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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 4 years ago

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My Brother

Summary: When Inko is fifteen she is handed a picture of her and a blonde boy. She asks who it is. "Your brother. Your parents gave him up because he was Quirkless." Inko spends the next part of her life looking for her brother, only for her son to pull him into her house one day, announcing he found Uncle Toshinori.

On AO3

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When Inko was fifteen, her aunt pulled her to the side and handed her a photo. The photo featured her as a little baby, green hair showing above her head, dressed in a little jumper with a pacifier in her mouth. She’s being held awkwardly by a blond boy with big blue eyes, a big grin across his face.

“Who’s this?” She asked her aunt, curious.

“Your brother.” Her aunt told her.

“What?” Inko asked. She looked at the photo again. “Is… what happened?” She asked her aunt, clutching it in her hand.

“Your parents waited for his Quirk. He didn’t have one.” Her aunt told her, blunt. Her aunt’s hands were threaded together, clutching each other. “They didn’t like that.”

“... but they work with Quirkless Discrimination agencies. They donate money to…” Inko began but her mind began clicking, thinking.

Her father’s slight sneer when talking about Quirkless people when they were home, just the family. Her mother’s muttering about donating money being a pain.

“... they’re pretending.” She whispered. Her aunt nodded.

“They are. Its status, it’s trendy. Pretending you aren’t a bigot.” Her aunt shrugged. Inko didn’t want to believe. She gave the photo back anyway when her aunt asked her.

She had to talk to them.

-0-

“YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A BUNCH OF LIARS!” She screamed at her father. “He was my brother-“

“He was useless to us!” Her father snapped. “Quirkless- worth nothing in the long run. Your useless Quirk at least makes you a viable bride-“

“GO TO HELL!” She screamed and ran up to her room.

“Calm down, she’ll understand. He wasn’t worth it.”

Screw that. She grabbed her cell phone and called her aunt.

“Auntie, can you bring your truck?”

“Of course.”

It didn’t take long for Inko to pack up what she needed. She ignored the knocking of her mother when it happened and she waited.

Her aunt showed up.

“Haruka! Why are you here?” She heard from downstairs and came down, carrying a few bags.

“The rest are upstairs. I refuse to be in a house of hypocrites.” Her parents didn’t like it, yelling she was overreacting.

Her threat to tell everyone the truth about her brother had them letting her go.

Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe. She thought so the moment she got in her aunt’s big grey truck, the one she used to deliver things. She looked to the front door where her parents were glaring at her aunt who stood with her arms crossed.

Her tall aunt, blonde hair hanging down her back, like her brother’s, Inko’s father. She was tall, tough. Inko looked up to her. Ever since she was a little kid and her aunt had thrown her father into a wall when he’d dared hit Inko.

“You treat your kid right or I’ll hurt you.” She’d threatened.

Inko blinked, mind going to many incidents in her life where her aunt had stepped in to stop them from hurting Inko. Where her aunt had told her to not listen to her mother who picked at her appearance, where her aunt had snuck her food when her mother forced her into a diet. Where her aunt had given her money and helped her open a bank account her parents had no control over and had fought with her parents who tried to demand she give them the information.

Sitting in the truck, she realized that maybe… the fact they would do that, lie like that… that was the final straw.

-0-

Living with her aunt was different. Inko found herself smiling more. Her aunt had a sense of humour that encouraged loud laughter. She never made Inko do anything she didn’t want and even let her drop out of some clubs that her parents had made her go to.

Inko found herself happy for the first time in a long time as she and her aunt tried to find out how to find her brother.

It was hard though. The files weren’t kept and her parents had given up all custody and signed multiple forms. As well, it had been fourteen years back.

Then her aunt got sick. Very sick.

“Cancer,” the doctors told her. “Pancreatic- most likely from all the chemicals she transported over the years.”

Pancreatic. Even in the 23 century, it was impossible to cure. Medical research in cancer and other such diseases had tapered off when Quirks became a thing. More focus was on that for a good fifty years or so. Then after that more focus was on other sorts of diseases brought around by Quirks or researching how to help people affected by Quirks.

“I’m not dying until you’re old enough to be an adult.” Her aunt grunted when Inko asked her how she was feeling. “Eighteen kiddo.” She bared her teeth. “Gotta hold on.”

Inko was eighteen and just finally finished high school when her aunt died. Her aunt had been living at home still, stubborn and refusing to go to hospice.

Inko came home after a night out after graduating high school to find her dead.

The funeral was a hard affair, her parents at least respectful enough to not start anything until after when they tried to get her to move back in with them.

“I was already accepted into university and will be living in the dorms. As well I told them you are not allowed to ever call and change anything about my classes or living arrangements.”

They were so mad and she got a call from the dorm manager who told her that they’d had several calls from them within a week. Each time demanding she not be allowed to room there or threatening them.

None worked. Inko ended up cutting off contact with some help from a friend she made in a study group, Midoriya Hisashi. He was so handsome and kind. He also understood her struggles.

“I grew up in the foster system for a good portion of my life. I got adopted at fourteen and… they weren’t good. Obsessed with the idea of being my parents, burning things I had of my biological parents. They were the sort of abusers who were kind, the ones you don’t realize are hurting you.”

It was like Inko and her own. She didn’t know their controlling behaviours, their actions were abuse.

Not until her aunt and her brother.

Soon after a few heart to hearts, they started dating, something that her roommate Mitsuki loved.

“He’s freaking handsome, you go girl!”

When Inko graduated with a degree in culinary arts, Hisashi proposed while heading to law school.

They got married the summer after. During that time though they discovered that Hisashi’s adopted parents died. Inko made the choice to try and let her own parents back into her life because she saw how much it hurt him.

“He’s so nice honey-“ Her mother said when they got in, stopping at seeing one of the photos in their apartment. Her and her brother.

Inko kept an eye on her mother after that, right up to the time she caught the woman trying to take it down.

“Stop it!”

“He’s not your brother he’s some thing- “ Inko didn’t let her say another word and shoved her out.

She didn’t talk to them again.

“Please don’t regret it,” Hisashi told her.

“I won’t,” Inko told him.

She continued to look for her brother, her husband helping. But it was hard. Harder, even more, when she became pregnant at age 28, just when Hisashi was finishing law school. They took a break, Inko going on maternity leave from the bakery she was working at.

She gave birth to a perfect little boy she loved dearly. Hisashi loved him too, even as his work became demanding. Being part of a hero’s legal team was hard after all. Especially a destructive one like the Empire who could cause earthquakes by accident.

Mitsuki already had a son named Katskii herself and the two hoped their sons would become friends, and it looked like they would though Inko worried. Katsuki was a headstrong little boy who seemed to love bossing others around. He was sometimes mean to Izuku and his meanness was cruel in ways she knew could cause problems.

Mitsuki at least also saw it. But her own parenting didn’t work well.

“My parents used to slap me around,” she told Inko blankly. “My dad once held my head underwater for a minute because I pissed him off. I… I try you know? But… where’s the line?”

“My parents controlled every aspect of my life. They would force me on diest when I was already too thin, would go through my emails and phone. My dad hit me too, but my aunt… she stepped in each time.” Inko told her back. They both knew already, but it was nice to talk about.

When her son, Izuku, was four though she sat in a doctor’s office and heard the worst discussion of Quirklessness in her life.

“That test hasn’t been allowed to diagnose Quirklessness for twenty-years!” she shouted at the doctor. “Blood test, now!” The doctor was pissed and refused so she stomped out with her son, making sure each parent in the waiting room knew the doctor was using outdated medical information before rescheduling an appointment with a different doctor.

Inko was darkly pleased that Dr. Tsubasa ended up being reprimanded and forced to take more classes. There was some issue with his grandson but his parents dealt with that.

Yet, when the blood tests came back, Izuku was diagnosed as Quirkless.

“He has no Quirk himself, though we believe any child he has with a Quirked individual will have a much more powerful Quirk than their other parent.” the doctor said. He was nicer at least. Izuku was so fragile, so small about this as they went home. He watched his favourite hero video, Inko watching from the door to the office.

“...Mama, can I be a hero too?” little Izuku said. Inko felt like breaking down. She didn’t think so. Izuku was so small, so little. And she had never heard about a Quirkless hero. But then she thought of her brother.

“I don’t know sweetie,” she finally admitted. She walked up to him and knelt down, hugging him. “But… I think you can do your best.” It wasn’t enough and she knew it but she also knew too well the Quirkless statistics.

That was the first night she told Izuku about her brother. She showed him the picture and explained.

“I won’t be like my parents,” she promised him. And she wouldn’t. Hisashi promised as well, and the two worked hard to make sure he was happy.

Inko did eventually go back to work when Izuku was five, hoping and praying her son would be okay.

She knew he was lying when he came home with ruined clothes and claimed it was all accidents. She knew he was lying when he tried to claim he was okay. But she couldn’t do anything. Not without actual proof.

She hoped Katsuki was helping her son.

She had a terrible feeling he wasn’t.

-0-

Inko and Hisashi began talking about opening a cafe when Izuku was six. The little boy was all for it, offering ideas and his own thoughts. They were happy. Inko still looked for her brother but she had accepted it might never happen. Izuku dreamed of being a hero. Hisashi was doing well at work.

And then…

Empire accidentally destroyed his own agency. Lost control.

Hisashi didn’t make it.

The large payout from the agency plus the Hero Public Safety Commission was enough for Inko to not have to work for years if they were careful.

It didn’t fix a single thing.

Inko would admit she lost herself for a year, completely unable to think or do anything. She wandered her apartment blankly.

It took her son hiding a broken wrist from her to snap her out of it. She was horrified and she marched into the school to scream at them. She listed exactly what she knew about anti-Quirkless Discrimination laws, and what she could do to them.

Izuku stopped being hurt that bad. But emotional abuse from his peers and teachers was harder to figure out.

Inko began to work on the cafe again, as well as she began helping out at rallies on anti-Quirkist ideas. Inko also made sure Izuku knew he could go to her no matter what, but also tried not to be her parents. She tried not to butt in at any time and let him live his own life.

As he got older she wondered if she should try more. If her hands-off approach was as bad as her own parent’s actions to her.

But she was terrified. She didn’t want to be them.

Inko watched as her son got older, as he got more secretive and worried. She tried to get him into programs but each time she was refused. Or they would let him go but then stop, saying he kept having people come and harass him.

“Then why is it his fault?” she asked them. They shrugged.

It was just easier to get rid of him than others. Izuku got very quiet after that and stopped wanting to do extra things.

She worried and worried and she would look at the photo of her brother. She wondered if the worry she had would be for him as well. If she had grown up with an older brother who was hated, who had to fight to be respected by anyone.

She was pretty sure she’d be more of a mess.

She also imagined though, a tall man coming in to help with Izuku. Who would help fight against the school. Who would be with her through the death of Hizashi.

She often stared at the photograph of her and her brother, wondering what if.

The cafe she started had a copy of the photograph and any person making any Quirkist comments was thrown out in seconds. She provided a safe space for everyone, and she found that by doing so she got a lot of customers from people who struggled to find a place in society.

It attracted other attention to, including a man she was fairly certain was an underground hero who came in with a black jumpsuit, getting the darkest coffee. He was a nice enough man though, and Inko found herself enjoying conversations with him. Mostly about cats or his loud friend she wanted to tell him was hitting on him.

When a loud man came in asking for the ‘regular coffee order’ for the jumpsuit guy she stared him down.

“Ask him out, we’re all done with his pining.” The man spluttered. “He talks about you nonstop. I don’t know his name, he pays with cash. He has mentioned you though enough I can recognize you on site. Ask him out please.”

Shuichi, one of the cafe workers snorted. “We’re all done. Please just date him already.” The lizard-like teen continued to work while the blonde spluttered but did leave with the regular coffee and an order for himself.

A week later both showed up, holding hands.

“Yay! The pinning is over!” Shuichi said from where he was trying to help Izuku with math, his angry mutters about how the teachers were purposely fudging his grades making Inko plan another trip to the school to threaten them.

“Yay!” Izuku laughed, the nine-year-old grinning at the nasty look he got. “You don’t scare me. I saw you sneak a cat in here in your scarf.”

Inko found herself laughing harder than ever that night, and the two- Shouta and Hizashi- became friends of the family.

As time continued to tick by, even with moments like the one where she made friends with the two she kept worrying. As Izuku got more and more nervous about school, as she saw scars he kept claiming she was mistaken about. As Mitsuki began whispering her worries over her son and how the school seemed to not worry over his anger or his attitude, as they seemed to ignore it.

She tried to talk to him but didn’t know what to do. She felt lost.

Then, he was fourteen and came home with a smile on his face and a spark in his eyes. He spoke happily and told her of his plan to start working out soon. She smiled and told him she was proud. It was March, nearing the end of his second year of middle school and she was happy he was happy.

A week into his spring vacation, he opened the door to the apartment holding the hand of a tall blonde man. She frowned.

“Izuku?” she asked him before she got a good look at the man. Her eyes widened at seeing that face.

“Mom… I found uncle Toshinori.”

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Is Shuichi who you think it is? Yes. Originally I was like: this is just an AU where it just so happens All Might is Inko’s brother but then my brain went: okay but- so Spinner is good in this AU as he managed to find a job with Inko and is the older brother figure to Izuku.

Hope you guys liked this! Next part would be a One Shot from All Might's perspective then we actually get the story-story from Izuku's!

#bnha au #bnha #my hero academia #inko midoriya #midoirya izuku #uncle all might #all might #erasermic #uncle might

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years ago

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A Cure for Insomnia Ch.3

WARNING DECEPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK

I understand seeing others go through this can sometimes cause panic or anxiety attacks in some and with the use of some imagery I've used I'd feel better if I gave a fair warning that there is a detailed panic attack early on.

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Whoever said eight hours of sleep was the right amount for humans has never met an insomniac who just spent the last six days and five nights awake. You hoped that fucker is in hell burning for his sins, he probably has more of them that you don't know of. But with bleary eyes looking at your phone you can barely make out that it's just a little past six in the morning. This is backed up by the slimmers of light shinning through the blanket you put over the window last night. Briefly the thought of keeping it up today passes through your mind as you try to curl into an even tighter blanket cocoon.

Stretching out your legs and toes you let your muscles melt into mush in the warmth and comfort of your bed. Closing your eyes and burying your head back into the pillow, you might not be able to go to sleep but resting is nice too. You're so relaxed it almost feels as if all your limbs are floating and you feel the buzz of energy come surging back through you, you hum along with it nuzzling into the pillows.

'Your car was broken into.' the thought flashes through your mind and has you jolting up right.

Chest heaving slightly as frantic eyes dance along the room that hasn't changed since the night before. The buzzing energy from just a few moments before turns into an icy feeling flowing in your veins. It chills you to your core and you've noticed the tremors in your arms causing you to tremble. There's a sick feeling that bubbles up your throat, as you feel the phantoms of tens of hands grabbing at your arms and torso. They move erratically all over and their grips are suffocating, there's a lump in your throat that you have trouble swallowing down.

Bringing a hand up to your throat you jab your thumb right above or right at where your larynx would be. The slight pain from the pressure helps ease the lump away and you're able to get out a few frantic breaths. You hardly notice the wetness on your face from the few tears slipping free from your eyes.

'Gross, gross, gross, gross.' is the only message that rings clear in your mind as you're assaulted by these phantom hands.

You're aware this is a panic attack, but it does little to calm you down. Putting more pressure on your throat and using your feet to propel you back into the mattress. Vaguely you're aware that tiring your body out should calm you or maybe it's the release of an emotional fit that calms you, you aren't sure which and you don't really care at the moment. So flailing your legs you let your feet forcefully slip off of their purchase as you push your muscles to their full extent with force. It doesn't take long before you can't feel your limbs and are gasping for breath.

The phantoms are gone, no longer touching you as they please, and while the lump still sits at the bottom of your throat making it hurt to swallow and breathe around you can begin to feel calm. Actually it's the numbness that takes over you, not a sense of calm. The sense of an empty shell broken from its exertion. One thing's for sure you can't take your car today. If you had a panic attack just by thinking of your car you don't want to risk actually getting behind the wheel.

Everything feels tense, the muscles in your legs are starting to ache and you're pretty sure you'll have a bruise at the base of your throat. You check your phone with shaky hands to see it's now seven twelve. If you get up now and leave you think you can probably make it into town by eight forty giving you time to grab something from the Dunkin' on the corner across from the shop. Or you could call out, Nate would totally understand. But just the thought of being alone today sends a chill down your spine and the feeling of those phantom hands start creeping their way back into your personal space.

“I'm going to work!” jumping up and out of the bed, away from the grubby grabby specters.

Running around the room you throw on a pair of black shorts, unusual for you to wear at work but if you're walking you'll have to deal, sweaty jeans are uncomfortable and joggers aren't very cohesive to a work environment. Deciding on a binder made from a breathable swimsuit material for the same reason, sweaty bra is too uncomfortable and bra-less isn't really something you're comfortable with. Grabbing the first shirt you find, it's a black tee with the words “The only man for me is Mothman” printed on it surrounded by little white stars and a chibi lil mothamn.

Looking at your outfit altogether cheers you up. It's casual but cute, not to mention these shorts do a lot for your thighs and butt. But, there's no time to dwell on how handsome you are, you need to grab food and get out the door like ten minutes ago! Grabbing a mask printed with the word 'No' dead center and your headphones you leave your room. With the thought of grabbing Dunkin' before work you settle on a Pedialyte Pop to hold you over during your walk, nausea shouldn't hit you right away anyway. Checking your door was locked, thrice, you started your trek to town.

Most people would complain about having to walk or hike while wearing a mask, often times saying it was hard to breathe under the fabric. But you'd say they just didn't have the right size mask for their face shape. You'd run into a few masks that hadn't been the right shape or size throughout the years but you're thankful that your first three had been perfect. Had they been too big or small you probably wouldn't have fallen in love with wearing masks, they were so comfy and let you interact with people without your voice getting stuck in your throat.

You'd taken to wearing them after high school when you'd taken a job of watching an elderly hospice patient's corgi while her family worked on moving to Virginia and closer to her. Anytime you and little Russel went to visit her you'd had to wear a mask, so instead of wearing the disposables you'd bought a set of three reusable ones.

After noting the change in behavior she mentioned your Autism, she'd been a retired social worker and saw the signs when she met you and after spending nearly 40 hours a week together for half a year she was certain you somehow fell through the cracks. It was a shock to you when she threw out the off handed comment but after stating who your pediatrician was, she was sent into a fit of laughter.

“Anya is a dear and a great surgeon, but I think the cultural barrier has stopped her from diagnosing children for years.” she had said all the while wheezing through the oxygen mask, eyes crinkling in amusement.

She'd sat you down with a list of books to look into and written out all your symptoms, she said if you ever wanted to get tested having the list of symptoms would be more helpful than straight up asking for a diagnosis. Some doctors were too by the book back in the 40s so Autism has rarely been studied in depth. Only in the last decade or so has a movement gained momentum to spread not only a wider awareness of the disorder but also acceptance for it. But to a doctor it would seem like you were grasping for attention at least to anyone who spent less time with you than she had. But without at least six thousand dollars to spend on a piece of paper that confirms what you already know you'll just have to stick to coping by using methods you read about from forums and blogs made by people with Autism rather than their parents or someone who's “very close” to them. And like Mary Anne said before she died, “just because you don't have a diagnosis doesn't mean your symptoms aren't there.”. A statment that reassures you from time to time, when you think you must be faking it for attention. And that somehow you managed to fake tics your whole life.

Snapping out of your memories because you could hardly tell your mask was on, and has been for the past forty minutes or so since you'd finished your pop. It wasn't too hot at the moment and like the previous day Kepler's climate has no humidity whatsoever, a huge change from the coast. Checking the time again on your phone you see the clear white numbers stating boldly that it is eight o' nine. You don't feel any closer to town but figure that's normal when all you've seen is the old over grown road. You feel you should have seen the road leading to town by now, you hope you see it soon or else you'd really over estimated how long it would take to get to town, then you'd be hella late and sweaty. With the way you still had signal to the spotify you doubt you've even made it far enough to reach the dead zone.

Sighing you look down as you walk hoping to maybe find a rock to kick, walking's really boring when there's nothing to explore and you're on a time crunch. A loud honk takes you out of your head and you startle looking up. Doesn't take more than a second before you see a car stopped in the middle of the road in front of you. It's well taken care of for sure but not necessarily new or anything, you don't know too much about cars other than it looks like a black Camry no wait that's the Hyundai symbol. Some type of sedan then.

