#i am currently sick. and it’s getting kind of worse. like help nausea wasn’t part of the deal !!

[forourtomorrows]

haiii drawing requests are open !! please don’t hesitate to request characters and stuff !!

[fallenhero-rebirth]

Brain update

First, let me say that this isn't about what anybody has done. My reactions are not in proportion to anything that has happened, and might be considered odd, weird and sensitive to people involved.

So let me explain.

I'm an Aspie (what we call ourselves in Sweden), on the autism spectrum. Yeah, might have guessed that from the story I'm writing, Sidestep is not the only one trying to figure out how people work.

Over the years I have built up an arsenal of knowledge and analysis to be able to pretend to be neurotypical, something that I can manage alright most days, but which breaks down once you get to know me better. I'm open with this at my current job, and luckily both my bosses seem to be okay dealing with open communication and just telling me what I need to do.

It was not always like this, and that is one of the reasons why I had a breakdown and needed to get off discord/tumblr.

Back in the late nineties, I had finally got my dream job. I was a product developer in the food industry, part of a rather small department of middle-class academics. I was the new hire, everyone else had worked there for years, and things were going well. Or so I assumed. I got cool projects, got along well with one of the sales people, and well, my boss was weird but bosses always are.

Three years later. Our parent company wanted to sell us off, everyone was starting to get worried about their job. We tried to expand into things were weren't equipped to do (you don't bring spices into a fruit jam line, will be hell to clean) and while I did the projects, I also raised an (in retrospect) too big stink about the fact that we were wasting time developing things we couldn't produce without expanding. My boss (who I had learned was a devout christian) started to get really weird, I got called in and he wondered if I was a member of a cult (I was often wearing a headscarf at the time because pressure on my head is good for stress relief). I also got told off for wearing army boots to work (we had lab shoes in the lab), because (I kid you not) if we had danish visitors to the lab (we didn't have visitors) they could be offended since they had once been occupied by Nazis. Yes, at the time I was an Antifa metalhead/satanist, it was a very volatile time in sweden and nazis were everywhere. Now they're a political party, go figure.

It all came to a head when I was confronted with a folder one of the secretaries of the department had where she had written down every odd and strange thing that I did, and there were a lot of accusations of things I quite frankly blocked out. Around this time I was suffering from bad burnout, had memory loss, my hair was falling out and I lost two bikes because I forgot where I parked them. All because of workplace hostility.

So for the first time ever, I went to the company doctor, who immediately sent me on a one month sick leave, and gave a reference to a therapist. When I went and told my boss, his reaction was "It can't be anything at work," in a dismissive tone. I wrote my resignation right then and there, left the building, snuck back a Saturday to clean out my stuff so I didn't have to meet anyone. Luckily I was backed up by my union, so I got unemployment despite quitting, and the therapist helped me get back on my feet and hook me up with some antidepressants.

Still, I was a wreck for years.

At the time, I had NO idea I was an Aspie. It weren't talked about, the only thing I knew about Autism, was from the various portrayals in movies, and well, in the nineties you can guess. Rainman pretty much was it.

What destroyed me the most was not that people disliked me, I didn't like them either, we didn't have anything in common, and middle-class people always scared me. No, what broke me was the fact that my system failed.

See, I had built up myself over ten years into someone I wanted to be. Smart. Capable. Metalhead. Researcher. Activist. I thought I knew the rules. How to interact.

It turned out I knew nothing. People had been talking behind my back for years, and I didn't know. Getting annoyed by my ticks, and I had no idea. Nobody ever brought anything up to my face until it exploded one day out of the blue. This is why I have ranted about anons on this tumblr. This is why I have been so openly against passive aggressive posts and bullying, especially the anonymous kind, because it destroys people and I don't think the people who does it knows the impact they can have. I hope they don't.

I have never gone back to the lab. I can't. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it when I'm writing this. I retrained. Became a machinist. Back to the working class I came from. Eventually started writing.

And this is exactly what these last months have felt like.

I thought I understood things. I was pretty open with being old, an Aspie, not understanding memes, or humor, or tik tok, or certain aspects of people's behavior like jealousy, but the problem with joking about this is that it's so easy to take as just a joke. That I'm just making fun of myself (oh it's that too). I got advice from some of you, which I ignored, because I thought that I could be different. That there was no danger in getting close. That I could be just another voice in the crowd. An occasionally evil avocado. That this couldn't blow up in my face, that everything was cool.

And then it did. And I was wrong. And the talking started, and things were coming out that I had no idea that was going on. That I was being held responsible for. Opinions that were spoken in my name. Events I was supposed to have been aware of and supported. All of a sudden I was omniscient, aware of the true passive aggressive meaning of every reblog, aware of every post in every room in the discord I wasn't even running. Wasn't even a mod on. All of a sudden I had power, and I had used it to hurt people. The people I cared about. Everything I wrote was taken in the worst possible way, twisted into things I never meant, and the more I tried to talk to people, the worse it went.

Look. I know this was at heart a war between people that just doesn't like each other and the things they do/the ways they behave. I'm still not entirely sure who's been involved, and I'm not interested in finding out. I tried to build a supportive space, reblog everyone's art and fics, encourage people to make their own things, get a kofi, get some money, make some friends.

And herein lies my problem.

I thought I understood how to be, and now I don't. I have no idea who hates my guts and who doesn't (well, except some who has very vocally let me know). I can't trust anything. I can't trust anyone. And it sucks. Someone I trusted stabbed be in the back because they were convinced I stabbed them in the back and that sucks more than I can describe. Every time I make a comment on AO3 or twitter it's after psyching myself up for half an hour, and I'm usually a wreck afterwards, because my brain doesn't know if they hate me too, and if I am imposing on them and making their day bad.

So yeah. I need to figure out how to be. How not to have a nausea attack every time I accidentally click open tumblr from pure reflex, looking away from the screen just not to see how may messages I have.

I never wanted to be the aloof author, but maybe I have to be. The question is if I can. I have been told I can't comment on pics or fics, because then I have favorites. And that makes people jealous. And it makes people think I take sides. I have been told I can't be on the discord, because then I will be held responsible for what the mods do there, and everything that's said even when I'm not around. I should apparently have someone manage the tumblr, it's not something that I, an author should do.

I now understand the authors who just stay away and remain distant, because people give themselves the power to write the narrative for you.

Part of me wants to tell people what I've told my current bosses, don't assume, just talk to me. I don't pick up/do passive aggression, I don't understand hints, I have trouble with nuance, I don't listen to gossip, I don't interact enough to know anything that's going on. Just ask before assuming.

Except that right now I can't. I can't talk about any of this. It's too close. It sets me off. It's getting better, sure, I'm on medication again, but the smallest thing still can ruin my entire day. I have no idea how long it will take me to recover and come back to some semblance of normality. I'm not posting this myself (my partner does). Writing is going well, because it lets me not be myself. I need those walls again. The therapy of writing about pain.

I'll rebuild them. I'm not entirely sure who I'll be on the other end of it. We'll see.

I have consciously not spoken about any details because those could be misunderstood, this is not a passive aggressive callout to anybody. I have no hard feelings towards anyone, I am not angry or upset, just confused and sad. I am truly so very, very, very sorry that I've hurt people, both by action and inaction. It was never my intention. I will do my best to do better in the future.

Still working on how to do that.

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 12

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2588

Warnings:  Pregnancy, mentions of past child abuse

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 12: Confrontations

It took a lot of legal toing and froing to get to an agreed time for my parents to come.  They were reluctant to agree to the terms of having lawyers present or having the meeting here at their expense.  They ended up agreeing to everything because, in the end, it was them wanting something from me, not the other way around.  By the time it was all arranged and the meeting was happening my morning sickness had well and truly kicked in.

There were now three of us with morning sickness and it made for some awkward mornings.  For starters, we could set each other off.  If Natasha or I had morning sickness, it always made Wanda’s worse.  Natasha could hear someone throwing up, but if she saw it, we had to move or she’d be throwing up on top of us.  It was a good thing we had lots of bathrooms, and it was becoming a little more common for the three of us to decide not to spend the whole night together for fear of setting each other off in the morning.  Not always, we usually had a little warning before it got bad, but if there had a few days in a row where we were all very ill, we would take a break.

A whole array of temporary house rules had been established because different things set us off.  Coffee had to be drunk in the kitchen away from me and Wanda.  All the shampoo and conditioner was now unscented and we had found exactly one brand of soap we could agree on.  Bucky and Tony weren’t allowed to wear their preferred aftershave.  No bacon at all in the house.

On the day I was supposed to meet with them I woke up and immediately dashed to the bathroom, emptying my stomach of its contents and then just dry heaving.  Bruce followed me in, having shifted into just Bruce.  While I threw up he held my hair back off my face and when it was clear I had nothing left he wet a washcloth with cold water and wiped my brow and down the back of my neck.

“It seems extra bad today,” he said.  “I missed it last time.  Is this just how it is or are you stressed about today and it's making it worse?”

I shook my head and pressed my forehead to the cold tiles on the wall.  “It was bad last time too, but I was also stressed then, wasn't I?”

“Right,” he said.  “Of course.  What can I do?”

“Help me up?” I asked.

He helped me to my feet and started the shower.  I ran my fingers through the threads from me to the others.  My morning sickness had set Wanda’s off and Sam was currently with her as she threw up in the bathroom down the hall.  Natasha was in bed with Clint and Bucky all of them were awake and she wasn’t feeling great.  Steve and Tony were downstairs with the twins, while Thor was just getting up.  He appeared in the bathroom and began to strip his underwear off.

“Perhaps I should go to Asgard and get some elixir for the three of you.  It works much better for nausea than the pills you’ve been taking,” he said.

“That might be a good idea,” I agreed as I stepped into the water.

Bruce and Thor followed me in and Bruce grabbed the shampoo and began to work it through my hair.  “Are you sure you want to go through with this today?”  Bruce asked.

I shook my head.  “No,” I said, feeling myself tense up again, even as Bruce’s fingers worked over my scalp.  “But I’m going to anyway.  Better I end this.”

Thor cradled my jaw and tilted my head up to look him in the eyes.  “You are in the position of power now,” he said.  “Do not let them return you to that frightened child you once were.  You are not that little girl anymore and stressing so much is not good for the baby.”

I gave a small nod and he leaned down and brought his lips to mine.  I relaxed into him and Bruce kissed my shoulder gently.  I pulled back and sighed. There was a huge part of me that wanted to forget everything.  To just have shower sex so that it might chase off the last of my nausea and then to head downstairs and have a nice normal day with the people I’d chosen to spend it with.  Instead, I ran my hand down Thor’s chest and gave a small nod.  “Okay.  I better get a move on.”

I showered and took a long time deciding what I wanted to wear.  The last time my parents had seen me in person I was 16 and goth.  I didn’t know if right now the image I wanted to go for was professional or more me.  I didn’t want to give them a reason to think for a second I was there in a casual capacity.  I didn’t want them to have a reason to pick at me.  But at the same time, I didn’t want them to think I’d turned out to be the person they wanted me to be.

I ended up opting to dress how I wanted to.  This wasn’t a trial.  This was my parents and they needed to see me how I was now.  I put on a black romper with a sheer duster that attached at the waist and had a Maleficent print.  I did my hair and makeup and headed downstairs to breakfast with Thor and Bruce who had now shifted into his midway form.  Wanda was in the dining room eating a millet porridge next to Sam who had a plate of eggs and sausage.  The kids were in the living area watching cartoons with Clint, Bucky, and the puppies, while Steve, Natasha, and Tony sat on the couches near the spiral staircases.

Steve, Tony, and Natasha stood as I came down and followed me over to the table.  “You’re sure you want to do this?”  Steve asked.

I took a seat and grabbed myself some toast and chuckled.  “Already had this conversation today.” 

“Right,” Steve said.  “Well.  Just remember we’re all up here if you need us. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll support you.”

“Thank you, Steve,” I said and sipped my tea.  “You’re making it sound like I’m going to negotiate for national security.”

He chuckled and rubbed my arm.  “I know, sweetheart,” he said.  “But I know how anxious this has made you.  It’s a big deal.”

“Thanks,” I repeated.  “I don’t think I can handle another pep talk though.  I just want it over with.”

“Have they arrived yet, FRIDAY?”  Natasha asked.

“They’re just going through security now,” the AI replied.

Bruce seemed to panic a little and just started shoving food into his mouth.  I laughed and patted his arm.  “Relax.  They can wait.  Take your time.”

“Thanks, El,” he chuckled and slowed back down again.

It took a little while for Bruce to finish eating and it made me spitefully happy thinking about my dad trying not to lose his mind while I made him wait.  When he was done everyone stood and they walked me to the elevator.

“If they want money, you can give it to them,” Tony said, just as the elevator door opened.  “Pay them off and get them out of your life again.”

I shook my head.  “I don’t want that, Tony,” I said. “If they want money, they’re out of my life.”

He nodded and he, Natasha, and Steve kissed me goodbye, and Wanda, Bruce, and I caught the elevator down.  Wanda took my hand wordlessly, and when she did that, Bruce placed a large hand on my back so that his fingers curled around my side.  The elevator stopped and we were greeted by three of Tony’s legal team.

“Doctor Cooper, your parents are waiting through here,” one said and led us through into the conference room.

My mom and dad and their lawyer stood as soon as we came in.  They’d aged so much since I’d seen them.  Dad was going bald and his hair was more grey than brown, and mom was clearly dying her hair.  Seeing them, even as different as they looked, only made me think of him hitting me and her telling me that's just how men were and I should expect it from my husband too.  There was no thread between me and my father and the one to my mother was so faint I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not.  I knew then it didn't matter what else happened today, these people weren't my family, and I wasn't going to let them back in my life.  Not how they were.

“Elise,” mom said, taking a step forward and holding out her hands.

One of our lawyers cleared his throat.  “We have organized this meeting at the request of Mr. and Mrs. Cooper but it should be clear, Doctor Cooper has no desire to rekindle any kind of relationship with her abusers.”

“Elise...” my mother said, furrowing her brow.

I took a seat and everyone else sat down too, Wanda and Bruce flanking me on each side.

“Well, here I am,” I said.  “Tell me what it is you want.”

Mom looked at dad who just folded his arms over his chest.  “We want our daughter back,” Mom said.  “You ran away, we didn’t kick you out.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.  “I left because he was beating me and you were grooming me.”

“Honey, I know your father could lose his temper…” Mom implored.

I felt Bruce tense and he leaned forward over the table.  “No, I think you’re mistaken.  I can lose my temper.  Your husband beats helpless children,” he growled and balled his fist.

My parents blanched and scooted back in their chairs.  I placed my hand on his arm as he sat back in the chair.  Mom looked at dad and nudged him.  He scowled and let out a breath in a huff.

“Elise, you know I love you,” he said.  “I’m sorry for the things I did.  I was sorry when I did them.  I want us to have a relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.  “And despite the fact that for over six years where I was has been a topic of media coverage, and for the six years before that, I wasn’t even hiding and had my name on academic papers but you’ve only chosen now I’ve married one of the richest men on the planet to try and get in contact, that’s a coincidence?”

“It’s not a coincidence,” he said.  “We saw you get married and we realized we should have been there.”

“So you could be seen hobnobbing with the rich and powerful?”  I hissed.

Wanda put her hand on my arm and I looked at her, her eyes glowed pink.  ‘He’s not exactly lying.  There are some things there about the connections they could make, but they have missed you,’ she sent.

‘Have they changed?’ I sent back and she shrugged in response.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  “I don’t think I want that,” I said.  “What you did to me, how I was the family scapegoat, the way you would hurt me and then buy my forgiveness, how you’d make me lie to people about my injuries so you wouldn’t get in trouble, how nothing I did was good enough for you; those things fucked me up for so long.  They made me doubt whether anyone could love me.  They made it hard for me to trust anyone.  I can’t accept gifts from people without expecting that some kind of pain will be attached to it.  You made me feel like I was worthless and it took a long time to retrain myself to know that I wasn’t.  I can’t have you back in my life because I don’t want to be reminded of how the people whose job it was to love me couldn’t even do that.”  I had told myself they weren't going to make me cry, that they didn't get to see how they were still able to hurt me, but by the end of my rant I was openly weeping.  Wanda had taken my hand and was holding it tightly and Bruce was caressing my back.

“I'm sorry, Elise.  I'm sorry we made you feel like that.  I'm sorry I never stopped him,” mom said.

“You're still with him!” I shouted.  “And Amanda looked scared.  Why was she scared about going back to you alone?  Why are you still with the man who broke your daughter's bones on multiple occasions?  Wasn't it your job to protect me from that?”

Mom opened and closed her mouth like a fish and dad has stiffened up in his chair.  “Now look here, Elise,” he huffed.

“No!” I shouted.  “You look here!  You don't get to be part of my life anymore.  You aren't my father.  You forfeited that when you first shattered the bones in my arm.  I don't care if you've genuinely changed.  You had sixteen years to show me you loved me, but all you taught me was self-loathing, pain, and fear.  I won't let you do that to me again!  I want nothing to do with you!”  I turned to my mother and she flinched from me.  “If you do honestly want a relationship with me, that might be possible.  Under these conditions; you leave dad.  Completely.  If you need help, I will do that, but you're not to have any contact with him outside of divorce lawyers.  You will get therapy.  I can help with that too.  Then I'll let you see me.  If things go well I'll let you meet some of the others and eventually the kids.  But know this, this is me, mother.  I am a bisexual woman in a relationship with nine people.  These aren't my friends, they are my lovers.  We have children together.  I did not follow your life plan of marrying rich and being a good housewife.”

“Elise!” Dad snapped and had he used that voice a moment ago I probably would have cowered like a kicked dog.  Something had snapped in me though.  I was well and truly done.  I knew who I was and what I was worth and I would not be afraid of him ever again.

I got up ignoring him and I looked at the lawyers.  “I’m done here.  I'd appreciate it if one of you would sort out getting a restraining order set up against my dad, for both me and the kids.”

“Of course,” the one closest to me said.  “We’ll get that started right away.”

I turned back to my parents and folded my arms.  “Goodbye,” I said.  “I'd say it was nice seeing you, but you never did like it when I lied.”

I strode out of the room followed by Wanda and Bruce and when we were out Bruce scooped me up into his arms like a doll and hugged me.  “I am so proud of you,” he rumbled.

“Me too, Elly,” Wanda said, rubbing my leg.  “You were amazing.”

“Okay, okay!” I said, snuggling into Bruce’s chest.  “Take me back to my real family.”

Bruce chuckled and hoisted me up onto his shoulder. “You've got it,” he said.

// NEXT

[relv07]

moonfire

I am so incredibly excited to be posting my fic for @noragamibigbang​ !!!! You can read it here on AO3. The first half is up now and the second half will be posted before Saturday.

Title: moonfire

Summary: Iki Hiyori discovers a guy passed out on her twelfth-story balcony one morning, and her life just gets stranger from there. AU, Yatori.

I had so much fun working on this piece; it’s my baby. It’s my first time writing anything this long (novella-length) and I’m super excited to share it with everyone! Huge thanks to my betas @puffkiine and Nightshade, who have been so supportive and patient. Also check out @lumiccu‘s INCREDIBLE art here !!

First chapter is under the cut!

In Tokyo, Yato thought, bars were secret places.

He became faceless and nameless when he entered; no one bothered him or tried to engage in conversation. They only cared if he could pay. He felt like a minnow, swimming against the pungent waves of sweat and alcohol-infused breath long enough to grab a seat at a booth in the corner. There were people everywhere; university students toasting with beer, worn-out salarymen with their ties loosened drowning their sorrows in sake, old men laughing at the bar. He watched, feeling detached from the scene even as he became part of it. He ordered some sake and tried not to wince at the price. He’d been spending a lot of his meagre savings on alcohol lately.

Especially after his birthday. After the fires had started.

After an hour or so he acquired some drinking buddies, two university students who couldn’t find anywhere else to sit. They were around his own age and seemed friendly enough. At the very least, even though they were both well put together, they didn’t give Yato strange looks for the clothes he knew were ratty and worn.

“What do you do for work, Yato-san?” one of them asked—he thought his name might be Hirano, but by then he’d had a couple beers and their names were becoming hazy memories.

“Odd jobs,” Yato answered easily, popping edamame into his mouth. He was drunk enough to not care about the reaction that telling the truth about his lack of steady work usually elicited, but it was still kind of Hirano to merely nod.

“We’re students at Keio,” he said. “I study political science, and Take studies business.”

Take—or as he’d been introduced, Arashi—gave a small grunt of acknowledgement from next to Hirano. He’d done four shots in quick succession about fifteen minutes ago despite Hirano’s suggestion that he space them out, and now seemed to be focusing most of his willpower on not puking.

“Do you know each other from university?” Yato asked, feigning polite interest.

Hirano smiled as he adjusted his glasses, seemingly pleased that Yato was engaging in his small talk. “Yes, we belong to the same club.”

Arashi snorted. He seemed to have recovered from his nausea and now appeared pleasantly buzzed. “He’s got a crush on the president,” he informed Yato conspiratorially.

“I do not,” Hirano retorted, the pink hue on his cheeks betraying him. Yato snickered.

As the night wore on and the noise of the bar became a fog in his head, the small talk faded away into the camaraderie of people who might have known each other for years instead of mere hours. Yato slowly began to forget his worries and gave into the pleasant haze of drunkenness. He hadn’t had work in weeks, friends to help him in Tokyo, or even a place to stay the night—but these things seemed suddenly inconsequential, like they were facts about someone else’s life. He was warm, safe, and everything else seemed to fade away, especially when somehow or another they started singing a drinking song.

“In July for Tanabata I’ll drink sake! I’ll drink, drink, drink, drink, I’ll drink some sake!”

Their voices raised together in a raucous symphony. They were attracting the annoyed attention of other bar patrons, but by this point they were all too drunk to care.

“In August it’s hot so I’ll drink sake! I’ll drink, drink, drink, drink, I’ll drink some sake!”

Yato’s voice was getting hoarse, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was the first time in weeks that he’d felt anything approaching happiness.

Abruptly, Arashi’s head fell on the table with a clunk. Yato and Hirano stopped singing, and Hirano shook his friend lightly.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmph,” Arashi moaned. “Head hurts.”

Hirano laughed and turned to Yato. “Looks like he’s done for the night. My apologies, but I think I’d better get him home.”

Yato offered him a companionable smile despite the disappointment settling in his gut. “‘Course! I’ll help you get him out.”

The three stumbled out of the bar and onto the street. The air was unseasonably cool for August, and he shivered at the feeling of the wind in contrast to the stifling air inside. Yato zipped up his jacket and cheerfully (if a bit woozily) turned to his companions. Hirano was supporting Arashi, who drooped against his right shoulder and mumbled incoherently as he waved around his bag of take-out.

“I’ll take him home,” Hirano said, offering a genuine smile. “It was nice to meet you, Yato-san.”

