech had granted him the title. The superficial prince did nothing to correct it. Since he relished as well as mocked his only true friend – if he could be called that – the name suited him in the latter case. Trained guards were at Prince John’s disposal, as well as the particularly greedy Sheriff of Collin Woods, Clifford Devoe.

Amongst the townspeople was the West family, but with the father, Joseph, and the son, Wallace, off to fight in the Crusades, and the mother, Francine, passed many years ago, the daughter, Maid Iris, was ordered by Prince John to live under the care of Sheriff DeVoe and his wife, Marlise. Iris was rarely seen after that, except for at festivals hosted by Prince John. And by one other, who she risked everything to see night after night by moonlight, hidden amongst the trees lining Silver Lake.

Barry Allen.

Bartholomew was his given name, but hardly rolling off the tongue, his best friend, Cisco – who’d also shortened his name – decided on a nick name for the young Allen. To those around him, it had stuck.

Barry was the only child of Henry and Nora Allen. The former was the only doctor in the town. He had taken a young pupil under his wing, a girl – which was most unheard of, Caitlin Snow. He’d tried to lure his son into the teachings of medicine. There were few things greater than the ability to heal, he would say. But young Barry would have none of it. And being a friend of Caitlin himself, Barry encouraged the union. There should be more than two doctors in one town, should one fall ill, heaven forbid. But it wasn’t going to be him. Most of the time when he wasn’t home, he traveled into town to offer his skills – that of repairing homes and entertaining children – as proof of his servitude. His mother, Nora, who was a seamstress to nearly everyone found this to be a great addition to the work force. And since she needed to do little to win over her husband, most of the time he relented.

But Barry didn’t spend all of his time tending to the needs of the townsfolk. His favorite pastimes were narrowed down to three: fishing with his best friend, Cisco, practicing archery from his handmade bow and arrows, and visiting Maid Iris by moonlight.

One late afternoon in June, finished with his tasks for today, Barry idly leaned against a tree and carved himself some new arrows, preparing to get some practice in. For the Crusades he would tell his father if the subject ever arose. But it hadn’t yet. Only his friends knew of his hobby, and it was kept amongst them. It was no secret Barry didn’t want to go to war.

“Hey!”

The disgruntled voice pulled Barry out of his reverie, and he saw an unamused Cisco standing inches beneath where his arrow had landed, a hole piercing his new hat as it stay pinned against the tree behind him.

Barry had the decency to blush.

“Sorry, Cisco.”

Cisco carefully pulled the arrow free and his hat with it and placed it back on his head.

“Watch it. My mother made that.”

Cisco’s mother was not the greatest seamstress – as was evidenced by the seams falling apart of the hats she made for her son, even without arrows being shot through them. But his parents looked down upon the Allen’s for Henry’s audacity to train a young girl in medicine, to educate a peasant girl whose duty it was to marry and raise children, not attempt to heal people. And also, because Barry’s parents were not stricter with him. As a result, they forbid their son from being friends with Barry – an order he ignored fervently.

“My mother could make you a new one,” Barry offered, not for the first time, as he turned his full attention to his friend.

Cisco snorted. “My mother would know. She knows she can’t sew. It has never been her talent. And if she saw how neatly the seams were sewn, she’d know where I had been.”

Barry nodded. He knew. He just couldn’t help but offer.

“Did you see Caitlin today?” Cisco asked casually, leaning against the tree beside Barry.

Barry shook his head. “I left early this morning. Ralph was off with Sue again, so he wasn’t around to watch his younger brothers and sisters. I offered my services.”

Cisco’s lips turned up in a smirk. “Of course you did.”

“It is my contribution,” Barry said, picking up another arrow and shaving down the sides so it would fly more smoothly.

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe you’re just jealous Ralph can spend time with Sue in broad daylight when you have to sneak around with Iris by moonlight.”

Barry froze, his eyes wide as he turned to look at his friend.

“What? You thought I didn’t know?”

Barry turned his body fully.

“I’m your best friend,” Cisco said, offended.

“You’re not- You didn’t- Does anyone else-”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course no one else knows. At least not because of me. I won’t tell a soul.” He paused. “At least not until you do.”

Barry snorted and returned to his arrows.

“I’ll never be able to do that,” he muttered under his breath.

“You never know,” Cisco said, softening.

Barry picked up his bow and arrow and aimed for a farther tree.