The back window on your side of the car rolls down and a man leans out and calls to you, you don't hear him at first. Slipping your headphones down to hang around your neck he repeats himself, “Do ya need a ride?” He has a southern accent on the thicker side, not abnormal for West Virginia but you can tell it's not the same dialect, probably from further down. The man has blonde hair styled in that fluffy swooped faux hawk that a lot of gamers had back in 2017/2018. He's got slight thin stubble along his jaw, not quiet five o'clock shadow so he probably has trouble growing facial hair. His eyes are that hazel color everyone wishes they could have, the kinda that had the orangish yellow glow about them. He looks like a fuck boy.

You're nearly ready to point at your mask in an indication of 'no I don't know you creep' when you catch sight of the driver. A boy around your age maybe who looks apathetic, that's not what catches your eye everyone looses the will to live at some point. What draws your attention is the mask he's wearing on his face. He could potentially be like you, or maybe he's just sick and being considerate, or he could have allergies. Whatever the case may be you can't honestly be considering getting into a car with two random men just because one wears a face mask. Hell for all you know they've orchestrated this situation, they could've been watching you analyzing your every move to know that breaking into your car would send you into a state of panic where you wouldn't use your car the next day or two, then you'd be out in the open to kidnap on your walk to town where you couldn't call for help due to being in the dead zone. Why else would they be this far along the old dirt road?

“Ah...miss?” the southern drawl brings you out of your inner ramblings, and the words cause you to bristle.

“I'm not a woman.” you say calmly but firmly.

“Oh, ah sorry sir.” you can't help but huff a laugh at the quick apology, your eyes catch movement through the window. Oh they have a dog with them, a rottweiler at that. Cool kidnappers with a dog, who's wearing a vest how...wait dog in vest oh he must be a service dog. Cool not kidnappers then, just strangers, nice. Seemingly trans allys, slight common ground with the driver, and a service dog it might be safe to engage...or at least humor these men.

“It's fine, I'm They/Them for the record.” You say approaching the car, you make your way to the man leaning out of the window, somehow the presence of a service dog puts you more at ease, especially when the dog only spares you a single glance before his attention's back on the driver, who's not even pretending to pay attention to the two of you. His leg is bouncing up and down, it's not rhythmic and no one's paying attention even as it shakes the car. Probably has ADHD, your dad does that all the time when he's at a stop light, it's a subconscious movement he even does it in waiting rooms or anywhere where he has to sit still really.

“Oh, well sorry 'bout that Mx.” the man in the window stresses the “Mx” but not in the typical fuck boy way, more like he was reinforcing it to himself. “We just saw you walkin' and wanted to see if ya' needed a ride anywhere.” he says.

“If you're going to town, I'd appreciate one, but I wouldn't want to be a bother.” his smile brightens at this but you notice it doesn't reach his eyes, probably just being polite.

“Sure thing, hop on in.” He moves to slide back but you've already opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Effectively snapping the driver out of whatever haze he was in to look at you, he looks back at his friend with confusion.

“Hi” you say to the driver who gives his own wary 'hey' in response as you buckle yourself in. The driver looked even more apathetic up close, dark eye bags under his eyes that were such a deep brown you couldn't see his pupil he also had that fluffy brown e-boy hair. Not the frizzy hair marketing itself as fluffy but the type that's genuinely fluffy looking forming soft waves in his hair.

If they are kidnappers they're really bad at it, especially if all you have to do to stun them is sit up front in a seat that has the second most control in the car and can escape quicker if the need arises. However, glancing back at the dog you notice his attention's still on the driver, it would be really dumb if a kidnapper brought their service dog with them to do a kidnapping so you're reassured that it's just two southern boys driving through Kepler. And they happened to spot a “damsel” in distress, so they came to the rescue.

“Oh, don't mind Connor he won't bother you. He's here for Toby right now.” The man in the back says and you see the man beside you grip the steering wheel tighter. You nod in response and feel a tickle at the base of your skull, you'll try holding back the tic to not freak the two out.

Just as “Toby” is about to put the car in drive, a bark is heard from the back seat. A frustrated sigh leaves Toby as his hand leaves the gear shift, scowl clear even on his masked face. You guess Toby needs Connor to let him know when he's safe to drive, it's rude to ask about these things but you can't help but guess why that'd be the case.

Another bark leaves Connor right as your head snaps to the right moving back to place, then right, right, up, and right before cracking violently.

“There we go.” you verbalize.

Toby's looking at you in what you can only guess is shock, not the worst reaction you've had to your tics, meanwhile you notice Brian's looking to Connor who's looking directly at you now. Then his head whips around to Toby and he barks, like clockwork Toby's shoulders jerk forwards and his hands jolt up. Connor looks back at you and gives a bark, your head jerks three times cracking your neck two of those times. Connor's gaze is still on you and you know he'll be in an ongoing ping pong game between you and Toby if you keep triggering each other's tics the entire drive, if you'd even be able to get to that point.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you said looking at Connor while holding the sides of your head, trying to as your friend Emonie once said 'keep the bobble head away'.

Thankfully Connor must have had a training course similar to ones you've helped with because he looks away from you and focuses on Toby, who he gives several barks to. Following those barks Toby pops his knuckles and makes a 'mrrwo' sound, sort of imitating a cat, before his head jerks sharply into his knee that jerked up at the same time. You cringe at the sight knowing that must have hurt, hands still firmly pushing your head you see Connor settle down in the back, still on alert but laying down as if to say the muscle spasms have passed. You won't risk removing your hands, you still need a ride into town and this whole situation's put you behind to where you won't make it if you walk now.

“pfft...” you look back to the blonde and he looks ready to burst with laughter from what he just watched. Heat creeping up your face you turn and look away, sure the situation's funny but you don't know these two men and honestly you just feel so embarrassed right now. Especially with last night's incident at the mini mart still fresh in your memory.

“Will you fucking shut up!” Toby barks out, and the blonde tries harder to suppress his laughing fit. Toby glares at his friend before turning his attention back to the road, hand on the gear shift he waits for an alert before putting the car in drive and doing a U-turn back to town.

It's been a while since you've been a passenger in a car, you actually get to take the time to relax and enjoy the passing scenery as Toby drives. He's a surprisingly good driver, most guys his age are speed demons and always want to see how fast they can get away with driving. Toby on the other hand is abiding by the limit even on this open stretch of road with no other cars. But you guess it comes with the territory of needing a service dog to be able to drive, have to abide by the rules. The drive's quiet, you take it as a good thing that the men aren't trying to question or get to know you. If they were kidnappers or up to something nefarious surely they'd be trying to distract you right now with endless chatter to let your guard down. Especially if they'd been watching you and knew what a total chattering encyclopedia you could be when given the right topic. You're gazing out into the window seeing the sign of the town get closer finally when the thought hits you.

“So, your name's Toby, is it short for Tobias?” turning to look at the man, he spares a single side glance with his furrowed brows before responding with an uneasy 'Yea'.

“Cool, sorry if that was a weird question. Tobias is like the best name I've ever heard but I've only met three Tobiases, including you. Could I call you Tobias or do you prefer Toby?”

“I don't really care.” gotta love apathy.

“Cool, cool. Thanks for the ride Tobias!” you chirp out.

“Hey, forgetin' that I'm the one who offered the ride?” The man in the backseat speaks up.

“No, you just never gave me your name. You said Connor's” and ear twitch is all you get such a good boy, “and you said Tobias'. Never mentioned your own.”

“It's Brian, sugar.” you were correct, this man is a fuck boy.

“Yikes, that's gross.”that was a reflex and it was now Toby's turn to laugh at his friend. The man didn't even hide his snickers even had his shoulders bouncing up and down, you think you even caught a mumbled “I won't hesitate bitch”. Meanwhile Brian sat stunned, guess he was used to people finding his nicknames more endearing, meaning he probably meant nothing by it and it was probably the southern accent but it just made you think of the senior men who'd hit on you back before you moved out here.

“Yea don't call me 'sugar', anyway, I'm YN, it's nice to meet you three.” Toby just nods as his laughter dies down a clucking sound resonates from his throat, Brian however goes right back to his friendly persona with a 'good to meet ya.' Again it's slightly off, it doesn't feel like he's trying to be polite...it feels like...you can't put your finger on it but it's familiar. Like when you fake a conversation with Nate or your mother on the days where exhaustion is nearly killing you, but Brian doesn't seem tired or sluggish.

The rest of the drive is relatively quiet as you direct Toby how to maneuver the streets and he parks in the parking lot of Dunkin'. While you were getting out you'd asked the men if you could get them anything from Dunkin' as a thank you for driving you. Brian tried to decline but Toby spoke over him with what “they” wanted.

“Ok cool, can Connor have a pup cup?” unsure if service dogs could have treats while working.

Sparing a glance to the good boy in question Toby shrugged “Yea, he's due for a break any-anyway.” he ends with popping his knuckles. You assume Connor only alerts motor tics when Toby is driving or about to start driving, since that tic didn't get clocked.

You repeat the order to the cashier once inside. You also get a frozen caramel coffee and an iced caramel coffee for you and Nate along with a box of donuts to pick from for the day. When she hands you everything you're able to balance Toby's order on top of your box and your drinks in the other hand. Walking out with the help of the next man coming in, nodding thanks as you pass him, you see Toby leaning against his car with Connor sitting next to him, no vest on.

It's terrifying how well trained Connor is, because the dog you left in the car barely paid you any mind. While this hyper pup's tail is wagging at just the sight of you, his paws lifting slightly in a tiny dance as you get closer. But he doesn't dare move from his sit, looking up at Toby for cues and looking at you who holds his treat. Had you not worn a mask for so long you may have missed the smile Toby gave Connor as he pat the dog's head. The slight crinkles around the edges were a dead give away though. With a quick snap Connor is released from whatever command he'd been held by and runs up to you once you're five feet from them.

Drooling mouth opening and closing in an odd mute bark for a dog this size. You take note of the fact that while he's jumping excitedly and pawing the air he hasn't laid a single paw on you. Whoever trained him knew what they were doing that's for sure. Looking up to Toby you hold the one hand outstretched for him to take his items, a tray with Connor's pup cup and his iced coffee, and a white baggie with three donuts, strawberry glazed, maple glazed, and an apple fritter.

Once he's taken his items you balance your drinks on top of the box. Connor's attention hasn't moved from you even through the exchange. You're a little confused by the pup's antics but he probably thinks he can get a donut off you.

“Sorry bubbie, your dad's got your treat not me.” that dopey little face tilts to the left not understanding you aren't the treat giver at this time. You laugh letting him smell the hand that had the coffee in it so maybe he'd understand you didn't have his treat. He excitedly sniffs you, and gives you a few licks before sitting back right in front of you with a blur of a tail behind him. Such a silly boy, he deserves some chin scritches.

“He's smart, told him you'd give 'im this.” Toby says holding out the pup cup to you, as you bend at an awkward angle balancing food in one hand while scratching his dog with the other.

Connor's a little disappointed when his pets stop but jumps to all fours when he sees the pup cup. His tail is wagging so fast you'd be afraid his butt will fall off, if that was a thing that could happen. You go to put the cup in front of him but Toby stops you.

“Hold on, Connor sit.” As soon as his name was called his bottom was on the ground. “You already know his release word so when you want him to take it just say the release.” He says offhandedly while placing the bag in the passengers seat and his drink in the cup holder. You can hear murmured arguing from inside the car, but choose to ignore it. These guys clearly aren't kidnappers, and if they were it's so stupid to kidnap you in broad day light after you just made a purchase and with literally a street in between you and your work, where your boss is waiting for you.

Placing the cup in front of Connor you didn't think it was possible for him to get any more excited but his tail is now undetectable by the human eye. He looks from his treat to you, back, and back to you. Toby said you already knew the release, and there's only one thing you've said to Connor throughout the trip.

“Thank you.” it's immediate, for such a well mannered service dog on and off duty this pup has no table manners. There is whip cream everywhere it's on the ground, his paws, even behind his head. How on earth did he manage that? This must be Connor's only character flaw because Toby is back with what you can only assume are all the napkins he had received in the donut bag, and service vest under his arm.

Once the pup cup was utterly decimated Connor sat happily, butt wiggling, as his dad wiped the rest of the whip cream off of him. Showing the pup the huge glob he had behind his ear only had him licking it off the napkin before licking his dad's face.

“Wrong.” Toby called, a little bummed the pup calmed down a bit but his tail was still going. Toby paused before he slipped the vest back on Connor. Head jerking back twice he looked over to you.

“You wanna say 'bye'?” you perked at the question, if you had a tail of your own it'd probably be wagging just as fast as Connor's.

Do you want to pet a dog, what kind of question was that? Of course you fucking do. Yea you might be late to work but petting a dog is always worth it. Setting your breakfast and coffee on the hood of the car you bent down with Toby to Connor's level.

If that dog could talk he'd tell everyone you gave the best ear scratches, sure you may have smooshed his wrinkly face a ton. But you were so nice and was that baby coos, ah he loves you new best friend. Connor jumped up when you started cooing and gave you a ton of kisses to the face. You couldn't stop laughing and the repetitive motion triggered a tic. Thankfully your mask was on so Toby couldn't see you tongue poke out repeatedly as you said “bleh” in between giggles.

“Wrong.” he says gently pushing the drooling pup away. Shaking the spit off his hand before scratching the pup under the chin, right where the bottom of his ear met his jaw. The pup instantly melted calming into his handlers touch. With his dog now calm he whistles and Connor is standing up straight, Toby slips the vest over his head and secures it. Connor the puppy has turned back into Connor the good boy working pup.

Grabbing your stuff from the hood of the car you turn to Toby and Connor, “Thanks again for the ride, and for letting me pet your dog.”

You're met with a simple shrug, not much phases Toby you've noticed. Aside from his tics that is.

“See ya later Tobias!” with that you're on your way to cross the street legally, and by that you totally jay walked out into traffic in front of the sheriff. You may have jay walked in front of the sheriff, but he didn't do anything so you're fine.

#A cure for insomnia #proxies x reader #proxies #ticci tobyx reader #ticcitoby #ticci toby #timothy wright #timothy wright x reader #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #masky #hoodie #creepypasta fanfic

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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Can I request a self conscious chubby Shouto? Reader gives him kisses on his tummy and reassures him about his weight?

tw: shouto has poor body image, fluff, angsty

shouto had been hospitalized for five months.

after what was most definitely the most horrific villain attack seen on live tv against only one hero, the doctors never shut up about how he was lucky to have won, how lucky he was to be alive. it was far after the days that recovery girl had passed, and with no healing quirk having matched her ability it had been a long five months in hospice care.

he had spent one month in a coma and the next four just healing. it had been a hard four months, his body almost refusing to move, black and yellow bruises covered his body still, and the diet... the diet they had him on was one that was supposed to help him gain weight. it was to help with his healing and aid with the muscle gain he was going to need in order to be where he once was - he understood that and he appreciated the doctors doing what was best for him but he didn’t understand how he went from his strong, toned, and lithe form to one with flappy arms, pooling thighs, and a tummy so large he couldn’t see his toes without leaning forward. he never thought he would hate that he couldn’t see his jawline anymore, that he could hate that he couldn’t sit up without feeling his stomach, hate that he was so hungry all the time. he hated that he was so... he was so—

“welcome home!” you cheered merrily, guiding shouto back into the house that had been without his presence for almost half a year.

he tried to focus on you and only you, your mindless babble about how you had learned how to make cold soba noodles for him while he was in the hospital (although you made sure to insist that they weren’t that good so to not get his hopes up, but shouto was tittering on being excited and nauseous at the thought of having endless cold soba), how you had temporarily moved the master bedroom into the closest room to the front door and kitchen just in case he wasn’t ready to move that much, how you had accidentally broken the sliding door but had his brother come and fix it for you, and of course just how happy and grateful you were that he was out. shouto tried to stay engaged but he could feel the eyes scorching on his back, the nosy neighbors and paparazzi who wanted the first pictures of him since his release.

he hated this, he hated his body right now, and their judgmental gaze burned him from the inside out. for over twenty years of his life he had never been without muscle on his body and now... now he was... he was—

“watch your step, you’re been limping again, I don’t want you to trip,” came your gentle voice, your foot planted on the stair and the other on the floor as if to support him in case he fell. like you could keep him upwards if he did, he bitterly thought.

regardless, shouto gave you a gracious half smile and carried through, stepping up to the stair and flinching when he felt that skin he was still starkly unfamiliar with move. but the moment the front door closed behind the both of you, shouto felt empty.

the rest of the day was filled with shouto adjusting to the house once more. adjusting to the way the floors creaked under his feet, of how you always waited for him to enter through the doorways instead of attempting to go through them with him, of how you lingered behind him with conscious eyes and nervous fingers. he knew you were worried, it was as obvious as the sun during a summer heat wave, but it offered him no comfort... it only made him feel worse, made him graze his fingers against his... his...

“why don’t you take a shower?” you suggest, your hands grabbing the dishes on the table. you had made soup, he was still to be on a mostly liquid diet until next week. “I bet this has been exhausting, and if you shower then I can shower and we can sleep early tonight!”

shouto strained a smile again, his tongue still failing to speak. he hasn’t spoken a word in weeks, but you never seemed to grow angry at his lack of words thankfully. his eyes fluttered close when you leaned across the table and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his body shivering both at the familiar contact that he loved and the aching pain that continued to be suppressed.

showering nearly killed him.

feeling the way that his body now worked within the confines of the small room made his head spin. he hated that he couldn’t merely twist his body anymore, he had to completely turn around. he hated that he had to use more body wash, his hands shaking when he maneuvered around the fat that had built on his stomach, the stretched skin that fell on his thighs and arms.

stretch marks... as if the scar on his face wasn’t enough.

with a shaky sigh, he turned off the water and exited the shower.

he wasn’t feeling too bad with the warm water soaking into his skin, but he made the mistake of looking into the mirror as he made his way back to the room.

a mistake.

his eyes bore into his figure, was this really him? he could barely recognize himself. this... this had to be a mistake, there was no way this was him. his hands pressed to his side, hoping that this was all a figment of his imagination, just some twisted depression that was keeping him bound to the worst of this all.

but his hands fell on his body right where he had hoped they wouldn’t, and something snapped within him.

CRASH!

shouto didn’t even realize that he was panting like some rabid animal, his body trembling with extreme force, and the room covered with ice and burn marks. he collapsed forward, suddenly feeling weak, and with every ragged breath tears pricked at the back of his eyes, threatening to fall out but wouldn’t.

he was...

he was f--

“shouto? are you okay in there?”

he couldn’t even bother turning his head to look over at the opening door, but had he, he would’ve seen the way that your head peeked in, your eyes focused with concern, sympathy, and love. he focused on his hands, the white of his gripping knuckles, and the bulge of his veins.

“I-I’m okay,” he finally spoke, his head remaining low, horrid thoughts plaguing his head as the cold hallway air drafted into the room sending shivers down his spine - not that he reacted to it.

“that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” you sigh, not even trying to give him the satisfaction of believing his lie. but again, that was a quality he loved about you. “I won’t press because i’m sure this has been an overwhelming day for you, but... i’m here for you, shouto, you know?”

it was then that your hand pressed against his spine, and shouto felt his soul leave his body.

he didn’t want you touching him like this, he thought, storming away, trying to avoid your worried look as he pushed past you.

no not like this, his eyes clenched and his fists trembled at his side.

he was ugly, he gasped for air as he entered the room, his vision swimming.

he was... he was--!

“please don’t cry... please don’t cry without telling me why you’re upset!” your voice begged and shouto hated how distraught you sounded. “are you in pain?”

“no. well, not really.”

“is this happening too fast? were you discharged too soon?”

“no... i’m fine.”

it’s....

“was it the food? I know i’m still learning, but I didn’t think the food was that bad!”

“n-no, not that...”

it’s because...

“then what’s going on, sho?”

“it’s because i’m fat!” shouto finally spat, his body shaking with exploding emotion, steam spilling from his body as if he was fighting some evil villain.

his face was set in stone, a look of pure emotionlessness as long as you didn’t look into his eyes. as long as you didn’t know that sad glint in his eyes meant that he was emotionally beyond repair right now. he saw your mouth drop, most likely to ease any ‘untrue’ thoughts that danced on his mind. he didn’t want to hear it.