“You too,” Yato said, and meant it.

Hirano waved and set off towards the station, Arashi stumbling alongside him. Yato remained where he was, enjoying the night air. The moon was bright and near full, half hidden behind wisps of clouds, and it was late enough that passersby were dwindling in number. The Internet cafe where he was planning on crashing for the night wasn’t too far away, but since it was so pleasant outside, he decided to take a walk.

He didn’t know the area very well, so he picked a random direction and set off, feeling comfortable and content. It was incredible what a night of good company could do, he thought. He realized belatedly that he hadn’t asked for Hirano’s number, but it was probably for the best. He didn’t like to have ties to Tokyo. Even here in the Aoyama neighborhood, where he was easily two hours away from his childhood home, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to look over his shoulder, constantly feeling like somehow, his father’s eyes were on him.

He shivered. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d go to Yokohama. At least that way he could look for work—he never advertised in Tokyo, always tried to remain unseen and unheard, but his savings were starting to run dry. He kicked a stray pebble down the street and wondered ruefully why he had bothered to come back to Tokyo in the first place. Only bad things had happened since he’d arrived.

His mind wandered back to the night of his birthday and the charred bed he’d left behind in Ikebukuro. Even since that first time that he’d woken up in flames, he lived in constant fear of it happening again—which it did, six times in total since then. The very real possibility of spontaneously catching on fire certainly didn’t help much with his desire to stay hidden.

But the night air was cool on his feverish face, and he didn’t want to think about that.

He’d taken a turn onto a residential street, and the noise of the main streets faded away into a distant hum. It was quiet and dark, lit only by occasional street lights, any businesses having long been shuttered for the night. His footsteps echoed lightly down the street, accompanied by a faint chorus of crickets, and he glanced down the street to watch for cars as he stepped onto the road. He tilted his head up to meet the occasional gust of wind. His head felt fuzzy, but rather than being pleasant, it was starting to become uncomfortable.

He thought of the people who were sleeping in the homes he passed, safe and warm with their families and loved ones and, despite himself, felt a bit jealous.

Suddenly, it felt like someone had struck his head with a hammer, and he doubled over from the pain of it. He stumbled and managed to catch himself, but the pain was still there, pounding in his head, and he was soaked with sweat.

He was sick, he realized with sobering clarity. Dizzier than he should be, considering he hadn’t drank too much—at least, not relatively. Paranoid visions of someone slipping something into his drink danced at the edges of his vision, but in the haze he couldn’t tell if they were real or not. He spotted the familiar glow of a vending machine and stumbled towards it, reaching clumsily for his change purse—and then he dropped it, coins scattered everywhere, and suddenly he was vomiting in the bushes.

He coughed wetly and, wiping his mouth on his jersey sleeve, scooped up a handful of coins—but his fingers were shaking, his vision doubled, and the vending machine took coins only one at a time. He breathed a shaky sigh when the total finally reached 100 yen, and the cool water was a welcome reward for his efforts. Yato leaned against the vending machine and breathed in the night air.

He had to keep moving, he knew. Even if he was just drunk, he didn’t want to get arrested for sleeping on a vending machine (though the idea currently seemed very tempting) and worst case—if he was drugged—someone would be after him. The thought sent an unwelcome rush of blood pounding through his head, and with it a second wave of nausea that he managed to fight off. He finished off the water in three quick swigs, tossed it in the receptacle, and braced himself against the vending machine as he stood.

“Damn it,” he muttered. His head was pounding, and with the pain came paranoia. You just drank too much, he reassured his nerves. The sake was strong, or didn’t mix well with the beer, or something. It’s fine.

He was all turned around now. He was pretty sure the Internet cafe was somewhere to his right, and with it a place to sleep, maybe even a shower if he was lucky. He started down the road, then stopped, frowning. He turned around and went the opposite way.

He was getting deeper into the residential areas- and his headache was getting worse. Yato gripped the side of a streetlight and willed his vision to clear. He had a niggling feeling that he was going the wrong way. His head felt as though it was trapped in a vice, and he was so dizzy—he focused on his feet, putting one foot in front of the other in deliberate motions. The world was a foggy, painful mess of dark and light, and he squeezed his eyes shut even as he walked, delicate in his movements.

If he had been more aware, he might have noticed the unnatural sense of calm that had come over him. The pain was still there, but it was becoming lighter; freer. Like it was a part of him, like it had always been a part of him, like it had a purpose. He giggled. His head hurt. His feet were moving, but he wasn’t in control of them anymore, and he watched them, idly, like one might watch the pigeons peck at the sidewalk.

“In No-vem-ber no-thing hap-pens, but I’ll drink an-y-way,” he murmured, matching the syllables of the silly song to his steps. The blood was rushing in his ears and it was all suddenly very funny.

“I’ll dr-i-nk sake, drink, drink, drink, drink…” he trailed off. He was getting sleepy. His body felt very light all of a sudden, very floaty. He watched as one foot left the ground, and then as his other foot left the ground...and suddenly, he wasn’t on the ground at all. He smiled and let his eyes flutter halfway closed. He didn’t have to move anymore, he realized languidly. He’d just go where he needed to go. Up, up, up.

Someone was watching television in their apartment on a blue screen—the next was dark, and so were the next few, and then there were a group of people sitting together, their mouths stretched in laughter. He reached out and traced the line of the building, his fingers skimming against the cool brick—then there was a balcony with lots of plants, and a balcony with laundry still out, and a balcony with nothing but a single chair, and a balcony with nothing at all, and then, and then, and then he reached out, and he grabbed the edge of the guardrail, and gently hoisted himself over it. The concrete ground was cool under his face, and he felt a sense of total, faithful security, even as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues.  But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d  been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time.  And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”.   He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him  A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.  

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her.  That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man.  A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago.  And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before.  Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home.  She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The  dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.  

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place,  amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her.  All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning  it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning.  I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department.  I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy?  No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…”   she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach.  “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now.  Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just  going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven;  his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of  butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.”  She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time.  Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?”  Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?”  Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all.  Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that.  I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t.  It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you.   And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does,  I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore.  And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw  you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.”   Koen reaches into the side pocket  of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…”  she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body.  Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten.  He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any.   This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit.  Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with.  I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby.  I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps.  It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d  love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears.  “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and   wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity.  It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma  like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s  exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is.   Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler?  You know him; you know how strong he is.  You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now.  I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly.  “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense;  chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is  just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps.  “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital.  Where people are really bad.  EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know.  He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again.  That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore.  You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth.   Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear.  You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…”  her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it.   “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something.  I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think  I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool   metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

[leelem0n]

Weight Loss Q&A

Someone asked some questions about weight loss so I thought it might be helpful to some other people. 

1. Do your nipples get smaller as your boobs get smaller? I worry mine won’t shrink and it’ll look strange. No, they stayed the same.

2. Does your FUPA (relating directly to your vagina, not your lower stomach as some associate with your FUPA) get smaller over time as well? Yes, but if you're very obese then you may need skin surgery.

3. Will a buffalo hump decrease? If it is caused by obesity, yes. If it's caused by poor posture or other skeletal defect, no.

4. What do you do in the in-between phase where you’re not fitting your old clothes anymore but don’t want to buy a new wardrobe just to have to do it all again when you’re at your target weight? Great question. I usually wore my big shirts and then bought some leggings. You may need to buy some things for work depending on the uniform, and in that case I would recommend a second-hand shop so you don't spend a bunch.

5. Is the in-between phase as hard to get through as I think it is? I’m sure some people feel that it’s a motivation to keep working hard, but I feel like it could be a huge struggle in the moment to see your body becoming disproportionate and awkward looking until you reach your target weight. Was that a struggle for you and how did you hype yourself up during? Your body wasn't disproportionate and awkward as you gained, it won't be as you lose. It's not like you only lose weight in one section as a time. You keep your same proportions but just reduce overall size. To keep myself motivated, I just told myself that quitting won't get me anywhere good.

6. Do people treat you differently during and after? I myself am guilty of being negatively jealous of people around me losing weight because I wish it were me instead, but have never said anything about it. Do you have people in your life that aren’t afraid to say those things to you, and how do you cope? Yes and no. For the most part, people treated me differently because I saw myself differently. Being really obese, I had absolutely no confidence and, like you, I was mad at everyone else for being slimmer than I was. Once I lost weight, I didn't magically gain confidence but I did stop being jealous of everyone else's body because I felt I started looking like everyone else. Me not being bitter changed my whole demeanor and made it easier for people to approach me and be friendly with me. I was a fat bitch. I hated myself and hated everyone. When I lost the weight, I also lost a lot of that anger/bitchiness, so I was much friendlier and more relaxed, meaning it was easier to make friends and talk to people. No one wants to talk to some angry person scowling in the corner, after all.

7. Relating to 6, are you treated better as a smaller person? Do you feel that after losing weight you’ve received more positive attention from strangers? Yes, and while part of it is related to 6, part of it isn't. At first, that really bothered me. I was the same person, right? So why are they kinder to me NOW? I realized that being as fat as I was, not only did I look miserable (because I was miserable), but I also realized I just looked...sick. Unhappy. Bothered. I was happier to eat snacks than I was to interact with others, and it's because I had a problem. Just as you wouldn't want to approach someone shooting heroin or lying in a gutter drunk, you don't want to approach someone slowly killing themselves with food. A slow spiral to the grave is just not something humans tend to want to be around.

8. Do you have any advice for overcoming or coping with body dysmorphia and realizing that you aren’t as big as you used to be? If you have body dysmorphia, you have body dysmorphia. It is a mental illness and will not go away just because you lose weight. I still have body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). I've had it no matter what size I've been. It sucks. What can help is to measure yourself periodically with a measuring tape to prove to yourself that you are the size that you really are. Another thing that helps me is to crop out or cover my face in photos. It makes it easier to "see" my progress in my photos if I remove/hide my face. This "trick" also helps a friend of mine who also has BDD. But, you know, as bad as BDD is, you kind of get sick of it. And there are days when I've started saying, "Yeah my legs are disgusting blobs of amorphous goop but, fuck it, it's fucking hot so I'm gonna wear shorts. Fuck BDD."

9. How do you hold yourself accountable and stick to the diet and exercise changes? My biggest struggle is getting started and staying on track, any advice is welcome. Two ways. First, it must be sustainable. If you, say, go on the Cabbage Soup Diet, yeah you're not going to be able to keep that up. If you find a rigid diet plan that has foods you don't normally eat while also cutting out foods you culturally enjoy, no, you won't stick to it. You need a sustainable meal plan that has enough variety and wiggle room to accommodate a normal life. Second, it's just logic. I can't use "motivational images" or videos. I just tell myself, "If I quit now, I won't make the progress I want." It's simple but it works. Another thing is, "Yeah, the pizza would taste good but that's a lot of running to get rid of it. Am I ready to do that?" If so, then yeah, have the pizza. But once you start seeing foods as "This will help me reach my healthy goals" vs "This will slow my progress", the choice becomes much easier.

10. Does your sex life change, negative or positive? Does your partner or hookup care about any loose skin? Most people don't really give a shit as long as they get to have sex haha It sounds kind of crude, but that's the truth of it. If you have a lot of loose skin, it might be a good idea to forewarn them so they don't jump back out of surprise (not disgust), but that's about it.

11. Is it possible for the tightness or elasticity of your vagina to change when you lose weight? Or your ability to get wet and finish? So this is an interesting one. I noticed that I had to do more kegels because there wasn't as much fat "pushing" on the vaginal walls, if that makes sense? As for wetness and orgasm, no, it's the same.

12. What do you do if you reach your target weight and don’t like the way you look? What if you preferred your larger self to your smaller self? I will never, ever, ever, ever prefer my larger self. Ever. I can't imagine you would, either, especially with BDD. So, yeah, I got BDD, I'm gonna hate how I look no matter what, right? But the feeling is very, very different. Even if I hate how I look because of BDD, here are all the reasons I prefer being smaller:

I eat less food, so I save money. If I eat out, I can be satisfied with half the meal and then I have the other half later...two meals for the price of one.

I can move around!! I don't have to LURCH off the sofa to get up. I'm not struggling for breath after walking up three stairs. I can easily walk around when I'm on vacation...and walk all day...and not be aching and drained of all energy

It's way, way easier to buy clothes, even buying online is easier. Cheaper, too! Plus, there are way more styles to choose from.

My feet aren't always aching. My back isn't killing me constantly. I don't have that 24/7 low-grade headache+nausea combo. I have medical issues unrelated to previous obesity, and it's way worse if I'm heavier

I can breathe more easily in any position. I don't have to stop breathing to tie my shoes!

I'm at a lower risk of heart disease, stroke, cancer, etc...which is important to me since I'm already at a higher risk of stroke and cancer (for unrelated reasons).

If I suddenly have a medical emergency (hit by a car, suddenly collapse for some reason), I don't have to worry that bystanders can't move me. When I was at my heaviest, it would have taken at least two VERY strong people to try to lift and move me, but more likely four average people (or more) to try to move me. Now, I can be easily moved if in an emergency

So I hope you can see that even if you still hate your appearance, it's way better having lost the weight.

13. How does extreme weight loss affect tattoos? do they shrink or become distorted at all? It depends on where they're at. Mine were on my arms mostly, and I'm pear-shaped so even with skin surgery it never affected my arms. Sorry, I can't answer this from experience.

14. Is it easier to shave as the surface area decreases? 1000000000% easier to shave and wash. Not only is there less area, but you don't have to dig under your folds.

15. This one is very specific, but do your ankles become smaller? I feel like my ankles are big but the bone and tendon seem to be the same size, so I worry that my ankles will stay big as my legs get smaller and then it will look weird. Your bones don't change in size, so if your ankle bones are big then it's likely you're "big boned" in general and will look proportional. But, even if you just happen to have, like, super big ankle bones, I guarantee that you'll prefer being slimmer with big ankles than your current self. I did this, too, I tried talking myself out of weight loss because "What if I don't like how I look after?" and no no no do not talk yourself out of it.

16. Do you have any areas of your body that seemed to not change or lose weight? Where, and does it bother you/seem disproportionate? I'll bring up my arms again. Granted, I do a lot of weight lifting and my arms are more muscular than average, but they do look disproportionately larger, which would be okay if they had more definition. BUT, I also have BDD and other people have told me that my opinion of my arms is all in my head. Again, it doesn't bother me enough to say, "Oh, damn, I should just regain allllll that lost weight so my arms look smaller by comparison."

17. For those who have had their excess skin removed, are you satisfied with the surgery outcome? I’ve been finding that most surgeries make the body look very boxy and shapeless, which has scared me away from it. Do you think it depends on the surgeon, or is that just the way it comes out regardless? This is a great question. The fact of the matter is we fucked up. We stretched out the skin. It'll never, ever look "normal" again. Ever. And we have to accept that. I didn't realize that, so when I got skin surgery I was really disappointed that my legs looked the same-but-smaller. But I had to realize it was my fault, not the fault of the surgeon. You will almost certainly never look "normal", but you won't look, like, freakish if that's what you're afraid of. The only reason you worry about this is because you're fixated on the body (same as me), but for the average person they honestly can't even tell.

18. Does extreme weight loss have any effect on your hair, positive or negative? Body hair, positive or negative? I wouldn't say it's the weight loss that affects hair but more your dietary change that causes weight loss can also affect your hair. If you're just cutting calories and eating poorly, you'll lose a lot of hair luster and it may fall out. But if you're cutting calories and eating healthy foods, you should notice an improvement in your hair quality.

19. Do you feel colder more often? Does it become harder for you to warm up? Do you sweat less often? I feel colder more often because I'm not covered in a layer of blubber anymore...so I feel colder like any other person would feel cold. It's not harder to warm up, and I sweat less often but I'm still a sweaty person. I just don't sweat aaaaalllll dayyyy lonnnggg like I did when I was obese.

20. What tips did you learn along the way that made it easier that you wish you would have known from the beginning, if any? I think it's mostly a perspective thing: weight loss won't get rid of BDD, eating to lose weight is more important than exercise (but you should exercise for physical fitness), and skin surgery removes excess skin but won't return my body to pre-obesity appearance. Other than that, keeping track and being honest with myself...if I'm eating something, I have to be accountable. I can't say, "It's just a little bit" or "It's not that many calories". I became obese by blindly consuming food, so I can't lose weight by turning a blind eye to some foods I eat.

If this has prompted any of you to ask another question, feel free to do so!

[wingsofkpop]

Finding SKZ - 4: HH00

pairing(s): Hybrid!Bang Chan x Reader, Hybrid!SKZ x Reader

genre: Hybrid!AU, Dystopian!AU, heavy Angst, pinch of Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, violence, blood and gore, possible triggering topics

word count: 6,4k

synopsis: After rescuing an abandoned hybrid from his fate of death, he has one other favor to ask of you. Not only do you have to find his eight other hybrid brothers, but you have to keep them safe from the deadly dangers of your city: Miroh

chapter directory

The cold air dissipates as you enter through the doors of your apartment building. You release a sigh at the change of temperature, adjusting the strap of your bag to lay more comfortably on your shoulder. Not really in the mood to strike up a conversation, you quickly dart past the evening security guard talking to one of your neighbors on your floor. Unfortunately, just as you were about to reach the elevator button, your name is called: 

“Oh, (Y/N)!” 

You curse under your breath, muster as best of a smile as you can and turn to face the elderly woman. A bright grin was across her wrinkled face, and for a second, her expression reminded you of a recent horror movie you saw. You can’t remember the name, but it did have some sort of demonic old lady that went around trying to eat her grandkids. 

You hum, trying to distract yourself from the image in your head, “Hi, Ms. Friel. I was just-” 

“-Sweetheart, how many times have I told you to just call me Paula?” Ms. Friel chuckles and shakes her head, “Ms. Friel was my mother. Bless her soul.” 

Awkward. 

“Right, sorry.” You take a quick peek at the clock mounted above the security guard’s desk. With a weak smile, you continue, “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I-” 

“-I just wanted to talk to you for a moment, dear. This won’t take long.” 

You really wish you had it in you to deny her request, but you couldn’t. Curse your mother for raising you to respect the elderly. 

You nod, “Of course. What is it?” 

“Well, I just wanted to ask you if someone else has been staying in your apartment recently.” The older woman tilts her head to the side. Her icy stare pierces straight through you, almost as if she can see the dark secrets you’re keeping to yourself. “I’ve been hearing noises. Even when you’re away.” 

You were afraid of this. Ms. Friel has always been all up in your business ever since the day you moved in. When you were still together, you had given your ex-boyfriend a key so he wouldn’t have to wait outside your apartment whenever your classes ran late. The first time he used it, Ms. Friel called the cops on him, when you specifically told her your boyfriend was allowed in your apartment. She claimed she thought he was a thief and was just looking out for you. You know she was actually looking out for herself though. 

All the more reason not to tell her you’re currently housing three hybrids. With more coming. 

You shrug, “It’s just my friend. His dorm is getting renovated so he’ll be staying with me until it’s done.” 

Ms. Friel hums, “Oh, I see. Does he ever leave the apartment? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him leave.” 

“You’ve probably just missed him the last few times,” You laugh awkwardly, nearly leaping in delight as the elevator doors open with a ding. A few others file out while you push your way in and feverishly press the button for your floor. You throw your neighbor one last smile, “Sorry, I have some work I really need to finish. It was good to see you.” 

Thankfully, the doors close before she can reply and you’re free to sink back against the metal wall with a sigh of relief. You lift a hand to brush back your hair while simultaneously thanking the gods for saving you from that situation. The last thing you need is your neighbor to go snooping around your apartment and find something she’s not supposed to. You should still warn the boys though. 

When the doors swoosh open again, you waste no time in making a mad dash for your apartment. Usually, the days where you have both class and work are bearable. But today just sucked. Your professor was in the worst mood so now you not only have your final next week, but you have to turn in a research project on a topic you barely know anything about. On top of that, two of your coworkers are sick, or “sick”, and your boss needs you to work a double shift both Saturday and Sunday which your workload really cannot afford right now. 

Chan and you were also supposed to go hunting for Felix, who you may have a possible lead on. It’s not for sure though. It really surprising how many hybrids in Miroh are called Lee Felix. 

As soon as you push open your apartment door, the aroma of something cooking has your mouth watering. You never got the chance to eat anything other than a granola bar this morning and a bag of pretzels during your lunch break, so you were pretty hungry. Whatever Chan was making really wasn’t helping the your stomach’s anger. 

After taking off your coat and shoes, you wander into the living room where you find Woojin sat watching some movie on Netflix. He turns at your presence and a warm smile lifts to his lips, “Hi, (Y/N). I’m glad you’re home.” 

At his kind words, the hardships of your day seem to melt away. You return his with a genuine smile of your own and answer, “Thank you, Woojin. Trust me, I am too.” 

“Hard day?” 

“A little. But it’s over now.” You allow your body to sink into the sofa with a sigh and lay your head on Woojin’s lap. The hybrid chuckles, his ears bouncing with his laughter, as he places a gentle hand on the top of your head. Your eyes flutter shut at the soothing touch. Exhaustion finally beginning to take its toll on you and you were truly tempted to surrender to it, but a familiar voice has your eyelids parting again: 

“We missed you, you know.” Chan stands in the kitchen door with a soft smile across his face. Four mugs, likely filled with his special ramen recipe, were balanced on his muscular arms. The smell has your tummy rumbling again which the hybrid caught. He rushes over to where you’re laid down and offers one of the cups, “Here. I can tell you haven’t eaten all day.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, “How do you-?” 

“-Because I know you.” 

An foreign silence arises in the space between you and the wolf hybrid. Shocked, you dumbly take the food and mutter a quick thanks, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight blush spreading across your cheeks. You sit up and begin to delve into the soup, the liquid slipping down your throat and settling in your aching stomach like a dream. Woojin also starts to eat while Chan calls for Seungmin, who emerges from the bedroom with your laptop in his hands along with a bright grin across his face. 

“I think I found Hyunjin.” Your spoon clatters against the mug as you drop your utensil out of surprise. The older hybrids were no better with Chan staring wide-eyed at the youngster and Woojin trying not to choke on his mouthful of noodles. Chan shakes his head, “W-What do you mean?” 

Seungmin rolls his eyes, “What do you think I mean? I found Hyunjin.” 

“Like actually?” You ask, forgetting all about your appetite and setting the ramen aside. “What did you find?” 

The three of you watch as Seungmin settles himself on the chair beside the couch and places the laptop on the coffee table in front of you and Woojin. He fiddles with the mouse pad, giving Chan the time to take the seat next to you, and turns the screen to face your direction. 

The page was pulled up to an Instagram about some sort of hybrid entertainment program. There was only so much you could see, but you could tell this “show” was pretty popular. There were over one thousand followers following whatever this was. Then again, you didn’t like how shady some of the posts seemed. 

Woojin speaks first, “I don’t understand. What is this? Why would these people have Hyunjin?” 