“As long as King Richard is fighting in the Crusades and Iris is cooped up with that awful Sheriff DeVoe, there’s no way we can be together openly. She’ll probably marry that awful knight Julian,” Barry said, scowling.

“I thought he’s planning to leave for the Crusades,” Cisco said, his brows fusing together.

“Not before obtaining a marriage proposal, I bet.”

“And why would the Sheriff say yes to him? He gains too much by keeping Iris locked up. He feeds off her inheritance.”

Barry lowered his bow. “Because Julian is a knight, and his father is in Prince John’s royal guard. He probably thinks Julian won’t return from the Crusades and he won’t have to worry about it.”

“But if he does return…”

“He’ll have to own up to the promise. And Maid Iris will have no choice in the matter.”

Cisco shoulders slumped, and then he gathered himself together, determined to let them not both be burdened down by this possibility.

“It might not happen,” he offered. “Julian’s thirst for war might overcome his desire for Iris.”

Barry looked at him. “It does.”

Cisco’s brows furrowed again.

“Julian wants her because I have her. It’s his petty jealousy for everything I have that is greater than his thirst for war. All the medals and glory in the world would mean nothing to him if they didn’t also crush me into the ground in the process.”

He shot off another arrow, this one recklessly into the air at a distance. Someone could trace it, find him, discover his hobby and somehow use it against him. But he didn’t care. Few things stifled his hatred for Julian Albert, son of the guard, knight in training, who gloated about all that he would receive on his return from the Crusades. More than once Barry had wanted to retort bitterly, ‘If you return.’ But he’d held his breath. He wouldn’t sink to his level.

“And what do you have that he doesn’t?” Cisco asked, though he knew at least some of what his answer would be.

“Both parents, friends, the right to choose what I want to do, and a father who is willing to bend the rules for the sake of the people.”

“And the love of Iris,” Cisco added, which made Barry’s anger finally fizzle out.

“Yes. And that.”

…

In the quiet cottage just off the edge of town, Nora Allen sat in her rocking chair and picking up a new color of yarn to add to her nearest quilt. She hummed quietly to herself, a melody to harmonize with the blue birds chirping outside the window. The sun shone through it, warming her face, and with the scent of biscuits wafting out of the oven, she knew dinner would soon be at hand. The chicken was ready, and the corn. With the prepared food would come her husband, her son, and the young girl Henry had taken under his wing, Caitlin Snow.

Caitlin was a quiet one. With long brown locks and the same purple, cotton dress she wore day after day, only changing the ribbons in her hair on occasion, Nora had taken to mothering her. She’d never had a daughter, and there was much about Caitlin that appealed to her. From her determination to chase after her dreams to her polite refusal of anything that might inconvenience anyone, Nora welcomed having her in their home and at their table. A few times she had studied her son’s interactions with her to see if there was any spark. She certainly wouldn’t mind having Caitlin officially part of their family.

But Caitlin, it seemed, was in love with a slightly older boy, Ronnie Raymond, who had gone off to fight in the Crusades. And Nora’s boy, Barry, she had begun to suspect, still fancied Maid Iris.

It was a star-crossed romance she’d hoped her son could avoid. Not because she held anything against Iris or her family, but because it would be nearly impossible for them to find happiness together in a practical sense with Iris being elevated in her father’s and brother’s absence. In addition, she knew the feelings had not been one-sided before Joseph and Wallace had left for Crusades. That made the young romance even more devastating.

But Iris lived with Sheriff DeVoe now, who was snide and arrogant and in line with that terrible Prince John who was constantly raising the taxes. She hoped Marlise DeVoe, who while loyal to her husband, didn’t appreciate his tactics, had taken Iris under her wing and protected her. Heaven only knows what kind of atmosphere existed in that house if she hadn’t.

With Prince John’s almost constant raising of taxes – and demand in paying them being more frequent – Nora worried that soon Henry would allow appointments without pay. He tried to be firm and decisive on the outside, but on the inside his love for her and his son and the townspeople had turned him to mush. After all, once Barry had made it clear he would not be following in his footsteps, Henry had sought out a pupil and had no qualms whatsoever about taking on Caitlin Snow.

The sound of the heavy wooden door being opened interrupted her thoughts, and the sound of her husband’s warm voice made the sadness of her thoughts all but disappear.

“Something smells good,” Henry said, walking through the door. “You smell that, Caitlin?” The young girl nodded beside him. “It smells wonderful.”