“I am, y/n, i’m fat. my clothes don’t fit and I have to wear these... throw away clothes! the doctors said im almost twice my usual weight. I-I have fat in places I didn’t even know existed, my stomach is so fucking huge i’m surprised kaminari hasn’t sent me some pregnant meme by now, and it took all my energy to just shower today. i’m fat!” shouto heaved, his forehead covered in cold sweat while glaring at the wall to the left of your head. he couldn’t look at you right now, not after that outburst.

the silence lingered thickly in the air, corroding the muscles in his throat, making his heart flutter in anxiety driven pulses while you shifted from foot to foot, your teeth gnawing at your lower lip. he wanted to apologize to you, for what he didn’t know but he felt bad. his actions were halted by you sharp inhale, and that kind strong smile that fell on your face.

“...well, im not going to fight you on that, but i’m glad you spoke your mind,” you said softly, your hands moving to grip each other while you tried to save face in front of him. it was obvious that you hadn’t even thought that which made shouto feel even guiltier. “I’m going to shower, so please get ready for bed, yeah? we’ll talk more once we’re in bed and relaxed a bit!”

shouto’s nostrils flared, his heart squeezing at the fact that you still showed him such kind and soft love, and so he nodded his head in agreement.

“I won’t take long,” you promised about your shower, and shouto smiled even if a bit emotionlessly before your lips pressed softly against his. “be right back, get ready.”

he wasn’t sure how long it took him to get ready and for you to join him in bed, but his eyes were opened and he was staring off at your side of the bed as you climbed into bed. the gentle, warm, and cool scent of your hair wash and body wash drafted into his nose, a very welcoming smell after months of knowing only the sterile smell of bleached walls and floors.

“you ready to talk?” you asked him, and shouto blinked once, twice, his sight refocusing on your shining eyes and furrowed brow. he knew immediately that you had a lot to speak on, most likely creating some sort of script to follow.

“no,” shouto couldn’t help but say, his own worries forgotten for a moment when the natural need to tease you infiltrated his veins. “but i’m ready to hear you talk.”

your lips pursed, twitching in a way that made it obvious to him at least that you were resisting the urge to verbally attack him.

“five months ago, I thought I was going to lose you.” you began, your eyes uncharacteristically dropping from his own gaze and trailing down his body, as if in disbelief that he was even here. your hands moved to his chest, pressing softly onto the skin that he was hateful towards. “when I got the news that you had been hospitalized, and that you had gone into a coma... I wasn’t sure what to think. but you woke up before I knew it and then four months went by after you woke up, and i’ve been so... grateful that you survived that I hadn’t even bothered to think about how you must be feeling about this entire thing. I know this is a lot of change, its a lot of change, and I don’t know how to really help, but this is what I think.”

shouto felt his breathing nearly stop as your fingers trailed down the fat on his arms, his chest and his stomach. your eyes almost shyly met his and you pressed a kiss to his lips, unwilling to allow him to think for a second that this was just some staged thing.

“your weight doesn’t define you. your weight doesn’t make you less desirable. does your weight make you fat? sure, it completely does, but there’s nothing wrong with being fat. fat is not ugly, fat is not weak, fat is not less. bodies need fat, its basic biology. without fat we can’t exist, we can’t do anything, and sure right now you have more than you’ve ever had - but it’s okay, you’re still healthy and that is what matters. i mean look at fat gum! sure, he needs to be fat in order for his quirk to work, but nevertheless, he’s fat and he’s a pro hero. he’s healthy and still he’s fat. if you would rather be skinny than fat, that’s okay, you can choose what you want to be, as long as it’s done with good intentions. at the end of the day you’re still my shouto, you’re the man I know and love because fat determines none of that. I love the fat on your body as much as I loved the abs because either way it’s you.”

the words rang heavy in his ears, all thoughts and reasons he had seemingly disappeared the moment the last word was said. and tears fell from his eyes when you kissed every spot on his body that he had once been dreadfully insecure about. every kiss to his stomach sent butterflies through every cell, every soft breath spreading chills until he was gasping for breath - until you were finally back to his face and pressing kisses to his face until he wrapped you closer.

“I love you in any form you take.”

a/n: it may not be my place to share this with you, but while writing this it actually reminded me of a ted talk I had seen once. I think its a very good talk, and dismantles a lot of mainstream thoughts about self love which I at least thought was important. if you were able to make it to the bottom of this, I suggest checking it out because as this video re-taught me, fat is not a synonym for ugly, and we should stop believing that it is.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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number1salesman1997 · 3 years ago

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Birbdemic writhes on the floor, gripped in waves of pain now and then, and now and then it rises, shaking on its legs, tiny hands gripping it's chest before going about its usual behaviors as if trying to seem like nothing has happened.

It keeps looking at Spachiel, expression caught between pain and questioning. Hold on, should it be able to do that?

It keeps trying to hide when it feels like it needs to rest, pushing itself into a corner, holding its face, eyes darting to whatever perceived danger, and baring it's teeth. On guard it seems.

Despite it looking like it'll just keel over and perish, it keeps fighting. It keeps getting up. It keeps trying to make it seem like nothing is wrong.

As if it's Determined to keep going. To persist, through sheer force of will.

They look at Spachiel, when he's alone, when all is quiet, and opens its mouth.

"[[My Lord]][[why]]??"

Though he was hesitant to put the bird-like creature back into the provided cage, he has been monitoring the spamling's behavior as per his instructions. He would have been even if he wasn't told to.

Up until Birbdemic escaped the cage, Spachiel had been checking on him several times a day, providing ample food and water, even offering as many words of encouragement as he felt able to provide through the searing guilt: "YOU GOT THIS [[little buddy]]", "BE STRONG, [[your old pal Spamton]] BELIEFS IN YOU", "PLEASE HANG IN THERE, IF NOT FOR [[heaven]],, PLESE DO IT FOR ME, I [[NEED]] YOU, BUDDY.,.."

Spachiel felt guilty telling everyone nothing was wrong with Birbdemic, and guilt every time he saw him sitting in that cage. He felt guilty since the moment that needle went into his little code creature. He knew it was going to hurt. He just hadn't expected it to be so hard to watch.

All modifications worth making always came at a cost. Can't find a way to work your advertisements into conversation or make up your own catchy slogans? Sell that pretty tenor down the river for a shiny new voice with more bells and whistles than an organic voicebox could ever hope for. Easy trade. Bit off too much to chew with your new workload and you can't keep up now? Install switches to shut off all those pesky extraneous functions in the mind that cause distractions like sensation and emotion. Giving up pieces of yourself is easy when you've got something to gain from it. At least, it's easy when it isn't you. When you aren't just sitting back and watching as a helpless little bird tries to hide its pain from you and fails miserably.

It felt like he was caring for a hospice patient, like he was just waiting out the days until he would find poor little Birbdemic on the bottom of the cage.

He had felt such panic that it almost made him sick when the spamling had escaped the cage. He tore his house and all of his trash cans apart looking. He prayed to Saint Anthony. If he got lost, got hurt, it was all his fault. Oh hell, it was all his fault anyway. It didn't matter if he came back, Spamton would still feel that guilt weighing on him.

Once he had found him again, he had to trap him in one of his browser windows lest the winged creature fly off on him, but at least now that the cage was no longer an option, Spamton could feel some relief to his conscience and let Birbdemic fly around the house.

He didn't seem much in the mood for flying though once caught again. After just his first day back, he seemed to have difficulty clinging to a perch. Each panicked mechanical throb of the grinning heart on a chain inside his chest rattled his metal plates and sent a fresh stab of icy guilt into his gut.

If he's in pain, it's your fault. If he can't live like this, it's your fault. If he dies because of that injection, it's all your fault, and you'll have to live with it.

They should have told him it would hurt like this. He had data to go over, and he had done so to the best of his ability, but he had to blame anyone but himself for this.

But each time the spamling looks like he's on the edge of death, he seems to perk right back up. Spachiel watches him closely, static flickering all around the edges of his glasses as he anticipates the last time Birbdemic will ever get up.

Spachiel never expected him to ask why.

He is so taken aback by the fact the bird is speaking at all, when the previous extent of his speaking ability--despite his progenitor's best efforts--had only been shrill hawk-like screeches, that he stares for a moment, dumbfounded.

"MY. . . ? WHY. .. .? OH, MY LITTOL [[the amazing lyre bird sings like a chainsaw]], YOU CAN [[My Talking Tom 2]]?? I'M SO-SO-SO-SO HAPPY FOR YUO!!" Spachiel lifts the bird up, carefully cradling that tiny body in his giant metal hands, fixing his glowing gaze into him and offering the only explanation he has, "BUT WAT DO YOU MEAN: [[why]]? HAVEN'T I TOLD YOU: I'M GONNA [[unlockable content]] THE GATES OF [[heaven]] AND WHEN I DO: YOU [[yes, you!]] ARE COMIGN WITH ME FOR BEING SUCH A [[good sport]]!! I'LL BE TAKEING THAT SAME [[medicine]] AND [[share the]][[PAIN]] VERY SOON, NO DOUBT.! THIS-THIS...[[unspeakable]]>, IT WON'T BE [[unpaid labor]] !! YOUR'RE GONNA [[soar above the clouds]] WITH ME SOME DAY, ADN HOPEFULLY SOON!! JUST YOU W4IT [[little buddy]], STICK WITH ME AND YOU'RE GON ME COME OUT THE OTHSR SIDE OF THS A REAL [[BIG SHOT]]!!!1!!"

#[[you've got mail : asks]]

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bitchardhendricks · 4 years ago

Text

Well I’ve Never Been to Heaven (But I’ve Been to Oklahoma) pt 17

I know it’s been a terribly long time since I last updated - to be frank, the last couple of weeks have been almost too full to bear. Wife and I foster dogs through a local shelter, and our most recent was a hospice foster whom we had for the last 6 months (aka all of quarantine and beyond). He finally declined to the point that we had to make the call, and we said goodbye to him last weekend and honestly? I’ve been too sad to do much writing or thinking about writing, because this loss, even though it was an expected one, has left a massive hole in my heart. Unrelated, but I am now in the remote wilderness of Colorado in a cabin for Wife’s 30th birthday - essentially sheltering in place, but with a hot tub and mountain views. It finally feels a little easier to breathe and the getaway has done me a lot of good. Here’s an extra-long update of Tulsa fic for an extra-long wait. I hope you all are taking care of yourselves out there and giving yourself breaks where you can. Catch up on past entries here, and come say hi and tell me about the pets that you’ve loved.

***

When Richard opens his eyes on Saturday morning with his face smushed against his pillow he suffers a dizzying moment of time travel - he’s in his childhood bedroom wearing one of his old high school t-shirts and seeing his Ninja Turtle sleeping bags rolled up on the floor. But there’s no Big Head playing N64 at the foot of his bed, and his sheets smell like detergent and some familiar floral scent he can’t quite place, not spilled Red Bull and teen boy sweat.

He flops over onto his back and closes his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply through his nose. Hears his sister’s voice, teasing but not mean: mooning over someone, that’s what he looks like. His mother’s voice. He’s a million miles away, like always. Jared’s voice, hushed in the dark. All I wanted was to find a place that I belonged, where I was wanted. Isn’t that what Richard always wanted too? Jesus, how many nights did he spend in this room, in this bed counting down the days until he could finally fucking escape, trying with all his might to think himself away from this place. “Creation is an act of sheer will,” after all.

And what did you create, Richie?

You made a shitty music player that no one fucking wanted, and you gave away your one good idea to your competition. What does that leave you with - a great company name? Shit, if Jared hadn't seen the potential of the algorithm, you wouldn't even have a company. Jared sparked the idea for middle-out. Without him, you wouldn't have middle-out, you wouldn't be a CEO. You wouldn't have anything at all.

Maybe Jared knows what he's talking about.

***

Diane’s already awake, a coffee cup cradled in her hands at the kitchen table, when Jared carefully and quietly emerges from Richard’s bedroom and shuts the door.

“Mornin’ sugar,” she whispers and gestures for Jared to sit next to her, which he does. "I didn't expect anyone to be awake yet on a Saturday. You must be an early riser, like me. Here, sit you a spell, lemme grab you some coffee. Did you sleep well?” she asks, as she gets up to fetch him a mug of his own. This force of Diane's maternal energy continues to catch him off guard, and he reaches for an answer like a man in an unfamiliar hotel room groping for the light.

“Oh yes, they were all nightmares I’ve had before so I knew my escape routes. I feel fresh as a daisy!”

“Mm, that’s good,” she replies, sounding far away as she rummages through a cabinet and pulls out a mug, then pads over to the coffee pot to fill it. “You take cream and sugar, sweetheart?”

“Black is fine,” Jared says, and gratefully accepts the cup she offers him. It says HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY in comic sans font surrounding a faded photo of the entire Hendricks family, sometime in the mid-90s from the look of the boldly patterned oversize knit sweater on Steven and the perms sported by both Diane and Caitlyn. They’re standing in a verdant field in front of a split rail fence, Steven and Diane in the back, Caitlyn and Richard in front; Richard is a skinny, coltish boy, those auburn curls still a riot around his head, his father’s hand clapped firm over his left shoulder.

“Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” Diane asks him, and Jared startles from his reverie. He shakes his head, quickly takes a sip, “Mm, no. This is good, thank you, Diane.” He tries very hard not to think about his strange, alien presence in the warmth of this woman’s home, with her powder blue terrycloth robe and her commissioned family mugs. They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the birds chirping outside the kitchen window.

“Jared, honey, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course,” Jared says, caught off guard. His fingers play with the collar of his plain white t-shirt.

“Richard has always been...sensitive. He acts standoffish, but he - he takes things hard, you know? I thought he might grow out of it. He was such a sweet little boy...used to pick dandelions for me on the way home from school, almost every day. Can you believe that?”

Jared looks at the unabashed grin on 9-year-old Richard’s face, standing in a field and squinting into the sun, laughing with his family. He can believe it. “Yes,” he says, but Diane doesn’t seem to really hear him as she continues.

“But you know, high school and hormones, and my lord did that boy get moody!” She laughs a little, but it sounds sad. “I just...ever since he went off to college, I feel him slippin’ further and further away from me. Does he - well, what does he say about us, exactly? Does he ever talk about us?”

Jared’s expression must reveal more than he intended, because she nods before he can speak. “Ah. That’s what I thought.”

“But it’s not,” Jared hurries to reassure her, “I don’t think it is what you think. Richard doesn’t talk about his past really, or anything altogether personal.” Except this weekend, his mind whispers and he tries not to flush. He’s full of stories this weekend. And those long nights in the garage, in the bathtub, in bathrooms of VC offices; all those fears, all those anxieties. It feels so terribly personal, but listen to what his own mother is telling you and give up all those fantasies that it could be anything else - it’s just business, Donald. He rushes on, “You have to understand, Diane, the tremendous pressure he’s under. There’s not really time or, or room for - “ but he falters, unsure how to proceed when he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying.

“Oh I know, he’s busy, always so busy. Off being a big shot CEO, I get it. I just wish...” she shakes her head, looks down into her coffee mug.

“I know you must miss him terribly,” Jared says, grimly picturing the ragged hole in his chest that would remain if Richard ever left him behind.

“Sometimes I wonder if...does he hate me, Jared? Is that why he won’t come home?”

“Oh gosh in heaven, no!” Heedless of houseguest decorum, he places one of his hands over her smaller one on the table and squeezes in an attempt to comfort her. Her only crime is loving Richard too much, an infraction he is all too familiar with. He can’t help but offer her a balm to soothe, even if it’s not his place. “He misses you, and he loves you. I think...I think Richard is someone who tends to live inside himself a great deal, and doesn’t always pay attention to the effect he can have on other people.” Jared can feel his ears pinking, but he soldiers on. “He’s like a shark, always moving forward, never pausing to rest because he has to attack the next problem and the next. And while that means he can stay focused on creating wonderful things, it also means he doesn’t always notice the little remoras swimming around him, taking care of him so that he can keep on swimming and avoid deadly parasitic infections.”

Diane looks at Jared, her face drawn and tight, an expression so like her son’s face when he’s working out a problem. Her eyes search his, and for a moment, Jared has the terrible urge to shrink before her, a child under scrutiny. “And is there someone,” her voice falters, “takin’ care of him?”

He’s caught, his heart thrumming like a rabbit’s in a snare, but he’s helpless against those wild blue eyes, and he nods.

“And is he happy?” She has turned her hand so that her fingers are now clutching at Jared’s, feverish. A woman holding onto a lifeline.

Jared wants to say yes, wants to say it’s terrifying and exhausting and every day is an uphill climb but we are building something magical together and he wants to say I am doing everything I can to make him happy because he said no to Gavin’s money and I didn’t know people could do that. What he actually says is, “I - I want him to be.”

She searches his face, her expression unreadable, then releases Jared’s hand immediately as Caitlyn pads down the hallway in an oversized OKC Thunder t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, yawning loudly. “Hey, mama, did you make coffee?”

#silicon valley hbo #sv squad #jarrich #jarrich fic #jared dunn #richard hendricks #sv fic #my sv fic #Well I've never been to Heaven

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thegildedkelpie · 4 years ago

Photo

- P R O L O G U E -

Rating: Young Adult

Warnings: Sexual assault, gore, various distressing themes

Summary: Humans have a lot of names for the Veil; the Other Side, the Great Beyond, the Heavens or the Hells, Limbo, Purgatory. The Norse had Niflheim and Alfheim, the Gaelic and the Welsh had Tír na nÓg and Annwn. Nowadays, the slang is simply Veilside. Easy, quick, and it doesn’t come heavy with cultural ties.

Severed has lived with one foot Veilside and the other foot Humanside for as long as he could remember. He works and lives in an abysmal halfway place, a pocket dimension powered by brutal, messy magic, slaving away in a slaughterhouse to pay off a debt.

Niamh stepped unwittingly Veilside in high school, cutting his life abruptly short and ruining what remained. He works in a gilded cage, a beautiful, famous brothel, until one day he gets out.

When Severed lets Niamh crash on his couch, the precarious balance he’s managed to keep up begins to tilt.

┕━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┙

“What is your name?” the nurse asked. She was wearing plain white from her head to her ankles; an apron over her dress, socks that hid the skin of her legs. Her shoes shone black.

Niamh stared at her, fingers tangled in the sheets of the bed he didn't remember waking up in. There was a horrible, sugary, bile-heavy taste stuck in his throat and his head felt heavy. “Where am I?”

She smiled. “The Gardens, of course.” She said it precisely, like a title. “What is your name?”

“What's the gardens?” he asked warily, looking down at himself. He had been in a hoodie and skinny jeans, but someone had stripped those off and replaced them with what seemed to be a pale cream gown. He pulled his legs up. A pang of nausea hit as his bare legs beneath – bare everything – brushed the fabric. “Where am I?”

“There is nothing to be frightened of,” she said kindly, setting a hand on his shoulder. She had pointed ears like he did, but the face was wrong. She was not like him. Even with barely any time veilside, he could tell. “Everything will be explained in time. Please tell me your name so that we can start the paperwork.”

“Is this a hospital?” he asked. Maybe he’d gotten sick, or passed out somewhere. The last thing he remembered were vodka shots and thumping music at a club he shouldn’t have even been at. He looked at her chest, at her simple, dated dress and white coat, but there was no name tag or ID badge. Purple, bell shaped flowers were embroidered on the cuffs of the white coat and the rounded collar of her dress, small pops of color.

She nodded, looking pleased. “We're here to make sure you're healthy. Now, your name?”

He stared at her and finally said, “Niamh?”

The nurse made a pleased noise and started scribbling on the clipboard. Unlike the humans he was used to, she did not ask him to spell it out for her. “Middle and last names?”

He ignored her. “How...how did I get here?” He leaned forward, heart pounding. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be able to walk into the front door of his house in Las Vegas instead of being forbidden from entry, or for his parents to look at him instead through him. The Veil had been fun until it wasn’t, the magic amazing until it had become frightening. “I don't remember anything but a party.”

She didn't look up from her clipboard. “We had to sedate you. You were getting sick all over the place.”

“Sick? From the party?”

Nothing but the scratch of a pen answered him. After a long moment of scribbling on the clipboard, she looked at him. Her smile had not changed in the slightest. “I'll be right back with your paperwork, alright?”

“Okay.” It was discharge papers, he bet. She would bring him his discharge papers, his vomited on clothes, and he would leave. The faeries he'd been travelling with would probably be waiting in the front lobby of the hospital, ready to laugh at him and slap him on the back and drag him off to another wild party, another few nights of trying to forget what he had given up when he’d made the choice to cross the Lines.