You turn to Seungmin to receive an answer, only to find that his face had grown much more paler. Panic moves in the depths of your gut, and just when you were about to inquire about his silence, Chan beats you to it: 

“I’ve seen this before. It’s a hybrid fighting ring.” Your panic shifts in nausea as you turn to peer at the hybrid with an incredulous look. He meets your gaze and nods toward the laptop, “Look at one of the videos.”

Balanced on the edge between curiosity and confusion, you do as Chan suggests and slide onto the floor to pull up the most recent video posted on the account. Almost immediately, shouts and cheers spills through the speakers of the computer and you almost debated turning down the volume. But your focus is snatched by the situation taking place in the video. 

Horrified, you watch what seems to be a pitbull hybrid lunge for a bloody cat hybrid. He knocks him to the ground with a powerful leap and proceeds to lay punch after punch on his already marred face. The feline collapses to the ground, his face already beginning to swell after the violent attack. Victorious, the pitbull climbs to his feet and flashes the crowd a bloody smile and winning pose. The video tries to play again, but you’re quick to stop it again. Once was enough, maybe too much. 

“Wow.” Woojin’s whisper awakens you from your trance, and you turn to see him with a faraway look on his face. Chan reaches over to place a gentle pat on the older hybrid’s shoulder before leaning over to put a comforting arm around his shoulder. Woojin shakes his head, “After the circus, I didn’t think it could get any worse…”

You try to overlook the stone forming in the back of your throat and instead turn to Seungmin, “So what about Hyunjin?” 

Seungmin gulps, “W-well, he’s considered the “runt” of the ring…” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means they use him for easy wins.” Chan sighs, still in the process of comforting his blank-faced brother. He glances at you with sad eyes and continues, “Basically a person who’s looking to make quick cash from a fight will put their hybrid against him, the weakest fighter, and is destined to win.” 

“But that’s horrible,” You scoff, suddenly disgusted at the realization of why this Instagram is so popular. “This whole thing is horrible.” 

“Humans are horrible.” Seungmin pipes up, but quickly waves a dismissive hand toward you, “All except you, noona, of course.”

Chan sends you a weak smile, “It’s like you said, (Y/N). Miroh is dangerous for hybrids. Always has been.” 

And it always will be. “We should come up with a plan and get Hyunjin out of there as fast as possible, who knows what he’s been through at this point…” You trail off, gazing at the laptop screen with a sullen expression. First Chan, then Seungmin, then Woojin… How much worse could this get? 

Seungmin chuckles, “Way ahead of you, noona.” 

The beagle hybrid steals the device again to feverishly search for something else. After a couple seconds, he turns it back around and points to the screen, “They have a fight scheduled for this Friday at midnight. All we have to do is show up.”

Briefly skimming through the information, you shake your head, “Maybe, but we still need to figure out how we’re going to get Hyunjin out. Then again, our plan last time didn’t really go as planned.” 

Ouch. Through the corner of your eye, you can see the guilt spread across Chan’s place. You felt ashamed for saying it, but even so, you’re not really wrong. This time, you need to be careful and have some sort of order of operations. 

Hyunjin’s life depends on it. 

~~*~~**~~*~~

“How much, again?” 

“$50.” At the taxi driver’s answer, you pull out two twenties and a ten from your wallet and hand them over. Your driver accepts the money, types something onto his credit machine that prints out a receipt and hands it back to you. With a final goodbye, you join the two other hybrids outside the car. 

Chan looks up from your phone, “Everything okay?” 

You nod, “Yeah. All good.” 

“Good.” The hybrid turns back to the device and speaks into it, “Seungmin, that’s your queue. Show us the way.” 

After a lot of arguing, Woojin and Chan found it best that Seungmin remain back in your apartment for this mission. The beagle was less than happy with the decision and even went as far as trying to convince you to change his brothers’ minds, but Chan wouldn’t budge on this one. Though, after what happened last time, you really can’t blame him. Anything could happen. Anything dangerous, that is. 

“Right,” Seungmin’s voice is a bit shaky over the line, meaning that your phone probably wasn’t getting the best signal. “You guys are gonna head straight down this street and make a left into an alleyway just before you pass the barber shop.” 

“Thanks, Min. We’ll keep you on the line as long as we can. (Y/N)’s phone may lose signal.” 

A sigh emerges over the call, “Don’t worry about me. Just find Hyunjin and bring him home.” 

Woojin replies, “We will, no doubt. We’ll be back before you know it.” 

“Sure, hyung. Be careful.” 

And with that, Chan, Woojin and you make your way down the dim, barren street. The place where you’re hoping to find Hyunjin is quite literally, the worst part of Miroh you’ve ever stepped foot in. Rundown buildings on streets with very few lamps. Lewd and inappropriate graffiti plastered on every available surface. Shops with boarded up windows and indestructible, metal doors. Everything screams shady. 

These parts of town are what people usually call “The Forgotten.” Basically, after WWIII, when these parts of the city were destroyed in bomb raids and warfare, the new government never invested any money into fixing them back up. Only unemployed, homeless and other unlucky individuals end up living in these parts. A lot of hybrids make their way here too from what you’ve seen in the news. 

The three of you reach the alleyway in one piece where you spot the door you’re supposed to enter through. Unfortunately, your phone call with Seungmin doesn’t last the trip. With a sigh, Chan offers your device back which you accept and stuff into the pocket of your jeans. He nods and murmurs, “You guys remember the plan?” 

“Yeah.” You hum and before you can bite your tongue, you reply, “Do you?” 

Chan’s eyes glitter within the darkness, boring into your own with some sort of emotion you couldn’t read. It stays like that for a moment, just the two of you staring at each other before he ends the moment with a stiff nod, “Yes. I do.” 

“Great. Let’s do this.” Woojin pushes past the both of you to take up the lead. You and Chan have to sprint to keep up with his quick pace, halting just when you reach the door. After making sure each of you were ready, the bear hybrid reaches forward and pushes open the obstacle. Instantly, your nostrils are hit with the scent of hard liquor and cigarette smoke. Scrunching your nose, you follow Woojin through the doorway, peering behind your shoulder to make sure Chan was on your tail. He was. 

You piece together you guys had entered an abandoned car shop, judging by the vast open space and totaled vehicles. It was pitch black all except for some lights in the center where you could already catch a glimpse of some sort of iron cage. Dozens of people surrounded the structure, sipping from red cups and inhaling from cigars. Looks like the excitement hasn’t started just yet. 

“Come to see the fight?” 

You nearly jump at the new voice and barely stop yourself from colliding into Woojin. You step beside the male and discover the source of the question. It was some middle-aged man, maybe forty, with barely any hair atop his scalp and tobacco stains all across his teeth. His eyes were beady almost like a rat’s, and a shiver crawled down your spine when he rakes them down your body. 

“Yeah. It’s our first time.” Woojin hums, nodding toward the makeshift arena. “Hasn’t started yet?” 

“Nope. Have to give them some time to get the little freaks ready beforehand.” From the corner of your eye, you see the bear visibly tense. “And welcome. Allow me to buy y’all some drinks on the house. I’m thinking tequila for the pretty lady-” 

“-And I’m thinking you can fuck off.” The sudden growl is followed by an arm around your waist. You peer up to see Chan sneering toward the man, his eyes narrowed with disgust, “Look at her like that again and I’ll throw you in the ring myself.” 

The pervert takes the message loud and clear and quite literally makes a mad dash for the closest group. You shake your head, “Chan, that really wasn’t the smartest idea.” 

He drops his limb from your body, his expression once again calm, and shakes his own head, “I wasn’t going to let him look and talk to you like you’re some piece of meat. You can’t smell his perverse intentions like I can.” 

Instead of arguing further, you choose to let the moment go and make your way in the direction of the cage. The two hybrids follow closely behind you, and if it was the right time, you would have made a joke about having your own personal bodyguards. But to be honest, you were very grateful for it. Especially for what Chan did. 

You just try not to think about the butterflies fluttering in your gut. 

“Keep an eye out for the owner. She has to be around here somewhere.” Chan reminds both you and Woojin as you station yourself on the far-end of the ring where fewer people were. You nod and set out to do just that, scanning groups for any sign of a familiar face. You’re unable to find the woman you saw in pictures who is the supposed owner of the fight center, also fighters like Hyunjin. Yet, there’s still no luck when a bell sounds and a person enters the cage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for joining us today. We are well aware in how eager you are to get started.” The suggestive tone of the announcer's voice has your blood boiling and fists clenching at your sides. These people come here to get enjoyment out of watching hybrids beat the living shit out of each other. How sick has the world actually become? “As always, our night will consist of three rounds. The winner of the first round will go on to the next, and so on. Are you ready to have some fun?” 

A round of cheers erupts throughout the garage and echoes in your ears like a haunted siren. The announcer throws his hands up and shouts, “Amazing! Let’s meet our first pairing of the night: 

“Our newcomer is a doberman pinscher with claws and teeth like knives, weighing over two-hundred and twenty pounds! Welcome, the Destroyer!” You flinch as a burly hybrid darts around the arena to snap his teeth at you and everyone else through the metal chains. The people roar wild at his show, feet stamping and hands applauding in delight. Out of instinct, you move closer to Chan beside you who’s leaning onto the cage with one hand weaved through the chains. His eye catches yours. 

This is not going to go well. 

“And for his opponent, we have everyone’s favorite puny dalmatian hybrid weighing in just under one-hundred and thirty pounds! Everyone give it up for the Runt!” Though the volume isn’t as hefty, some still cheer as Hyunjin makes his way into the ring. Your stomach turns at how small he is compared to the Destroyer, his skinny figure nothing against the doberman’s muscles. His short, spotted ears were drawn backwards indicating his fear. Then again, you could tell how scared he was just by the look on his face. 

Behind you, you hear Chan inhale a heavy gust of air. Without thinking, you reach and take his hand into your own, hoping to calm his obvious tension. His voice is pained when he murmurs, “They cropped his ears.” 

“Guys, over there.” Woojin’s comment awakens the both of you from your reverie, and you’re quick to snatch your hand away from Chan’s. You follow where the bear is pointing, finding the woman you had been looking for earlier just across the ring. You move to head toward her when you’re stopped by Chan. 

He gives you a pointed look before shaking his head, “After the fight, remember?” 

“But Hyunjin-” 

“-It has to be after, (Y/N). We have to watch him fight.” 

He means watch him lose. 

Even so, knowing the intensity of the situation, you relent and return your gaze to the ring. The announcer was rambling about rules and other things you barely cared about. You were more focused on the trembling dalmatian hybrid and how there was no good end to any of this. You could hope all you want, Hyunjin’s not leaving here unscathed. 

“Three… Two…” With each number, the announcer steps back further and further away from the hybrids. Your anxiety grows at the clear line of charge the doberman has toward Hyunjin. One knock and he’s down. 

“One!” At the screech of a bell, the Destroyer takes off toward Hyunjin. Horrified, you watch the dalmatian hybrid barely duck away in time for the other to zoom past. He dashes to the other side of the arena while his stronger opponent gathers his bearings. Hyunjin was safe for maybe a minute before the doberman is off again. Blood lust written all across his face. 

Hyunjin isn’t as lucky this time. He manages to dodge a punch, but the other hybrid is smart and drags his other hand up to scratch at his arm. The gash immediately starts to bleed, blood spills down Hyunjin’s flesh and taints the ground red. Cradling his wounded limb, Hyunjin fails to see his opponent throw another punch and takes a hit right in the nose. 

He falls back onto the ground with a sickening thud and a sharp cry. Your heart aches at his desperate attempt to flee in trying to back away from the approaching hybrid. The doberman only grabs his ankle and yanks him toward him. He picks the dalmatian up by his throat and tosses him against the caged boundary, only to trap him there. Unable to watch, you hide your face in Woojin’s shoulder, and shudder with every crack of skin against skin and bone against bone that reaches your ears. 

You don’t look back until the announcer calls victory for the Destroyer. Tears brim at your eyelids at the sight of Hyunjin’s limp body against the cage, his face swollen and caked with blood. A couple younger boys emerge from the shadows to drag him out of the ring while the announcer announces the next opponent. 

“C’mon, now’s our chance.” You almost forgot about your previous objective until Chan grabs your wrist and starts to drag you through the crowds, Woojin close behind. You reach the woman just in time for the bell to ring and the second round to start. 

Her steel eyes gaze across the three of you with disinterest, lips pursing at the rather violent crack of bones that ensues. With a sigh, she hums, “Can I help you?” 

“How much for the dalmatian hybrid?” In your previous plan, you weren’t supposed to be so blunt, but after seeing Hyunjin in such a manner, you couldn’t help it. The hybrid has had to endure this time and time again for god knows how long. You’d be damned if he stands it any longer. 

The woman rolls her eyes, “He’s not for sale. If you want a dalmatian hybrid, just go to the fucking pet store.” 

“We don’t want any dalmatian hybrid.” Woojin backs you up, crossing his arms over his chest. “We want him.” 

“Well isn’t that too fucking bad, cause it ain’t happening. I suggest you quit wasting my time before I have my guys kick your asses out.” 

Before she can walk away, you stop her with a hand on her arm, “Wait, please. Just hear us out-” 

“-Sweetheart, I paid good money for that bastard only to find out he was a runt. He brings in easy pay, so like I said before, no deal.” Defeated, you allow the owner to escape your grip and recede into the cheering crowds. With her departure, the hopeful piece of your soul crumbles to dust. So much for the plan. 

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. Angling your head, you peer at both hybrids. Woojin’s expression was contorted into disappointment and frustration while Chan was staring at the ruckus going on inside the arena. You didn’t like the intensity of his gaze. Something about it made your skin crawl. 

The bear hybrid scoffs, “Great. What are we supposed to do now?” 

“I don’t know.” You shake your head, “We have to find another way I guess. Maybe come back-”

“-No.” Chan’s sudden voice interrupts your own. Wide-eyed, you turn to the wolf hybrid only to find his eyes still on the cage. It seemed as if the Destroyer won the second round too, although he was a lot more bloody and marred than he was with Hyunjin. Chan sighs, the sound long and heavy, and meets your gaze, “I have a plan, but you’re not going to like it.” 

“What do you mean?” Your eyes narrow, studying the way Chan shrinks beneath your stare. “Why am I not going to like it?” 

“What if we could win Hyunjin somehow? Like as a prize?” 

At first, confusion overtakes your mind at Chan’s strange words. You open your mouth to inquire further, but then your eyes transfer to the ring again. The realization hits you like a firm kick to the chest, and for a moment, you thought your heart had stopped. Feverishly, you shake your head, “Absolutely fucking not. It’s not happening.” 

“(Y/N), please. Just consider-” 

“-Consider what?” Winded and crazed, you throw your hands up and continue, “I am not throwing you in a fucking cage so you can get your ass beat. We find another way-” 

“-And what if there is no other way!?” Chan cries, stepping closer to put his hands on your shoulders. “(Y/N), this might be the only chance we have at ever getting Hyunjin back…” 

You wince as his words travel straight into the depths of your heart. Unable to meet his gaze, you look instead toward the Destroyer who’s hastily licking at a wound on his wrist. Your eyes linger over his sharp claws, bulging muscles and the fangs poking through his lips. When you speak, you will yourself to remain strong, but you can’t help the crack in your voice, “I can’t let you do this… He could kill you, Chan, you could fucking die... “ 

The hybrid cups your cheeks with both hands and forces your eyes to connect. With a weak smile, he chuckles, “I’m not dying on you anytime soon, (Y/N). That would be the worst decision on my part.” 

You can’t reply, 

“Listen to me,” He swipes his thumb over your cheekbone. His whisper is faint, loud enough for only your ears to listen in, “I know I can win this. I can get Hyunjin back. I just need you to trust me.” 

Everything inside of your head was telling you to say no, to laugh in Chan’s face and call him an idiot for ever attempting. But the softer part of yourself was telling you the opposite. Beneath his brown-eyed gaze, you felt helpless, trapped in a war between your head and heart. Memories flash through your mind like sparks of fireworks: You see Woojin’s scarred palm in your rearview mirror. You see blood pooling on the floor like an ocean of waste. You see the stupid leash around Seungmin’s neck. Most importantly, you see Chan sat defenseless in that dark alleyway. 

Before you can change your mind, you nod your head, “You better win.” 

Chan smiles, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. He hums, “I will. For Hyunjin and for you.” 

~~*~~**~~*~~

Surprisingly, Hyunjin’s owner actually agreed to your offer. If Chan wins against the Destroyer, she’ll hand the dalmatian hybrid over with no other questions. You didn’t like the spark of excitement that entered her eyes when you told her Chan was also a wolf hybrid. Or how she asked if Chan has ever been “aggressive” with you before. That didn’t sit well in your stomach. 

“You okay?” You turn your gaze away from the cage at Woojin’s concern. He tilts his head, and if he hadn’t had his beanie on, his ears would be twitching too, “You look like you’re gonna be sick.” 

“If anything goes wrong, then I probably will be.” 

Woojin shakes his head, “(Y/N)-ah, Channie is going to win. There’s no doubt about it.” 

While Woojin’s persistence somewhat eases the nausea stirring inside your stomach, it doesn’t make it falter entirely. It’s not like you didn’t have faith in him, because you certainly did, he’s strong, clever and agile. But you just can’t stand the guilt that if something bad happens, Chan’s life is on your conscience. You took him in that night so you’re responsible for anything bad that happens to him. 

That’s all this feeling was… right? 

“Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we have yet another surprise show for you all tonight.” Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watch the announcer as he walks around the ring. You try to ignore the sight of the Destroyer, seething with brutality and hunger. “An unexpected challenger has decided to test their luck against the Destroyer. We’ll see who comes out on top tonight.” 

You debated covering your ears to avoid the loud applause, but force your hands to remain clasped into your lap. The announcer waits for the crowd to die down before continuing, “Our next opponent for the night is none other than a wolf hybrid, folks, weighing over one hundred and sixty pounds. Everyone, put your hands together for Bang Chan!” 

Your heart picks up as Chan languidly steps into the ring. He was shirtless, the planes of his muscles apparent in the stage light. The combination of his tanned skin and blonde hair made him seem like a beacon - your beacon - of hope. He surveys the crowd outside the metal cage, stopping when his eyes connect with yours. He sends you one of his soft smiles and a wink. And you can’t help the upturn of your own lips. 

You mouth for him to be careful. He nods, looks at you one last time then turns to his opponent. 

The announcer shouts, “Count with me, folks! Three… two…

“One!” The bell shrieks like a banshee, the sound cutting into your ear drums. With your heart racing, you watch Chan and the Destroyer begin to circle one another. The doberman obviously knew this round wasn’t going to be as easy as his last few. You didn’t know if that knowledge gave you hope or fear. 

All of a sudden, the doberman charges straight at Chan. You hold your breath as your companion dodges his attack and also trips him in the process. The other hybrid goes flying against the chainlink barrier face first, his body colliding with a rough clank. Your relief doesn’t last because he’s on his feet in less than three seconds. 

Chan goes for him this time around, effectively picking him up and throwing him back against the cage. He lands a right and left hook on his face before delivering a couple hits to his stomach. The Destroyer groans in pain, clutching his torso. The wolf backs off and allows his opponent to catch his breath. He takes the time to look in your direction and send you another smile. 

You almost do the same until movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You gasp and scream, “Chan, behind you!” 

It’s too late, the Destroyer takes the wolf by surprise and collides into his back. Chan attempts to regain control, but the doberman had his arms pinned to his sides, his knee driving blow after blow into his waist. Each strike sends an ache to your own chest. You weren’t the only one though, Woojin was anxiously chewing at his own lips too. 

Chan manages to free himself and shove his opponent away. His stance was a lot shaky, but he deals a right hook with no trouble at all. The doberman stumbles, giving Chan just the right moment to charge himself. 

Forcefully, Chan knocks both the other hybrid and himself to the ground. The two tustle for power over one another, rolling across the floor of the ring. To your disappointment (and sanity), the Destroyer gains the upper-hand, straddles the wolf and delivers one strike to the face after another. Similar to his final takedown of Hyunjin. 

Screaming rings in your ears, and it took you a moment to realize it was your own. You were screaming for Chan - for your hybrid. You had never been so panicked in your life, the night at the circus never compared to this. Chan. His name was all that left your lips: 

“Chan!” 

Your calls somehow give Chan the strength he needs to turn the tables and flip the other hybrid so he was beneath him instead. He knocks out the doberman with not one, or two, but many, many punches. The fast pace in which his arm moved back and forth made you dizzy. You felt like you could faint, but it probably wasn’t for that reason. 

The next few moments move by in a blur. The announcer pronounces Chan the winner of the night and the owner returns with an unsteady Hyunjin leaning on her shoulders. The younger hybrid quite literally launches himself into Woojin’s arms, sobs and cries and thank yous falling from his lips. You barely have time to relish the heartfelt reunion before Chan returns, frantic and wide-eyed. 

“We have to go now.” 

“What do you mean? Hyunjin-”

“The cops are here, (Y/N)!” Your excuse falls short on your tongue at Chan’s response. Your relief from before is stripped away like an adult takes candy from a child, and you almost forgot to breathe. “We have to go. Right now.” 

Chan, with a firm grip on your wrist, leads you through the bustling and panicking crowds and into darkness. Woojin is not far behind with Hyunjin on his back. His pace grows quicker at the booming voices that echo through the garage, indicating that anyone who attempts to escape will be shot. Your heart beat picks up. 

“Shit,” Chan hisses when the four of you reach the back wall of the building. You’d expect they have some sort of backdoor in places like these, but apparently not. Instead there was a single, broken window a couple feet above your heads. “Shit. We’re so fucked.” 

“Not necessarily. Just climb up. Let me go first.” Woojin offers. Chan nods, waits for Woojin to transfer Hyunjin onto your shoulders and lifts his brother up to the escape. Woojin fits through easily, and after a few seconds calls for Chan to send Hyunjin. 

You hand the dalmatian over. Through the corner of your eye, you notice the beam of flashlights flitting throughout the garage and whisper, “We need to hurry up. They’re starting to search the place.” 

Chan doesn’t reply, but heaves Hyunjin up a lot faster than he did with Woojin. He falters though, obviously hurt from his fight earlier. You rush to help him and manage to get the younger hybrid out the window. Even so, the lights are a lot closer. You won’t have enough time for the both of you to fit through. Just one. 

“Here. You go.” 

Chan shakes his head, “Absolutely not. You first.” 

“There’s no time for arguing. I’ll be right behind you.” The lie is bitter when it leaves your lips, but you know you have no other choice. Chan, knowing your time crisis, takes the bait and allows you to help him up to the window. Once you’re sure he’s able to get out of his own from there, you rip your hands away and murmur, “I’m sorry.” 

If Chan called for you, you didn’t know because you were already taking off further into the darkness. You follow the back wall as much as you can, finding yourself among various totaled car and truck. Nonetheless, you could still see the lights slowly closing in. It was only a matter of time before the police find you and you’d be fucked. 