Nora smiled to herself, set aside her tools and yarn and walked into the entryway adjoining the kitchen.

“You’re home,” she said, to which her husband crossed the distance between them and placed a kiss on her cheek. “It smells so good.” He pulled back. “Is it biscuits?”

She nodded. “Yes. And chicken and potatoes.”

Caitlin’s eyes lit up. “You have potatoes?”

“Yes. And I’m going to mash them. Would you like to help?”

Caitlin nearly bounced up on her toes. It never ceased to amazing Nora how this girl could go from being shy to eager and excited when new opportunities presented themselves. She wondered what that meant about her home life but decided not to think on it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckled. “Come on.” She nodded her head towards the hot pot over the fire and grabbed some pot warmers so as not to burn herself. “Grab a bowl from the bottom shelf. We’ll put them in there first.”

Caitlin did as she was told and used the large spoon to transfer the vegetable. Nora looked over her shoulder at her husband as she did so.

“Have you seen Barry today?”

“Not this morning,” he said on a sigh. “But the Dibny’s informed me he spent all morning with their rambunctious children, so he must’ve done some good today.”

“Henry.” Her voice lowered, and he reined himself in.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a good thing what he’s doing. It’s better than just lying around this place all day. I’m glad he’s getting work in and that he’ll help out with the harvest in the fall.”

“Oh!” Caitlin interjected, spying the individual in question walking passed the distant window. “I think I see him.”

Moments later, the door opened and Barry walked in, a basket of freshly pulled carrots in his arms.

“Carrots,” Caitlin said, awe-struck by yet another delicious food being added to the menu.

“What a brilliant idea, Barry. Thank you for thinking of it,” his mother said.

He forced a smile that matched his father’s until Henry felt the glare his wife was delivering to the back of his head.

“I thought it might…add something,” Barry added lamely, avoiding his father’s gaze.

“I talked to the Dibny’s earlier today,” Henry said, pushing bitter feelings behind him for the sake of the meal and the company. “It sounds like you were very helpful to them this morning.”

Barry looked at him, then glanced at his mother and Caitlin and knew he had to do something to release the tension.

“Well, someone had to be, what with Ralph running off with Sue just as his brothers and sisters were waking up.”

Henry softened, a proud smile gracing his features.

“I’m glad you stepped up, son.” He gripped his shoulder. “It’s good to know what’s important in life and not go running after a lass before you’ve found your place.”

He glanced over at Caitlin.

“Nothing against you, of course, Caitlin.”

She grinned sardonically.

“Of course not. I’m special.”

Barry shook his head at the comment, but it had the whole family laughing, and so the tension was broken.

…

Night descended over Collin Woods about an hour after dinner. Caitlin had returned home, promising to meet Henry at his clinic the next day as early as she could. He promised to bring food with him and Nora insisted she come home with Henry for dinner again. Caitlin was reluctant to make that promise, so she just smiled as a goodbye and waved her hand on the way out. Barry watched her from the front window and thought about the impact she made on their home. He was glad to have her in his life, and glad even more so that she’d provided an escape for him from his father’s profession. But he worried some about her home life. Whenever he saw her about in town, there was no light in her eyes. She looked sullen, almost like a young child. And he saw the tight grip her mother always had on her even though she was three years into adulthood at age fifteen. It just made him more aware of the destruction Prince John had brought upon their little town.

Barry lay in bed until he could hear his parents’ snores drifting down the hall. Deeming it safe to slip out, he pushed open his window and carefully climbed over the ledge to the other side. He closed it after he’d landed in the grass, keeping it open a crack so he wouldn’t have difficulty going in, and then slinked away from his home, taking off as fast as one of his arrows as soon as he’d reached the cluster of trees thickening like a swarm of flies on the way to Central Pond.

He got to the edge of the water, looked up and saw some hazy clouds crossing over the moon. He worried for a moment that she wouldn’t come. They had always said that if it was a cloudy night, maybe it was a sign they shouldn’t meet up that night, that there was somehow a better likelihood of them being caught, even if logically that didn’t make sense. They should be harder to see with no grand moonlight making figures known amongst the trees.

But he didn’t have to worry long. Because mere moments later, a tap came on his shoulder, and he nearly fell into the water because of it.

“Barry!” she quietly shrieked, pulling him back by the fabric of his shirt, and then dissolving into a fit of giggles when she did. Putting a hand over her mouth, she tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

He was flushed, breathing heavily for a few moments, but then a silly grin stretched across his face.