He watched her go because there was nothing else to do.

After a few moments, the door opened and he got a glimpse of high white walls and decorative moulding, gleaming mirrors and paintings in gold frames, before the door shut behind the nurse. She had a slip of cream paper in her hand and a pen.

She held it out to him. “Please sign this.”

He took it, expecting a discharge paper, but it was thicker than he expected and soft to the touch. The letters were incredibly small and the font was blocky and hard to read. The title was illuminated, colourful, and gilded, a green leafed plants climbing up the side margins to border the text, bell shaped purple flowers and black berries hanging between paragraphs. “What is this?”

“Your contract.”

“Discharge papers?” he asked. His head pounded but there was no music.

“Contract,” she corrected. “Please sign it so we can move you on out of here.”

“Am I going home?” he asked, but he had no home. Not now. Not anymore.

“You're already home,” the nurse said.

Niamh shook his head, stomach twisting. He teetered to his feet. The floor pulled him down and he stumbled, the nurse catching his arm. “I'm going.”

“Going where? There's nowhere to go until you sign,” she laughed.

The faeries had warned him never to sign a contract, never to trust a person with a hidden name, to avoid unmarked vans and unclear signage, swamps and bridled horses and will o' wisps, people with sprigs of rowan or ash pinned to their breasts, to not be swayed by the glamour of high courts or old money or the shiny, neon lights of the new money.

“What’s your name?” he asked dizzily.

“Tint,” she said smoothly. She couldn't lie, he knew, but she could obfuscate, tell him a nickname with no power or identification.

“Where are my friends?” He pulled away from her and found it difficult to remain upright. The room spun around him.

“I wouldn't know, you arrived here alone. I promise there are new friends here that you just haven't met yet.”

He looked around. The room was nondescript and plain but there were details he hadn't noticed before. The counters were white, the walls were white, the floor was checkerboard white and black marble tiles, and there was a strange stain in one white tile, rusty and shimmery and pale. Would the door be locked? Would he make it if it wasn't and he ran? “I prefer my old ones.”

“But everyone likes new friends, don't they?” Her head tilted to the side. “Please sit down, Niamh. You are dizzy.”

His stomach was sinking lower, lower. “Did you give me something?” he asked and realized at the same time.

“No,” she said, touching his elbow. He tried to stumble away from her. “You were unconscious when you arrived.”

He looked down at his inner arms. In the crook of one elbow was a little red dot – needle mark. He wasn't strong, always coughing and catching colds and bleeding all over his homework from his nose, but he was quick. He darted for the door and was out of the miraculously unlocked entryway before the nurse could grab him. The hall had high, vaulted ceilings, doors on one side and windows into a courtyard patio on the other, buttery sunlight pouring in. Another nurse was pushing a tea tray down the hall and she stared at him, mouth open.

“Are you lost?” she asked, but he was attempting to sprint down the hall before she finished. His vision spiralled, sending him skidding, knocking into the wall to stay upright. The gown had a back, which spared him some humiliation of running down a hall with his ass exposed to the world. It was a small comfort, but something nonetheless.

He had always been quick, pressured to join track team year after year despite his coughing fits, and the nurse was not fast enough to catch him. The double doors at the end of the hall swung open when he threw himself into them.

The air was not cold but it wasn’t warm, either. The sun was bright but not as blinding as it should have been. It was as if the weather was so mild that there was no weather at all.

Scattered across the patio extending into the green courtyard were tables, and other people in gowns stared at him, plates of sweets and pots of tea in front of them. A few laughed and pointed, snickering behind their hands.

“Niamh, get back here!” the nurse called, beetle-black penny loafers clacking on the marble floor, closer, closer.

He stumbled down the steps, darting around the placid people at patio tables, but the courtyard was surrounded on all sides with the grand building, a beautifully arranged cage.

His nurse had gained an ally in the nurse who was pushing the tea cart, and they hurried towards him together. Niamh, facing nowhere to go, splashed into the nearest fountain and scrambled up the tiered pools until he was crouched at the top, soaked from the waist down in freezing, mossy water.

“Get away from me,” Niamh shouted down at them.

“Niamh, please come down of your own volition or we will be forced to remove you,” his nurse called to him.

“Don't we have enough twinks?” an attractive man in a pale blue gown asked loudly, pouring himself another cup of tea. He had one black eye and a split lip. His companion, skin dusted mauve, muttered at him, kicking him under the table.

Niamh was not magic the way the other faeries were. He had only intent, but no real action, and therefore the nurses were not compelled when he said loudly, “Stay away.”

His nurse glared at him. “You will come down or we will have someone take you down.”

“Hey kid, just come down!” another person in a gown called from a table farther away. They had an IV pole connected to their arm and gently curling horns. They were so delicately pretty he couldn't tell if they were a boy or a girl. “You're ruining breakfast. God knows that's the only good thing about this fucking hospice!”

Both nurses spared the person a hard look.

His heart hammered. The walls looked too high to climb, but could he try? “Where am I?”

His nurse, Tint, managed to sound patient when she said, “I told you, Niamh. You are in the Gardens. You need to sign your contract.”

“What's the Gardens?” he called down, fingers digging into the stone. He felt like he was a container filled with liquid, and the liquid was sloshing against the cracking walls. It was only a matter of time before something gave, either his stomach or his consciousness.

Tint put her hands on her hips as the other nurse went to a man in black body armour standing watch by the double doors and started talking to him inaudibly, pointing up at him. The man leaned his head down and talked into a walkie strapped to his chest. “Your new home and place of employment,” she said sternly, as the man began approaching.

“I don't want a job,” he said, but felt like it wasn't employment he was being offered. “I'm in high school.”

“You will be given the opportunity to finish your education here. We rescued you from the streets. By all means, if you would rather live in squalor until someone comes to take advantage of you, we can make arrangements, but first you need to come down here and get out of the fountain.” She glared up at him.

Niamh shook his head. “I would rather leave. I don't want to be here and I won't get out of the fountain.”

She stepped closer to the edge of the fountain, hands on her hips and eyes hard. “We want what is best for you, Niamh. That's why you're here. We know you're a changeling. The choice is always hard, and we are happy that you have decided to live life as you actually are. But Niamh,” her voice gentled when he gripped the wet, mossy artichoke decoration at the top of the fountain tighter. “Where will you go when we drop you off at the bar we found you at, passed out and covered in vomit, danced half to death? You don't know the laws, the culture, the language. Your friends wanted something to drag around, not someone to look after. We will look after you here, I promise.”

Some of the people at the tables were nodding along with her. Others had their eyes glued to the tables in front of them.

“I can look after myself,” he shouted down, throwing handful of algae. “I didn't drink that much!” It was half true. He had paced himself carefully but still couldn't remember the night.

Tint sighed, voice lowering. “Get him down.”

The guard approached the fountain, pulling out some sort of cylindrical tool. Niamh had classmates with allergies, at his high school, and the thing looked like an epi-pen. Somehow, he didn’t think it was wielded to save lives.

“Come on, kid, don't make this hard. Everyone else is just trying to enjoy their breakfasts.” He had a soft accent, something hard to place. Everyone on this side had an accent, though, and it was futile to try and place it. The languages spoken were countless, here, and all unfamiliar.

He clung to the artichoke. If he passed out, maybe he would fall and be too hurt for whatever they wanted of him. “You're the one making it hard.”

“That's what she said!” crowed someone from the tables. There was scattered, half hearted chuckles. People sipped their tea and watched placidly. He watched a scattering of them shake their heads and get up, retreating into the building.

The guard, whose nameplate read Duergar, sloshed into the fountain and waded for the centre. “Get down here before you get hurt,” he said, clambering into the first platform pool.

“No,” he hissed, standing slowly. He teetered on the edge, but there was nowhere higher to climb.

“Sit down!” The nurses both yelled.

“Get down here, you little shit,” Duergar the guard who was not very fast or good at climbing, ground out through his teeth, which were sharp. He climbed, sopping, into the second platform pool. Niamh was almost within his reach.

When Duergar's fingers poked over the edge to pull himself up, Niamh slammed his heel down onto them. Duergar yelped and the crowd down below cheered, clapping. Duergar grabbed his ankle and Niamh swayed. “You're going to get yourself hurt!”

“ You're hurting me,” he snapped, shaking his leg so violently the rest of him tried to topple the other way. He scrambled to hold on to the artichoke. The algae slipped beneath his hands, forcing his nails to bite into the stone beneath.

“I hate changelings,” Duergar muttered, yanking on his ankle. “Sit down before you fall off of this thing and crack open your head.”

Below, people were talking. He heard what is happening? and someone replied the new guy wants to go home. The reply was too quiet to hear, a murmur that felt like pity.

Niamh yanked his ankle back, harder, but he was not strong and this was not something he could run from. He said, half true, “I'll curse you if you don't let go.”

Duergar hesitated. “If you curse me I'll make sure you'll regret it,” he threatened, pulling on his leg.

“Doesn't mean you won't be cursed,” he hissed, panicked as he dug his nails down to avoid being dragged. A second hard yank made him let go. A third made him go careening over the edge only to be caught under one of Duergar's broad arms. He kicked and bit and scratched but was still brought down, landing with a splash into the water. He pushed onto his hands, sputtering.

“Little shit,” Duergar huffed.

Niamh glared up at him. He could see his pores widen into pox, his hair turn to straw. “I hope you rot.”

Duergar knotted fat, meaty fingers in Niamh's hair and shoved him under the water. Niamh struggled against him, panicking, but Duergar was stronger. He tried to pry his gloved fingers from his hair but couldn't.

He held his breath as long as he could, but the guard did not let go. In all his struggling, his mouth opened and water rushed down his throat, mossy and cold. Panic followed the water into his lungs, settling into each delicate bronchiole.

His heart kicked up another impossible notch and he tried to get leverage with his knees. They dug hard into the algae until they scraped, bleeding, on the stone bottom of the fountain and he attempted to heave himself upwards. Duergar's grip did not budge and Niamh was left in the cold, rushing dark, watching bubbles and bits of green float past his eyes

Duergar heaved him up before his blurring vision went black. He clutched at the mossy edge of the pool, the world spinning, and coughed up lungfuls of water until he was gagging, vomiting up bile into the water. Duergar made a disgusted noise.

The spectators were not laughing, anymore, but they didn't look surprised or concerned either.

“Still cursed,” he wheezed, heart pounding, terrified, in his chest.

His hand pulled on his hair and Niamh gasped, fingers tearing at Duergar's, but Tint shouted “Enough!” before he could shove him under again. “Bring him down. He needs to sign his contract before we can perform a medical examination.”

Niamh tried to step over the side when he was pulled, stumbling instead, skidding across marble through the gown. “I won't sign,” he said again.

But he would sign, and back in the examination room he did sign. He wrote his name – first, middle, last – wherever prompted. Duergar lingered by the door as Tint left, carrying the paper contract with her. A doctor replaced her, a gold robed man following behind him, eyes tattooed on his hands, who stood in the corner and watched.

The doctor peeled off the gown and Niamh let him because there was nothing he could do to stop it. He jabbed and prodded and fondled at his body, took his weight and his height, looked into his mouth and his ears and his eyes. His ribs were painstakingly counted, each joint bent. He did a vision test, a hearing test, and took his blood. At the end of the examination, when his medical form was completed, the gold robed man held his jaw in his hands and stared at him for far too long before nodding and finally leaving, the doctor trailing behind.

Duergar dragged him out of the room and down the hall and into an elevator. It was a complicated series of elevators and stairs and turns until he was being shoved into what looked like a dorm room. Niamh had expected to be left alone, but Duergar came in, too, shutting the door behind him.

His hands went to his belt and Niamh, resisting the same way he had in the fountain, went to the bed.

His first impression was that he was going to be beaten with a belt like some of the parents in his shitty neighborhood had done to their kids, but the belt hit the ground, forgotten. Duergar's fingers unbuttoned his pants, pulling down his zipper, and Niamh curled his knees closer to himself.

#writeblr #urban fantasy #original fiction

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praphit · 5 years ago

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BAMFs of 2019

Here's last year’s CHAMP -

THANOS

(Thanos: ”WTF did you just say?” #Mood)

Let's see if he made it back.

But, first, let’s take a look at some honorable mentions, as well as some people who were trying too hard:

Rey -

Of course she is a total BAMF. So, why isn't she on this list? 3 REASONS: 1) She looks like a racist ex that I once dated. How can someone who decided to date you (a black man) be racist? Did y'all see the movie "Get Out"? You didn't know that the story was based off one of my relationships did you? So, yeah, she ain't ever gettin on this list.

2) The force is cheating - their I said it.

3) This last movie sucked. This rap she did didn't help her cause.

ALSO - there’s this - her rapping. I repeat, she ain’t ever getting on this list.

Nic Cage - cuz he's Nic bleepin Cage

Cardi B - cuz she’s Cardi bleepin B

Hooded Justice - if only he had been in more episodes. A black man disguising himself in a hood, as well as white, to fight evil in his neighborhood, that the police force (of which he is a part of) refuses to stop. Hell yeah! I love "Watchmen".

Lupita! - her brilliantly scary performance in "Us" is def BAMF material.

The Rock - honestly, The Rock is so awesome, and has been for so long, that he needs to be extra awesome to make it.

Trying too Hard. Please STOP:

Batwoman -

I like Ruby, but she's like an elf. She's an elf model. It's not bad to be an elf model, but... If a villain in Gotham, let's say "Bane"

has me cornered, and Batwoman shows up to "rescue me", Imma start praying. He'd swing her around by that red hair of hers until her head pops off.

Rambo - He’s like 80! C’mon, Sly. Please STOP.

Dark Phoenix - a movie about her temper tantrum

Joker -

- not with all of that awkward dancing he was doing

NOW, finally, the top Bad Ass Muthas of 2019!

12) Greta -

Say what you will about climate change, but you can't deny her passion and dedication, and how inspiring it is (unless you're Prez Trump or Fox News) to see and hear a kid like her do her thing. I admit that her winning the honor of "Person of the Year" is too much. But, we all wish our kids would be this dedicated to what they believe is positive change. Plus, she has a kickass soundtrack. Gets me hyped every time!

11) Dave Chappelle

Back in the day, comedians used to be brought on stage, tasked with the difficult job of making a room full of different types of people laugh. Now, it's not just about the job of jokes, but you have to do so without offending anyone, and with clean living. When did we start holding a comedian's behavior to a higher standard than we do elected officials? Dave saw this, and kept doing what made him popular anyway. In a world where most comedians are running scared from difficult topics, Dave plunges right in. BAD ASS.

10) Linda Hamilton -

Old as bleep! We have what's-her-face here,

who is kinda badass herself, but despite being a badass cyborg (or whatever the hell she is), she still felt the need to ask for help from Linda bleepin Hamilton. LH traded her Hospice bingo card in for some guns and went to town on some machines! It'd be like if your home was being surrounded by aliens, and despite you having some fire power in your home and 911 at your disposal, everyone's first thought is to call grandma. That'd have to be one BAMF of a granny!

9) Masvidal -

Allow me to describe this brotha to y'all who might not know.

Some guy was talkin smack to Masvidal, and that guy got kneed in the face by Masvidal (fastest knock out in UFC history = 5 secs). Some guy was arrogant enough to say he was the baddest mofo around, and Masvidal scheduled a fight with this dude for a literal baddest mofo around belt. Plus, that same night of the fight, when he was talking to the media after he had won, he started mocking Conor McGregor, talkin bout Conor don't want none of this. He was talking trash, publicly, about Conor, while people were feeding him pizza. BADASS!

If there is ever a fork in the road, and on one side you see The Rock, Jason Statham, and Will Smith chasing after you, and the other you have Masvidal sitting down, eating a slice of pizza, you had better take your chances with the three action heroes over this BAMF.

8) Nunes -

If you don't know who she is, I wouldn't be surprised. The UFC botched her marketing before and after she fought and beat (badly) Ronda Rousey - yeah, RONDA ROUSEY; remember her? Nunes pretty much ended her career.

The UFC was so certain that Ronda was going to win, and so shocked when she lost, that they missed an opp to get behind a fighter who is better than Ronda (though mad respect for Ronda), and is currently holding TWO belts (first woman to do so). ALSO, she's the first openly gay UFC champ in history. She's so sweet too! - well, unless you're locked in the octagon with her, then she turns into a werewolf.

7) MANDO

I don't know about you, but all of this talk of teamwork from comic book movies can be a bit tiresome. The Avengers, The Justice League, The X-Men. Everybody wants to form a band. What happened to solo acts? What happened to lone rangers? People may say "There's no I in TEAM." Yeah, that's the prob! What about I?! Sometimes, you're Justin Timberlake, and the rest of the group is simply holding you back. That's Mando. He's Disney's updated (non-racist, unless you’re talkin drones) Lone Ranger. He doesn't need teamwork (maybe a weekly cameo, and a baby tag-along, but that's it!). He has beaten up gangs of robots, burnt people up, taken people out Jason Voorhees style, cut people in half, blown people up, blown off heads, BUT because it's Disney, we haven't seen any of that good stuff. He'd be higher on this list if they gave my man an R-rating.

6) Capt Marvel -

Captain Marvel is definitely the most powerful person on this list. She is probably also the fiercest person on this list. In Endgame, when she saw her black daddy (Nick Fury) on the screen, talkin bout Thanos snapped him away, and then something snapped inside of her, and she said "I'm going to go kill that mofo." The Avengers accompanied her, but I don't think she would have needed their help. She didn't really need their help in the final showdown with Thanos. He threw her aside, but you know she was coming back, until Tony got in her way. She is so fiery that it wouldn't surprise me if in her sequel, she goes back in time in order to rematch Thanos by herself, to prove her dominance. The reason that she's not higher on the list is because she's so damned destructive. She's just like The Hulk in the fact that she shows up to destroy everything. Now, she's a lot more focused than The Hulk, but she's so powerful that she does more damage. And she doesn't have much of a personality (so far), so it's hard to gauge her badassery of attitude, you know?? Like, if you're a villain, and you get in the way of a gorilla, that gorilla will destroy you in a very spectacularly badass way, but... it's a gorilla, you know??

I’M NOT CALLING HER A GORILLA. Don’t go snitching on me to her.

I just don’t know if she’s a hero or simply has anger management issues. Is she badass or too powerful not to do badass things?

Either way, RESPECT... or she'll come for that ass.

TIME FOR A BREAK -

Let’s break from all of this badassery with some cuteness

Look how cute it is - I CAN’T TAKE IT!

Ok, back to action.

5) Iron Man -

Look, Iron-Man started this shit! Who knows what would have become of the MCU had Robert Downey Jr. blew it. Tony Stark assembled the team (granted, he was partly the reason for the break-up), he gave us Spider-Man (with that suit) (he also gave us Ultron, but let's not get bogged down with details), he held his own against Thanos in "Infinity War",

Dr. Strange thought HIM worthy of saving, and no way time travel would have worked in "Endgame" without him. Plus, in the very end, he out-smarted Thanos, and countered Thanos' one-liner ("I am inevitable.") with his own ("And I... [five minutes later - I swear that's what it felt like] am Iron-Man.").

Paid the ultimate sacrifice. Hell yeah, he's on this list. I felt kinda bad for his wife. After IM3, she was barely around. And when Tony died, she was barely comforted... cuz nobody knew her. Oh, well.. she be aiight.

4) Thanos -

This dude saw his demise coming, and still went straight ahead towards the foes who cut his head off. BADASS! He was exceptionally crafty in playing The Avengers and blowing up their base. Then, he was just sitting around waiting for the main Avengers (Capt, Iron, and Fat Thor). He wanted to gloat a bit first. BADASS! And had Gamora not betrayed him, and had given him the gaunlet, he would have beaten The Avengers AGAIN!

He even died with a cool pose (he took a knee and got his "Thinking Man" on). BADASS!

3) Arya Stark -

This young lady scared the bleep out of me. She has my fear AND respect. I was actually scared for whomever her current target was... I was like "Run, fool! She gonna get ya! Damn, Arya, you didn't have to do them like that!"

Now, I know I talked about Ruby Rose being a ridiculous choice for Batwoman, but if Arya Stark left on a voyage to Gotham and became Batwoman, I'd buy that. I can see her killing Bane very slowly. This woman is a frickin psychopath, and I love it. She's fearless! She also went up against the top cheese of the white walkers. Y'all remember that badass move she had at the end!