But at least the boys are safe. 

Just one you were about to give up hope, an arm suddenly yanks at your leg and tugs you beneath one of the cars. You try to scream, but a palm stops any noise from leaving your lips. The stranger hums a warning just as dozens of feet passed by where you’re hidden. You hold your breath, convinced they’d be able to hear the pounding of your heart and you’d be caught anyway. But somehow, there is a god. 

The police fall away and all that’s left is you and your unknown savior. Only when they’re sure your captors wouldn’t return does the stranger remove their hand. You silently cough and scoot away from the figure, harshly whispering, “Who the hell are you? Why did you-?” 

“-We’ll talk later. Right now, we have to get out of here.” 

You can tell its a male from his deep voice. Just as he’s about to slide from your hiding spot, you grab his arm and yank him back, “No. Tell me who you are first.” 

The stranger sighs and gives you a pointed look through the darkness, “I think you’ve been looking for me actually: 

“The name’s Minho. Lee Minho.”

[thewritingcaptain]

Bloody Things and Broken Wings (Chapter 2)

"Well, I know it's hard to believe these days, but not everyone around you is a criminal or a psychopath. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would at least tell me what to call you for the duration of your stay." Any tension that had seeped out of him returns immediately. "Duration?" Peter starts trying to sit up again. "I can't-" A firm hand on his shoulder keeps him down. "Stay?" the man finishes. "Well, you certainly can't leave in your state.”

Peter and Tony talk. The conversation is... messy, to say the least.

Things are flashing. Banging. Raw wrists, wounds and pain from a struggle he doesn't remember. A spray of red, the sound of glass shattering into a billion tiny pieces. Something touches his arm-

Peter jerks awake in the bed and very nearly screams, both from the dream still in his head and the pain of the motion. Some kind of sound must escape him, even though he doesn't realize it because he's doubled over in pain, head spinning wildly, when he realizes the feeling of someone touching his arm is real, someone rubbing his back, and he feels the need to heave but there's nothing in his stomach to even come up.

"Easy, kid, calm down," a voice is saying. "It was just a dream."

The words do little to soothe him. Not only because he's in a strange place with strange people again, but because it wasn't just a dream. The pain throughout his whole body makes that much very clear.

And fuck, if he isn't in so much pain. It makes everything even more fuzzy and unreal than before. Did he actually escape? Is this a dream, or perhaps him waking up from whatever punishment had come his way from the attempt? That would certainly explain the pain, although he's never been messed up by them quite this bad before.

The voice is breaking into his head again. "Kid, calm down. I don't want to hurt you but if you don't stop I will have to restrain you."

It's then that Peter realizes he's started thrashing violently, and the hands are now on his wrists, cold and firm, pressing him down against whatever is underneath him and restraining his hands. The voice is gruff but not unkind, and it's not one he's ever heard before, at least not from the people who he'd been with before this. The words register only dimly, but it's enough for him to realize what he's doing and for him to make the conscious choice to force his muscles to relax, definitely not wanting to be restrained again.

So he stops, laying there and breathing hard for a long few minutes before finally working up the nerve to crack open his eyes.

The man who had spoken is still leaning over him, his hands around his wrists, using his body weight to keep him pinned to the bed and watching him with cautious dark brown eyes. Peter is sure he's never seen him before, and that actually makes him feel slightly better. At least if he's been kidnapped again, this is someone entirely new. He can work with that. Especially since they weren't smart enough to tie him up, although that was probably because they assumed he isn't going anywhere with as much pain as he's in. They're probably right, although he'll never admit that - but wait, didn't this guy say he's not going to hurt him? That must count for something, though he's definitely been lied to about it before.

"Jesus, kid," the man mutters, shaking his head. He doesn't seem to notice Peter's eyes are actually open now. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had to break these out? My wife would kill me if she saw this right now."

Peter frowns, unsure what he's talking about, then his eyes alight on the hands wrapped around his wrists. They're red, glinting in the light from the bedside lamp, and cool against his skin. He knows that this means something, can feel the niggle in the back of his mind that tells him he should know what it is, but nothing is coming to him. His head hurts too badly, and he just can't think, can't focus on anything more than what's in front of him.

The man seems to see this and to sense that all the fight has drained out of him, and his eyes soften. "Oh, we're with it now, yeah? Good. If you promise not to swing at me anymore, I'll get off of you now."

"Swing-" His voice is low and crackily and his throat feels like sandpaper. He swallows thickly. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, unsure what else to say and feeling incapable of saying much more.

"Don't be. Nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks - whatever it was, I've had them all too, so don't feel bad." He looks at him for another moment, then slowly sits up and releases his wrists. "I'll get you some water. It'd probably be less painful for both of us if you just stay there and don't try to move while I'm gone." He gets up and walks out before Peter can muster up a response.

Peter glances around, trying to get his bearings. He appears to be in a bedroom - an underused one, if the barren surroundings are any indication. A guest room, then. How did he get here? Everything is so blurry. He knows he put up a hell of a fight to escape the place he was being kept before they could move him out of the city like he'd heard them say they were planning to. He clearly made it out of the building, wherever the hell that had been, but everything after that is a blur. From there to here… he doesn't even know how far he'd made it. Far enough not to be held by the same people, but when you were the only reliable superhero in a city like New York, you were bound to be a target. And even if this man had rescued him, he could still want something.

Sighing a little, Peter cautiously moves the blanket and lifts his shirt, checking to see the extent of his current wounds. They're all covered by bandages so he can't see the full extent of the damage, but they definitely feel worse than he remembers. Not that he's not surprised they aren't getting better as quick as they should. He doesn't remember the last time he's had a real meal. Even before this latest capture… well, things since half of everyone disappeared have been rough, to say the least. So they look really bad, but he's sure he's had worse, and he can't stay in this position, so he puts his arms down and tries to push himself up into a sitting position-

-then cries out and doubles over, almost falling off the edge of the bed between the dizziness and the nausea that immediately take hold of him at even the slightest bit of movement.

He's holding on to the nightstand with a sweaty grip and both cursing and rejoicing at the fact that there's nothing in his stomach to hurl up when the man returns. He hears the door open as if from far away and then a low curse, then the man is rushing over, gently pushing him back into the bed. "This is exactly why I told you to stay still!" he tells him, sounding exasperated. Peter lets himself be pushed back down, in too much pain to fight back even if he wanted to, and is surprised when he looks up as his eyes refocus and sees the concern in the elder man's eyes for a brief second as the world swims in and out of focus. "Hey, kid, stay with me," he urges softly.

Peter blinks a few times and takes some breaths, not speaking for a moment. "I'm not a kid," he says at last. It's the only response he has to what just happened.

The mans sighs, rolling his eyes. They alight on the nightstand, and he seems to remember the reason he'd left the room for then and picks up the glass of water, helping him take a drink. "First of all, everyone less than half my age is a kid when you get to be as old as I am. Second of all, I doubt you're even old enough to drink. That's literally still a kid."

Peter swallows it greedily, drinking most of it in a few gulps before the cup is pulled away gently and he has to stop. He licks his lips, forcing himself to take a breath and answer. "I'm almost old enough," he mutters.

"Right. I'm sure you are." He looks down at him, those dark eyes contemplative and almost hesitant, as if unsure if he really wants to ask, but then he does. "So can I get you to tell me your name, or do I have to look it up?"

"Who wants to know?" Peter shoots back instantly. "Because I'm sick of being the victim and if you're working for someone-"

"The only person I work for is myself," the man interrupts. If Peter didn't know better he would say he looks almost amused, but he's hiding it behind his concern. "And I'm the only person who wants to know. Considering I saved your life…"

"I've had it saved only to be taken away before," Peter says quietly. "That means nothing to me."

"Well, I know it's hard to believe these days, but not everyone around you is a criminal or a psychopath. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would at least tell me what to call you for the duration of your stay."

Any tension that had seeped out of him returns immediately. "Duration?" Peter starts trying to sit up again. "I can't-"

A firm hand on his shoulder keeps him down. "Stay?" the man finishes. "Well, you certainly can't leave in your state. Besides, you've been missing from the street for weeks and the world has kept turning. I don't think taking a few to recover will kill anyone."

It actually might, Peter wants to argue, but he's caught on something else he's said instead. "Weeks?" he repeats weakly. "I've been gone for weeks? How… there's no way. How do you even know that?"

He just sighs again, giving him an indecipherable look. "Look, it's not important. Can I get your name or not?"

Peter stares at him for a long moment, then closes his eyes and mutters, "Peter. My name is Peter."

"Good to know. What's the last thing you remember, Peter?"

Some far off part of Peter notes that the man still hasn't told him his name even though he just gave him his, and while a small part of him thinks he should panic, another part keeps him from doing so, forcing him to focus on the question. "Clearly?" he asks, just to clarify, and the man nods. "Fighting. I think I took a nasty knock to the head at some point and between that and probably blood loss, everything after that is blurry."

"So you don't happen to remember, say, passing out and free falling through a glass wall?" he questions, looking at him with dark intensity.

Peter's eyes go wide. He remembers hearing glass shattering, but he had thought that was in his head. "I thought I'd heard glass, but… consciously, no."

"That's because you were unconscious when it happened, according to eyewitness accounts." He paused. "I just wondered how reliable that particular testimony is when there's only one eyewitness and she happens to be my six year old daughter who was up getting a snack at the time."

His eyes get even wider, if that's even possible. "I- I am so sorry, sir, I didn't know, obviously I didn't mean to-"

"Obviously not. And don't worry, she's more upset about the fact that she couldn't talk to her favorite superhero when it happened than the fact that he came crashing through the glass into her home at 3 am." The elder man offers him a small, wry smile. "You stuck to her arm for a little bit while you were unconscious. I know that can't be the suit, so you're just… natural sticky?"

"Uh, sometimes, when I want to be or when I'm not in a state to control it- what do you know about my suit?" Peter asks, feeling utterly confused. He feels like this whole conversation has done nothing but make him more confused. He's gaining nothing from it.

"Don't worry about it," the man tells him, then promptly keeps him from answering by holding the cup up to his lips. Peter wants to counter that he absolutely is worried about it, but he wants the water more, and so he focuses on draining the cup instead. He hasn't had pure water in- well, since before this most recent kidnapping, and that's been weeks, apparently.

He finishes all the water and lays his head back. He's exhausted, from the conversation and from his efforts earlier. He still feels like hell - perhaps even worse than before, now that he's not as dehydrated and he's more alert. The pain and his hunger even that fact that he's still extremely dehydrated can be felt as clear as day. He debates the merits of asking this man for anything more than he's already given him. Anything else he asks for is going to give some amount of information about him away that he is not prepared to give, and anyway, what he's done is already too much.

Even if he's actually a nice guy, Peter can't stay. He has other places to be and if it's been weeks then no doubt his absence has been noticed from various places by now. He just needs to find a new hidey hole to crawl into and stay there for a while. Still, as much as he doesn't like it, he's not going anywhere without pain meds. And it's either steal them or ask for them, and considering his current range of motion and the fact he'll probably be able to figure out how many he took either way, there's no point in not just asking.

Peter sighs. "I don't suppose you have anything for pain, do you?"

"Nothing that's going to do much with the injuries you're sporting," he says, looking remorseful. "I have some over the counter stuff on hand. Nothing you'll want to take on an empty stomach, though."

He bits his lip, thinking about it for a moment. He's been in captivity and on a drip for weeks. The likelihood he can keep much solid food of any kind down is going to be incredibly low. And that generic over the counter stuff isn't going to do shit for his metabolism. But he can't tell this guy either of those things, so he shakes his head. "No thanks then. I should probably be going anyway." He'll just have to make do. He starts struggling into an upright position, groaning a bit as it pulls on his broken ribs and all the wounds peppered across his torso and arms. "Thanks so much for your help, but-"

A hand is on his shoulder again, trying to pull him back down. "Now hold on just a minute. If you think I'm letting you walk right out of here-"

"Oh, great, here it comes," Peter mumbles, and he already sounds so weary, even to his own ears. He's so tired of being a target, of never being able to trust anyone. He knows fighting his way out of this is going to hurt like hell, but he'll give it his best shot, if he absolutely has to. "If you're seriously going to try to keep me here-"

"There's no try," the man scoffs, pushing him back flat against the bed. Peter would normally have the strength to push him right off, but he just can't leverage his upper body against the weight, not with the pain he's in. He's so tired and weak and hurt right now. "You're staying, kid. I don't care if I actually have to restrain you. I'm not going to let you go out there and hurt yourself more, or end up back in whatever hellhole you fought your way out of. You're staying until I deem you're well enough to go."

Peter closes his eyes, only half listening past the part where it became obvious he was going to keep him here one way or another, only half-able to focus through the pain and panic growing in his head as he tries to hide his growing feeling of desperation. "Please, sir. I'll be fine, and I don't know anything, I don't have anything- if you think you'll get something from helping me, I don't have anything, and if this is about the Avengers again, I swear I don't know anything about them or where any of them are and I promise you they don't give a shit about me, so if you're thinking you can use me, you're wrong. I've got nothing for you. Please just let me go."

He stops and takes a shuddering breath, not opening his eyes. The room has gone deathly quiet in the midst of his begging, so much so if it weren't for the sound of the man's thundering heart beside his head, Peter might think he left. He knows there's nothing else he can say that will help his case, no threats he can make when they both know he's in no state to follow through.

Finally the man swallows hard and lets out a small , shaky breath. "No can do, kiddo. Get some sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning." He gets up, and Peter can hear his footsteps starting to retreat.

He doesn't want to move, and he's so drained he couldn't argue anymore if he wanted to. But he has one last question left to ask. "I told you my name. Don't I at least get something to call you, too? Or are you one of those captors who won't tell me anything? Because I can give you a name in my head, but it probably won't be flattering." His voice is failing him. Closing his eyes wasn't his best idea; he's barely holding on to consciousness now, but he forces himself to focus long enough to hear the answer.

There was a pause and a creak as the door cracks open, and for a second he thinks the man is just going to walk out without answering. Then he hears the sigh, and a quiet response that makes his gut twist in ways he can't begin to unravel right now because he's already fading fast.

"Call me Tony," comes the quiet answer. "Now go to bed, kid."

And Peter does, the darkness reclaiming his consciousness before the door even fully closes behind him.

Taglist: @httydlovena @jewelrnicorn @lyrical-harmony @mentalyokay

Let me know if you want to be added!

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 16--Unlucky

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unlucky.”  A routine case with a vengeful patient leaves Demyx with more than he bargained for.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It had been kind of a long day. Drizzly, but in a vague sort of way, as though the sky couldn’t make up its mind. Demyx only had one call left before shift change, and a last-minute one; a woman had badly cut her hand by the marketplace and needed help. It would be a quick fix, at least, before he could go home and collapse into bed.

The population around here was getting to be more dense, though it still paled in comparison to many of the cities he’d visited. A few people he’d healed greeted him. He still struggled to remember all their names.

The woman was waiting by her front door, her face ashen and drawn. She had a towel wrapped tightly around her hand, and it was soaked through in places. “Good, you’re here,” she said.

“Ouch, what’d you do?”

“Trying to do some slice and dice on some vegetables… and, well…” she shrugged. She was youngish, maybe thirty or so. Her apron had splotches of blood on it.

“It happens more than you think.” He smiled. “I can fix it. Why don’t you sit down?”

She sat on her stoop. He could barely see the inside of the small home, the onions and tomatoes sitting on a now-dirty cutting board. A bloody knife. A kettle had been put up, but was not yet boiling.

Demyx sat next to her. “How’s the pain?”

“It stings more than anything. The peppers, you know.” She bit her lip.

Before unwrapping it, he gave a quick scan of the wound, and cast a spell to coagulate the blood. He set the bloody towel aside. It was a clean cut, but one that probably would’ve had trouble healing on its own. He cleaned it quickly. She hadn’t even lost much blood, and it was shallow enough that it wouldn’t scar with a spell. He had it fixed in five minutes. The woman flexed her hand.

“You’re all set,” he said. “Just try to be careful next time, okay?”

“Oh, before you go. I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Demyx hesitated. “That’s really nice of you, but I should let you get back to your dinner--”

“I insist.” She smiled widely, revealing straight, even teeth. “It’s the perfect kind of day for it.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks.”

She went back inside and came back a moment later with two mugs. “It’s a special blend. I made it myself.”

“Oh, are you a botanist?”

She laughed superficially. “You could say that.”

Demyx sipped at the tea. It was incredibly bitter, and he tried not to flinch. “The taste really is… unique.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.” She didn’t sip at her tea immediately.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I guess, in a sense. I just moved back in a few weeks ago. This was my sister’s house, but she… well.” The woman sighed. “She fell to darkness some years ago.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m getting along just fine on my own.”

He drank the tea probably too quickly, eager to get rid of the sour taste. “That’s good. I’ve noticed the people here are really friendly. You’re in good company.”

“I’m sure I am.” He wondered if he was imagining the dark undertone of her voice. She had been talking about her dead sister, after all. “We seem to be pretty welcoming to just about everyone.”

“Yeah… I really like it.” He tried to smile. “Thanks again for the refreshment. I’ll see you around.” Demyx realized he hadn’t even asked her name, but when he turned back to fix this, she had gone inside and shut the door. He brushed off the weirdness as a lack of social skills and started the long walk back.

It did seem much longer than usual. His calf muscles were getting tighter as he climbed the shallow incline, even though he usually took it a few times a day. Demyx attributed it to exhaustion, the weather. Once he was on the flat surface of the postern it didn’t fade, however, and in face the ache seemed to be creeping steadily upwards. He tried to think about what it might be. Potassium deficiency? Dehydration? He’d probably feel better with water and rest.

He kept making his way upstairs. The cramping was getting worse, more uncomfortable, almost painful now. Had he burnt out again? That had felt kind of similar. It would figure. Broken bones and pneumonia were high-cost heals, and he’d had a couple. He started to dig in his kit for an ether, found half of one, and had just brought the bottle to  his mouth when a sharp pang in his chest made him double in two. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered, spilling the shiny green liquid all over the floor. “Shit.” He rubbed at the pain, trying to get it to ease enough to stand. A hot burning sensation replaced the pain, and his vision seemed to shimmer.

It wasn’t--no--

Demyx dug out his gummiphone and dialed Even.

His voice was sharp and snippy. “Boy, I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?”

“I think I’ve been poisoned.”

---

Demyx couldn’t make it as far as the lab. His muscles were too tight, and painful, and he sat propped against a wall waiting for help. He dug through his bag with shaking, achy fingers to see if he had any antidote, but he’d used his last on a kid who’d accidentally swallowed cleaning products. He had to wait and hope he could make it until help came.

At least it was fairly quick. “What on earth did you do to yourself?” Dilan asked sourly.

“Not me,” he hissed through his teeth. He could feel sweat coursing down his face.

“Can you walk at all?”

“Hurts too much.”

Dilan hefted him up like a baby. Being moved hurt worse than the stillness, and for a moment he thought he might faint. “You’re much lighter than you look.”

He tried to keep breathing. His head was swimming too much to try and figure out what had been done to him, and why. Even was smart. Even could handle it.

“So what is this? An accident? A cruel prank?”

“Don’t know.”

“We’re almost there.”

Time seemed to stretch, elongate…

“Demyx, try to stay awake.”

“Sorry.”

There were so many damn hallways in this place.

“Here. Set him over here.” Even’s voice, high and stressed.

“He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness.”

A sharp stab of cool fluid into his arm. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. He could just barely feel the canvas of a cot under all the pain.

“There you are,” Even said. Another pinprick, this one in his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Hurts.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I’m hesitant to give you anything while we’re trying to get you to metabolize this nasty business. I’m going to take some blood, alright? Let’s see if I can’t figure out what this is. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep a steady antidote drip.”

“Okay.” The words would’ve meant more to him if he could focus. His muscles were stiff, tight, and burning. Demyx wasn’t sure to be glad or not he was conscious. He shivered, hard enough that Even had trouble getting blood. Even tucked a scratchy wool blanket around him.

"I should tell Ienzo."

"No," he hissed. "No, I'll do it after."

"You're very ill. You'll probably be very ill for the next few days."

The generic antidote was making him more lucid, but it also made him more aware of the pain, insidious and awful. "That bad?"

"I'm still doing research. But you're lucky you recognized it and got to me when you did."

Through a sort of haze Demyx watched Even at work at the nearby table, watching him pipette blood and examine it under a microscope.

Time was moving weirdly. It could've been ten minutes or two hours. The pain eased in the slightest. He was desperately tired, and desperately thirsty, despite the fluids he was taking. "Even?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Will I die if I go to sleep?"

He smiled sadly. "No, you're rebounding enough. Get some rest. You'll need it."

Demyx slipped in and out, never quite getting all the way asleep…

"It was quite alarming to see. I haven't yet gotten the story. I think you may be right, Dilan. Someone clearly has ire for us."

Demyx blinked. Something cold wormed under the skin of his hand. "What…"

Even patted his wrist. "A more specific antidote. Go back to sleep."

"What was it?"

Even frowned. He sat on an upturned crate next to the cot. "A type of neurotoxin that causes your cells to stop accepting water. Essentially, it would've been a very quick, very painful death from dehydration. Not to worry, I've made a serum which seems to be combatting it. Your vitals are already stabilizing."

Demyx considered the irony of this. "She must've known."

Even's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?'

"The person who did this." He tried to sit up, or at least prop himself up, but his muscles were horrifically sore. “About my old powers—”

"Don't move," Even said gently. "I figured you, of all people, would understand this part of palliative care."

The joke didn't phase him. "Why else would she use a poison to dry me out?"

"Who?"

"The woman, the one who--" Hot nausea brought tears to his eyes. "I'm going to throw up."

Dutifully, Even handed him a pail to be sick into. This dealt with, he tried to focus.

"She gave me tea. After I healed her. I thought the cut was too clean, that she acted weird--"

Even sighed. "You gave her the benefit of the doubt. As any competent physician would." He paused. "Do you remember where she lived? We should let the committee know. The last thing we need is another maniac on the loose."

Demyx swallowed the taste of bile. He told Even what he remembered, but this exhausted him into a stupor. Even gave him another dose of the real antidote. He drifted off and woke suddenly, disoriented, is his own bed. There was still an IV in his hand. His head was pounding in time with his heart, an insistent thud like a metronome, and his stomach was sour. The blackout curtains of the room had been drawn, leaving it blessedly dark and cool.

In the semidarkness, he did not quite realize that there were other people in the apartment with him. The lamp by the couch was on, and it was here Even and Ienzo sat, mumbling to one another too softly for him to make out. Demyx felt horrifically thirsty, and despite all the time that had passed and all the fluids he’d taken he still didn’t feel the need to use the bathroom. He wondered if the poison had done more damage to him than he’d thought, that it had fucked with his kidneys, and if he should say something.