“No apology needed,” he said, then took her hand and led her away from the water into the woods. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“So was I,” she said. “The clouds were so much thicker from my bedroom window.” She came to a stop and held both of her hands in his, swinging a little on the balls of her feet. “But I thought I’d make a try for it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

In truth it had been two days, and the only reason they hadn’t met up was because of storms, rain that poured hard and for hours. But it still felt like an eternity. Every moment apart felt like a lifetime.

“I know,” he said, intertwining their fingers together. “It’s been forever.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled on her hands with his own, instantly bringing her closer, and met her lips with a sudden kiss. She melted into it, and so did he. His arms moved to settle on her waist as hers wrapped around his neck. And for a while they stood there in the filtered moonlight, just ignoring the world around them.

“Oh, Barry,” she murmured, eventually pulling back enough to lay her head on his chest. He swayed them gently. “I wish it could be like this forever.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head and shut his eyes, listening to the sway of her long dress in the night breeze.

“So do I.”

“I dream at night about us, you know.”

He smiled to himself. “You do?”

“Well, don’t you?” She lifted her head to look up at him.

“Of course, Iris. I dream about you even when I’m not sleeping. I almost shot Cisco with an arrow today because I was so distracted dreaming of you.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You wouldn’t have hit him.”

“I don’t know…I was pretty distracted.”

“You never miss,” she said. “Not even when you’re distracted.”

“I might’ve made an exception for Julian,” he joked lightly.

She smirked. “I might’ve let you.”

He didn’t know if her not liking Julian any more than he did made their situation even more tragic, but he decided he liked it. Better the knight not be his competition when it came to Iris’ heart. In any other way, he could deal, even if he didn’t want to, but if he was unsure about where her heart lie, he was sure he would die.

“Come on,” he said, stepping back enough to just hold her hand. “I want to show you something.”

Iris bit her bottom lip and ran with him through the woods until they came to a large tree. She stopped before he did and looked up at the spectacle before them.

“It’s amazing,” she said, awestruck.

“It’s old,” he responded. “And probably shouldn’t be climbed on.” He bent down to pick something off the grass just around the old oak. “But it’s unlike any other tree in the whole forest, and I think we should make it our own.”

He came back to her and handed her a rock, sharp and narrow at the end. She looked at it strangely and met his eyes with a quizzical expression.

“What are you thinking, Barry?”

He grinned and pulled her to the large, oak tree. Then she watched as he used his own rock to painstakingly carve his initials into the wood. He made a small cross beneath it and stepped back. He glanced at her when she didn’t move.

“Your turn,” he said.

Excitedly, though she tried to contain herself, Iris stepped forward and carved her own initials in. Then, without any prodding, she drew a large heart around their letters and stepped back, looking at their masterpiece proudly.

“I love you, Iris,” he said, softly, and she turned to find him staring at her, so much love in his eyes. She didn’t doubt his declaration for a second.

“I love you, too, Barry,” she returned, taking both his hands in hers as they’d been before.

“I don’t know how long we can be like this,” he admitted. “But I’m going to treasure every moment.” He brought their clasped hands to his heart and held them there. “You’re my home, Iris. And that’s one thing that will never change.”

Her heart aflutter, and all words fallen away from her memory, she smiled softly in response. Then she tilted her face up, closed her eyes, and waited for him to kiss her.

#the flash #westallen secret santa #westallen #barry allen #iris westallen #iris west #backtothestart02 #fanfic #fanfiction #the flash fanfiction #submission

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daughterofamercifulfather-blog · 6 years ago

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Christmas Eve Night, 2016- St. Anthony and the Donkey Statue at the Franciscan Shrine of St. Anthony.

My Shrine of Solitude- The Place of Miracles....An Angelic Voice In Jeopardy.

Since my last post worked so well on trying to find a link of Padre Pio and Sunflowers [insert eye roll], I am for, who knows why, attempting to do this, again. As I said the first time, I don’t know how to do this site. Maybe this is not for asking, maybe people can’t help? I don’t know, but I’ve got to do something!