YES! I only wish she had said something cool when she took him out, like... "You've been Starked." No, that's terrible, but something like that. I wish she was the one sitting on the throne, but they... you know... did what they did.

2) Capt America -

I think that it's fair to say that Capt America was the rock of The Avengers After the snap, he was the only one to keep his shit together; he actually worked to help others keep their shit together.

Meanwhile, Widow is crying in the dark every night while having a PB sandwich and bourbon dinner. And she just gave up on her hair.

Thor became an alcoholic.

And you could say Hulk was ok, but... was he?

I mean, that ain't right. This is avoidance behavior if I've ever seen it.

But, Capt kept it together. Then, that fight with Thanos at the end was one of, if not THE best one on one fight of the series. Using both Thor weapons, meaning he was both badass on a fighting level and a righteousness level - which ain't easy to accomplish. And when he straped tight his shield in that trailer, and gritted his teeth - hell yeah!

Chills. Capt to Thanos: You motha bleeper"

1) John Wick -

Three movies with no time in-between to shower, sleep, take a piss, brush his teeth, NOTHING! His life for the last few years (it seems like) has been running, lurking, hiding, beating ass.. and beating ass some more. Lord knows what this dude's kill count is up to. His nickname is "Baba Yaga" Have y'all seen what the actual Baba Yaga looks like?

Terrifying. And yet, not as terrifying as John Wick when he's angry at you.

The amount of endurance and focus that has gone into this long stint of murdering (only fueled by rage and a few shots of bourbon from time to time) is uncanny.

In JW3 he makes a guy eat a book (imagine what must be done to a person's jaw for that to happen), he gets shot, stabbed, hit my two cars (seconds within each other)... Nah, y'all ain't hear me! TWO CARS! The people in the cars were trying to kill him! He fought two super ninjas - like IP Man caliber, he beat up an army of soldiers, crawled through a desert, got shot by a friend who betrayed him, fell off of a building (bouncing around a few times before hitting the pavement), and was somehow still good to schedule a fourth movie after all of that - which I assume will pickup right there.

He doesn't have any superpowers (though you wouldn't know), but his tenacity is to be envied, and outdoes everyone else's on this list.

BAMF!!!

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dark0angel13 · 6 years ago

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LYHC: Chapter 2

Today is different, he feels it in the fire that washes through his every vein; the white hot agony enough to bring a groan from his mouth. This pain isn’t like the usual nausea and ache that settles deep in his bones. No, this is different, worse; sharper than anything he has felt before. The fire starts at his chest and spreads to his limbs like wildfire, each breath only serving to stoke the flames. His breaths come in pants, his hands gripping his shirt like his life depends on it.

This was his last day here, his last day dealing with chemo and radiation; his last day breathing in the stale air that only seemed to be recirculated through the vents. So then why does he feel this pain? He was on his own now; only taking what he needed to deal with the pain and nausea before his clock ticked down. It was scary at first and he fought against it tooth and nail until he got a look at his most recent scans. Now, he welcomes the end with bated breath and arms wide open. He isn’t going to run anymore, he isn’t going to cry or he scared anymore. He’s going to look death straight in the eyes and tell it to fuck off before breathing his last. If he’s going down, he’s going down fighting.

“Natsu,” the nurse at the door startles him and he whirls on her before calming down and taking a breath to let her finish, “the van is here to pick you up, do you have all your things?” Her voice is soft and he can see the tears welling in her eyes. His time here has brought him closer to them than he could ever imagine and he is going to miss them. They were the family he needed when no one else came. They took care of him, fed him, loved him. He owed them so much and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until she walks up and wraps her arms around him.

“Don’t cry honey, we knew this day would come.” Her words are sure, her body warm against his but he can feel the slight tremble in her.

“I’m going to miss you all.” He pushes his head into the crook of her neck and just holds on as tight as his body will allow, afraid that if he lets go she will vanish from his arms. Out of all the nurses, he liked her the best. She was the mom he never got to have.

“We’re going to miss you too sweetie,” she gives him one final squeeze and steps back to place a hand on his cheek, “we had fun while it lasted right?” Her trembling smile only serves to make his heart clench but he nods, forcing a smile of his own.

“Yeah,” he thinks back to the wheelchair race down the halls, the game nights and movie nights, even the pizza party they threw for him when he turned 18, and his hands are shaking at his sides. “We had some good times.”

“Hold onto those memories Natsu.” she gives him a peck on his cheek, turns to erase his white board, and it’s in that moment reality hits him like a freight train. His knees can’t hold him up anymore and he falls into the chair, his breath leaving in a whoosh of air.

“This is the last time I’m gonna see you…see everyone,” His words come out in a sob while he buries his face in his hands. “I’m not ready for this.”

“Yes you are Natsu,” her hands on his shoulders serve as his anchor to earth. He doesn’t know what he would do if she wasn’t holding him right then. “You’ve been preparing for this for a long time now. You were scared in the beginning, but now you’re ready. It’s okay to be scared still, I would be too. You are a brave young man to be facing this the way you are.”

It’s her words that bring him from his despair, and he looks up to meet cerulean. They are shining like diamonds and he can see the anguish behind her smile but he can’t look away. In that moment, it’s the blue of her eyes that chases away the fear. They remind him of his sister, strong, confident; not afraid to show the emotions she’s feeling. He loves her, he realizes then as he wraps his arms around her one last time, holding her as tight as he can to remember the way he feels in her arms. He wants to ingrain it into his memory, his body, his very soul.

“I love you.” It comes out choked but she hums and rubs his back.

“I love you too, Natsu. Always remember that.”

“I’ll watch over you, I promise.” For the first time since he’s met her, he feels her lose control and she’s hugging him so tight, breathing is hard. He doesn’t care though, all he wants is to stay like this for as long as possible. He can feel the sobs rack her body so he holds tighter, willing his own back because he’s cried enough. He is done feeling sorry for himself; done wallowing in self pity when those around him are going to be left broken when he’s gone. Its time to be a man, he decides, swallowing hard before placing a kiss on her head and gently pushing her back.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me,” he flashes her his best smile and she chokes back another sob,” I needed that last boost to get me through this. I’m ready now.” He stands and grabs his bag, tucking his iPod into his pocket as he goes before motioning for the door. The burning has died down, the pain almost non-existent for the moment while they walk and he’s happy. Since his diagnosis, treatment, and experience at this hospital, he’s truly happy for what seems like the fist time in a long time.

The hall is lined with patients and staff, some crying, others smiling and casting him thumbs-up, but all there for him none the less. He couldn’t have asked for a better family than this. They weren’t his real family, but blood ties didn’t matter to him anymore. Family, was who stayed when things got tough, not flake to protect their own skin. This hospital, this staff, his fellow patients. They were his family now, at least until he breathed his last.

“Don’t follow behind too quickly you guys,” he smiles and waves, “I’ll be pissed if you join me too soon.” The laughter turns into tears as he walks by but he holds his head high, determined to be strong no matter what.

The air outside is crisp, whipping against him in an icy torrent and he shivers, leaning into the woman at his side for comfort while he watches the van pull around. This is it, he thinks as he turns to hug her one last time.

“Thank you for everything, I love you.” She’s doing her best not to cry when he pulls away.

“I love you too Natsu.”

The door opens and he’s seated and ready in minutes. His nurse hasn’t left, waiting to hand him a bottle of water for the ride; tears streaming down her face.

“Be brave, you hear me?” Her voice is cracking and he smiles.

“I’ll do my best,” he holds out his hand for her to take one more time, loving how warm it is against his skin, “don’t miss me too much okay?” He watches her face fall and his heart clenches again. He doesn’t like hurting her.

“I’ll miss you every day just to spite you.” Her joke is forced and he can hear the lie in her words but he nods anyway.

“They need you now,” He gives her hand one final squeeze when the driver puts the van into gear. “Take care of them for me, don’t let them join me too soon!”

“I love you Natsu!” She calls after him and he feels tears well in his eyes again.

“I love you too, Mira!” He’s not sure if she heard him because her form crumbles to the ground when the van turns out of the parking lot. Out of everyone, it’s her he loved most; it’s her he will miss most when he’s alone in his hospice room.

The car ride is long and he tries to occupy himself by counting the sports cars that pass them on the freeway, but he looses interest once he hits twenty; instead pops his earbuds in and lets the music take him away. The burning begins to come back in force and he’s doubling over when the van stops for gas, groaning when it feels as if his heart is going to explode.

The driver asks if he is alright but Natsu can only nod as another wave of pain flashes white hot through him. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Something is wrong, he decides when his stomach rolls and he’s leaning out the window and puking blood all over the ground. He is shaking; a sheen of sweat soaks into his clothes as the fire sears him. He stumbles out of the van and collapses into the driver, noting how, for some reason he can’t explain, they smell so good all of a sudden. His throat is dry and scratchy; the burning making its way up until his mouth aches. His stomach is growling and his head is pounding in time with his pulse but all he hears is the panicked breathing of the driver; all he smells is the wonderful aroma wafting from them.

The night air does nothing to quell the fire within him and confusion muddles his brain for the longest of moments. Why is he feeling this way? He doesn’t know the answer to that question, and part of him is afraid to know it. Thinking is becoming harder with each passing second and Natsu can feel the stiffness in his muscles. His body, alight with fire, feels like it’s changing and he’s not sure if he should be afraid or not. His vision changes, his eyes picking up the slightest details around him. Suddenly, he can see the major veins and arteries in the driver holding him. He can hear the fast beating of their heart and he leans in, letting the melody of it trap him in a trance. The voice doesn’t reach him, when the driver shouts. All Natsu wants to do is eat, so eat he does.

He bites down hard, as hard as he can, ripping his teeth to the side when nothing happens; groaning with pleasure when liquid fills his mouth. It’s sweet, warm; spreading to every corner of his body as he drinks, loving the way it stamps out the fire as it flows. The shouts that echoed in the back of his mind are cut off suddenly but he thinks nothing of it, instead focusing on what he needed right then. The food, the nourishment; the strength.

When his body can hold no more he stumbles back and wipes his mouth, licking his fingers clean in the process and breathing hard while his body digests everything. It happens fast, too fast for him to fully comprehend it. One moment he is sitting there, head bald from the treatments, body frail from exhaustion and cancer; the next, his head is covered in soft pink locks; his clothes feeling almost too tight on him.

He feels strong for the first time in a long time, like he isn’t sick and he smiles and leans back to soak in the light from the moon. This is what he’s missed, the normalcy of living, of having a healthy body and mind. He loves it; never wants to feel anything other than this for the rest of his days.

As his high comes down, many things slap him at once and he stiffens. He is sitting in a pool of blood, in the parking lot of a gas station somewhere off the highway. There is a body lying in front of him, its throat seeming to have been torn out. The air is once again frigid to his body and the burning that plagued him has tapered off into nothingness. He sits there for too long, trying to comprehend what happened before it dawns on him and he’s panicking; scrambling to the drivers side and tearing out of the parking lot.

It’s a while before he feels safe enough to stop and once out of the car he stumbles and releases the contents of his stomach. What the hell is happening? The thought replays in his mind while he tries, and fails, to grasp onto anything that can explain what he just did.

“I…killed someone.” His words are shaky but strong. He can hear it; he can feel it in his throat. Just what the fuck is going on? His mind is racing to the rhythm of his heart and he grabs his head, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t mean to kill anyone, he just wanted food.

He presses his head against the cold ground and let’s out a sob. For his driver, for his sanity and his state of mind; for everything that’s happened to him up until this point. It’s a while before he sits, his eyes looking towards to moon as if it has all the answers. It’s in those surreal moments that two things dawn on him.

His body has changed, for better or worse, was yet to be determined, but he feels it soul deep that he will never be the same. The radiation did something to his system that—and this is only him taking a wild ass guess—turned him into some sort of monster that loved the taste of blood. There is a word for it, he realizes and his body stiffens. Vampire. The thought chills him to the bone.

With his new body, comes a new life. A life of stealing in order to live; of killing so that he may continue on. He doesn’t fully understand things as of yet, but he has a sinking feeling in his stomach that, with time, he will become a monster, and he’s surprisingly okay with this. It means he gets to live, to see his family again; to have a chance at a normal life.

Natsu has been given a second chance and he’s sure as shit not going to waste it.

END

So, the next chapter is up on my AO3; the link to that is in chapter one. I’m loving this fic so much right now. It’s giving me the feels. I do hope y’all like it too.

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #mira #fanfic #writing #jesus my heart #this is gonna he a tear jerker #i hope yall brought tissues

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danibuck58-blog · 5 years ago

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Why I started blogging.

Life comes with it’s share of ups and downs, we all know that. There are the downs that we can breath through and the downs that take the breath from our lungs. There are days we wish we could repeat forever and days that will haunt us forever.

On May 1st, 2017, I was driving home from the grocery store with a million thoughts in my head. I’m a mother of four. My two oldest were in school and my two youngest asked to stay with a dear friend of mine for a few hours. I was busy planning my to do list of all the things I could accomplish before the bigs got home from school and the littles came home from my friends. Free time doesn’t come often and I was planning on taking advantage.

My little brother called and said ‘where are you? I need you to come to my house. It’s about Dad, Mom is here and I’ll tell you everything when you get here. Just come over now.’ I kept asking what was wrong and he wouldn’t tell me. Finally he said ‘Dad’s in the hospital, I’m so sorry, just come over.’ I knew right there, that this would be a day that would haunt me forever. You see in my family, there are no secrets. There is no ‘I’ll tell you when you get here’. I could hear the heartbreak in his voice. I knew in my heart, this was going to be bad. When I got to my brothers house, I immediatly knew something was wrong. My sister in laws car was in the drive and I knew she should be at work. When I walked in the door, the faces of devastation I saw made me loose my breath. I’m not sure why but I walked into their bathroom and stared in the mirror. I told myself that whatever I was about to hear would be okay. I told myself to get my shit together and go back out there and face what was going on. So, that’s what I did. I sat down and looked into my moms eyes as she repeated the events of her morning. I was told that morning that my dad had lost his eye site for a few minutes and my mom made him go to the hospital. They found tumors throughout his brain. I’ve worked in the medical field for years and knew that once cancer spread to the brain there was little hope. I also knew my father and he would never go through chemo and radiation. All of this was swirling in my head and all I wanted to do was see my dad. I kept thinking is he okay? If I can just get there i’ll be able to put his mind at ease somehow. I told my mom how sorry I was. My heart was breaking for her. She just found out that the man she had spent her entire life with wouldn’t grow old with her. My baby brother held me and let me have my moment. I cried so hard in that moment, for everything we had and everything I felt we were loosing. I went to my husbands work and broke down. I’m not someone who cries easily. So this was all new to me. I was trying to hold it all together. I was trying to talk with intelligence and strength. I just couldn’t do it. It was as if someone had a brick on my chest and I just couldn’t breath. My husband tried to calm me down. Told me he would take care of everything, not to worry. Once I knew my girls would be okay, I left for my dad.

You see my entire life, I had been a Daddy’s girl. He was the one person who could say anything to me and I would listen. He knew how to keep me in my lane. He was the person I ran to before making any decision. He was the hug I needed to make it through the bad days. He was the calming voice in my head when I felt alone. He would listen to me rant and cuss and yell when I needed to vent. He was my everything.

I can still remember walking across the bridge to the hospital. I don’t remember the car ride there. I walked by the labor and delivery waiting room. So many families smiling and showing each other pictures, I felt so sorry for us. The elevator ride took forever. When I got to the door way leading to my dad, I had that feeling that I couldn’t breath again. I walked in and gave him the longest hug. We both had tears in our eyes and we both just knew somehow that our days together were numbered. The next couple of days went by in a blur. They found tumors throughout his entire body. We would learn that he had small cell lung cancer that had spread. We were told he probably had it for a while. We were told if he did nothing he’d have weeks with us and if he decided on radiation to his brain he may have the summer. He ultimately decided he just wanted to go home. I spent most nights at the hospital with him and we would stay up all night talking for hours and going to the parking deck to smoke. He showed me how I was supposed to live and then he taught me how to die. That may sound strange but I’m not sure what I would have done knowing I had celebrated my last Christmas, birthday etc. I never saw him break down. Those nights were spent with him laying out all of the things I would need to do moving forward. His number one priority was my mom. He said ‘She’ll tell you she’s okay and wants to be alone. But don’t let that happen.’ Then my brothers, he told me all of the little things he does for them ‘when this one calls you upset, he doesn’t want your opinion so just listen’ and so on. He gave me advice on raising the girls. Two of my daughters suffer from genetic diseases and he told me he’d pull some strings when he got where he was going. He told me not to spend money on psychics or sit at the cemetary for hours because he wouldn’t be there. We planned his funeral like we were talking about the weather. We picked the songs we would play, Holding my own by Eric Church was one of them. We also joked about playing Willie Nelson’s Roll me up and smoke me when I die, we both agreed my mom would never forgive me. We laughed and cried and laughed again. I’ll always be thankful for those long nights together. Its not that we had unfinished business or anything that needed to be said. Those nights were just ours.

I drove my dad home from the hospital thinking, this could be that last time he’s ever in a car. What an odd thought during a time our entire world was crashing around us. My families strength during this time never faultered. My mother, brothers and I had one common goal and that was to make sure we were together and could take care of my dad. My brothers took leave from their work, and we all moved into our parents house. We all agreed that there would be no hospice aide, we would be the ones taking care of him. My aunt and husband took care of the kids. I would stay up all night with my dad, come home for breakfast and to get them ready for school and then go back to my parents. I was an emotional zomby. Reassuring my girls that everything was okay, Papa just didn’t feel good right now. My brothers and I being as strong as we could for my mom and dad, and spending more time together than we had in a while. It’s funny how life works. I would consider us all incredibly close but as life goes on, we are all so busy with work, spouses and kids, we don’t have a lot of time to just be together. They would stay up at night with me and I just loved the ball busting, jokes and sarcasm. It reminded me so much of my child hood. Sharing a lifetime of memories, day after day. I could share a million amazing and horrific memories of those days but there are some things that don’t need to be shared.

On May 13, 2017 my aunt woke me up and told me she didn’t think my dad had much longer. I walked downstairs and watched him in his hopital bed. My mom holding his hand. My brothers sleeping on the couches. Other family in and out of the living room. The t.v. was on and I can remember thinking, he hates this show. So I asked my uncle to hand me my phone. I pulled up Eric Church’s Holding my own. Set the phone by my dads head and held his hand. His breathing became so calm. We woke my brothers up, during that time I hit replay on the song. My dad took his last breath. It was peaceful and without a doubt made me believe there was a heaven. Thirteen days came and went from the time we found out he had cancer to the time he was gone. My entire world was shattered in thirteen days. My heart physically hurt for my mom, brothers and most of all for the four little girls I had sitting at home. He was still a young guy, 55 years young to be exact. He had so many plans for the future. Plans that would never happen now. I was 32 years old and didn’t have a dad here anymore.

My entire family loves Eric Church music. My brothers and dad especially. Music was always on in my house. We are always playing new songs for each other. Eric Church’s song Holding My Own will forever have a special place in my heart. It’s become my families hashtag of sorts. My dad passed the day before mother’s day. He’s now in heaven, Holding His Own. A torch was passed to me. I am still here grateful everyday to be Holding My Own.

I don’t think you are ever prepared to not talk your parents again. Especially for me, a man that I put on pedestal my entire life. My anchor and guiding force. He always told me I had a knack for writing and that I should do something with it. Maybe he was just being a supportive parent. You know, like those kids that try out for American Idol and can’t sing a lick?

Either way, I’m off now. Learning how to design a web site and social media. Writing my stories, opinions and advice. God help you all…. for better or worse, my hat is in the ring. Even if nobody reads what I write, I’m content with what I’ve accomplished so far.

This isn’t a whoa is me story. It’s a story of love, laughter, strength and hope. Even on my worst days, I straighten my crown because I’m Dan Brown’s daughter. In my 34 years of life, he prepared me for everything. I still see him, feel him and hear him everywhere I go.

For my father, my family, my girls;

I’ll Live Love and Die, Holding My Own.

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rain0205-blog · 6 years ago

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Terminal State

Summary: She tried leaving, submerging herself in work to escape the horrors she had seen. The horrors she kept seeing. She never wanted to go back to that life. But when the Empire takes her home, she’s forced to face her past. Can she move on? Can she cope? Or will she require a bit of help? still bad at summaries, still working on it. ever so slightly more than slight AU gadioxoc

The Signing Ceremony

...