One thing at a time. Worry about sitting up first.

A sharp, splitting pain in his ab muscles nearly made him gasp out loud, but he managed it at last, treading dizziness. His skin was tacky with dried sweat.

The muffled conversation abruptly stopped. Ienzo stood and all but ran over to him. “You scared a few years off my life. Easily,” he said. He pulled Demyx into a gentle embrace, and if he hadn’t been so dehydrated he probably would’ve cried. Demyx couldn’t help but lean into the comfort. Too soon, Ienzo broke away and touched his face. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, wonderful,” he said hoarsely. “I could run a marathon.”

A twitchy, anxious smile broke the tension in his brows. “Are you still symptomatic?”

“Well I feel like roadkill. Like a hangover times one thousand. But the worst of the pain seems to have stopped.”

“Good.”

Even gently steered Ienzo out of the way and took Demyx’s pulse. “Aerith appraised you when you were unconscious,” he told him. “You should be alright, more or less, so long as we keep your electrolytes up to snuff. The antidote seems to have worked before the poison caused lasting damage. I’ve made more, in case our little friend decides to strike again.”

“I’m still so thirsty.”

“I’m sure it must feel that way. You’re getting more than enough fluids.”

Ienzo turned towards the window, peeking through the curtain at the moonlit night. His arms were crossed and he clutched his elbow so tightly Demyx could see the knuckles were white. He wanted to console him, but considering his brain felt like it had been microwaved all he could focus on was how shitty he felt. “Can I change clothes?” Demyx asked Even. “Maybe take a bath? I feel gross.”

Even raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel up to it?” he asked. “You should really rest first.”

“I’ll feel better. There could still be vestiges of the poison in my sweat. Which I’m kind of covered in.”

“That’s a fair point. Ienzo?”

He jerked, as though startled.

Even squinted at him. “Could you help him? I’m sure he’d prefer you over me.”

“Yes. Of course,” he said stiffly.

Standing was treacherous, and he had to lean heavily against Ienzo. In the privacy of the bathroom he let Demyx undress, his back turned as if they didn’t see one another naked on a regular basis. Demyx hung the IV fluid on a rack normally devoted to towels and settled in the warm water. “Well, this is humiliating,” he said slowly.

Ienzo sat on the covered toilet. “I’m sure.”

“I feel like an invalid.”

“You’re very, very weak.” He sighed. “While you were resting, I studied that compound. Things could’ve been so much worse, Demyx.” His voice trembled in the slightest. “It could’ve caused irreparable, irreversible damage to your brain. You could’ve had memory loss, or been paralyzed-- why are you laughing?”

The deadly anger of his tone sobered what little humor Demyx had found. “I can deal with memory loss.”

Ienzo paled, his anger dissolving. “Yes… that was… tactless of me.” A pause. “You could’ve lost so much, aside from your life. Motor skills… the ability to speak…”

“Motor skills?” He looked at his wet palms, which trembled faintly. He hoped it was from anxiety and nothing deeper. Aerith would’ve said something, right? “You mean I couldn’t play Arpeggio?”

“Amongst other things.”

He’d been too sick to realize it. He could handle the thought of death, even being disabled, because there was nothing wrong with not being able to walk or talk. Whatever would have happened, he could handle and adjust. But losing Arpeggio? Again? He felt wetness in his eyes and tried to blink it back.

“This is probably traumatizing,” Ienzo said softly. He took Demyx’s hand.

“Probably? You think?”

“I hope this is an anomaly, a lone act of cruelty. The committee is opening an investigation. Once you’re well, they want to question you.” He slumped a bit, as though his body weighed too much. “I am… furious. Even if this is revenge against the apprentices, there was no reason for you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Unless she knew about me being in the Organization.”

“That is… possible, yes. Even so. It would’ve made far more sense for her to target one of us.”

“I interact with people more. Maybe she was trying to send a message.” His stomach was feeling a little worse, and he settled more deeply into the tub.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I had hoped Dilan was wrong, about the townspeople harboring grudges against us. I was naive.”

“You were hopeful.”

Ienzo looked up. There were tears in his eyes.

“Maybe it’s got nothing to do with our pasts. Maybe she’s just crazy and wanted to hurt someone.”

“Maybe,” he said, though Demyx could tell he didn’t believe it. “Is it helping? The bath?”

“It feels good. I’m so sore.”

“You probably shouldn’t stay in too long. I’d feel much better if you were back in bed. I should probably change the sheets, in case you were right about it being in your sweat.” He stood. “I’ll do that now. If you need me, shout.”

Taking a bath wore him out. Once he had actually brushed his teeth and gotten dressed again, he fell asleep for an indeterminable length of time. When he woke up, he was still achy, still thirsty, but a little bit less so. He kept down tea and a bowl of rice, was able to get to the bathroom on his own. It was a small victory.

Aeleus visited him. After all this time they weren’t very close, but Demyx appreciated the gesture regardless. “I’ve made you some bone broth soup. It’ll help get your strength back.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He sat in the chair at the bedside. Ansem had taken Ienzo out for lunch, though he didn’t know that Demyx asked him to do this. Ienzo needed air, some time to decompress. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Demyx admitted. “I’m getting there. Slowly. I can’t wait to get this thing out of my hand.”

“You gave Ienzo quite a fright.”

“I think it hit him harder than it hit me, to be honest.” Demyx bit his lip. “To a degree I think he thinks it’s his fault. That the woman was really after one of you, that this was some sort of revenge. It’s probably triggering him. That’s why I wanted him to talk to Ansem.”

Aeleus nodded sagely. “You know him well.”

Demyx laughed a little. “Well--I hope so. He’s hard to figure out, but I’m getting better at it.”

“You’ve become very considerate. Compared to then.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his untethered hand. His hair was a mess, but he saw no point in making it look good today. “I’ve worked really hard on that. The way I… used to talk to the others, makes me… ugh, cringe.” He bit his lip. “You want to know something really horrible? When Demyx heard about you guys at CO getting killed, he was happy. As much as a Nobody could feel, anyway.”

Aeleus’s expression barely changed. “You had to develop a sense of empathy from scratch. I, too, hardened my heart. So to speak. It was the only way to get through.”

“I already asked Even and Dilan. But how did you end up with Ansem?”

Aeleus thought about this for a few minutes. “We can say it was… progress for progress’s sake,” he said slowly. “I was young, I was idealistic. I’d heard that Ansem was pushing the boundaries of what could be, and I… feeling somewhat stuck in a rut… craved that change.”

“Did you feel trapped in Radiant Garden?”

“I believe I did. To hear him speak of other worlds, of other cultures was… intoxicating. It changed absolutely everything. Now I try my best to not be jaded. This place… I hope to nurture it.”

Demyx understood. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

---

He slept again, deeply, and woke up disoriented a little after noon. He felt weird, and it took him a minute to process that he only felt that way because he wasn’t thirsty. Demyx waited for Even’s confirmation, but getting rid of the IV made him feel a million times better. He was able to at least rest on the couch now instead of in bed.

Aerith came by with Leon. She confirmed that the poison was gone from his system, but that he should still rest for another few days, at least until the fatigue dissipated. She made them tea and, exam and pleasantries over, they set to business.

Demyx told Leon everything he remembered, every detail to how she looked and acted, to how the tea tasted, where she lived. He’d told Even all this in a sort of fugue state. Giving the report made him feel vaguely nauseous.

“We’ve investigated the leads,” Leon said. “It’s so weird. When Yuffie went to that home, there was nobody there. There was no sign it was even inhabited. We’ve asked around, and nobody’s seen this person in days. We’re thinking she came over with one of the last Traverse Town flights. Without a name, and without records… she’ll be hard to catch.”

Demyx bit his lip. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Leon sighed. “Yeah, us too. And we’ve let everyone know--not that it was you, but that someone had been poisoned, and not to accept anything from strangers or what seems or tastes suspicious. The restaurant owners are all pissed at me, but I don’t do this to be liked.”

“Even has samples of my blood and the poison. If that helps.”

Aerith’s eyes brightened. “You know, it might,” she said. “Maybe if I can figure out where it came from, we can find out more about the person who did this.”

“I’d say you guys in particular need to be extra careful,” Leon said. “In case this was targeting you specifically.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you think it is? Has anyone ever, like, mentioned anything about us?”

Leon tapped his fingers against his notepad. “Not that I can recall. I sent Yuffie out to do some recon. She’s good with people. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll find it.”

“And at least we have and can make more of the antidote, should someone need it,” Aerith said. “It’s good you were able to recognize it for what it was.”

“I kind of have you to thank for that. That, and years of getting bitten by asshole Heartless.”

Leon smiled. “We’ll call you if we need more information. Though this brings up an important point. We need to know who lives here. What they’re doing here. Town is growing so fast. We’ve been so focused on the literal infrastructure that I nearly forgot there needs to be other infrastructure too.”

“Oh, bureaucracy.” He tried not to flinch.

“Sort of. We should start a basic census, at least.” He thought about this for a moment, tapping a pen against his chin. “Well, I hope you have a quick recovery.”

Aerith gave him a hug. “Be well.”

---

It took him about ten days before he was feeling normal. It definitely felt like he’d been really sick for a long time. He’d lost weight, and ended up having to buy a belt because nothing fit right anymore. He hoped to gain a few kilos and get back into shape. Demyx was sure if he tried to do magic right now it would wipe him out, or worse.

One of these days he and Ienzo took a walk into town to get some groceries. At first, a flutter of anxiety crept under his skin, because even though Leon said they kept his identity hidden in terms of the poisoning, he feared everyone would know. But they were treated more or less normally.

“I figured I’d use this time as an excuse to bake more,” Ienzo said. “If you need to gain weight, that’s a good way to do it.”

“I won’t say no.”

“I know you won’t. I do enjoy it.” He stood to Demyx’s left, so he has trouble reading Ienzo’s expression. He swore he heard some artificiality in it.

“Can you make macarons? The last time you did I swear I met god.”

“To be fair. We’d just smoked marijuana. That does affect taste. ...And any supposed divine revelation.”

“Even so.”

“That was a good night. We should do it again when you’re well.”

A blush crept into his cheeks. “Yes.” They hadn’t had sex in nearly two weeks; maybe if he wasn’t exhausted when they got home Ienzo might want to.

“Do you feel up to taking the long way home?”

“I think so. I’m not that tired yet.” The early morning air was fresh and cool, and he drank it in gratefully. Even with open windows, the air inside could only feel so clean. “I’ve missed being outside.”

“You’ve dealt with all this beautifully.”

“No point being weak and also miserable.”

“I suppose.”

Demyx looked back towards him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why is it you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure.”

He sighed. “Admittedly, it did dredge up some negative memories,” he said. “You and I… have a complicated history of collapsing on one another.”

“We have the combined constitution of a wet tissue.”

He chuckled. “As well as luck that is both terrible and great.” A pause. Demyx let him take his time. “I know it’s not my fault, but I do feel… guilty. If this is a targeted attack, who knows what else might happen should someone with a grudge seek revenge?”

“I really hope it isn’t that.”

“I do too--” Ienzo’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I swear I saw someone--maybe I’m paranoid.”

“Might be a Heartless.”

“Are you strong enough to fight one?”

“Maybe a Shadow--probably not much more. Maybe we should turn back towards where there are more claymores.” A seed of dread started to grow in his stomach.

“Yes. I agree.”

They walked back along the blue stone that bordered the edge of town. Ienzo kept looking over his shoulder; Demyx couldn’t help but do the same. They heard rock scrabbling. “We’re definitely being followed by something,” Demyx said, as softly as he could.

“What should we do?”

“Try and act natural until we get somewhere safer.”

Ienzo squeezed his hand more tightly than he normally did. “I’ve got a pocket knife. But I don’t think that will be much use. And my magic is still very limited.”

“Well, we’ll see. Might want to dust off that strategizing part of your brain.”

There was a quiet thud behind them. Demyx turned, tense, ready to draw the Keyblade.

The figure wore a cloak. Not an Organization cloak, a regular, run-of-the-mill cloak. It was brown.

But Demyx, after years of recon, didn’t need to see a person’s face to recognize them. The height, shoulders, and general bearing were enough. He exhaled and put a hand on his hip. “What are you doing here?”

The figure, craving anonymity, said nothing.

Ienzo squinted, confused.

“You trying to finish the job, or what?” Demyx asked.

The figure flicked back their hood and scowled.

“For the record, poisoning a healer isn’t the best way to go. We tend to be pretty resilient. You should’ve just stabbed me.”

The woman’s face was flushed red with anger. “You weren’t supposed to survive.”

“Yeah, that’s how assassination works.”

Demyx turned back to Ienzo. He was frozen; he looked like he’d been struck. Demyx wondered briefly if he’d been hit by a Stop spell, but he was still blinking, and his hands were shaking. More obvious than anything, though, was the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Little Ienzo,” she said coolly. “Though--not so small now, are you?”

Demyx tried to think. “Who--” he began, but the woman cut him off.

“Go on, tell him,” she said.

He shuddered, then said, “One of the test subjects. One of the victims. She and her sister.”

“But she’s human,” Demyx said. The conversation he’d had with her previously clicked. “Or--”

“Not all of the people who were exploited fell to darkness. In the--the early days.” He steeled himself. “Regardless of how you feel. Take out your anger on me, not on those around me.”

“I think you were the most disturbing one,” the woman continued. “Of all the scientists. What did they do to you, to get you to act the way they did? And why are you reopening old wounds?”

“I want to help people heal from what I did. The darkness hurt me too.”

She took a step forward. Demyx tried to shove Ienzo behind him instinctively. “Not everybody wants to forgive and forget,” she said.

“More people do than don’t,” Demyx cut in. “And how is trying to kill us solving anything?”

To his surprise, he felt Ienzo taking shelter behind him; he was confused for just a second before he felt Ienzo pressing the gummiphone into his back.

The woman scowled. “He’s got you under his spell too, I see.”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if you want to manipulate me, you’re going to have to be a lot more clever than that.”

Ienzo pressed his palm once again against Demyx’s back. The message was clear; stall.  

“What did you think any of this would achieve?” Demyx asked. His heart was hammering, but he tried to maintain a sculpted look of boredom. “So you kill me. What would your next move have been? Infiltrating the castle? Trying to off us one by one? And then what? Regardless, you’d get caught. We work with the committee. They’d notice if we were gone.”

She seemed thrown by this. Behind the bravado, he noticed something like pain.

He sighed. “Look. I get it. I do. I know how it feels to be violated, and then to be so angry, so desperate, so hurt you’ll do anything to make it better. But you don’t have to do it this way. If you want, we can… I can help you.”

She clenched her fists. “You’d help the person who tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Honor code, right?” he held up his hand, and then wondered if this was overkill.

For a moment she said and did nothing, her expression blank. Her hands opened, relaxed. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Someone would be here soon.

With a flash, almost faster than he could really perceive, he saw the knife, but before he could duck or draw the Keyblade Ienzo threw him down and caught the knife right against his shoulder. In the space of about two seconds, Demyx smashed the hilt of the Keyblade against her temple, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He turned back to Ienzo. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Demyx hissed. “Lay down.”

He was breathing heavily, a fine film of sweat all along his face. “Feels mostly like she hit bone,” Ienzo said through his teeth.

“That’s for me to decide.” He ripped off his sweatshirt and packed it around the wound.

“Don’t do magic. Help is coming.”

“Let me at least check to see if it hit an artery.” The bleeding wasn’t visibly too much, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could all be internal.

“You’ll hurt yourself--”

“Shut up. You just got fucking stabbed.” He tried to find the energy for a spell. It didn’t seem to want to come. He pulled hard, pulled deep within himself, and immediately felt his body start to protest. He gagged.

“Demyx--”

“No. I’ve got this.”

“Demyx, I’m fine. Really.”

He applied pressure to Ienzo’s wound. He texted Aerith, in case she wasn’t already on the way. “You still with me?”

“I don’t even feel dizzy.”

“Don’t lie.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “If you die I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m not going to die.” The way he was breathing seemed to betray that. “I’m not finished with you yet.” His eyes rolled a little bit.

“Ienzo.”

“Still here.”

“Don’t shut your eyes.” He had to try again. Demyx pulled harder, tried to find the magic. Blackness swam over him for a minute.

He heard their footsteps before things could get bleaker. He wasn’t sure if it was from trying to use power, or from panic, but things seemed off, his ears ringing. Aerith crouched to heal the wound, Leon crouched to accost the woman. A small, dusty smelling hand patted his cheek. “Come on, kiddo,” said the voice. Yuffie’s face barely slid into focus.

“I’m five years older than you,” he mumbled, and fainted.

He came to about fifteen seconds later when she tipped an ether into his mouth. He drank it all down, flinching at the oily taste. He turned to Ienzo and Aerith--he was pale, his eyes closed--and a strangled sound caught in his throat.

“He’s alive,” Aerith assured him quickly. “He’s alive. He’s asleep. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh fuck,” he said to the ground. “Fucking--”

“What a day, huh,” Yuffie said dryly.

---

“I do believe Aerith’s instructions were that both of us were to rest. I also believe I don’t need any more pillows. Nor do I need them fluffed.”

Demyx took a step back. Other than being a little pale, Ienzo seemed completely back to himself.

“You’re doing it again,” he said drolly, and took another drink of the blood replacement potion.

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me instead of yourself. Come to bed. Lie with me.”

Demyx did so.

Ienzo slid his shirt down his shoulder. “See? I don’t even have a scar. So before you exert yourself wittering over me--”

“You took a fucking knife for me.”

He put a finger over his lips. “Which was a calculated risk I knew probably wouldn’t kill me. In the moment, I admit, I was more concerned about your wellbeing than mine--”

“Probably?”

“Demyx. Breathe.”

He tried to listen.

“I’ve seen too many people die this way.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Ienzo pulled him close.

He cried for a long time.

“I know you want to protect me,” Ienzo continued. “I think it would be easier, and more productive, if we agreed to protect each other instead. Can you agree to that?” He brushed a tear from Demyx’s eye.

“Yes.”

[ofsorrxws]

                 // NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP //

tres followed, took note of every habit and mannerism. the way she talked, the tone of her voice, the way her eyes squinted when she smiled or how that smile varied depending on the emotion she conveyed. there was the OTHER thing. she always kept a safe distance, one where the pristine girl wouldn’t see her and yet she felt it-- that sensation of wanting to crawl out of her own skin. to pull it away from the burning feeling underneath, and she knew the other felt it too. the way she swayed whenever she was around, how she held her head or had to sit down to take a break. 

THEY WERE TOXIC FOR EACH OTHER.  

if she hadn’t made up her mind earlier, she would’ve done so now. only one could live. she had to destroy her. 

--

tea always made things better. ( or at least it was the cover-up for what she wanted to believe. ) a cup clasped between her hands as she stood on the rooftop of the apartment building. nothing more than the feeling of warmth in her hands, the cool air blowing her hair, and the soft cooing of the pigeons. 

so many things had happened lately. from the moment she set foot in this town. some of them UNSPEAKABLE some others, life-changing. she had lost pieces of herself for that one thing she sought out-- she didn’t regret it. she made a choice, and she lived with it. 

thought there was the next step. to tell them. 

her pondering was interrupted by a new wave of dizziness. this time stronger than any other she had felt in the past days, and once she steadied herself. a sudden surge of nausea filled her, making her rush back to her apartment just in time to empty the contents of her stomach in the kitchen sink. 

and... BLOOD.

when it was over, and gasping for air. she opened the faucet to rinse out her mouth. she’s been feeling sick. nicole can’t help but wonder if this is some nasty cold or if its the effect of selling her soul to a demon. ( it wasn’t like he gave her a step-by-step except for the YOU HAVE 10 YEARS quota. ) 

“oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t know being this close would cause THAT kind of disgusting effects on you.” 

it wasn’t the fact the voice sounded familiar, it was more on the fact that she wasn’t alone. quickly turning around, hands clenched back on the counter as another wave of dizziness hit. there was a gasp erupting from her lips. “how-- who--” 

the person who looked exactly like her rolled her eyes. “let’s save us the clueless act. i am you. and you...” a once over, her look was condescending. it made her skin crawl. “are some failed version of me.” 

-- 

“what do you want?” 

a repetitive question. one tres rarely bothered to answer-- it wasn’t like she spoke too much when it came to murder. not the kind to go on tangents and monologues, or play. it was a waste of time. but this was a special day, wasn’t it? 

 “for once, i’m so glad you asked.” she smiled. “i’ll tell you a story.” 

the nicole that still somehow held hope and illusions in her eyes, listened. there was fear in her posture. confusion. tres wasn’t careful with her words with her, she wasn’t meant to cater to her feelings. truth be told? she ENJOYED destroying every bit of what was left of her with her words. and was there still a lot. 

tres told her just how different their lives were. how she was raised by a powerful man and not the LIARS that had been nicole’s parents. how nuns had never been in the picture. ( she didn’t hide the mockery in her voice and face when she mentioned that part-- it sounded like a joke. IT WAS A JOKE. ) how she actually grew with her siblings, who were nothing like their current counterparts. how she killed one of them with her own hands. “she was weak-- like you.” 

-- 

nicole felt sick. sicker than before, and the days prior. she had noted this... version of herself wasn’t making her feel like this on purpose. ( she saw her wipe blood off her nose earlier. she felt sick too. ) there was a part of her that wanted to UNDERSTAND. 

and she did-- this other person. TRES had only known darkness. 

it was hard to swallow, the fear was suffocating her. she closed her eyes. she needed to get out. 

ORB. PLEASE, ORB. 

tears streamed down her face, she couldn’t. so when she opened her eyes, the first thing she did was RUN. 

-- 

she rarely enjoyed the chase, it was pointless. especially when she could simply orb and cut it short. before nicole could reach the staircase, she orbed near it making her trip and fall face down. 

“you’re making this worse to yourself, nicole.” tres clicked her tongue in disapproval. bending down to grab one of her legs and pull her back to the apartment. “you forget i have your age in training.” she spoke as if she was having a conversation, as if nicole wasn’t screaming her lungs out trying to get someone’s attention. 

“THERE ARE NO HEROES.” 

“you asked me what i wanted-- “ she continued once she threw her back in the apartment, shutting the door behind them. “i want your life.” a smile as if she was bein friendly, and for a moment it looked GENUINE. “i want to do something BETTER with it. this reality? IT’S A SHAME. xion with a WHITELIGHTER? you a NUN. claudia alive, and evan..” a scoff. “whatever he does here.” 

tres could’ve made it easier, it was EMBARRASSING to see this version of herself a quivering and sobbing mess on the floor. tres believed it was for the better. she refused to see her father be a FAILURE in this reality. not if she could change. not if she could HELP HIM. 

slowly crawling over her, she grinned. her fingers with a gentleness she could only fake as she brushed back some hair sticking to her face. “don’t take it personal, but i can’t accomplish that with you in the picture.” a kiss to the forehead. “GOODNIGHT, NICOLE.” 