I may appear pious and prayerful, but I am not. I am in a rush to try and just start Christmas shopping, make mass, get in Confessions, pray, to pray and pray for my beloved friend, for her health and conversion.With so little time, little sleep, wanting to give up, I can’t. And I know it’s all up to Jesus, but I have to pray, that’s all I can do. And I get mad because more problems happen that I suddenly don’t know about, I lash out at someone because I am trying to fix it and am exhausted, have gotten no where, so I have to go make amends, and back to the confessional I go. But this woman who means the world to so many in the world that was diaganosed out of the blue with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, on the day of historic terror- September 11. Or, as I will know call it, “The Day My World Went Purple (that’s the awareness color for pancreatic cancer).”. I did not know what a pancreas even was before I learned of her diagnosis, which came at the worst time, not that any time would be appropriate. But, I mean I was going through it, really, and a week before an ending that I thought would end torture (that was only just beginning, which I’ve had to separate from and give to Jesus for my friend, but ultimately for myself), is when I find out this woman, who was my first co-worker in my first “real-world” job out of college, along with her sister.

To make a long story short (as this isn’t on this topic and I tend to write lengthy these days that makes no sense as I’m up all night doing or praying, and not getting anywhere!), after getting a B.A. degree in Sociology, otherwise known as “pessimism”, but with a concern for the social welfare of others- to the extreme (blame Mitch Albom and Tuesday’s with Morrie, I wanted to be him, I wanted what he had, and I did get it, except a love of sports, ability to play piano, the ability to write like him and the ability to make a difference despite any efforts without going nuts), I naively, and perhaps even with pride, thought I would have people knocking on my door to offer me a position now that I had a degree. I had worked in politics in college, learned fundraising, campaign lingo, legislative initiatives, drafting various correspondence, etc., as that was what I originally was going to get into- I wanted to be an adopted Kennedy, only I don’t have the jaw line. And while our politics are not the same, while I am much more Catholic than I was at first, though always was an elephant due to our Governor at the time, but the job I was at never asked and I never told! And truthfully, I was in the middle, happily like Switzerland. But, I pathetically thought with that experience, in a recession, unlike any we had ever faced, I would have to do nothing. And then, once Obama was elected, and the country was happy, and then the excitement wore off, I was still at home. Then came looking for a job, and looking. Then desperation and depression. Until, I finally, after almost 2 years stumbled upon what seemed perfect- an advocacy like job working with those with intellectual disabilities, running a department where I’d write funding plans and and speak up for benefits these individuals needed. NOPE! Not it. My first day on the job, along with 2 others, was the first of a 6 week orientation where I met the Director of Nursing, who came in, took out a bowl, a Tupperware of cereal, and milk and ate her breakfast, as she had been on duty all night, while explaining that we had to have our Med Tech Certification since we would be working in the building with those with intellectual disabilities and be on an on-call rotation, so we needed it “just in case.” I thought she was absolutely insane- and I had just received a message on my phone about another job (when I had heard nothing for 2 years, and desperately needed to call these people back!). But, I stayed, and on about the 2nd or 3rd day of her training she took us to the building down the street, and introduced myself, the new residential coordinator and one of the young girls that would be working in the Day Program to this laid back, tall blonde, who was the Day Program Coordinator, whose name, was “Woody.” And again, I thought, I need to leave. But, that was a nickname...from childhood, as it turns out they were sisters, and the Day Program Coordinator was rather new herself. After the training, which I didn’t know I needed any of that and still am scarred from it, and cannot look at a grapefruit without thinking of an enema (don’t ask!), I got to work. My position was a coordinator that ran what one would think was easy- a department for those that had mild intellectual disabilities, could live on their own with mentor hours, or staff I supervised that gave a few hours a week to take one grocery shopping, running errands to keeping them occupied. Or, it also meant, children, those under 21, living at home in the care of their parents, who were still getting special education services at school. But, it wasn’t that simple. 10-15% of my time was writing funding plans which I loved! There were other issues, most staff was out on leave due to babies or family leave. But the clients, as mild as their intellectual disability was, all the more was their mental illness. I have a deep sympathy and empathy for anyone with a mood disorder and that is a cause I will advocate for, as I, too, have one. I started antidepressants that November, after waiting so long and arguing to not want to take them. I then needed anti-anxiety meds, and I’ve been on them ever since. The job was a nightmare, I saw horrors no one should see, or experience. And I had no choice but to quit. If it was not for the woman whose office was next door, I would never have made it through any day of the week. She had a grace about her. And the crazy sister, well, they both are crazy, but they were the most normal in a place that wasn’t operating things correctly. The Director of Nursing, because she knew what went on and with whom and what was right called the higher ups, always in another building out on their violations, and was wrongfully demoted and she left. I followed suit, but it took gusto to get out, because the guilt to leave the clients was the worst. They were a handful, in my department, they could have killed me with kindness, with heartache, with a sharp tongue to a shovel, but I loved them. And 2 weeks before I was to depart, giving 4 weeks as a supervisor, one had to be admitted to the psychiatric hospital and I requested to extend that 2 more weeks, to make sure that client that really wore me down, to drinking a bottle of vodka every night, was okay. It was granted, and she was okay. And I left, but not a week later I ended up in the hospital for my first suicide attempt.