Dr. Virum finished packing the last of the medical supplies she thought she would need, wanting to cover all of her bases and make sure that she had enough to fill up her entire bag while leaving no room for mistakes. After a strange emotional breakfast with the Marshal this morning, she immediately began to gather up her emergency getaway bag. There weren't many clothes, only what she would need for fighting and travelling. It was with a heavy heart she had dug out her weapon from her closet, cleaning it and having it sharpened before sheathing it to pack it up. The safety net of everything in her grasp would be kept right near the nurse's station, the tension in the air rising with every passing minute that they approached the fateful hour of the Signing Ceremony.

There was so much to do and yet not enough time. Patients waited to be treated and it seemed that they had the most minimal of staff, everyone wanted the day off to be at the Citadel. That's where they really should have been, near the action in case there was a dire need for medical attention. Virum would also be able to keep a better eye on Cor, who was throwing her through a roller coaster of different emotions today. Emergency medicine was her area of expertise, she belonged where all the action was not sitting here, fidgeting with worry as she went about her very slow day. Both Gin and Tash were in today, as Dr. Virum had asked them just to help her sort some things out with the hospice and anxiety patients. Neither of them seemed to mind, wanting to be together anyway during the ceremony. It was still a few hours off but the local television station - which was on in the hospital - was doing full coverage. While there was nothing pressing going on with the current events, nurses and passing patients only glanced at it briefly as they happened by. The sound was on but only on low, the droning of the reporter's words unimportant.

By mid-morning, the last of the transport vehicles to Lestallum had arrived. Dr. Virum and Gin began to bring the patients out, other porters were also strapping in and securing other patients. Virum looked around, monitoring the situation and double checking that every need was met and packing extra supplies, just in case she had to flee to Lestallum herself. It was hard to think about such a drastic exit, however, she always liked to be prepared - just in case. There was one patient that would be going in an ambulance, his ailment taking a turn for the worse in the night and the doctor figured she could spare at least one of them. Just as Gin was about to close the doors, Dr. Virum stopped her abruptly.

"Get in the rig," she instructed.

"What?" Gin looked at her friend confused.

"Get in and go."

"Cia-"

"Please don't argue with me, just get in the rig and go with them."

"No, what is this about?"

Dr. Virum sighed, "Look, I just..."

How was she to even begin? Crowe's death and Cor's emotional train, the blatant dismissal of her uncovering a mole in the Glaive. Something was seriously amiss, so strong she could almost taste it. As she stared at her ginger-haired, pregnant resident nurse, she could feel in the pit of her stomach that this woman needed to go. Virum didn't want anything to happen to anyone she cared about - hell if she had a chance at prying Tash away she would send them both, but Tash wouldn't leave her sons. What was a girl to do? She couldn't very well blurt everything out that had happened.

"I've got a bad feeling and I think it's best if you go to Lestallum."

"Seriously, I am so unprepared for a journey right now."

"I know and I'm sorry. But we've got so many already going there and I don't want them to be alone."

"Cia, I can't go."

"You have to. I'm ordering you as your boss. You have to go, get in the rig."

Gin looked at her helplessly, not really liking this at all, "But-"

"I could be wrong and I really hope that I am. You'll be back in a couple of days and you get a vacation out of it. Please, just get in the rig."

The pregnant woman knitted her brows into worry before she nodded slowly, getting into the back of the ambulance and sitting by her patient. Gin gave one last look at Dr. Virum before the doors were closed and she was safely on her way out. Virum sighed as she watched it disappear from her view, her heart heavy as she turned her head toward the Citadel. The gnawing feeling of dread continued to pulse through her body and she hoped that everything was okay there before heading back to the hospital.

...

Dr. Virum yawned as she sat the nurse's station with Tash. Most of the patients had thinned out since this morning and as they entered a lunch hour there was more action towards the Citadel. The hoards of Niflheim leaders were arriving for the ceremony. Virum recognized the Emperor of Niflheim, Iedolas Aldercapt. That was the face of their enemy, the one who gave the order to invade town after town and kill people by the thousands. This was the man they were making peace with, who would enslave the lands outside of Insomnia and do who knows what with it. Her fist tightened at her side as her other hand came to her forehead, something unfamiliar stirring within her. Virum squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to push away images of her inside the throne room years ago before King Regis. She didn't even remember what she was doing there but for whatever reason this man made her think of it. Shaking her head, a frown stayed on her face, happy that Aldercapt was no longer on the screen. Next, the camera pointed to a man she had never met but knew on sight.

Ravus Nox Fleuret, the former Prince of Tenebrae, had almost an evil smile to him. His hardship wasn't unknown, neither was his resentment for the King. The man seemed to be enjoying the attention given to him, a ripe sort of arrogance surrounding his person. Dr. Virum's eyes seemed to be playing tricks on her. Blinking hard and shaking her head, the image of a dark shadow and a gleaming blade came to her as she drunk in his image. The scar on her neck started to burn as the blade wormed its way into her brain. A hateful glare formed then, the blemish was just a huge reminder of her failure.

Once the camera moved she was shaken out of her thoughts. Virum found it odd that there was no sign of the Oracle, nor any of the Glaives. None of this was adding up and she really hoped the King knew what he was doing because she really couldn't bear it if something happened to him or anyone else. In the end, she was happy that Gladiolus and the others were away from the city or she would fear for their lives as well. It was almost easier to feel nothing. Almost. The cameras followed the Niflheim and Insomnian officials alike through the Citadel and toward the conference room. This was where the signing was supposed to take place. Virum felt fear grip her heart as she noted that the King was not present yet. By this time, everyone in the hospital had stopped their work if they could and stood near the station, all eyes on the television before them. No one said anything, even the steady beeping of monitors seemed to be drowned out by the anticipation of this historic event. Dr. Virum put her hand on her bag, feeling a little safer having her things ready to go.

King Regis entered the room, notably late but still there. Virum felt more anxiety bubbling within her body as she watching him approach the table and take his place beside the Emperor. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes glued to the screen. The two of them seemed to be talking under their breath, as the book was slowly being brought towards them. Once it was placed on the table, a pin could have dropped and sounded in her ears like an alarm. The Emperor looked smug about something, and Dr. Virum caught the look of apprehension on the King's face before it happened, unable to read their lips as she was trained.

Without warning, his weapons emerged just as Niflheim forces began to gun down Insomnians within the room. The screen went fuzzy after that, the connection terminated. Dr. Virum's eyes widened in horror at the last thing she saw and shot out of her seat instantly. It was instantaneous that she could already hear gunfire and the screaming panic outside, soldiers starting to shoot civilians. Athenacia swiftly put her bag on her back, staff and patients alike began to panic.

"Everyone stay calm! Evacuate the building calmly and find any Crownsguard, they'll help you of the city!"

But fear seemed to take over as more screams erupted from outside of the hospital. Athenacia gasped as she was being pushed by people rushing out towards the exits. Before she could get completely trampled, someone grasped her arm to pull her out of the way. It was Tash, the older woman also staying out of the stampede that was the emergency department. They felt the ground shake beneath them, both women gasping as screams were now heard from within the hospital. Athenacia grabbed her friend and yanked her to the door, making a beeline for it. They stayed out of the main trail of the masses, as her hazel eyes scanned the area, however, she could see dreadnaughts making their way toward the magical barrier. There weren't enough for an invasion, simply enough to take down the one section of the city and reduce it to rubble.

Her jaw set, she began to make her way toward the Citadel, pulling Tash along with her. As they got a block away from the hospital, they stopped dead in their tracks. Athenacia's hazel eyes widened in fear, as shards of the magical barrier began to fall toward her, the grip on Tash tightened as the very thing protecting them shattered like a piece of thin glass. Each piece fell and began to hit them - though it did no physical harm to any of them, it still felt like a knife cutting through her skin as it shattered upon reaching her. It left them completely exposed, those dreadnaughts could now attack the city without a problem.

And they wasted no time in doing so.

The city streets beneath them shook, pushing the two women to the ground as MagiTek troopers began their descent into the city. People were screaming as they ran every which way in a complete panic and not knowing where to go. Athenacia pulled Tash up and unsheathed her weapon just in case. It was a modified gladius, something she hadn't held in ages. The blade itself had a purple tinge to it, not completely straight; it curved, widening at the end while it also had teeth on the top and a strangely arched hook at the end. It was made for lingering damage coming out more so than going in. The hilt was a bit smaller, customized to fit in her hand, a guard for her fingers as she clutched it with all of her might. Despite the lack of use it still felt as an extension of her right arm, natural, like she had never put it down. It was sharp, something easily learned when she had cut through a MagiTek trooper that had fallen in their path. Another few dropped down in front of them and she swung her blade, careful not to hit Tash. The other trooper was a bit far so she utilized her borrowed magic, happy that it was still at her command - because if she could still use the magic it meant that the source of it was still alive. That was the only way to gauge anything while she was stuck here on the outside.

Her head snapped toward another hoard of screaming citizens. They were running toward her, some of them falling to the ground unable to avoid the gunfire. Athenacia pushed Tash to the ground, out of harms way before darting to the source of the disturbance. Slicing through one trooper, she ducked under another as she easily threw her body with one hand on the ground behind the last three. In one swift move, she cut through one and halfway through another, yanking her weapon out of the metal body and held up her other hand, blasting the last two with fire. The girl bolted toward the last one, chopping through it while she made her way back to Tash. There were more troopers back at the location of the resident nurse. They fired their guns and Athenacia put up a shield before projecting lightning, taking them all out. A scowl on her face, she scanned the area quickly for her friend. Her heart stopped, eyes widening as she slowly walked toward a pile of rubble that wasn't there when she left. Her grip tightened on the gladius as she slowly approached the area. Screams of terror surrounded her, the ground quaking beneath her but she pressed on. Once she closed the distance, her fears were confirmed and tears welled up in her eyes as she saw the older woman crushed, blunt force trauma to the head and eyes wide open, lifeless.

Athenacia dropped to her knees as her tears fell. Only Tash's head, neck and right shoulder could be seen underneath the very large pieces of the building above them. The doctor put her two fingers on the woman's neck, knowing she wouldn't find a pulse but feeling compelled to try anyway. It felt like a blow as a wail escaped her lips. There was no heartbeat, this woman who looked after her for years inside her job was dead. This was her fault, she shouldn't have left her. It was stupid, she was trying to avoid this exact situation. Useless in the end, who was she kidding anyway?

Suddenly, she screamed out as a bullet hit the back of her left forearm. Athenacia grunted, seething as she observed her wound quickly. Clean shot, good. Her eyes ablaze, she swiftly rose to her feet and assessed the situation. Four troopers, three more on the left. She didn't even bother with her weapon. Fire in one hand and lightning in the other, she shot her attack with a vengeance. They were down instantly, no longer causing her a problem. The girl darted into an alleyway, away from the main street commotion and dropped to one knee while sheathing her weapon across her back that hung diagonally between her shirt and the bag she wore. There was no time to dress this, she had to find Cor right away. Drawing in a large breath, she held her right hand over the wound with a focused look on her face. As always, the gold lights that emanated from her magic engulfed the desired target and she watched as it healed itself and then stopped, standing up. Athenacia couldn't do that often or she would wear herself out. Rising to her feet, she unsheathed her gladius once more and quickly made her way toward the Citadel in search of the Marshal.

...

With the wall gone and the dreadnaughts inside, it was very evident that this was part of the plan. Along her path, Athenacia saw in horror that the crystal was being confiscated from the Citadel and into a nearby airship. That didn't bode well for anyone. If there was one thing she knew about the line of Lucis, it was that the crystal was the very thing that was keeping all of them safe. Take that away and... well who knew what would happen? She didn't plan on sticking around to find out.

Athenacia crept toward her destination, taking out as many troopers as she could in order to save the scared citizens. The once tall and peaceful city was in a frenzy, everyone trying to get out all at the same time. They were scared and dying along the way. The doctor could no longer see the tall building of the hospital, only saw the damage done the Citadel. Most of their efforts were focused in the main square of the city, which unfortunately was where most of the citizens actually were. The outlying neighbourhoods were being ignored and she wasn't sure if that was on purpose or not. Obviously, Niflheim was trying to send a message of some sort. Athenacia was almost at the Citadel limits and noticed that only more devastation was surrounding her as she approached. Human and trooper soldiers alike were attacking everyone and everything. Where was the Glaive? Now it didn't matter, the Crownsguard having their hands full. Carefully she stepped out of the safety of the shadows, charging with her weapon toward a struggling guard that was trying to evacuate a little girl and her mother. Athenacia took out the trooper and sliced off the human soldier. The guard nodded at her as he directed the civilian.

"Where's the Marshal?" she demanded of him.

"Inside!" he pointed towards the east wing.

Athenacia nodded at him and took off in that direction. Everything in her vision was blue as she only had one target in her wake. If she knew Cor, he would be trying to make his way into the Citadel and get to the King. She had to catch him beforehand, pumping her legs as fast as they would go while avoiding any enemies along her path. Bullets grazed her along the way, mostly focused on the guards that were trying to neutralize them. Athenacia only stopped to help those that were severely outnumbered and even then it was for only a moment. Cor was by himself and ready to ascend the steps into the main building and fighting off a wave of MagiTek troopers. Athenacia had to stop them, summoning her borrowed magic to thin out some of the extras and even out the odds while she plunged into battle. His light blue eyes met her briefly as she scurried towards him. Crouching down, her gladius whipping through the air effortlessly as it took out one trooper and then another before she launched herself into the air so that she was by the Marshal's side. They finished off the last of the soldiers and she breathed a huge sigh of relief, her heart was hammering in her chest.

"Stupid old man, you know that you're not actually immortal right?" she turned to him.

"What are you still doing here?" he barked at her.

"You're welcome," she scoffed while her eyes scanned the area.

"I told you to be ready to leave!"

"You also told me to be on standby if you needed me. Well, here I am!"

The Immortal only scowled at her, unable to say anything to that. Athenacia was right and he knew it because he would have done the same thing. Frowning, he looked toward the door of the Citadel and knew that there was no way he going to get to the King. Cor couldn't risk her life so it was best if they left while they still could. The girl matched his stare and awaited his instruction, her pink scrubs covered in dust and blood. Some of it was her own but most of it belonged to people she had encountered along the way since Tash was killed. Cor began to lead her away from the Citadel and toward one of the evacuation points to get them safely out. The dreadnaughts were closing in, causing more destruction in their path as they came. More troopers dropped down and more debris flew in the air - only to fall to the ground with their gravitational pull. The doctor was almost thrown from her feet as the ground beneath her shook with multiple impacts and points of attack above her.

"Cia look out!" bellowed Cor.

Athenacia gasped, looking up and seeing one of the smaller airships crash into one of the taller buildings of the Citadel. The debris was making its way towards them quickly. Doing a doubt take, she thought she saw a strange flash of blue and white above them but Cor had tackled her down, pulling her as far away from the danger as possible and using his body to shield her. The man grunted in pain above her, completely tense and instantly she put a hand to his chest in an attempt to soothe his pain with her healing magic. The Marshal moved shortly after looking mostly unharmed at what had befallen them. He nodded at her and they began to run toward one of the evacuation points.

There were more MT's in their path and they didn't hesitate to cut them down. Most of the civilians were gone now, only Niflheim forces and dreadnaughts above them causing as much devastation in their wake as possible. They were stuck in the plaza, as trooper after trooper dropped down to try and take them out. Athenacia slashed, she kicked, she flipped, she utilized her close range fighting skills. It was lucky that she had done so much training under the man beside her or else she was sure their moves would be sloppy at best. Even with their quick precision, they were still suffering minor wounds here and there. It just seemed to never end. The physician looked up and noted the dreadnaught above them releasing the never-ending waves of their enemies. Setting her jaw, she neutralized two troopers in front of her and held up her hand to shoot lightning at the dreadnaught - but nothing happened. Frowning, she tried it again. Still nothing. Growling she slicing another trooper behind her and found her way closer to Cor. The man was a blur with his attacks but she wasn't trying to follow his movements at all. Athenacia grunted in pain at getting hit before twirling and finishing off what was in front of them.

"Can't you fry them?!" demanded Cor.

"My magic isn't working!" she yelled at him, bracing herself or another wave.

"What?!"

"It won't work I already tried!"

The dark look on his face told her exactly what she had suspected. If her magic was no longer working then it could only mean one thing; King Regis was dead. The very man who had kept this city safe with his own magic and life force was no more, and there was no time to mourn. Fresh enemies dropped down to their level, getting ready to be pushed away by two very angry people. Cor Leonis could only feel that he had failed in his duty to his King, therefore, the wrath he unleashed was unlike anything she had ever seen before. While she was adept enough it still had been many years since she had walked away from the fighting. He was much older than and still fought, still trained and still had his edge without an issue. Athenacia could hardly keep up with him, could barely move while he took out the enemies near her. In this light of devastation with the scowl on his face and weapon in hand, she saw for the first time ever: Cor the Immortal.

It was only briefly as an inhuman scream reached her ears. Her head whipped to the source her hazel eyes widening in fear. From a dying dreadnaught came purple tentacles in the distance as it slowly fell and crashed into a stream of tall buildings in the distance. Although there was an explosion that ensued shortly after, that scream roared off from the source and she knew that the daemon was still alive. Fear gripped her heart as it raced within her, breathing heavily while her right hand began to shake. She looked around in a haze at everything around her, barely hearing Cor call out to her as he fought off more troopers.

Athenacia was filled with rage at the sight before her. The daemon was here, had come to take her home from her. She wanted to run but she couldn't, because if she ran then Crowe wouldn't get justice. Crowe, who gave her life as a Glaive to try and save her home, save the world from the Empire, who lied dead because of her own people. Where was her justice? Tash, a simple civilian who gave her life as a nurse to help people in need. People she didn't know, people who treated her like garbage and never appreciated the number of hours, blood and sweat a nurse put into her shift. Where was her justice? King Regis, who gave his life for years in order to maintain a peace and help his people live. A man who was killed by his own people after years of protecting them. Where was his justice? For all the lives lost to these monsters, some she knew and some she didn't. Where was their justice?

Her jaw set and vengeance in her hazel eyes, she tightened her hold on her gladius and began to journey toward the daemon. Athenacia sliced through anything on her way, seeing nothing but the path she set upon.

"Cia!" Cor called after her.

But she ignored him like she couldn't hear him at all. The Marshal began to run after her, only to be stopped by a very large dreadnaught that crashed in his way. He growled as troopers began to exit the airship and bar his path.

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singledarkshade · 6 years ago

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Regrets

Taking a step into the world once more, Rory stumbles across someone he hasn't seen in a long time. – Sequel to A Small Moment

Author’s Note: Really pleased I managed to pick up this universe again. Hope you enjoy.

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

Rory looked up from the paper he was reading in the office when the Doctor’s voice preceded him and Bill returning from today’s lecture.

“Tell me there’s tea left?” Bill begged dropping into the seat across from Rory.

The Doctor picked up one of the biscuits, “Don’t you have work?”

Bill let out a long groan, “Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Bill,” Rory said softly, getting a quick wave.

Waiting until they were alone the Doctor turned to Rory, “What are you thinking about?”

Taking a quick breath in Rory handed the Doctor the paper he had been reading, “I’m thinking about this.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows went up, “Are you sure? This is…getting back into the world.”

“I know,” Rory said softly, “But it’s been four months since I came here, and I think I’m ready. Besides it’s not an actual job, it’s volunteering.”

“It’s a step in the right direction,” the Doctor replied, “What do you need from me?”

Rory sat in silence for several minutes before looking up at the Time Lord and giving a slight shrug, “Encouragement.”

Taking the seat at his side the Doctor rested his hand on Rory’s shoulder, “If you think you’re ready to get back into the world fully, Rory then you should. I’m here and the TARDIS will not leave you.”

Letting out a long breath Rory looked at the paper again and made his decision.

The hospice he was volunteering in was nice and Rory had been welcomed. They were especially happy that he had nursing experience. The only issue of course was why he wasn’t currently working as a nurse.

Rory, quite impressed by his own thinking, told them that he was taking the year off to spend time with his family. Which, in a way, he was.

He spent about two days a week there, helping and spending time with the residents, speaking with the families which, due to his experience allowed him to help them understand the medical issues.

“Rory,” Nurse Grey smiled at him as he signed out, “Are you in tomorrow?”