--

“...i pray the Lord, my soul to take.” 

[peanutsoulofavengers-blog]

Worries. (Peter Quill x Reader)

Warning: Rocket and his vulgarity, pregnancy stuff. Fluff. You are human – in my head – and have been kidnapped on (whatever planet you want) as a trophy. Based on Heart song “All I ever wanted to do is make love to you”

Summary: You are pregnant with Peter’s child and you don’t know what to do.

Ship: Peter Quill x Reader

Characters: Peter Quill, Drax, Gamora, Mantis, Rocket, Groot (child)

 Request / Ask Something | Masterlist

                                                               ...

He accepted with a smile, so we drove for a while

I didn't ask him his name, this lonely boy in the rain

Fate tell me it's right, is this love at first sight

Please don't make it wrong, just stay for the night

 You were freaked out. Your footsteps were repetitive as your breath was heavy. You were destroyed, overenjoyed, overanxious, overstressed. It has been few weeks since you started having nausea, being sick, having mood swings, back, breast and headache which made your friends on the edge and yourself too. Your periods weren’t present since now two whole months and you were just frightened by the fact that something could be wrong with your body and your health. Peter started to feel worried once he understood that it was above your ways and that you couldn’t help. You were mostly down and asleep as much as possible. You were eating more than the others (which made Rocket even more shitty). With Rocket judgement, you were almost always feeling offended and obviously: easily angry and sobbing just after, angry against anything and nothing at the same time.

 And Drax joined you, he wanted to talk to you. You and only. Honestly, you were overwhelmed by fear. But surprisingly he was gentle, kind and caring after you. Like he knew what was currently happening. But nothing that you could ever thought about. He asked that you explain everything that you were currently feeling. He told you that his wife was exactly feeling the same when she was pregnant of their daughter.

 You.

Pregnant?

 Pregnant in space? Pregnant in a place where no human medicine was reachable excepting of the little mount of acknowledgement that you and Peter knew? No. It wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. It was the worst thing which could happen for you and the Guardians of the Galaxy. You were going to be a burden for everything, including… The father. Oh, and you were doubting that Peter could be a good father, considering that his education was everything but not human. This child wasn’t destined to have any future. Any good destiny at least. You threw yourself in Drax arms, claiming that there was no way to be pregnant here. But you wanted it, you wanted this baby so much and at the same time: not at all. Not at all because you were having doubts about you and Peter’s capacities to taking care of someone, even more a child. You weren’t even able to take care of yourself…

 Drax told you to talk to Peter about the foetus in your womb and that there was nothing more beautiful than having a child. He even swore that he could protect the child if there was any danger around. You were calmer than before.

 Then you started to think more about talking to Peter. Anyway, your bump was still coverable by large shirts which were belonging to your boyfriend. You saw him driving the Milano, concentrated on the road. Rocket swearing just after him and Groot was looking at you, like he was sure that something was wrong.

 - My name’s Groot.

- I took weight…?

- My name’s Groot.

 It vexed you more than you wanted it too. Usually you wouldn’t mind but this time, it was different. You felt the tears coming and you were trying to hold them back, but you failed. You began to cry out loud, falling on the ground and burring your face into your hands. Peter looked at you, wondering to himself why you were crying.

 - Peter, take care of your fucking overweighed girlfriend.

- Fuck you Rocket. You were angry. Oh yes.

- Oh well, it’s not me who get fucked recently. He said.

 Peter hugged you, trying to make you feel better but all you felt was only the heat from his body and yours which was even higher considering your state. But you didn’t mind, you were too tired for arguing about what the Guardians were thinking about you. Well actually, it wasn’t your fault. But more the one the… Foetus. Your body wasn’t yours anymore.

 All I want to do is make love to you

One night of love was all we knew

All want to do is make love to you

I've got lovin' arms to hold on to

 Peter transported you until your berth where he laid you on, taking care of not harming you or whatever could make you feel worse than now. He was so caring but at the same time, so shitty sometimes because it took care only on things which are important after something happened. But you knew that if the topic was you, then there’s was no need to worry. He covered you with the blanket, placing your head above the pillow correctly for making sure that you were comfortable as much as possible.

 - You’re not overweighed…

- I am. you sniffed.

- Then it’s doesn’t matter… I don’t care about what this fucking raccoon is saying.

 You were smiling, tears and sadness has leaved you. Peter took your hot hand in his. She was hotter than his, which worried him even more. He placed his free another hand on your forehead and gave up yours for placing the left one on his forehead, considering your temperature.

 - Oh god… You’re surely sick. But how you could be sick in space…

 Your breath was heavy once more.

 - Quill… We have to talk.

- When I heard that sentence, it was in a teen movie of the eighty’s… On Earth.

- No no… I’m not gonna break with you.

 He let his mouth dropping a loud sigh of relief.

 - What’s going on?

- I’m not sick Peter… Not at all…

- You sure?

- Yes.

 You held his hands in yours, they were so small compared to his. He smiled and laid his eyes on you, once more. You were paler than before. Your hairs were all around you, the shirt was large and let an opened view on your cleaving which grew up a little bit since the beginning of your pregnancy. You placed his both hands on your belly, under the shirt. Letting him feel the little to tiny bump.

 - Yes, you took weight but it’s not the problem, right?

- I’m bearing your child since… One month now. But I’m scared Quill, I’m scared because we’re not on our planet, we are on a fucking ship in space, no medicine, no doctor, nothing. We don’t even know if this baby is gonna be born in a good health or even alive! We don’t know Quill! You and me… We’re fighting against the monsters of so many planets, having problems in almost the totality of the galaxy, Rocket is acting shit, Groot is a child, Drax is still unstable, Gamora might be kind yes but what if she’s not able to take also care of this child? Mantis is so innocent, and she’ll never know about what she could do! We’re fucked up Quill, we’re fucked up!

 Let’s be realistic: You were telling the truth and you knew it. Peter knew it too, that’s why you made him be silent for long minutes where you were sobbing once more, your hormones loved being like rollercoasters fuck. But you couldn’t help anyway. It was true: it’s was going to be difficult for not saying impossible. But Peter Quill was a man who loved being against the impossible for making it possible. Even if he was obligated to move every stars of the planet. It was also true that after his birth, this baby was in obligation to be protected. That you both were obligated to take care of you for not letting the other getting any danger. Or even being killed.

 I told him I am the flower you are the seed

We walked in the garden we planted a tree

Don't try to find me, please don't you dare

Just live in my memory, you'll always be there

 But it was so hard, you never thought about raising a kid. And what the fuck… Peter? Even less. Not minding that he was Star Lord, but because of the danger of the galaxy. But Peter loved you, and he started to love these two little parts of you both the moment when you announced it. You were unconfident, you were overwhelmed by fear, you were all these things and he understood. You never been prepared, you both haven’t even spoke about having kids because you never considered it seriously. And the only times Groot said that he wanted a little adoptive sister or brother, you guys took his words as jokes. Well, he won.

 - Look. Peter whispered. There’re billions or trillions of planets in the galaxy… I’m sure that it could be okay. We can beat this. If my mom gave me birth, I’m certain that you can give to our child too. There’s no way that you’re not strong enough for this. No. No. No. We’ll modify the Milano a little bit just suiting the new member on the ship, we’ll get through Rocket’s shit, Drax’s violence problems, Mantis’s innocence, Gamora… Well no, I don’t think that there’s a specific problem with Gamora. We’re gonna protect this kid until we die because we’re too old for that shit.

 Oh, oooh, we made love

Love like strangers

All night long

We made love

 Call him romantic, but you knew that it wasn’t. It was only what he thought. You smiled, you were still scared, but you were both scared and obviously that it wasn’t going to be easy as he explained himself and the plan. He gently rubs your belly once more, lifted the shirt up and left a sweet wet kiss on it, making your shoulders quivering because of the sweetness of his move. His lips moved to yours, sweet, without any sexual desire for once. Just made of love. Just after you fell asleep without a warning, exhausted by all these emotions. You just heard Peter running like a kid and saying out loud.

 - I’m gonna be a fucking dad, guys!

- Oh shit…! You heard from Rocket.

Then it happened one day, we came ‘round the same way

You can imagine his surprise when he saw his own eyes…

[type-a-nomad]

weekend feb 25

February 25 Sunday

Alright so this weekend has been crazy lazy.  Before I get into my lethargy and the justification for it, I want to address some of the information I forget to include in my general posts.  

One thing I keep forgetting to write down: THEY DONT USE TAPE HERE. My friend Sydney just came over and saw me writing and asked if I had written this down because she pointed this out last week and I totally freaked out.  Because THEY DONT.  It sounds small, but imagine if all of the tape in your life vanished.  WEIRD.  Super fûcking weird.  Instead of tape, they use this sticky white ticky-tac stuff to stick things to the walls.  Tape is better.   Another thing I forgot to write down: I extended and am now staying here until April 14th.  Yay! I came to this decision because the work here is meaningful, and the quality of life is high because I’m by the beach, the people are generally good, it’s a different culture that challenges me, and I am meeting new people almost every day because it’s a hostel so everyone comes and leaves at different times. ANOTHER THING. I talked to Shannon about what the crazy lady screamed at us on Thursday.  It turns out it wasn't all crazy.  The crazy woman mentioned people dying.  When I followed up, she was right.  I did not get a year for when this happened, but probably within the last five years, Shannon said that eight volunteers were walking in the street in the evening.  A drunk driver hit all of them.  Shannon was the first on the scene and one of the volunteers died in her arms.  Two others were in comas for several weeks, and all the others were injured but survived.  I did not press her further on the subject because, obviously, this is beyond a delicate topic.  I can’t imagine the kind of emotional experience that was for Shannon.  Also, she’s an amazing woman.   Shannon is only 28 and basically runs the volunteer program.  She has three adopted kids who she adopted WHEN SHE WAS 24.  Their mother was an alcoholic and a drug addict and I am not sure how Shannon was initially connected with them, but I think she met them all through the volunteer program and eventually interceded.  She is very connected to some of the families of the kids in the program, which I think is a great thing because we meet some resistance from the families sometimes and more communication helps.  It is easy to say that it’s crazy for families to be against their children being tutored, given attention, taught to swim, taken out to play organized sports, and taught to surf.  However, there’s more to the situation.  When you keep in mind the poverty these kids live in and the relatively luxurious lives the volunteers have just because we have couches, a fridge, running water, etc. I completely see why there would be resentment from somebody of that background playing with your kid after school.  Also, I’m sure there is some feeling of resistance against the idea of your kid being a charity case that rich white people use to feel like they're doing good things.  Some of the parents outright tell their kids they aren't allowed to go after school and play with us, that they want them to clean the house and babysit their siblings while their parents finish work.  These kids still come and sometimes they will mention “My mom told me I can’t be here, if she finds out….” and you can just tell that if the parents find out their child came to the program, they might face physical punishment.  That’s how much this program means to the kids.  And that’s how much somebody else offering privileges to your child that you cannot provide them upsets parents.   As for my weekend.  My weekend starts on Friday.  On Friday, it was only kind warm and I went out with Thora to the cafe we found and really like called Melissa’s.  After, I went with her to get her tattoo touched-up, which looked painful.  Then, I went surfing for about 3 hours. My ribs have been sore all weekend since.  I caught a lot of waves, but still haven't ridden any in.  I got the tiniest board and am not practiced enough to handle it.  Hopefully next time I’ll get a long board that isn't as hard to balance. That night, there was a Braai which was nice.  Coll made fantastic butternut squash with spanish and feta.  I almost always eat vegetarian here.  I went out with Thora after we had a bottle of wine with dinner and we checked out a cool bar I’ll probably go back to.   It’s called the boardhouse and it’s very beachy and very South African. Thora is trying to talk me into going vegan and I’m very morally conflicted.  I’ve been thinking a lot about global warming and how hard it is to not feel frustrated and stuck.  I want to just change everything.  I wish I had a billion dollars to buy the amazon rainforest, deploy a fleet of boats to clean the ocean, develop a way of fishing that doesn't destroy entire ecosystems, promote permaculture and make the entire mid-west quit mono cropping, change the meat industry and find more meat alternatives so people stop eating so many cows that pollute horribly, also invent electric airplanes.  I don’t know where to start.  Maybe I need to become God or something and just shake the world with my hands until everything goes back down and fixes itself, like a snow globe.  The permafrost is melting and I’m just sitting here in South Africa, so frustrated I want to scream.  On top of that I am ironically angry at people who just say they can’t do anything and its just too bad.  Like pick up a shovel and plant trees, go vegan, be a better human.  I should definitely lead by example.  I have a lot of ideas and need to start executing more.  I am eighteen and actually realizing my morals in my lifestyle is something that age isn't really an excuse for.  I know how to change things, I just want to change everything and just myself does not feel like enough.  My head is so full.  So is my heart.  

Saturday, Thora was out with this guy named Ramis that she met at a festival.  Ironically, she went to that festival the weekend she got here with that guy who stole money from her.  We decided a good tactic to get over it was to distract herself and just have fun on her vacation, and this guy was nice and interested in being friends/ knew that she was there with somebody else.  Anyways, she was out with him at this really popular food market they have in Cape Town called the Old Biscuit Mill.  I could have done things, but it was cold and rainy and I didn't feel like it.  I ended up spending most of my day laying down and just talking, reading and thinking.  The talking part was first.  I got to call my wonderful boyfriend Mitchell and we talked from 8am-2pm.  You can do the math on that one.  After sitting in bed for that long, the back of my head hurt and I took that as a sign of a level of laziness that I probably shouldn't encourage in myself.  When he went to bed, I got up and ate some pickles and talked to Coll.  Then, I went on a little walk by myself just around a few blocks to stretch my lazy legs.  I got back and made toast with hummus and feta, carrots and hummus, and then Coll was an angel and gave me this amazing pretzel bun that she had bought at a nice market on her way into work.  She loves them and got a few.  She made tomato soup for dinner that night so we got to sample it while eating the obnoxiously large soft pretzels.  YUM.  I took two of these activated charcoal pills that my friend Whitney takes every morning and says they suck toxins out of your body.  Then, I sat in the hammock and read my book.  I am currently reading “A Little History of the World”, which is absolutely fabulous.  It just summarizes everything I’ve learned in history in the past 5 years of my life.  Totally fantastically unpretentious, interesting, and to the point.  10/10, highly recommend, 5 stars on Yelp!, all that.  I can’t say I’ve ever read a book as old as it and feel like I’m talking to somebody right now. I felt kinda weird all day Saturday, but I assumed that it was because I didn't really eat while I was on the phone with Mitchell so I didn't eat until way later in the day.  We had dinner, soup and bread, at 6 ish and after I went almost straight to bed because my tummy was nauseous.  I thought I could just sleep it off.  How I was wrong.  I sat in bed for around 2 hours.  The nausea was so bad that I couldn't sleep and after the first hour I started to think I might puke but fought hard against it.  Firstly, I hate throwing up.  Secondly, the toilets are all the way across the property, and I didn't want to walk all the way over there, puke, and then go back to bed.  Turns out, that’s exactly what happened and it was even worse because I had fought against it.  I ended up running out of my bed, holding my mouth and willing myself not to puke until I got to the bathroom, walking barefoot, past all the other partying residents of my hostel, to the bathroom.  Right before I closed the door to the bathroom, I started projectile vomiting.  All over the floor, doors, wall, toilet, everything.  I spent the next 10 minutes puking and the next hour sitting in my own vomit cleaning it up.  My clothes, face, and hair were entirely covered in puke. It was a lovely experience.  I walked backed to bed covered in vomit and shame.  Then I showered and changed and drank water.  Big mistake.  I got up again and vomited all my water out into the kitchen sink and then went back to bed.   Sunday has been weird because I have been recovering from puking all day.  I dragged Thora to the mini mart to buy ramen and soup-powder to try and trick my body into eating something.  I also got vitamin water and a lemon popsicle.  I sat in bed for most of the day, made some ramen.  Had a really nice and long conversation with one of the interns here named Matt.  He is from Norway and is here with his fiancé Kaia.  We talked about psychology and mental health and the consequences of the stigma surrounding it.  He was feeling sick too so we bonded over our misery.  Today, Thora left and a new girl from New Castle, England moved in.  Her name is Dani and she plays american football.  She’s a linebacker.  She’s very VERY English.  She says “innit”, and “proper” instead of “really” or “super”, and her accent is sometimes so strong it’s hard to understand.  I think she’s nice enough but I don’t think we are going to be that close.  She isn't interested school or news or politics, which isn't the actual problem it’s more of a symptom of how our minds are different.  I need to make some friends but don’t have the energy at the moment.  I want another really cool person to just kinda pop up, like Thora.  Or maybe I won’t.  Being alone is really not that bad of a thing, I just need to stop compensating for it by using technology.  Self-improvement is an ongoing battle.  My ramen was good but I am out of food and just ate my last stuff: half a jar of pickles.  Not sure what I am going to do for dinner, probably just eat my lemon popsicle and some ginger biscuits I also got at the market.  I also hear you can make scrambled eggs in the microwave.  The stove here doesn't work so I made my powdered soup with the water-boiling tea pot thing and can only make my eggs with the microwave.  I’ve seen it done, I just don’t know how I feel about it.  I’ll probably just go to bed.  I was invited to go out to Italian food with Linda, Whitney, and Coll, but I’m not sure if I feel up to all of that.  I’m really tired *yawns*.  I just wish I had some hot pesto pasta already made and my own bed.  Tomorrow I’m going on a wine tour with Thora which will be fun.  She’s staying in Muisenberg for a week and then going back home to Sydney.  It will also probably be good to change out of the PJs I’ve been wearing for about 24 hours now, including to the mini-mart this morning.  

Peace, Q

[ssimagines]

My lips are chapped||Barry Allen||Cancer series 2

Pairing: Barry Allen x Sick!Reader

Word Count: 3694

Summary: You have cancer and are currently going through chemo therapy. You are currently seeing forensic scientist, Barry Allen, and he just found out that you are sick. This part is just about you two figuring out your sickness.

Warnings: Serious illness, Cancer, Sorta sad not really, minor swear words

Note: this is based off Cancer by MCR covered by TØP. I kinda want to make this a series, but let’s see how this one goes first.This is part two so if you haven’t read part one first. Takes Place at the beginning of Season 3

Thank you for all the love on Part 1! When this was posted there were over 70 notes on the first part so thank you so much for all the love and hopefully you will love this part just as much. I hope to get part three out my Sunday. Again thank you for all the love!

Part 1

You had only told Barry about your illness yesterday, yet it felt like a life time ago. Almost everything had changed since then. Things weren’t the way that you had thought they were going to be when he found out. They were way better, and you were thankful for that.

 True to his word, Barry had taken the rest of yesterday off work and took you back to his place. The two of you sat curled up on his couch all night watching episode after episode of How I Met Your Mother. He had you tucked into his side under a large, warm, fuzzy blanket; you fell asleep like that cuddled up to his side. He woke you up around midnight offering to take you home, but asked him if you could stay. Barry wanted the same thing, so he let you stay. You sleep in his bed right next to him last night. 

When you woke up this morning, he was no longer beside you. You sat up slowly because the nausea you had felt at the end of your date yesterday had returned with a fiery vengeance. Yesterday seemed like child’s play compared to what you felt now. You ran to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet to puke. You heard the quick patter of feet come up behind you. As you emptied your stomach, you felt Barry rub your back in soothing circles with a significant amount of pressure. 

“Are you okay?” he asked when you had finished. 

“Yeah, that happens sometimes,” You said as you stood up and flushed the toilet. “Do you have a new toothbrush I can use?”

He crouched down to get under the bathroom sink and began digging around as you watched his shirtless back. Your eyes wandered over his muscular figure in awe. He was lanky, but damn did he work out. When he got up, he caught you checking him out which caused a smile to stretch across his face. 

“Like what you see?” Barry said as he strolled over carrying a packaged red and yellow toothbrush. He was chuckling heartily which left a warm feeling in your gut. You grabbed his hips as he got closer, pulling him to you faster. Your hips were pressed together. You could tell it was making him a little hot and bothered. You smiled at him as you ran your fingers up his abs.

“I like it very much thank you for asking,” you said. His laugh resonated through his body shaking you as well. He leaned down to try and kiss you, but you stopped him by putting a hand between your mouth and his. His lips made contact with the palm of your hand which caused him to pull away. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you.

“I have puke breath,” You said to which he held the toothbrush up to his nose. There was a small smirk painting his lips. You smiled at him brightly. Though your puke breath was definitely a reason for not wanting Barry to kiss you, it wasn’t the real reason. You were insecure about your lips. After your first chemo session, you noticed that they were really chapped, and it had only gotten worse since then. They really hurt too so you didn’t want to have to worry about being in pain while kissing him.

You took the toothbrush from him and moved around Barry to stand in front of the sink. Carefully, you opened the package stumbling a little over it because you could see Barry standing behind you hovering. This was a simple case of nervousness, but you worried that Barry would perceive it as another thing he had to help you with. 

“Did you buy this toothbrush because they are the flash’s colors?” You asked him trying to pull his attention away from your trembling hands. You saw him make eye contact with you through the mirror at the sound of your voice. You were able to relax enough that you could get the toothbrush out of its package and put toothpaste on it. Barry let a small laugh through his nose.

“I didn’t even think about that,” he responded as he leaned against the doorway.

“You totally did, didn’t you?” You turned your head to look at him with both your hands resting on the either side of the sink. “You are a hardcore flash fanboy. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up when you talk about him.”

“Oh, come on, that is so lame,” there was something about that damn laugh that just filled you with warmth from your head to your toes. “So, what if I take pride in my hometown’s totally rocking superhero, at least I am proud of mine.”

You glared at Barry’s dig at you about something you had mentioned about the Arrow about two months ago, but you didn’t add anything else. Neither of you did. You ran water over the toothpaste.

“Are you hungry?” Barry said coming to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He rested his head on your shoulder and stared at you in the reflection of the mirror. 

“Are you always this clingy with girls you have only known for about three months?” You said before putting the toothbrush in your mouth. 

“Hey, it could be worse. I could have asked you to move in with me by now,” he said laughing. You laughed as well as you brushed your teeth. He kissed your cheek before letting go. He walked to the doorway of your bathroom. 

“I’m making breakfast, eggs and pancakes. When you’re done freshening up, come eat. Okay?”

“Okay,” you responded spitting in the sink. You watched Barry from the reflection as he moved down the hall. You felt yourself relax without him over your shoulder. Two minutes later, you finished brushing your teeth and rinsed off the new toothbrush. You placed it into the cup beside the sink which just happened to have the flashes logo on it. It held what you presumed to be Barry’s toothbrush. Though, like you said earlier, you had only been seeing Barry for three months, you liked the idea of having a toothbrush at his place. It was comforting.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you ran your hand through your short hair. When you pulled your hand away, a chunk of your hair came with it. After your surgery, you cut your hair in preparation for this day. You had read that it would be easier to adjust to no hair if your hair was already short when it started falling out, but you were left in shock by the hair you had just pulled out. You looked at the spot and saw that it wasn’t two noticeable, but you felt incredibly self-conscious about it. You were already running your hand over the small bald spot continuously. 