It is NOT the job that did it, while yes it played a part, I was a depressed person. The idea of leaving to go sit at home and apply for jobs didn’t sit well with me, or the idea of another additional medication, as it made it seem like I failed everything. But you find out things quickly when moments like that happen, who cares and who doesn’t. Who are your friends, and who are not. When the world walked away, when there was not a soul in sight, it was my co-worker, turned friend, turned family, who plopped herself down and didn’t leave. Annoying as that was. It was her, that was there in my darkest, and not my only one, moment. And as if that wasn’t enough, after family a brutal, and mandatory, though I was an adult, meeting, when you have lovely and wonderful parents who just don’t get it, but promise a stress free home, no annoyances, and some rest, the day of discharge, your Mom finds out after a bunch of negative tests, that she does in fact have a very rare form, one that only 1% of the population gets, of Breast Cancer. So, while my Mom’s health is certainly important, all those promises- out the window. But, the ones to keep them, as well as care for my Mom, make sure she had answers on medicines after a mastectomy to anything she needed, while making sure I got out of the house for weekends away to the beach or “Girls’ Night” was my family- the two crazy sisters. And when I needed a primary doctor, my next door office co-worker turned beloved friend, convinced the most popular doctor to accept me when she could no longer take on new patients, it was who her and her sister went to, who we sadly are losing, as of 12/31 because while young and top-rated, it’s too much paperwork and too many rules on how a physician can treat a patient. And that was a project, I should have been able to fix, but I didn’t have time, not with my sick friend and praying and deaths to all these other disasters. My appointment was last Monday, and it was AWFUL. See, I’ve gone on too long, this is never going to work- but no one can describe this beautiful soul and everything she has been through. That’s not her story, not in the least. And pancreatic cancer, I’ve done the research, I’ve joined the groups and it’s awful. No advances, the statistics are crazy, the median survival rate for stage 4, well look that up, I can’t. And all she can get is chemo, because her cancer is on the tail, she cannot get something called a whipple, she cannot get radiation, she can just get chemo. And it’s already spread, to her kidneys, and lymph nodes (if that’s how you spell?) And that’s all I will say, as this wasn’t meant to be on here, but, you know, this is about St. Anthony and his miraculous intercession, so if someone is inclined, here is a link to a GoFundMe page for her medical expenses, that I am not responsible for making up, the credit belongs to someone else. And prayers always work, too. I’m maxed out, financially, not prayer wise, but God gives us all we need, so I have to give that worry up, too. Until then, I will be getting healed and forgiving and seeking forgiveness as quickly as I can, from the code of one of the greatest mystics of our time. For more on the mystic, you’d have to read my first post, and if you do know the link on sunflowers and Padre Pio, please by all means, as that’s for another friend.

But, the real meaning behind this post was because, years ago, after this work situation, after being a binge drinker and crashing into a table one night before a family wedding, my oldest cousin who was getting married for the 2nd time after having a baby with her now husband and having recovered from drug addiction. It was not that reason for what was going to be the cause of lots of complaining from judgmental and opinionated, maternal aunts, mostly just two, who I can only pray for, but that it was a bi-racial wedding. Which doesn’t make any sense, at all. I really had scared my parents. And it wasn’t just the wedding, my Mom was still dealing with cancer, well recovery now (Thanks to God!), with one more surgery to go. And I had no job. Our family goes way back with a walking saint, a prison chaplain, a minister to the homeless and one who has literally nothing- he gives everything away to others. When my Mom and her family met him, he was a seminarian, assigned to their family church across the street. So, he performs everything,from weddings, to baptisms of all the grandchildren. Now, its weddings of grandchildren and baptisms of great-grandchildren. The last thing he presided over for our family was this past June, my grandmothers funeral. But, he also helped those in our family in moments of crisis, an aunt (a judgmental one), the cousin whose wedding he presided and that night as he went to leave I knew I needed help, and he gave me his number. It took being drunk to call him and a couple weeks, but I did. And I owe him my life (side note: because I’ve been up all night, trying to type this and figure what to say, I just remember, he gave me his favorite prayer, because I’m such a worrier. I have it in my old wallet, as he will be a saint, but it was his favorite! And, I don’t recall what it was, but it was a St. Anthony one...I will have to go find it now to see, how odd, yet, not).