He shook his head, “I’m back on Friday.”

“Well thank you for talking to Mrs Whyte’s daughter today,” she said, “That helped a great deal.”

Rory nodded before heading out the door. He was almost at the bus stop when he realised he’d managed to leave his phone. Turning he strolled back to the hospice, relieved no one was around so he was able to slide in quietly and head to the small locker room.

Heading out again he stalled when he passed one of the rooms which had been empty earlier in the day and heard a familiar voice call out, “Rory.”

It had been decades since Rory had heard that voice, decades since he’d written a letter explaining why he and Amy had disappeared but now, in the most unexpected place, was his father.

“Rory,” Brian Williams’ voice came again.

A gentle soothing voice murmured too quietly for Rory to hear the words as he leaned against the wall trying to hold himself together.

“Hey,” Nurse Simmons said when she left the room suddenly, “You must have heard your name.”

Rory nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Mr Williams just transferred in,” Simmons explained, “Unfortunately the doctors don’t believe he has long left.”

“Family?” Rory forced out.

Simmons shook her head, “Sadly he has none left. His wife died a long time ago while his son and daughter-in-law were killed in a car accident a few years back. He moved here for a fresh start after they died.”

Rory took a deep breath, “If you want, I can stay here with Mr Williams. If he’s not got long.”

“That’s so nice of you, Rory,” Simmons told him, “And I appreciate your help.”

She gave him a gentle pat on his arm and Rory returned to the locker room, putting his jacket and bag away again, quickly texting Nardole to let him know what was happening. There was no point texting the Doctor.

Taking a deep breath Rory returned to the room, he stepped inside seeing his father for the first time in what felt like forever.

Brian was pale, he looked fragile and weaker than Rory had ever seen. Rory picked up the chart to read it taking several deep breaths seeing how sick he was before moving to sit at his father’s side.

“Rory?” the soft voice of his father came again.

Taking Brian’s hand Rory swallowed hard before saying, “I’m here, Dad.”

Confusion filled Brian’s eyes and he gripped Rory’s hand tightly, demanding as he stared in astonishment, “Is it you? Am I dreaming?”

“No,” Rory smiled, “I’m here,” he let out a long sigh, “It’s a long story.”

Tugging Rory’s hand, with more strength than Rory expected, Brian pulled his son close and hugged him tightly.

Rory sat with his father and talked.

He told Brian everything that had happened when he and Amy were sent back in time, about the life he’d lived with his wife and the child they’d raised together. Rory went on to explain how he’d come to be back with the Doctor as well as the discoveries he’d made about his biological mother and himself.

He talked and talked feeling Brian’s hand hold his throughout it all.

“I thought I would never see you again,” Brian whispered when Rory fell silent.

Rory sighed, “I’m so sorry, Dad. You always said that being with the Doctor was dangerous, we should have listened, we should have…”

“No,” Brian cut him off, “I worked it out long ago. You three needed each other, you were a team that made each other better. Rory, you were made better.”

Rory gave a slight smile, “In some ways.”

“As a child you were always quiet, you held back and let others take the lead,” Brian reminded him, “When you were with the Doctor, you showed how strong you are.”

“I’m not, Dad,” Rory whispered, “I’ve been hiding since I came here, I didn’t even come look for you because I didn’t know how to tell you what I am now.”

“You’re my son,” Brian said forcefully, reaching out he rested his hand on Rory’s cheek, “You are always my son and I have always been proud of you.”

Rory smiled through the tears filling his eyes, he moved silently to hug his father resting in the embrace allowing himself to revert to that little boy who had looked up to his dad as his hero.

Brian wrapped his arms around his son for a moment before they fell away.

“Dad?” Rory called, “Dad?”

Checking his father’s pulse Rory dropped his head his tears falling.

“I’m so sorry, Rory,” the Doctor’s voice made Rory jerk round in surprise.

Pulling a seat over the Doctor sat at Rory’s side, wrapping his arm around his friend when Rory fell against his shoulder.

“Why?” Rory demanded as tears fell from eyes, “Why did this happen? Why did I find him only for him to die?”

The Doctor touched Rory’s cheek and made him look up, “So you could be here with him.”

“I don’t…”

“The TARDIS came for you so that you could be here with Brian at this time,” the Doctor explained, “Just like she took me to Leadworth so that she could bring you into my life.”

Rory frowned at him, “You met Amy that night.”

The Doctor chuckled, “We were crashing and the old girl did her best. But she did find the one person connected to you that would ensure I met you, Rory. Not to mention you were a nurse in the ward Prisoner Zero was using and noticed the unusual activity.”

“So, I was always going to be stuck with you?” Rory asked sarcastically.

The Doctor shrugged.

Rory turned back to his father, “I should have contacted him when I arrived here. I should have…”

“Stop,” the Doctor soothed, “You were in no frame of mind to do that. You needed time to readjust.”

Rory shook his head, “I wish I’d had more time with him.”

“At least you got to say goodbye.”

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

The sun was high in the sky as the coffin was brought into the graveyard.

Rory stood back from the other mourners because there were several people who would recognise him.

He couldn’t believe he was hiding at yet another funeral, but he was relieved that the Doctor was standing at his side. Keeping him steady and making sure he didn’t let anyone see him.

Finally it was over and everyone dispersed, heading back to a pub nearby for a wake organised by Rory’s cousin, the last member of his family.

Once he was sure everyone was gone Rory moved to his father’s final resting place. He had nothing left to say, he’d told Brian everything the night he died so instead he just sat.

He sat for about an hour or so in silence before he stood.

“Goodbye, Dad,” Rory whispered, he turned to where the Doctor was still standing waiting for him.

Without a word the two men walked away together.

#fic #doctor who #rory williams #twelfth doctor

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counterpoise-calling · 3 years ago

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My grandmother lies dying on the hospice bed in the living room of my aunts house. My dad sits and workson the couch he sleeps on, he does not know what to do. He is just here in the ways that he can be.

My aunt flits about the house like a wasp. She has felt unsupported for so long she has given up expecting help from her husband who quietly takes out the trash, quietly talks to her dying mother. He himself is being forced to remember his own mother's passing. And cannot comprehend how to sooth his wife's hurt.

My aunt may divorce this man once my grandma passes, or they may learn how to talk to each other while going through something horrifically difficult. I hope they try to find their own happiness a bit more.

My aunt believes in The Lord but my father does not. And both need support and need to be selfish and neither one of them has capacity for the other to be that way.

I sit. I watch. I talk to grandma and help get her to the bathroom. She has a week at most I gather.

I wonder what it's like to walk down the final steps in the journey of your life. To know what only lays ahead are pain meds hallucinations and being treated less and less like an adult and more and more like a belligerent child constantly being told to take a nap.

I don't know what to make of any of them to be honest. I dont think there is a right way to act at a time like this. But I know what I want. I want grandma to feel loved as she makes this transformation. As she changes and turns from her physical form.

I don't know of the afterlife or what path grandmother's soul will travel once the synapsis in her brain shut down. But I am happy to have sat down and designed an animal crossing cafe with her.

I'm happy to have helped her to the bathroom fed her her dinner and her pills. And talked about all the little nothings.

I know I'll be going home different again. I don't know when, just as I dont know how long my father and my aunt can exist without harming each other.

But I can help listen when things are hard and help walk with her while she is able, even if its only to the toilet.

I miss my lovely humans waiting for me at home and I miss my bed and clothes and the distant sound of the train in the evening. They will be there when I get back though, waiting with open arms, sloppy kisses and tears and the train will still be running.

But my grandmother won't be. So I stay because I want to ensure she knows beyond a doubt she's been loved.

And I want to comfort myself after with the knowledge that I got to sit here with her every lucid moment right up to the end of her current form.

And I hope when she does decide to go find the counterpoise to life, that she finds that she will continue to be loved long after she has changed.

I see the cracks forming as those around me start to shatter. I'm not made with any different material I just have been tempered by death in a different way I'll shatter too just not today.

#introspective #death cw #hospice #counterpoise #family

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cheekyharold · 6 years ago

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My Prince, Chapter Ten

Read previous chapters here!

I always thought it was weird that you could hear the rain before you saw it. What begins as a small pit, pit, pit against roofs of cars or buildings soon becomes a wall of water in a matter of seconds. But you always hear it running towards you on the pavement. And at that moment, the saying “When it rains, it pours” had never been so literal.

I walked out of Kensington’s gates in a daze. I didn’t even feel the rain soaking my clothes. I didn’t even recognize if it was cold or not. It must have been. It was only the first week of April. I wished this were all an elaborate April Fool’s joke. Sure seemed like one.

I forced my legs to move forward each step. I have to make it to the tube and back to work. I have to – I have to tell everyone…

It’s liver cancer, she said. Terminal. The sentence echoed around my now-empty-feeling brain.

Somehow I made it back to Buckingham. I didn’t remember scanning my Oyster or stepping onto a train, but I made it.

I knocked on William’s door, and he called for me to enter.

He stared at me oddly until I realized too late that I was still soaked.

“No umbrella?” he joked, but when he sees my ghostly expression, his smile fades. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t – I don’t know–” I mumbled, unsure how to even form everything into words.

“Come in, Carolina.” He stood from his desk and walked around it, helping me into a chair. “Is everything all right? Is it the Prince?” When I finally am able to read his expression, I see pure terror. He probably thinks there’s been some attack. He’s about ready to call in an emergency when I place a quick hand on his arm to stop him.

“The Prince of Wales is fine, William.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

I tell him what my mother told me – she’s at late stage liver cancer, far too late to do any treatments. She sits on a transplant list, but with her history and background, the odds are slim to none.

“She’s been admitted to The Shakespeare Hospice in Stratford-upon-Avon,” I concluded. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

William’s face is brimming with pity, but I don’t want it. For so long, I pushed my mother away and now… I’m sad? She was never much of a mother to begin with, but that phone call shattered something inside of me I didn’t know existed anymore.

“You take as much time as you need off, Carolina,” William finally said. “Definitely take the rest of the day. I’ll give your photos to Jude to complete.” Another pause. “Miss Pearson, I know you and your mother weren’t close… but I think you should see her.”

I only nod my head. “I know.” Better late than never, eh?

William slips the camera bag’s strap off my shoulder. When I stand, he surprises me by pulling me into a deep hug. I don’t think I cried yet – it was hard to tell tears from rain outside – but I squeeze my eyes shut and let a couple fall.

When he let me go, he said in the softest tone, “Take a week, a month – however long you need, yeah? Your job will be here waiting for you. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thank you,” I croaked.

The rain outside let up a bit by the time I exited the palace. I called Pip on my way to the tube station to give her the news. She offered to leave work but I convinced her to stay. I told her I wouldn’t leave until the morning anyway, so I’d see her back at the flat that evening.

Back at my flat, I stared at my empty suitcase for fifteen minutes. I hadn’t been back home for close to a year. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone for. I didn’t know how much to pack. I didn’t want to pack, and I really didn’t want to go back home. But I knew I had to. Plus, this distance would be ideal. I wouldn’t have to see Harry’s face, even though the image of his panic was stuck in my mind forever.

Stop thinking about him.

I can’t.

He’s not the priority.

Neither is she.

She is right now.

I didn’t even realize how late it was until Pippa’s keys were scratching at the door and it swung open.

“Oh, babe,” she cooed, dropping her keys and bag and wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

I mechanically hugged her back and said, “Thanks.”

“You need help?” She pointed to the empty suitcase.

In reply, I sigh and slump down onto my mattress. “I don’t even know what to pack.”

“Well, it’s beginning to get warmer so maybe just a few light jumpers and–”

“That’s not what I mean, Pip. I mean… I don’t even know how long I should go. A week? A month? How long does it take to put someone’s affairs in order? How strange of a saying is that – put someone’s affairs in order. What does it even really mean?”

“Whoa, okay, calm down there,” she said, turning to me and placing her hands on my arms. “Sit down.”

Robotically, I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You should always pack more than you think you might need, yes? It’s better to have too much than too little. I’ll help.”

We took the next two hours filling the suitcase to the brim. In true Pip style, she was adding more things well into the night that she thought I might need. I was still in a daze so she cooked us both dinner, made me some tea, and shuffled me off to bed early enough to catch the morning train.

For the entire three-hour journey north the following morning, I couldn’t sit still. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Nothing felt right. Sitting on the seat felt like I was doing nothing, and I felt like I should be doing something. I tried playing soft, instrumental music through my earphones but nothing worked to calm me down. I was anxious to arrive, yet dreading it at the same time. I didn’t know what to expect when I got there.

I had about a dozen texts through the night and into the next day from Jude, wondering how I was and if I was holding up all right. I didn’t respond to any, mostly because I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t know my emotions. I felt everything yet numb at the same time.

When the train arrived at the Stratford-upon-Avon station, I dragged my suitcase off as slowly as I could. I hadn’t stepped on the concrete platform in what felt like years. Of course, the air was the same as in London, but everything felt different here. It was always so quiet compared to the city.

I knew the first thing I had to do, and I dreaded that more than anything.

I had to go home.

I lugged my suitcase the ten-minute walk from the station to the townhouse I called home for eighteen years. The familiar street brought back memories I wanted to keep at bay forever. Most of them consisted of me running away from our house, tears welling in my eyes. Some of them were of me peering down this very road, on the phone with emergency services, wondering where the ambulance was when I thought my mother had overdosed. The neighbors hated when I did that.

It was one of those streets where every house is attached to the one next to it, and each one looked like an exact copy of the last. The only defining feature in each one was when a door was painted a different color or had different lace curtains in the window. I could always tell which one was mine – third from the last, on the left, with a red door that had begun to chip years ago. Now, it didn’t even look red. The door itself looked like, with one blow of wind, it would crumble in on itself.

I turned the key in the lock, surprised it still worked. I don’t even remember the last time I used it. Six months ago? A year? I was also surprised to see the door was even locked. Usually, she forgot to lock it.

Inside was as musty as ever. I didn’t miss the smell. She never opened the windows. She never bothered with heat or aircon; always mumbled something about companies stealing her money. The only ventilation the house ever received was her opening and closing the front or back doors. The smell of old cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, attaching itself to every surface.

I closed and locked the door behind me and switched on the lights. They flickered for a moment, but then the yellow light filled the doorway. It opened to a small hallway with carpeted, stained stairs leading up to the second floor. The door on the right lead to the decrepit kitchen that leads to the dining room and to the back door. The door on the left went into the living room and first-floor bathroom.

I climbed the stairs to the top floor, turned down the hallway past the bathroom and spare bedroom – which had always instead been storage of random objects she never could seem to get rid of – to the familiar door at the end of the hall. I could spot it anywhere. It was covered with stickers and drawings I’d made when I was little. Over the top was a handwritten sign by me declaring for everyone to stay out. I remembered closing it for the last time when I moved out for uni all those years ago. I told myself I’d never come back. Besides the required holidays, I never did. Until now.

I turned the old, rusted knob and walked into the room. Everything was the same. The same pink bed sheets and quilted cover, the desk littered with photographs I took a lifetime ago. I chucked my luggage onto the bed and unpacked the entire thing. Really, I was buying time until I had to be at the care facility. Hospice just seemed like a cruel word. Nothing about it seemed comforting.

I went back downstairs to look in the kitchen for food. I didn’t want to touch anything – every inch was covered in some sort of grime or dust. It didn’t look like anyone had been in the kitchen in months. Maybe she hadn’t.

I cracked open the fridge and frowned. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was completely empty. I guess I should have been glad I didn’t find some old, rotting food. But there wasn’t even a pint of ice cream in the freezer. It was almost noon, and my stomach was grumbling.

I reached under the sink and pulled out the plastic Tesco bags. I grabbed my purse again from upstairs and walked to the Tesco up the road. I guess one upside to living outside of a city was that the grocery stores were so much bigger. Since I didn’t know how long I’d be staying, I stocked up on all the foods I could fit in the two bags. I also bought a few cleaning supplies. If I was going to be staying in that god-forbidden house, I may as well try and make it presentable for whoever would buy it next.

After I ate lunch, I knew it was time. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I searched for the location of the hospice and was disappointed it was only a 20-minute walk away. I spent the time on the walk wondering what I would say to her. What could I say to her? I had nothing to apologize for – she made my life a toxic hell; I had to escape. Turning around and coming back just never seemed like an option available to me. It would only cause a spiral of events. Someone needed to break the cycle. I wasn’t sorry it was me.

Through the trees beginning to bud for spring, I could see the building with the sign reading “THE SHAKESPEARE HOSPICE” on the side. I followed the signs for the entrance and paused for a second outside the front doors.

Walk in. Do it.

Inside, I knew, everything would change. From here on out, my life was going to be different. Soon, I’d be an orphan. Well, sort of. I had no clue the whereabouts of my father nor did I care. I didn’t even remember what he looked like anymore. Maybe he was dead.

I walked through the doors, and a lady with a kind face greeted me. “Hi, can I help you?”

I glanced around the room. It looked like a regular urgent care waiting room. Yellow walls, inspirational posters, old magazines on tables with unknown stains and watermarks. It smelled like bleach.

“I’m looking for Mary Pearson,” I replied.

“Alright, give me one second to look her up. Are you family?”

I nodded. “Uh, yeah. I’m her daughter.”

“Can I just have you sign in here, please?” She pointed to the clipboard in front of her and handed me a pen.

I scribbled down my name and the time of my arrival. She also handed me one of those large stickers that said, “HELLO, MY NAME IS _________” along with the logo of the hospice.

“Right, so–” she peered down at the sign-in sheet “–Carolina, your mother does have a few outstanding fees that will need to be taken care of before the month is out, but you don’t have to worry about those now since it’s only the beginning of the month. I can give you those papers when you leave if you want.” I nodded. She pulled out a paper anyways, but it didn’t list numbers on it. “This is a map of the grounds.” She took the pen I had just used and pointed it on a spot. “Your mother’s room is 007, so right down that hallway. Take a right, and it’ll be the second on the left. Visiting hours are until 5, unless under special circumstances.” She didn’t have to say what those “special circumstances” where – death. “Do you have any questions?”

“I’m sorry, you said she has outstanding fees?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, but you don’t have to worry about those right now.” I knew she was trying to be polite, especially under the circumstances of her job at a hospice, but her smile was driving me insane.

“I’m just confused. How long has she been here? If she only just got here, how–”

“Oh.” Her smile finally fell. But now that it did, I wanted nothing more than for it to be back. She looked sad. “I’m-I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. Mrs. Pearson has been here since the beginning of last month.”

A rock fell in my stomach. She’d already been here an entire month. Who knew how much longer she would have? I figured she had called me when she first got here. But… she had been here an entire month already. I didn’t know much about hospices, but I knew they were the last stop for anyone who was admitted. They didn’t tend to last long.

“Of course I knew,” I lied. “I just assumed the NHS would take care of it.”

She smiled sweetly again, but smaller this time. “Some, not all, I’m afraid.”

I swallowed, nodded, and took the directions she gave me to her room. I turned right at the end of the hall, and sure enough, I saw the room number 007 greeting me two doors down. The door was closed, which I was thankful for. It gave me the time to pluck up enough courage to reach for the handle and turn it.

What I saw almost made me gasp. The woman in the bed, I knew, was my mother but looked nothing like her. I had Googled the effects of liver cancer, but nothing could prepare you for the real thing. Her skin was a sickly yellow color, her hair was greasy and matted, probably from not being able to shower from feeling ill or having too little strength, and, most surprising of all, her abdomen. Whereas I expected her to be skin and bones, her abdomen was abnormally swollen. She looked nothing like the mother I knew. I even double-checked the room number to make sure this was the right one. It was.

I trepidatiously walked into the room. She was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her. I didn’t want her to see the horrified look on my face. She had all sorts of IVs stuck in her, along with an oxygen line and a feeding tube leading into her nose. Her mouth was slightly parted in her sleep state. I noticed her lips were chapped. Something about this room felt suppressing, despite the large window and brightly colored walls.

I set my bag down on the floor and grabbed a chair to pull closer to her. I didn’t want to touch her, still afraid of what I saw. I watched her chest rise and fall, just to make sure she was still alive.

I hardly noticed when a man walked into the room until he spoke my name.

“Carolina?”

When I looked up, I noticed the familiar face looking down at me. I didn’t know what emotion I was expressing, but it quickly changed to shock.

“Callum?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?” I asked, stupidly.