“Y/N, are you okay up there?” You heard Barry call from what you presumed was downstairs. 

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a moment,” you called back. Quickly, you threw the hair in the trash and went back into Barry’s room. You found a black beanie on the floor and pulled it on. You then made your way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Last night, Barry had explained to you that he had moved back into the home of his foster father where he had grown up last year because he spent so much time there. You hadn’t really thought to much about it then, but no one else was really home and awake at that time. Now as you walked into the kitchen in only a pair of Barry’s basketball shorts and his black Star Labs sweatshirt, you were very aware of the older man, who you presumed was Joe, standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee having a conversation with Barry.

Barry was leaning against the counter beside the man with a mug sipping his own coffee. Barry looked at you with a smile. He set the mug down on the counter and walked toward you. Gently, He brushed the back of his hand against your cheek. He ended with his palm on your cheek which you leaned your head into ever so slightly. His eyes shone brightly, and the look brought butterflies to your stomach. You couldn’t help, but think about all the things Barry did that made you feel so comfortable around him. 

“Barry, you gonna introduce me properly to Y/N here?” the older man said. You both turned to look at him. It was as if you both had forgotten that he was even there as you shared a moment. You felt your face and ears heat up a little at the thought of the man seeing this intimate moment between the two of you. 

You noticed that he already knew your name. You were surprised that Barry talk about you enough for him to remember it.

“Of course, Joe, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is my foster father, Joe,” Barry said gesturing between you two. Butterflies erupted in your stomach when Barry calling you his girlfriend. You reached your hand out to Joe to shake his.

“Nice to meet you,” Joe said to you with a kind smile that reached his eyes. “Barry has told you so much about you. He talks so much about, and it seems like he’s always on that phone texting away at you. I can’t believe you actually put up with this kid. I don’t know what I did to make him end up like this.”

You laughed and looked at Barry who had a slight red tinge to his cheeks. Wrapping your arm around his waist, you snuggled into his side. Barry enveloped you in his arms without missing a beat. The warmth of his body made the heavy sweatshirt seem a little suffocating, but you didn’t say anything to ruin the moment.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, too,” you said looking back to Joe. “Barry talks about you a lot as well. I think he’s proud of you. Even if you he doesn’t explicitly say it.”

With that statement, pride and love light up Joe’s face like a Christmas tree. You were happy that Barry had Joe in his life, that Barry had this family. After about a month of talking, Barry told you about his past. It devastated you to hear about it. Knowing that he had a family who loved him as their own, made it seem not so bad. 

“I will, let you lovebirds get back to whatever you were planning on doing,” Joe said gesturing between you two with his coffee cup. “I have to get to work, but I will see you at the CCPD, Bare.”

“Of course, Joe. I’ll be in a little late. I already let Julian know,” Barry said.

“Okay, Bye, you two. Again, it was nice to meet you Y/N.  I hope to see you around here more.”

“Bye,” You and Barry both said as Joe left you two alone. 

You released Barry and went to sit down at the table. Barry went to the counter and picked up two plates. He set one down before you and sat down in front of the other. You two made small talk through your breakfast and made plans for tomorrow. Afterwards, you decided it was time for you to head home. Barry said he needed to get to work, so you parted ways for the time being leaving him with one final hug and a promise to see each other at a later date.  

Barry’s P.O.V. (I won’t do this too often, but there was no real way to carry on the way I want to without it)

Barry let his frustration flow through him into every punch to the large black punching bag. He had been at it for at least twenty minutes, and his hands ached, growing sorer with each punch. 

Barry needed this time to clear his head. His mind kept going over his relationship with Y/N. He really liked the sweet h/c (hair color) girl. He remembered the first time he really talked to her. 

Barry was in the flashpoint timeline sitting in CC Jitters waiting for Iris to come in so he could work up the courage to ask her out. One thing Barry was grateful for in flashpoint was that he and Iris weren’t raised like siblings. He thought because they never lived like that that maybe he would get a chance to be with her.

He heard the door open and flipped around thinking he’d see Iris coming in for her usual coffee. The person who entered CC Jitters was not Iris, but she took his breath away. He stared at the girl with her h/l h/c hair and e/c eyes. His mouth was parted as he stared at her. Barry could feel his heart beat, irregularly thumping against his rib cage.

Barry watched in awe as the girl ordered her drink and patiently waited for it be finished. The littlest things she did, amazed him. As she collected her drink, Barry stumbled around his table trying to shove his stuff back into his bag, so that he could talk to her before she left.

When he had finally collected everything, he looked up to see the girl had already made her way out of Jitters. He got up and ran to catch up to her. He kept his distance following her waiting for an opportunity to introduce himself to her. 

The girl pulled her phone out of her pocket to answer a phone call and seemed to forget her surroundings. She kept walking straight into traffic. Barry heard the horn of a truck that was coming barreling at her at the same time that she did. She was so scared that she dropped her phone and her coffee as she stared at the rapidly approaching truck. Barry used his speed to save her and run the two of them into an alley away from the sight of others. 

The girl was shaking in Barry’s arms as he slowly pulled away to look her over for any possible injuries. He looked into her eyes and saw fear and something else that he had never seen before. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew that he had made the right move with her. That they had some future.

“I- Did you- Thank you,” she said looking over the man in plaid. It occurred to Barry in that moment that he was in no way disguised. This girl could see his face after he just used his powers to save her.

“Who are you?” She asked him. She stepped further back from him. The look on her face seemed to say she was trying to figure out who this man who just saved her was.

“My name’s Barry Allen,” He said trying to come up with more to say. In this timeline, he wasn’t the flash, and he had no way to explain what he just did or why he had the same powers of the flash. The name he had given her didn’t help to ease her mind as she still looked over him frantically. Barry noticed that her eyebrows were furrowed tightly. 

“You- you saved me,” she sputtered out the words. It sounded as though she was tripping over her tongue. “Wh-why d-did you save me?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you get hit by that truck now, was I?” He said laughing at the shock on her face. He had never had an encounter like this when saving people before. He guessed it was probably because they always saw him as the Flash and never Barry.

“H-h-how?” She said as she looked between Barry and the entrance to the alley. Barry laughed a little as he tried to come up with some sort of explanation for his actions. 

“Well, I’m a meta,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck cautiously trying to avoid any connections to between his recent actions and this timelines flash. Barry was swimming in uncharted territory with this girl. This timeline already had a flash and didn’t need that from him. All he wanted to do was save this amazing girl from getting hit.

“Thank you,” she said so quietly that Barry almost didn’t hear her. The girl was looking down at the trash covered ground. Barry towered over her. He saw the way her hair fell on the back of her neck.

“What’s your name?” Barry said. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. He regretted asking when he saw how wide her eyes had gotten. 

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N,” she responded. She offered her hand for him to shake which he gladly took. 

“I know this sounds really weird after what just happened, but would you maybe want to get a coffee with me? Maybe I’ll be able to explain better what just happened?” Barry said. He watched as she took a moment to look over his face in a gentler manner this time. “I saw you drop your coffee earlier and thought maybe I could get you a replacement.”

“My phone…” she said. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. He remembered that her phone had been dropped as well and quickly ran back to look for it. When he got back to her not even three second later, he handed her a phone that was barely damaged at all. 

“Thank you,” she said. Barry suddenly became worried that his girl was so shocked that she had forgotten all the other words in her vocabulary “So you want to grab that coffee?”

Barry smiled at the more relaxed girl standing with him. Together they walked safely back to Jitters. 

While Barry was in flashpoint, He and Y/N had grown really close. They had started dating even. He had been sure that he was in love with her. She knew everything about him, and he knew everything about her. He was truly happy with her. When he had to fix the timeline, and come back to the present, he hadn’t even thought about their history being destroyed. Everything they were was just gone in a moment.

Barry had been crushed when he realized that he no longer knew Y/N, that she no longer knew him. For the following week, he did everything he could to find her and start the process of getting to know her again. Barry specifically went to CC Jitter’s at Y/N’s favorite time of day to see her sitting there reading a book. He was so happy that he finally had this chance again, but it wasn’t the same. He did everything right, but it wasn’t the same.

Barry hit the punching bag so hard and with so much speed that the chains creaked with the strain.

“Barry?” Caitlin called into the large room. 

“What, Caitlin?” He nearly yelled at the woman who had come to check on him.

Caitlin jumped at his tone, and for that Barry felt guilty. He looked at Caitlin who just seemed to be concerned. He knew that he shouldn’t have yelled at her. None of what was going on was her fault. If anyone was to blame, it was him. He hadn’t known Y/N before flashpoint, so he didn’t know if she was sick before, but he knew she wasn’t sick in the other timeline. He was worried that his changing the course of time had caused her to get sick just like caused Dante’s death.

“I’m sorry,” Barry said turning his body towards her. He threw one final punch the bag. This one was much weaker than any of the previous ones. 

“What happened Barry?” Caitlin said walking towards him. She spoke softly and her eyes were so kind. “You seemed so happy yesterday when you told us you were going to have lunch with Y/N. You never came back. Now you seem…”

“Angry?” Barry said. His voice sharper than a knife. It seemed to cut into Caitlin slightly. She just nodded at the man in front of her. 

Barry was out of breath just slightly, but surprisingly there was little sweat on his star labs shirt or his forehead. He seemed loose and careless with himself throwing his weight around like it was nothing. He walked over to where he had set his water bottle against the wall and took a big swig of the cool liquid. He ran his hands over his face before looking back to Caitlin.

“I think I might have killed the girl I love without even knowing,” He said softly.

 Caitlin’s eyebrows furrowed as she watched the man before her. His lips were pressed tightly together and his forehead creased. There were tears budding at the corner of his eyes. Barry looked down at the ground trying to hold in his tears. He heard the sound of Caitlin’s heels click louder as she approached him. 

She carefully wrapped her arms around Barry pulling him in. He buried his face in her neck and let go of his tears. They slowly rolled down his cheeks. His body shook with the sobs. All the pieces he had been holding together since she had told him, fell away showing Caitlin his cracks.

“Y/N is sick. She has cancer, and I think it’s my fault,” He said. His voice was muffled by Caitlin’s hair, but he was sure that she heard him. Caitlin ran her hand in soothing circles on his back. She understood what he meant by that because he had told her about the differences before and after he created Flashpoint.

“It’s going to be okay, Barry. We are going to figure this out,” she said. She kept repeating herself as he cried into her. Neither of them knew if what she what she was saying had any truth to it, but it did comfort Barry, so she didn’t stop. 

Everything was different now. It echoed in Barry’s mind as mulled it over and over again in his head.

Everything was different.

NOT MY GIF

Part 3    Part 4    Part 5

[ahumanfemale]

44!!

I hate you for making me do this.  Thank you for making me do this.Terminal Illness AU - Approach with Caution.

Sonny woke slowly.

He flitted in and out for an hour or so, eyelids oscillating before going still again.  

Rafael liked to believe he was dreaming despite the fact that he knew the anesthesia was too strong for his brain to dream.  He wanted it that way.  It meant he couldn’t feel the incisions at the base of his skull, couldn’t feel the lesions formed in constellations over the surface of his brain.  This was their fourth surgery in two years and it was starting to feel like this view of Sonny - the one from the small couch by the window - had taken over every other view he’d ever had of his husband.

They’d been married for four years.  Half of those had been in scenes like one he was in currently, first in the hunt for a diagnosis and then in the hopes of treatment.

“Raf?” Sonny asked, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” he said, jumping up from his place to walk around the bed.  Sonny was laying on his side, keeping weight off his new incisions.  “Yeah, I’m here.  What do you need?”

“My head hurts.”

“I know it does,” he assured him, reaching out to run a hand down Sonny’s arm.  “You can have a pain pill soon, okay?  The nurse is coming in a few minutes.”

“Nurse?” Sonny asked, brow furrowed.  “What nurse?”

Rafael braced himself against the question, took a deep breath.  

“You’re in the hospital, Sonny.”

“What?  How long?”

“Just today.  We’ve been here about eighteen hours.”

Blue eyes darted up to meet his, widened in alarm.

“Why, Raf?” he asked.  “Why am I here?”

God help him.

He wasn’t strong enough for this.

“What year is it, Sonny?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed so he could feel Sonny’s body heat melding into his.  

“What?  Raf-”

“Come on,” he interrupted.  “Humor me.”

“It’s 2020.”

He sighed.

Sonny was living two years ago.

Still.

“That’s not right, is it?” Sonny asked, reading Rafael’s expressions with ease before he’d had a chance to school them into something neutral.  

“Close though,” he assured him with a sweep of his hand down Sonny’s arm and a wan smile.  Smiling was the only thing that seemed to distract Sonny when the questions got hard.  “You’re really close.”

“How old am I?”

“How old do you feel?”

“Right now?  About eighty,” Sonny said with a hoarse laugh, clearing his throat.  “Hey, can you hand me that cup of water?  I’m dying of thirst over here.”

Rafael nodded and stood from the bed, reading for the glass and the small container of powder a therapist had left for them.  Rafael took two heaping spoonfuls and mixed it in until the water thickened to something closer to honey, a habit that had long become second nature since Sonny’s swallowing had weakened.  The thickened liquids were easier for him to swallow and prevented liquid from entering his lungs.  Sonny always made a face but trusted Rafael when he said it was necessary.

“Jeez, that’s awful.  What did you do to it?”

The comment was almost always the same, word for word.  

“It’s to help you swallow, Sonny.  You have to take it.”

“Alright, alright.”

Also the same.

“God, take that away.  I’d rather live without,” he said, clearing his throat a few times as he handed Rafael the glass.  The wet sound of Sonny’s voice meant it would have to be thicker next time - Rafael was well acquainted now with the speech therapist’s instructions, knowing Sonny couldn’t afford to get pneumonia.

“Your parents are coming by later,” Rafael told him, sighing.  “Your sisters after that.  I told them all the kids weren’t allowed but I’m sure they’ll be here anyway.”

“All the kids?” Sonny asked, surprised.  “Did Bella have more?”

As did Teresa.  And Gina.

“You’ve got a fleet of nieces and nephews, Sonny.”

“Good.  That means you do, too.”

Rafael scoffed, “As though I needed them.”

“Course you do.  They’re good for you.”

They were, actually.  Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Why am I here, Rafi?”

He sighed.

Sometimes Sonny forgot to keep asking.

“You’re sick.”

“What kind of sick?”

The kind of sick that means radiation and gamma knife surgery and real surgery.

The kind of sick that steals your memory and your eyesight and your ability to eat and drink.

The kind of sick that means Sonny lived perpetually in the time before his diagnosis, never aware of it until Rafael has to tell him.

“Very sick,” Rafael said and hated himself for the sound of his voice breaking.  It was always worse for Sonny when he broke down and he’d sworn last time it wouldn’t happen again.  

Sonny grew quiet, concerned.

“Bad, Rafi?”

Rafael nodded.

“Bad.”

Sonny was thirty-nine when they diagnosed him with a glioblastoma in the region between his left parietal and occipital lobes.  It had started with what they thought was a nasty flu - nausea, dizziness.  Getting sick.  Vision changes.  The first of dozens of ER visits had occurred the night Sonny passed out on the squad room floor, prompting long months of specialists and surgeons and oncologists telling them to prepare for the worst but hope for the best.  Praying had become second nature to Rafael now, who’d spent the last three decades of his life pointedly ignoring the fact that there was even the possibility of a God.

He didn’t ignore it now.

“I’m here for treatment, right?  They’re trying to get rid of it?”

Fuck.

This wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

“They tried, Sonny.  They- they did their best.”

His eyes burned and he looked up at the bright fluorescents now, just because the sight of Sonny’s careful consideration of the facts threatened to break him.  Just like it always did.  This, Sonny’s calm acceptance, was always what did him in.  

“It didn’t work, did it?”

His voice was so small.

So unlike the man he’d known and fallen so deeply in love with.  

“No, Sonny,” he answered finally and felt a tear break free.  “It didn’t work.”

“What do you want to do, Raf?”

Rafael blinked heavily, took a deep breath.

They’d talked about this before the surgery but he never was able to shake the feeling that the Sonny who talked to him after surgery was someone different entirely.  There were some things that were constant - his family, his job.  He knew his coworkers.  Knew they were married.  But every time Sonny came out from the anesthesia Rafael worried what part of him would be gone next.  A memory, an ability.  Movement.  The kind heart Rafael had fallen so desperately for.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home.”

Rafael nodded.

This was their decision before the surgery, too.

The man in front of him was still his Sonny.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he assured him and leaned down for a brief kiss that was over as soon as it started.  “Tell me when you feel up to eating.”

“Are you leaving?”

“No,” Rafael told him.  “No, I’ll be here.”

“Come sit with me, Rafi,” he said, voice sugary sweet and so soft it made Rafael’s chest ache.  “Come sit with me a little more.”

Rafael took his place on the bed again.  Sonny was asleep before he’d even had a chance to settle in but Rafael stayed, running a hand over Sonny’s back through his thin gown and murmuring under his breath.  A prayer - one of millions - to free Sonny of pain, to rid him of his fear.  To put it all on Rafael because if he couldn’t take Sonny’s illness he’d sure as hell take the rest of it.

The hospital bed would fit under their bedroom window, where the sunlight would hit him in the early morning.

[leslieeve]

Sick of Being Sick.