And who he has brought in it, including a woman, a convert who was an atheist who became pious, way more than a girl educated in the Catholic School Systems her whole life that took me randomly one day to a festival, a celebration honoring St. Anthony of Padua’s Feast Day, in which I went to humor her. But, my gosh I fell in love! And that became my new home, my sanctuary, my resting place. I love all the friars, I love the grounds and it is truly a place of miracles. You can’t belong to a shrine, but I go regularly, a two hour drive because it’s my church family. And I could go on about so many wonderful, miraculous things that happened. But, I can easily tell you my first miracle, it was hearing the voice of, what do you call it, a lector, music minister? Most churches have okay music, though I’ve found exceptional ones in the last few years! Exceptional! And it makes a big difference. If you’re in the states and go to Steubenville Conferences, the Franciscan University, how can one not appreciate Bob Rice, or Dr. Bob Rice, as he is known now? If the speaker list doesn’t entice you, his music will! But, at this place, there was the heavenly woman who stood up with a guitar and belted out songs...and I had never heard anything like it. And that is why I bothered returning. She’s more than that...her resume is remarkable. I think she can play anything! She teaches music, she is a dialect coach, she gets involved in producing plays, or the actors, to being in shows herself. I have a special name for her, which I won’t say, as everyone know’s that’s what I call her. So, if someone did get on here, they couldn’t know it was me posting, as I don’t know if this is supposed to be out of the bag, or what. But, I bought her CD’s, and I finally had to look her up and I sent her an e-mail to let her know just how phenomenal she was. It’s funny how the world of computers work, nowadays we have to worry about cyber bullying, but when I was young and computers were first starting to get into people’s home, with dial-up, I met one of my dearest friends that way. I had a love for musical theatre from my Grandmother, who took me to my first live show, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, but had me watching classics when I was a toddler from My Fair Lady to Camelot. In middle school, while watching an Andrew Lloyd Weber Special, I fell head over heels for a UK singer, tracked him down as nothing was available in the states, joined a fan club, some mailing list that was too overwhelming to check and had to order everything overseas. Then one random day, I learn that very singer, the one whose head was imprinted on my pillow sheet, was coming to the states, and to my state and some woman got me in to the Public Television pledge thing, with the next day, this woman who was sending all these messages from the mailing list contacted me, an energetic woman from WA state who held get togethers in NYC every year for American fans, but come to find out she was my grandmothers age! But, it didn’t matter, because she loved what I did, and we began to e-mail multiple times a day and would mail each other playbills and when she got the chance she’d call on a special Sunday she was headed to Seattle to see a how (when cell phones costs extra to call half way across the country). She became one of my best friends. And my parents, as skeptical as they are, were in complete agreement to go to the gathering that following August in NYC, along with my grandmother, to celebrate our favorite singer, see shows, meet up with actors she supported-particularly one young man who I still support to this day in her honor and because he has talent and be friends, be present to one another in person. And the years that followed. Until she passed away, Valentine’s Day, 2005- which was fitting, as if anyone departed on a day of love, it would have been her. I took it not so well, didn’t listen to anything, didn’t want to see shows at the theatre, etc., until the angelic voice at the friary. She brought back the gift of music, and now look, as you’ll see post above (which that is much shorter than this turned out, so answer if you have a slight clue where to find the info, please!), while I’m no singer, or I don’t play a guitar, I now have another friend who wrote a musical that is brilliant, I’m helping as best I can to promote and market that and she is the one I knew to go to for direction on anything! And, I pledge a loyalty to this amazing talent, to do whatever I can, though I don’t know yet what that is, as so much is being dumped on...and yes, selfishly, I need her music, especially now, too.