Callum was someone I knew growing up in primary and secondary school. We dated for a couple of years on and off before we both parted ways for uni. We hadn’t spoken since. Now, here he was, wearing a doctor’s lab coat and holding a clipboard.

“I work here,” he replied. Duh. “It’s good to see you.” He offered a kind smile – one, I found, I could not return, no matter how much I wanted to.

I fumbled for words. “I, uh, yeah, you too. Wait – you’re a doctor? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

“Sort of. I still am. I just started vocational training here in autumn.”

“Wow, that’s-that’s great. Good for you.” I attempted a smile. It was weakly received.

He stared at me for another second before shaking his head slightly. “So, um, Mary – your mother – is one of my patients. Car, I’m so sorry.”

I glanced down at her decrepit figure and shook my head. “No, don’t be. This was a long time coming,” I muttered lowly. I kept my eyes off of him. I knew the look he was giving me. I didn’t want the pity.

“She’s on some heavy sedatives for the pain, but I could wake her if you want?”

I sat back in the chair, shaking my head again. “No, that’s alright.”

“Listen, I know you probably want some time. Whenever you’re ready, we can have the talk about where to go from here.”

I look back up at him. “What do you mean?”

He looked a bit uncomfortable. He shifted his weight on his feet, glanced at my mother, and then back at me. “I mean, just the logistics. The update on her health, what the protocols are, all those types of things.”

I pursed my lips into a thin line. I pressed them tightly together, it almost hurt. Almost.

“We can now if you want,” I said. “How long does she have?”

Callum pulled over another chair to sit on the other side of the bed from me. “Well, since she was diagnosed last November–”

“Wait, November?” I gasp.

“Yes,” he answers slowly, unsure.

“I had no idea,” I whisper, looking over at her unconscious figure again. She had been sick for months, and she said nothing. Then again, I didn’t call her either. Not even on Christmas Day.

“Like I said, we can talk about this another time if you want.”

I looked away from her before I let the tears form. “No, let’s do this now. I need to be prepared.”

He was staring at me, probably debating whether or not to speak. Eventually, he began, “She was diagnosed last November with stage four liver failure. End-stage, as it sometimes is called. Considering she’s held on this long says something about her, I think.” I scoff. He ignores me. “However, seeing her health now, I’d say it’s not much longer. A week, maybe two at best. We’re keeping her comfortable, so she doesn’t feel any pain.”

Lucky her, I wanted to say.

“What happens… after?” I asked.

He didn’t have to ask me to specify. He knew what I was asking about. “We’ll send her to the funeral home of your choice, where you can decide the steps from there. Do you know if she has a Will?”

I let out a small, sad laugh. “I haven’t a clue. I don’t think she even has one if I’m to be honest. She doesn’t seem the type.”

Callum gives a curt nod. “Then it’s up to you to decide what to do when the time comes.”

I run a hand over my face, rubbing my eyes deeply. “Great,” I say sarcastically.

I keep my hand over my face. I don’t want to cry. I don’t even love the woman. But something attaches me to her. She is my mother, after all. At one point, I’m sure, there was love between us. I don’t hear Callum get up or leave, so I assume he’s still in the room, silently watching me.

“I can help, if you want,” he said softly.

I removed my hands. I saw the pity on his face I didn’t want to see. “Thanks,” I offered in reply, then added, “but I’ll be fine.”

“How have you been?”

He always had sweet eyes. They were the softest shade of blue. They reminded me of the wool scarf I got for Christmas one year when I was eight. I wore that scarf every day that winter. I was so glad it was a deep shade of blue because it became ratty rather quickly from its everyday use.

He was a thickly built man since he played rugby every year in secondary school. I imagined he continued to play at uni, too. After our final and official break up, I knew I would miss his arms the most. They always seemed to fit around me perfectly. He would kiss my shoulder when he thought I was asleep. He always loved running his fingers through my hair. He was the warmth I needed; the warmth I never had at home. I guess, in a way, he was my home during those times.

“I’ve-I’ve been fine,” I stuttered, trying to put the old memories out of my mind. I had to look away from him and focus on a loose strand of string on my coat.

“I hear you’ve been living in London. How’s that?”

I laughed. “Hard.” I paused. “My flatmate, Pippa Wellington, you remember her, right? – God bless her – has a stable job so she’s been paying the brunt of the bills. But I actually just got a real job for the first time, so I hope to change that soon.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded genuinely excited, so I had to look up. His smile was blooming, accentuating his tiny dimples in his cheeks. I guess I always had a thing for guys with dimples. “What job is that?”

For some reason, I started going red. “Um, I’m actually working for the palace. I’m one of the royal photographers.”

Callum sat back quickly in his chair as if someone knocked him back. “What! That’s amazing! Have you met the family, then?”

The string on my jacket had never been so interesting as that point. I was doing anything not to meet his eyes. I had been successful up until now about not thinking of Prince Harry. “Yeah, I have. I’m Prince Alfred’s photographer, actually. Weird, huh?”

“That’s…” He shook his head. “That’s amazing, Car. Really. I’m proud of you.”

I nodded, finally glancing up at him. “Hey, you too, you know. You’re a doctor! Like, a proper doctor.”

“Almost,” he adds, cheekily.

“Almost,” I said, raising my hands. “Sorry. Almost a doctor. Last I recall, you wanted to be a musician.”

“Yeah well…” He trailed off, glancing down into his lap. “Strange how things change, huh?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell between us then. I wondered if he was thinking about our past as well. The nights I would come running to his house, tears streaming down my cheeks because I couldn’t afford dinner and my mother was passed out.

He cleared his throat suddenly and stood from the chair. “Listen, I’ve got a few other patients to get to. If you’re free, we could grab a drink tonight or sometime? I have a feeling we have a lot to catch up on.”

I nodded, more enthusiastically than I intended. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

“It’s good to see you, Car. I’m sorry it’s under these types of circumstances.”

I stood from my chair, and we awkwardly shook hands over the bed. “Good to see you, too, Callum.”

“I’ll call you,” he said as he exited the room.

I wondered if he really would.

#harry styles #harry #styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry fanfic #styles fanfic #styles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #love #drama #royalty #romance #stylesfics #my prince #writing

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whatupdoecourt · 6 years ago

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My Truth

Have you ever been so confused in life that it literally drained you? These days have lasted longer and made me hate everything. I’ve come to a point where I question a lot things I’ve never even thought about. I’ve never been one to express my feelings and emotions very easily. So writing helps me get things out when I’m not so good at talking. There was a person who knew me so well I didn’t have to say anything. My mom. On March 15th, 2018 my mom died of stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. She was in remission for 8 years after hearing that her cancer had relapsed in August of 2016. The day we found out, it was just she and I going to her appointment. I was nervous but I had all my faith in God that it wouldn’t be cancer. “The tests do show some spots of cancer reoccurrence on your lungs and liver.” After hearing the doctor say those words, it was like time stopped and my body went into complete shock. I had never felt so many different emotions all at once. I was angry, sad, shocked, hurt, and confused. After the doctor left out, I jumped up and grabbed my mom so tight and said. “I can’t lose you.“ She looked at me and kissed me and said, “You won’t baby. I promise.” Before leaving her appointment that day, I threw up so much in the hospital bathroom because I felt so sick to my stomach.

As time went on, the cancer got worse. She was in and out of the hospital two or three times every month. By May of 2017, she’s on her fourth chemo because the cancer was far too aggressive for all of the other chemo treatments. Once again, it’s just she and I going to her appointment. “We have some good news, the tests have shown that there was some shrinkage in the tumors.” She was so happy. She was crying and thanking God. When I heard the news I got up and immediately starting praising and thanking God. This day my dad, my mom, my grandma, and I all went out to eat to celebrate. I think everyone was just so happy this day we didn’t care about the future. We just were so thankful for THAT moment and time. I remember my mom saying that from then on whatever happened in the future didn’t matter and she would never question God again. In the back of my head, I didn’t agree with her. What I was really thinking was, if God didn’t heal her I would question everything.

Once again, another appointment. This time, there is bad news. The cancer outsmarted the chemo and it was time to move on to another treatment. Again. More hospital visits occur and more scary doctors appointments come up. Every time there was an appointment, waiting for the doctor to come in was the worst part. I would want to leave out so badly but I knew I couldn’t because I had to be there for my mom. She lost more and more weight. It hurt so bad to see how her she looked less like herself every day.

In February of 2018, my family had a super bowl party in Atlanta and my mom so desperately wanted to go. So we did. We booked three tickets to Atlanta, Georgia and she saw her family one last time. On February 15th, 2018 she had an appointment to get chemo. When the doctor came in he explained that if she couldn’t take this chemo, there were really no more options. He explained how harsh and strong the chemo was and he started to discuss DNR. “Can I have some time to think about it?” my mom asked. While waiting to get her chemo she kept telling me that she couldn’t leave me. She was so determined to get the chemo knowing that it was life-threatening and that her small and frail body might not be able to withstand it. She still wanted to fight for me. The chemo was supposed to last a total of three hours. She only got in a little over an hour before she started to react badly to it. She couldn’t remember certain things; she forgot where she was, who I was, and the year that it was. It was just really bad. I started to hate myself for allowing her to take the chemo. They immediately admitted her to the hospital. I spent every night in the hospital with her. She started to get back to her normal self. We talked a lot. We talked about the what if’s and the possibility of God healing her. Before leaving the hospital she thanked me for sticking with her and being able to communicate with the doctors and nurses while she wasn’t in her best state of mind. “Thank you so much, Courtney. I don’t know how I will ever repay you. I love you so much.” I told her that I would do it over and over again if I had to and that she didn’t have to repay me because she’d already sacrificed her life for me. I told her that I was honored to do it.

When we got back home she stressed how she didn’t want to take the chemo anymore and we all agreed with her. Her body wouldn’t have been able to withstand it anyway. I slept with her every night. We talked, we watched movies, and just enjoyed our time together. In the beginning of March, her health started to decline. She was put on hospice. She started to become confused and eventually lost her speech. One day, I was sitting on the floor in her room with my head lying on her leg. I usually wouldn’t cry in front of her, but I just couldn’t hold it in. I was overwhelmed with emotion. As I started to cry, she looked at me and said “Why are you crying?” and I told her it was because I loved her so much. She responded with, “I love you too, baby.” At this point, mind you she wasn’t talking at all. It made me happy to hear her say those words, but it also made me sad because I knew it would be one of the last times.

That day came. Where my whole life changed forever. I remember it like it was yesterday. It’s like I remember every step, every moment, and every second I had to convince myself that this was real. I helped the hospice nurse clean my mom up and I laid with her until the funeral home came to pick her body up. I think that I blacked out that day and had three asthma attacks. I mostly remember my dad having to carry me out of my mom’s room because the funeral home had to take her away. I just kept thinking, “They’re taking my mommy away. They’re taking her away from me.” It hurt me so bad because she didn’t deserve any of this. I wanted to be angry at so many things, so many people. I knew that anyone that had ever caused her any pain was drowning in guilt. Apart of me was happy about that. I needed something to be angry at.

This was honestly just a very brief narrative of this process. There is so much left out. I just know a lot of people have been asking how I’m doing and how I’m coping. The truth is I’m doing the best I can. I’ve been carrying a lot for a long time. It’s some stuff that only my mom knew. I had a friend that said, “When someone close to you in your family has cancer. YOU have cancer too.” And that feels so true. Although I haven’t experienced the serious physical symptoms of cancer, I definitely have experienced the emotional aspects of it. From my mom’s illness, I developed depression. I was scared to share this with anyone because of what people might think. So many people everyday call me strong and say how well I’m dealing with this. The truth is, a lot of the times, I don’t feel strong at all. Most days, I am crying all day and I feel so weak and fatigued. Even while at work I have to force myself to keep my mind off of it. And I know that it’s going to take some time for the pain to ease. It’s just that anytime I felt like giving up, my mom was there to ease the pain. She was there to help me get through it, despite her circumstances.

I’m sharing all of this to let people know that depression doesn’t have a certain look. I want people to know that they aren’t alone. Things are tough and sometimes it seems like God doesn’t hear us, but he does. We suffer to grow. It seems silly and unfair, but without suffering we would be arrogant and complacent. Through every trial, we grow stronger. Through every storm, we come out stronger. Because life is hard. It’s so hard. Going through hard times in life gives you strength for the curveball that may be coming your way in the future. God gives us some trials to be able to share testimonies. Sharing our testimonies can possibly help others who may be new to something you’ve dealt with. Even though, I am not healed from the pain of my mother being gone (which I don’t ever think I will be) God has been giving me wisdom and the words to give to others who are going through things similar to me. I had someone tell me, “She would not leave you if you weren’t strong enough and God wouldn’t take her if He didn’t think so either.” I’m learning to overcome my depression and continue to live the way she would want me to. To be happy, strong, kind, caring, loving, and helpful. Just like she was.

#cancer #breastcancer #dealingwithdeath #ripmom #healing #trust #God #life #growth

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nothingofvaluewaslost · 3 years ago

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STORY: Tiled Corridor, Underground

A short horror/SF story. Previously published in audio form in the 3 September donation drive stream of indie game zine Indiepocalypse. Originally written for a competition where the challenge was to write a story purely in dialogue format, but I went one better and wrote it as a monologue.

Content note: references to paedophilia (non-graphic, and not acted on).

As usual, if you enjoyed it, please visit my Patreon.

Tiled Corridor, Underground by Christina Nordlander

Wait. Don’t go.

That’s good. Do you hear me clearly? I suppose you can hear me wherever you are. This communication, it’s not sounds. But I won’t contact you if you don’t want to talk. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to pressure you.

I need to get out. You can make it possible. You wouldn’t do any harm, I can keep this body in check. I can live in society just like any human. It wouldn’t be easy. In a way I guess it’s easier here in the cell: here, I don’t have to control myself. You and the concrete take care of that. But I can do it, even if I will have to do it for a lifetime.

You know what it’s like to have to have permanent control.

You don’t need to let the others go. I know I should feel bad for them. You probably have less sympathy for me now. But you only have so much compassion. If I weren’t a prisoner, I might be able to afford more.

I don’t know how dangerous they are, either. You can think less of me for that as well. But I know for sure that I have control. I can’t speak for any of them.

You humans are the ones keeping them locked up. If you blame me...

You’re afraid I’m going to leave something here in your brain, something small and delayed that might unfold after months. If I could, don’t you think I would have done by now?

I’ve been sitting here... I don’t know how long. You think you’d be able to keep track of the days, don’t you? I don’t know whether it’s been more than a year. I guess it hasn’t.

It’s okay if you leave. You don’t have to decide yet.

I can tell you about my cell, but you’ve seen it. I don’t know whether you’ve been inside, but you’ve certainly been in someone else’s. I faked a seizure once and a few of you came in and sedated me. I think it was me, but it might have been Aite instead.

I forget that you’re not as connected as we are.

If you were in Aite’s cell, you’ve seen mine. The walls and floor are white tiles. I don’t know what the ceiling is, some sort of long white fibres. That’s what I have to look at. It wavers after a while, your eyes wear out. In the place where I was before they had soft walls like in cartoons. I guess here you don’t mind as much if we hurt ourselves. I can’t blame you, if I had to care for something I couldn’t just kill, I’d be grateful for every new scratch or bump.

A few times... but I’m not going to tell you everything, I won’t use emotional blackmail on you.

I’d do that too if I knew it would work.

Strip lights. A cell that isn’t more than twice my body length. Sometimes they come by with a trolley of books – you know that, you may have been the one pushing it. I don’t know how long you’ve worked here, if you were here when they brought me. You might not remember either.

If this were, I don’t know, a juvenile prison or hospice, I guess there would be a common room with films and video games. There’s none of that. You don’t want us to see each other. It’s the sessions in the gymnasium, medical check-ups. That’s when I get to see something other than tiles. You’re humane, you don’t want us to die quickly, even though that would make it easier for you.

I like communicating with you. It’s like a connection, even though I never forget that you’re a guard. Is that what people used to call Stockholm syndrome? It’s not that I like you. But you’re the only thing out there. Even if I fail, you will have given me something to remember.

It’s as if even an enemy is better than... the void.

Are you an enemy? Before I came here I never thought about what it’s like being in prison. In regular prisons I guess there is an agreement between prisoners and guards, since the prisoners have something to lose. The ones who aren’t serving life. Five times I’ve tried to pull you guards apart and run, and I’ve been tased five times. I don’t know if it was five. I’m guessing the number.

If you’re still listening to me, that means you haven’t made up your mind to leave me. Because I guess you could notify some superior that I’m trying to influence you, or arrange to get transferred to some other complex. I don’t know. I’m guessing again.

I’m trying to influence you. Wouldn’t you, in my place?

Don’t leave me here.

Come back. We’re like battery chickens down here. It’s not going to get better because you don’t see it.

I won’t say it again...

I’ve come to know you well since I started. I’m sorry. I don’t choose to root in people’s brains. If I stopped myself from doing it consciously, I’d still do it when I dream.

I know the secret you’ve stowed under everything. The children, the eternal vigilance. I could tell your colleagues, your superiors. I could tell your parents. I won’t do that, because what would I achieve? But now you know I can.

You’re going away...

I misjudged you, and I can’t afford to misjudge here. So let me tell you that I respect you. You’re doing your part protecting humanity from monsters, from something that isn’t human. I know you don’t do it because you enjoy hurting us. I would want to do it myself, if I were a functional human.

I guess you’re protecting humanity from another monster. You got this job because the medication... slows you. Shields you. So that you’re not as responsive to our suggestions as your colleagues.

The other guards would be more open to me. Yet you’re the one I’m talking to.

I’ve come to know you so well, and I hope you’ve come to know me... at least a little. I would be so happy to open to you and let you do things inside my head, too, in the interest of fairness.

I could help you do it. That would be if we were out of here, then we’d have time.

But I’m trying to bribe you with that, you who can go dancing when you finish at seven, you who can feel the scent of the air outside, the wind that has brushed through branches, and watch films and meet people when you choose. I said that I was going to respect you.

If I thought that... if I didn’t respect you, I would try bribing you with something else. The cell must be under surveillance, but I’m certain you’re authorised to bring me somewhere else... for as long as you’d need. I would do it, too. I wouldn’t see it as a trade. We know each other, after all. I’m not saying this to flatter you. I don’t know whether I love you.

You know I’m a lot older than this body looks. You will never find anyone else who has an adult mind and a body that is uncorrupted. You used to look at them so long in the streets, at the beaches, didn’t you? Not at bikini straps, but at facial movements and gestures. All that you knew was regular pre-adolescent energy and joy, you wanted to see as a potential libido that had started to find a way out. You knew it wasn’t there, and yet you wanted to convince yourself that you saw it.

I might not be your type. You won’t find anyone better than me, not with this mind and this face. I still wouldn’t be your type, since you take the blocking medicine. Yet I try to bribe you with sex and companionship, you who are insusceptible. If you were the one in a cell as wide as you’re tall you would be just as pathetic, you’d throw yourself at anything where you saw a possibility. I might not be anyone’s type.

If you had me, you wouldn’t need the medication any more. Then you would know whether I am.

It felt good the first time you took a tablet and felt its effect on your neurons. For the first time in years, you had mental capacity left for something else than forcing the monster down.

Do you think I chose to be a monster?

I’m going to leave you now, so that you can make your decision. And I guess you’re more rational than most people. But you’re so tired all the time, aren’t you? As if your body is still fighting it, while your mind is busy elsewhere.

Do you think I would hurt you? I let you see into my mind. It’s as open to you as you are to me. And do you see anything in there?

I wouldn’t hurt you anyway. It’s not even a matter of loyalty. Once I’m out, what would I achieve by playing around with you? The only reason for you to believe that would be that you thinkcome herethat I’m a sadist, a monster.

But you’recome hereproof that we don’t need to obey our nature.

I could bribe you with how happy, how rapturous we would be, but I don’t need to. I know you will do what you feel is morally right. Come here.

Feel the rhythm of your steps in the corridor, hard-rubber pulsing. Hear your ID badge clicking a little against your chest pocket with every step.

Press the badge to the sensor and feel the quick mental satisfaction when it chimes to life. Thumb in the code.

Come here.

The cell door is ahead of you. If you were going to hesitate – but you wouldn’t have come this far if you hadn’t made up your mind.

Come here.

The texture of your soles, so close outside the door that I too hear them.

And it’s different, hearing real noises.

The badge. The code.

The handle.

Come here.

THE END

#fiction #science fiction #horror #second person narration #monster

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