Just the beginning... Hi, my name is Leslie, I'm 36 years young, and l am currently living the battle of my life. I'm talking a figurative blood and guts UFC fight. Medically, emotionally, spiritually and financially I could have never imagined the intense downward spiral that my life would begin in the spring of 2014. This could have happened to anyone, but it chose me. I entered into and started living a chapter out of a Steven King novel. I'd like to preface my journey by saying that I used to work 2 waitressing jobs, 7 days a week. I prided myself on being kind, generous, a hard worker and pretty freaking witty. Sarcasm was my best friend. I had 5 cats who I loved more than anything, and lived in my house that I bought in 2002, and kept 100% by myself. I loved being crafty, scrap-booking, journalling (since I was 14- I have about 37 of them), cleaning obsessively and making people smile. I'd been accused of, "liking everybody" and, for the most part- I did! That's why I loved waitressing so much, I met amazing individuals on a daily basis, and for an hour or so, I was able to make them happy. So, summing this up, I'm one of those annoying 'smiley' people, and I love it... How to begin blogging a nightmare... Well, It all started on May 5, 2014, my sweet bunny was losing his battle to pancreatitis, and we were at the veterinarians office. I was laying around him on the floor, sobbing like an infant as he took his last breath. After a half hour, I got up off of the floor to move to another room with him, and noticed the ridiculous pain and swelling in my knees. I sat with him for 3 additional hours, saying prayers and telling him how much I love him. My heart was broken and now I was facing headache and flu-like symptoms. By the time I drove home, I was incredibly sick. (I really mastered the art of 'puking while driving' starting that night.) For the next few MONTHS I had a constant fever of 104, night-sweats, fatigue, exhaustion, swollen hot shiny red joints, nausea, chills, vision problems, breathing difficulties, dizziness etc. Being my Father's daughter, and having been raised as a fighter- I was still trying my very, very best to continue to work an overflowing schedule. I was a head waitress at both jobs and I was failing miserably. I wasn't eating because my mouth had a funny taste, I had zero appetite and the fatigue was unreal. Coca-Cola had become my litmus paper, as to how sick I was everyday. I would buy bottled Coke, and by sipping it and seeing what it tasted like 'that day'- I could gauge the severity of my illness for the next few hours. I was not bathing, or even taking my clothing off when I was home. I would just sleep in my uniforms (shoes and all) until it was time for work the following day. My knees had become so swollen that I had to cut my pants on the sides to make more room. Breathing was getting tougher too. I would find myself having to stop and force myself to take deep breaths. If I exerted myself too much I would end up laying on a booth, numb, shaking and drooling, with incredible difficulties trying to get verticle. If I took the risk and showered, I had to set aside 60 minutes to lay naked on the bathroom floor because I was 100% drained. Again, drooling, slurring and borderline consciousness. What was happening to me?!!? F.Y.I. puh-lease don't think I wasn't going to the doctor during all of this terror, because I was. A lot. A looot. My Dad was making my appointments and driving me weekly, all while he was watching me slowly die. Just waste away. (His car now sporting a smooth "vomit" scent, thanks to me.) The doctor was putting me on antibiotics one day and anti-inflammatories and steroids the next, unfortunately I was only getting worse. The fever continued to hang around and some nights would hit 104.6. All of the vomiting was ruining my throat, my knees were so swollen and hot to the touch, that they could melt bags of ice- in minutes. With those 2 symptoms and a blood test, he diagnosed me with Rheumatoid arthritis immune disease. From that point forward it appeared that ALL of my symptoms were from RAID. It was as if the doctor stopped looking for the root of my demise, because he found one. Maybe he was scared too, but so was I damn it and my health was deteriorating at the speed of McDonalds drive-thru during lunch-time. One evening in early October, I honestly thought it may be the end for me. I woke coughing up blood, and felt as if every inch of my body had giving up, I was out of gas, and barely running on fumes. Out of pure desperation and necessity, I went to an Emergi-Care center in Bethlehem. (First, I left a note behind on who would take my cats, incase I would never return home.) The doctor was very blunt (a.k.a. a$shol*) and as he talked AT me, he said he thought I was unbelievably sick, and that he thought that I would surely die if I left the building. Then he scolded me for getting sooo ill, and then decided that he couldn't treat me, because I had "chosen" to wait too long to see him (a man I'd never met before). I was seeing a physician, but it hadn't been him and he was clearly annoyed and disgusted with me. He reluctantly did a flu swab of my nose (that he said I didn't need, because it wasn't the flu virus) which came back negative. So then his majesty stepped off of his high-horse long enough to put me on the antibiotics which combat Anthrax, and that was that. What? Anthrax? Because I was exposed when I was never in the military? What an incredible mind fu*k, and 3 hours that I will never get back. I rate his bedside manner a big fat zero. So, I went home, spooned with my Eddie cat, and cried myself to sleep- which didn't take long because I was dehydrated and falling apart. Needless to say, I continued to get sicker. I'm 5'10" and was barely weighing 95lbs. My once tan skin had morphed into a light yellow hue, my lips were red, but now were cracking, peeling and gray. My eyes had always been green and bright, framed in mascara, however they'd become blurry, wet and had large dark bags underneath. I constantly smelled mold in my nose. At this point I had been suffering for almost 5 months with these horrendous symptoms. Alone in my house, afraid that each nap had become a gamble that I would lose, and not wake up. Russian roulette immune disease style. My Dad had simply had enough. He was not going to sit by and bury his best friend- he was putting his foot down NOW. He took me to the doctor yet another time. However, this time, he put aside his gentle, humorous demeanor and told the doctor in no uncertain terms that he was watching his daughter die and that if he didn't do something else to help me, he would call his attorney and sue him for malpractice. Shockingly enough (insert sarcasm here), the doctor suddenly had a fire lit under his ass and ordered me an emergency appointment with a highly respected rheumatologist. She normally has a 3 month wait, but not for this sicky- It was Friday, and the appointment was for Monday. Just one question though... how on earth was I going to survive the weekend?! Woke up early Monday and crawled to my front door. I slept on the floor, vomiting relentlessly, all weekend because I couldn't muster up the energy to walk. My superhero Dad then had to basically carry me to his car. Once buckled in I proceeded to vomit and cry because I was too weak to sit up. Thankfully my Dad tried his best to stock the car with pillows, blankets, water, crackers and plastic bags so it took the edge off of sitting in traffic. Every car ride seemed hours long, I couldn't wait get back in bed or atleast lay on the floor. We arrived at the new doctors around 11am, she dressed very unprofessionally, tight work out spandex. Da fuq? She took one look at me and said that I was incredibly sick. No sh*t sherlock. While listening to my heart, she asked "how long have you had this heart murmur?" I told her that I don't have one and never did. She put the stethoscope to my ears- I had a f*cking heart murmur?? Immediately, sent me for a plethora of blood work and cultures, 16 I think, which drained me severly. I had almost passed out when my Dad showed up with O.J. and muffins- to save the day. Again, he carried me out to the car and took me home. He tucked me in, and I slept for 20 straight hours. I didn't get up to eat or even use the toilet. The following morning I felt better than I had in a very long time. Maybe some of the useless medications were finally starting to kick-in. I took a chance, (a.k.a. stubborn) and drove myself to my psychologists office for my 2:00pm appointment. We were about half-way into my mind enlightening session when my phone rings. Then again. Then again. So, I looked at my therapist with lump in my throat and picked up my phone. 3 missed calls from my family doctor. Then my phone rings and it's him again. I answer and it's my doctor, he says that I have a horrible infection in my blood and that I need to drop everything and RACE to the hospital. He said to run red lights go through stop signs, speed and if I get pulled over- keep going and the hospital would explain it to the police. After a quick "ohmyGod" and freak out, my psychologist hugged me and I promised to go directly to the ER. So, I did what anyone else would do, I went home and I fed my 5 cats. What the heck was I thinking you ask? Well, I figured that I would only be in the hospital a day or two and that if I fed them and cleaned their litter boxes then no one would have to come care for them while I was in the hospital. Plus, I really needed a hug from my Eddie-cat. As anyone who knows me will vouch and say that I might be just a little bit obsessed with my pets. Haha. Especially Eddie-cat, I worried about that feline like nobody's business. I got my much desired cat-fix, and then shortly after, I got in my car and headed towards the hospital. (I may have also stopped for a Coke- my memory's a touch foggy... I totally did.) As soon as I got there my dad was already waiting for me. (#bestdadever) I could see the pain and fear in his eyes and it truly broke my heart. We ended up waiting 2 hours in the dirtiest emergency room. We killed time laughing and joking until they finally called my name. (Kind of ironic since they told me to race to the hospital, but anyhow.) Dun dun dun. The nurse put me in a bed in the emergency department and hooked me up to IV saline and antibiotics. Dad and I watched bad tv, until they took me upstairs and gave me a room alone, in infectious disease. I was fairly relaxed, happy to finally end this era of illness, when the nurse came in to ask how I felt about my upcoming open heart surgery. MY WHAT?! No, no, no I told her, I was in for a blood infection. Silly nurse, get your mind right. She said the doctor would be in to speak to me momentarily. Ten minutes or so passed, and my Dad walked into my hospital room. Yeah! All is good, my Daddy is here... and then the doctor walked in behind him. Ugh oh. This nightmare is suddenly very real again. My Dad, looked more handsome than ever. His blue eyes had been crying as he walked over and took my hand. The doctor stood on my other side and explained to me that I had an infection in my blood and that it had destroyed the mitral valve in my heart. He said that the next day, I would be transferred to a larger hospital and would spend 2 months there on intense IV antibiotics before I would have to have open heart surgery to replace my mitral valve. I went into shock. Open heart surgery?!? They're going to break my chest?? But I don't have heart problems!!! I just have a blood infection!!! I'm only 33 years old!!! I want Eddie cat! My dad and I hugged and cried for the next 2 hours. I finally sent him home around 10:00pm to get some sleep. Loneliness and pure terror set in fast and I couldn't bare to be away from him, so I called on the phone and we talked all night. The following morning, as promised, the doctors and nurses packed me up in an ambulance and I was transported to a much larger hospital. Once I arrived I was quickly set up into "infectious disease." Heavy antibiotics were a-flowing. Every inch of the place was an upgrade. Once I was left alone, my thoughts flooded my mind. I tried to start figuring out how I was going to survive this travesty, pay my bills and most importantly- who was going to help take care of my five cats??? Fu*k. Fu*k. Fu*k. The doctors tell me that they are not certain how I contracted this infection. I hadn't been out of the country, nor had I undergone any dental surgery which could have welcomed the bacteria. Well that's zero help. Endocarditis. My possible kryptonite... The next few days I mentally took a bubble bath in my shock. I was trying to wrap my mind around spending the next 2 months in the hospital BEFORE undergoing open heart surgery. I became introverted, not wanting to Facebook my drama, or even text friends. I felt a strange numbness take over me, and honestly decided that I would make the best of it. I had multiple medical procedures and I did my very best to make the doctors laugh and tell them about my cats, of course. Looking back, I was nervous as all hell. I even neglected to press charges on a customer from my old job who consistently showed up UNINVITED into my hospital room. Stalker much? The hospital ended up having to put a password on my room, before all deliveries, calls and visitors were allowed in. Not to be all, "poor me" but seriously dude, just sooo not the time for a creepy creeperson. On the bright side, my mother who hadn't contacted me in over a year at this point, did text me twice- to ask if the doctors were giving me enough antibiotics. (She's no doctor, so her "medical concern" was hilarious) I had to fight the urge to sarcastically reply, "Antibiotics? Good idea! Thank Gawd you texted me when you did, the doctors hadn't thought of that!" But, I was sweet as a blueberry muffin. By the way, those were the first and last two texts that I heard from her. (Now, 3 years later she has never even once contacted me. Not. One. Single. Time.) Ahh, a mother's love. Ha. Friday, October 31st- Another day, another dollar. Ha, juuust kidding, it's another day full of tests and procedures. I was taken upstairs for an internal ultrasound/view of my heart. Basically, they knock you out and gently push a scope down your throat. This technique gets them extremely close to your heart for an excellent read in cardiac patients. So, after my test was done they woke me up... ohemgee, what medicine did they give me?! I saw a giant dippy egg with bacon, a 5 foot tall cat, a cow standing on its hind legs and a MINION. This. Was. Amazing. I later learned, as the anestethics wore off, It. Was. Also. Halloween. doh. 4 days into my stay at the hotel, I mean hospital, it was getting harder and harder to breathe (Maroon5?). It felt as though I had a gorilla sitting on my chest. I would get spells where it became so difficult to inhale, the nurses would come rushing in my room, rip my gown off, hook me up to oxygen and inject my IV with morphine until I could take a deep breath. I apologize to any and all of my visitors who showed up at the wrong time- and had to witness this. Sorry? You're welcome? (I now know, I was having a difficult time breathing because I was internally bleeding. Shame on you.) It was Saturday, November 1st around 7pm and I was watching Despicable Me for the +/-30th time. Hey- a free cable movie channel is a free movie channel, no matter the circumstance. Not only that, but Minions were making me unbelievably happy. My friends will vouch for me, I never even liked cartoons. (Well, except for Nickelodeon cartoons. #TommyPickles.) Perhaps it was providing a 90 minute escape for me, maybe it was appealing to the crying little girl inside of me- I don't know, but it helped fill a void, and I'm still grateful for Gru. Anyhow, while I was embracing the yellow and eating gummy bears (Albanese- my Dad ordered specially from Indiana) my future heart surgeon popped his angelic head in. I offered him gummy bears- even the red ones; he said that it looked like I was right on track as much as I could be and to just relax and they would take care of me at the hospital. He said to get comfortable because I would be there 8 weeks before the surgery. So around 10 weeks total. Well, ok,*sighs* it could be worse, it sounds like I can, "simmer dawn naw." WRONG. Five minutes pass and my surgeon comes back. He said that he checked my latest blood levels and my oxygen was far too low, I would reqire surgery in the next 12 hours or be dead before Thanksgiving. I felt all of the blood rush out of my upper body. Next, a cardiac nurse came into my room and gave me the choice of a Pig Valve or a Mechanical Valve, to be implanted into my heart to relace the damaged Mitral Valve. (Being vegeterian at the time, I thought this was incredible irony.) She weighed out the pros and cons for me as to which valve to choose. All I really remember hearing was that the Pig Valve had to be replaced every 10 years, and being so young that would demand atleast 5 more open heart surgeries in my lifetime. So, I thought it was a simple choice. Mechanical valve = forever vs. 10 year Pig Valve: I went for the mechanical valve. Then I had to do something much harder, call my Dad. It was incredibly difficult to dial my Dads telephone number. I knew that I was about to ruin any type of peace he was able to salvage for the evening, he would soon be as devestated as me, this still felt surreal. I felt selfish and heart broken having this kind of power over my fathers emotions. He answered on the first ring, as usual. My being so immensly ill had really been taking it's toll on him, emotionally, physically and spiritually. His little girl being so sick, and he could do nothing to fix me. Little did he know, HE was the reason that I wanted to be fixed. I cared more about him having to deal with my death, than I did my own life. There was no way in hell that I was going to let my Dad bury me. I would NEVER be responsible for putting him through that pain. Back to the phone call, my Dad answered cheerfully (for my benefit of course) and asked how I was feeling. I would say that, that is the very moment when my tears started falling, I couldnt catch my breath, but finally slobbered out that the heart surgeon had just been in my room and that I would be having surgery at 7:00am. I could hear him choking back the tears as he told me that this would get me home to Eddie-Cat faster. My Dad, always the optimist, and I stayed on the phone for the next 6 hours. We cried, talked about old times, (I also crammed food down my throat until midnight) and finally we decided that I was going to get through this. It cant be my "time." One tiny detail that I failed to mention before was that I was given a 37% chance of surviving. I sat alone in my hospital bed and wrote goodbye letters to my friends and a few chosen family members. Was I really doing this? Possibly saying GOODBYE to my life? Was I going to be dead in just a few short hours? It upset me that I might never see Eddie cat again. Who would explain to him that I didnt leave him by choice? That I died because of an infection. That I was so so sorry, and that I tried my best. All 5 of my cats, nobody was ever going to love them like me. I couldnt entertain the thought of losing my kids- I made a vow to save them forever when they were rescued, and now I was disappearing from their lives forever. This was all too much. I was sick to my stomach as I stared at the clock, counting down the seconds until my Dad, twin brother and friend were scheduled to arrive. Sadly, my twin brother never showed up. He never even called to wish me luck and it absolutely shattered my heart into a million pieces. I wanted to see my womb-mate so badly. I knew that we were no longer close but my soul really ached to be hugged with his arms. It really destroyed my feelings, but I did not have the time to dwell on it- it was 5:00am I had to start getting scrubbed down for surgery. I still felt fairly numb, more worried about seeming alright to try and ease my Dads horror. I was nervously joking around and begging the nurses for morsels of food. Then the dark cloud came. It was time. TIME FOR OPEN HEART SURGERY. Two nurses from transport and a doctor wheeled me down to the surgery floor, my Dad was walking next to me- I refused to let go of his hand. I was wheeled into a very well lit, curtained, waiting area. The operating room was empty. It was just myself and all of the nurses and doctors, no other patients. I later learned that Sunday mornings are reserved for emergencies. Look at me V.I.P. well, they made me feel that way anyhow. The nurses were exceptional- as they had been so far my entire stay. I was really blessed with the most amazing care. I mean, up until this point I would beg to estimate that the nursing staff had spent around 8 hours listening to me ramble on about my cats. I was a few minutes away from open heart surgery and I was getting make-up tips from one of the surgical nurses... well until the surgeon had to spoil my ignorance and walk in. He said they were ready for me and it would only be 2 or 3 minutes longer. Boom. That's when I turned into a two year old who needed her Daddy. He couldnt hold back his tears, and nor could I. I was wailing uncontrollably, telling my Dad how much I loved him. The fear was real. Very real. Almost indescribable to have to face the possibility of DEATH. This could be the very last time that I ever see my Dad. I was going into this obscenely serious surgery with horrendous odds. Who was I to think that I would survive fate? I had all but pulled my Dad into my hospital bed at this point. I just couldnt say goodbye. I wanted him to just hold me and make it all go away. But it was time. I held my Dads hands one last time and as they wheeled me down the hall, I yelled to him that I loved him and would see him soon. I secretly prayed that the next time he saw me, he would not be looking down at me, dead on a cold, steel table. I was given a sedative, and apparently it worked because shortly after I found myself complimenting everyone on "how nice they were," next I told my surgeon, "Don't let me die, I have my Dad and cus' nobody wants 5 cats." My doctors and all of the nurses did their very best to try and reassure me that I would wake up. A clear rubber mask was placed over my nose/mouth and I started slowly counting back from 100 (trying to enjoy the drug induced high and fight the anesthetics at the same time), and for the next 8 hours, my life was resting solely in the hands of this "Dream Team" surgical team. As you may have guessed already, I SURVIVED! It turned out that my heart was in much worse shape than previously expected, so not only did they have to replace my mitral valve but my aortic valve was covered in vegetation and needed to be scraped off. The doctor said that after seeing my heart, I would not have lived 2 more weeks without this procedure. I'm pretty fuzzy as to the timeline for the next few events. I recall waking up in a very bright room with lots of doctors around me. It was horrifying because the breathing tube was still down my throat, yet I felt like I was suffocating. In a complete panic I was trying to talk with my eyes, and scream to the nurses, "I can't breath!!" They must have read my mind because next thing I know, the nurse is leaning over my face telling me to relax. She said that the equiptment was breathing for me and that I just had to- annnnnnnnd I passed out. I woke up again, I guesstimate about 5 hours later. I was in a different room this time. It had a tiny little observation deck in it for a nurse to sit and, well, observe. I'm still with a breathing tube, but I'm a bit calmer this time. I can see all of the tubes coming out of my stomach, and I can see my chest raise up and down- with zero assistance from me. I didn't feel well. I was sick to my stomach and frightened. I was aware that my health was improving dramatically, but being alone and awake with my thoughts was extremely sad. The nurse came in to check my vitals, fluid loss, urine out-put etc. and realized that my body temperature was low. Especically for someone who just had major surgery. So, she covered me in what I remember to look like a space blanket. You know, those thin silver on one side, blue on the other ones? Think back to space field trips. Anyhow, it didn't take long until I was exceptionally warm. Then I began to sweat, next was the anxiety. I felt like I was cooking alive under this blanket, but nobody was around to tell. Even if they were, I had a breathing tube down my throat and was unable to speak properly. Fifteen minutes passed- no nurse. Tears were just continuously rolling down the side of my face. Thirty minutes passed- no nurse, it was beginning to feel like an eternity. At forty minutes I passed out for a few minutes and I woke up to the nurses taking the blanket off of me. Thank you Jesus! Praise The Lord! Once I cooled off, that was it for me it was lights out until the next morning. Rise and shine! No rest for the weary. The beautiful nurses had me up bright and early to remove my breathing tube. Hallelujah. Although I will admit it was not that easy to take my first unassisted breath, but I did it and in no time I was back to inhaling and exhaling with my own free will. Ill hold my breath if I want to damn it! A parade of white coats for the next 2 hours. I was avoiding looking at the 6 1/2 inch scar down the center of my chest. (and the scar from the pacemaker) I was still uneasy knowing that they had to break my sternum and WIRE it back together. After a brief unscheduled siesta, a young red haired man entered my room. He explained that he was there to remove my chest tubes and I basically told him that I accepted his challenge. Are you joking? Long, bumpy, blue, rubber tubes are INSIDE of my body and he's here to "pull them out?!" Insert gag and vomit here. Nope. Nope. Nope. Clearly he had dealt with trouble makers like me before, because his sweet talking game was on point. He said he would remove both tubes at once, and I would feel minimal discomfort. Ok, Prince Harry, let's go. He started by counting me down from 3. Try #1: 3...2... and I would interject, "No no no no no nope no no no no." Try #2 : 3...2... "No, no, nope, no thats enough no no no." After a pretty serious pep talk involving either living with the tubes forever VS. dealing with 3 seconds of slip and slide- I took a few deep breaths and decided this was gonna happen. Ok, this was it... Try #3: 3...2...1... and this freckled God pulled the tubes from my abdomen and quickly plugged the holes up with gauze to stop my bleeding. It felt exactly like you would imagine. As if he had gripped up my large intestine, and just pulled! I felt no pain, but it was the creepiest sensation having the bumps from the 2 feet of rubber being yanked inch by inch through your insides. Bucket list: Check! They really dont waste any time at the hospital. It was only the day after surgery, or the next day,(again still foggy) and the nurses were getting ready to have me sit up out of bed, in a chair. This sounded like a miserable suggestion. I verbally detested as much as possible, claiming that I felt sick to my belly and especially light headed. I was quickly assured that both symptoms were normal, but that I had nothing in my stomach to throw up. As she and the tech were trying not to pull IV's out of my arms and neck, I told them again that I was going to throw up. It really was like IV Jenga. Move this, not that, move this wire, not that etc. I was seated upright! My chest burned like nobodys business and woops, I made good on my promise to vomit. Note to all readers, If you ever have open heart surgery- DO NOT VOMIT! The pain in my sternum was enough to make me vomit again. Ugh. Part of me felt accomplished. I mean I HAD told them that I wanted to puke.. nobody listened.. hehe. Leslie- 1. It's the small victories. On a quest to still discover where this deadly infection originated, the doctors had me scheduled to be transported to an oral surgeon 3 days after surgery. Doped up just the right amount to deal with the situation, I was moved from the ambulance stretcher to the dentists chair. In no time at all, I was prepped to have my tooth removed and examined to see if this little bastard was the cause of my saga. Unfortunately, the tooth was fine and was not the root of my illness. Then, on the way back I tried to bribe the ambulance drivers to stop for donuts. Fail. **constant edits and updates being made, my story is far from over.. Please check back often, like it's your horoscope**

[writeyouin]

Hello! I just found your blog, read some of your stories, and I am hooked! Your writing is amazing, I love your stories so much! Would you mind taking a request about a motion sick shield agent and the avengers? Maybe coming back from a mission on the Hellicarrier, the reader experiences some motion sickness but the Avengers help them through it and they eventually fall asleep? Thank you!

Avengers Reader Insert – Motion Sickness

A/N – Hi there, gosh that is sosweet of you to say. I’ll be honest, I found this request a little difficultbut I’ve done my best to figure out what everyone’s roles would be and I hopeyou like it, you amazing person.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You despised Fury, why did hehave to assign you to the Avengers today? He knew you hated the damned Helicarrier,or most any mode of transport really. Your job in S.H.I.E.L.D was supposed tobe a ‘boots on the ground’ kind of role in New York but then some stupid agenthad to get ill and you had to take their place; you hated the agent and youloathed Fury.

“Great, now I get to be sick,” You thought irritably, trying to hideyour nausea as Tony began the flight to the meeting spot in England.

It didn’t take long for Natashato notice your odd behaviour, usually you were quite willing to talk with eachmember of the team, today however, you weren’t speaking at all; not even a quiet‘yes’ every now and then.

“(Y/N), is everything okay?” Sheasked, worried that something about the mission was going to be more dangerousthan usual and mistaking your illness for guilt.

“Fine,” You murmured.

“If something’s bothering you,you should tell us,” Vision said. “That is what I’ve been taught about humancustoms.”

“It’s nothing.”

“If there’s a problem- What’shappening to your colours. Is it normal for humans to turn so pale?”

“Pale?” Tony got up from thepilot seat curiously. He walked up, ignoring personal space to get a good lookat you. “My God, are you travel sick? You are, aren’t you! Guys, this is great,(s)he’s- (s)he’s-” He cackled hysterically.

Under normal circumstances, youwould’ve argued back. In your current, worsening condition however, arguingwasn’t an option.

“Aww, so cute. Need a doggy bag?Want me to call Fury to pick you up? I’ll tell you what, if you’re good, we canstop at-”

You took a deep, shuddery breath,making Tony falter.

“Wait, you are okay, right? Tellme you’re okay. Natasha, (s)he’s not answering, is (s)he okay?”

Natasha shot him a look,silencing him. She grabbed your hand, gently guiding you down onto the floor, “Breathe.”

“Yes,” Thor commended, “Breathing.‘Tis good for all warriors, even those who do not venture the skies well.”

The group gathered around you onthe floor, making you feel even worse about the scenario. You were an adult;adults weren’t supposed to be babied, especially when it was Earth’s defendersdoing the babying. Sure, they were all trying to be nice but you were supposedto be a professional.

Clint sensed your distress andmade the group back off so he could sit down next to you. Silently, he handedyou a stick of gum which you gratefully accepted, relishing the little reliefit provided.

“Thanks…” You managed, “How didyou…?”

“I have three children (Y/N),this quiver holds more than arrows,” He replied with a grin.

“What uh, what else is in there?”

“Other than the arrows, a fewtoys and an iPod with kids songs; don’t tell Tony that last part.”

“Secret’s safe with me.”

“Seriously though, how’re youfeeling?”

“Not good.”

Clint glanced at Bruce, motioninghim over with a subtle head nod. Bruce hesitated momentarily, he was often waryof people, especially before a mission, though despite his reservations, heapproached anyway, taking Clint’s place beside you.

“I uh, I know how it feels,”Bruce mumbled awkwardly.

“You get motion sick?” You askeddoubtfully.

“Not motion sick, just sick…every time I turn back. I find music helps… if you want it,” he pulled out his iPod,offering it to you.

You smiled sadly, your sicknessseemed so paltry compared to how it must feel for Bruce, recovering from beingHulk on a regular basis. You appreciated that no matter how bad the recoverymust be, he wasn’t mocking you for your silly little ailment.

Tentatively, you took the iPod,finding a pleasant distraction in the sweet melodies of the classical musicupon it. With a content sigh, you rested your head on Bruce. He didn’t move,knowing how comforting it was to have something warm on the Helicarrier,instead he stayed there, even as you fell asleep on him.

Vision and Wanda shared a look, both wishing to sootheyou further. Together, they combined their abilities, weaving a dream whichwould play until you woke up. Each Avenger was aware that they hadn’t done muchalone to help but by working together, they’d managed to help you through atroublesome problem; even Tony was taking care to pilot the plane morecarefully so as not to jostle you awake.