Things change, I get that. Friars leave on new assignments, but some you cannot part with. One friar, I keep track of, though he doesn’t communicate through e-mail or computer and he is serving in a Spanish parish. We called him Padre Pio II. But he always has a place in my heart. And, this summer, a blow came when the Director, who as long as I’ve known about the friary, has been there, announced a big promotion- meaning he was leaving his post, though his new residence was just down the street, he’d be traveling. And that was hard to swallow, but I did. And he’s come back, and I keep tabs on where he’s at. A new director came in, and I grew to like him, was impressed by him, then went to a seminar, mini-retreat and did not like him, did not like his answers and refused to return. But I apologized, I did a Holy Hour and I did my best to make amends as he does do things that seem special, even humble. And I misunderstood the message, especially at the time I’m going through, it was not the time to go to such a lecture/teaching when you have a sick friend. And he was off the list, but in finally getting to this angelic voice and e-mailing her as she should be out there more, she’s super talented! I casually said something about her meeting with the new director and sarcastically said I hope this doesn’t mean you’re cut back any...but she is going to be. In a tiny chapel, this director, who has already brought changes that I don’t know if people do or do not like, depends on if they are a “regular” or a “pilgrim,” he wants to fit in an organ and a choir because it’s his dream. The faithful friar is young, and has well-meaning wishes, ambitious and wonderful ideas, tremendous devotions and even more than that to offer. But, if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. And if it is his dream, not the dream of the others who buy her records in the gift shop, who cry at the staple song she sings on Good Friday, to thanking her after a mass she’s played at- how can he be shepherding a flock through his dream, and not through the message of the faithful Franciscan, St. Anthony? This is someone who gives hope and peace, plus comfort, not to mention stories of Jesus from her own written songs to those who flock to the sacred shrine. This is more than just my first miracle of the shrine, this is the friary experience!

I am not sure on miracles today, I’m doubting Thomas, I’m the lost sheep, I’m the Prodigal son. But, I know this beloved shrine is in part beloved because of this woman’s music, and her heart. And in somehow trying to think how to link all this together, actually I believe I can, all of it, even the story on my sick friend. A homily I will never forget happened on one feast day celebration for St. Anthony, by my dear friar now somewhere else, who I said we called Padre Pio II. In saying, the importance of St. Anthony and what he meant, he told those in the church that whenever a problem arose, “Go to Anthony.” Because in his work, he was not just a Franciscan, teacher, preacher but he became a saint for the lost, a saint of miracles because of companionship. In each story I told, I found companionship, different places, at different times, always in a time of need. St. Anthony, as Padre Pio II said that day, and I’m butchering it, told us we should imagine what it is like to be the great pain, in tremendous suffering, to be at our loneliest and when we did to remember St. Anthony, because he was the ultimate companion, and always, no matter what the problem to remember to “Go to Anthony.”

If, you could pray for a miracle, to St. Anthony, or St. Francis of Assisi, or St. Cecelia (patron of musicians, arts, etc.), please do so, if you have a love of either 3, or for any saint you do have a love for, especially one that is also Franciscan- St. Therese, St. Claire (she’s the patron of TV, and gosh, that’s where this woman needs to be!), to my other saint who I send my guardian angel up to every day lately, Padre Pio. If you wish to support the work of this phenomenal woman, I am anonymous, and you came across her, and you can order a CD, or other product through her website.

If, I don’t know how this will work, but I just gave her website, so you can now tell what St. Anthony’s Shrine is being referred, but if this site works as intended, and I’m relying on St. Anthony and the Holy Spirit. So, with faith, with faith this long message is read, if anyone wishes to write a note, without mentioning the woman who’s site I linked, or that this plan is happening, this post, etc. Well, if you write it, I imagine you know what to do, but it would be addressed to The Shrine of Saint Anthony, c/o Director of the Shrine (you can look up as I can’t put name, first page of website, but don’t use email, that goes to office staff), address (bottom of the page).

She’s too important to lose...no organ or choir, or fancy thing can replace the love of music, ministry and faith she has in heart.

“The wisdom of God is reflected in the face of the soul: she will see God as he is, and she will know as she is known.”~St. Anthony of Padua, from Sermons of Saint Anthony of Padua

youtube

I know it’s Advent, and she does have a GREAT Christmas CD, Come to the Stable, but as in the post above, this Good Friday classic, Eyes, gets everyone every time- which is also available through website, on the CD, Love Makes Room. Or, at the very least, though not updated (but I’m trying to help with that when I get the time, hopefully, after Christmas!), subscribe to her YouTube channel! God Bless all who read this!

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