#i usually sleep so i can just ignore it but ive been so anxious lately that i cant

[friggsdc]

Title: little delinquent pt iv

part iii | part iv

Warnings: Female!reader (bat!sis), mostly plot with family fluff, AU, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4600~

Synop: It had Bruce and Dick sharing a look for a moment before the latter spoke up, “It’s not like I’m against continuing to expand the family, but…” he eyed the child you held nervously, “please don’t start bringing home every child you find…” he tilted his head, “he’s bad enough.” Bruce settled a light glare at his first son (that definitely wasn’t what Bruce was thinking), though Dick was stilled by the way your eyes narrowed at him instead.

“His name is Terrence,” that was all you said, brushing past as they were suddenly on guard at the inherited Wayne-scowl on your face.

---

 A/N: ee;;;; enjoy me not knowing what this plot is, idk tbh, but it’s fun to write. It’s more plot than fluff, which wasn’t what i meant to write sighs. I’ll probably write companion pieces to this that’s zero plot all fluff. The plot wasn’t meant to be so deep, but I mean, uhm… enjoy papa Bruce and mama Alfred~ 

---

[bigR] Dad’s upset.

[bigR] He’s talking less than usual, not even grunts.

[bigR] I think he’s ignoring me?

[you] crap

[bigR] Worse, there’s no news.

No news? True, you hadn’t seen the info feeds light up, the networks had been offline all day, but nothing from Tim’s side? If you didn’t hate Luthor before, well…

[you] this is giving me a headache ::dizzy_emoji::

[bigR] No kidding, I think he’s figuring a few things out.

[bigR] Patrol with B, everything’s unlocked, bb @ late.

[you] is typing…

             “You sure it’s okay?”

The taller male gave quite the toothy grin, a large hand coming up to pull the awkwardly fitted shirt collar back to center, admiring your new outfit. “You can just bring it back later, besides, I think it’s cuter this way.” After a few hours and an incredibly long phone call between Jason, Tim and yourself, the three of you combined were able to get the suit to come off. 

Tim said he still had a lot to go over, but that the laptop was actually incredibly useful. Much of what Tim had been talking (and geeking) about had been lost on Jason and you, too focused on Terry and wrangling the alien suit off.

Jason said he’d be jealous of the strange futuristic-like material if it weren’t for the second skin-like fit, happily poking fun at Nightwing’s taste in suits.

Most of the work was done on Tim’s side since he apparently already had the ability to take control of the suit. It was something you were rather… anxious about, but unlike the manor, Jason’s place had the advantage of no Bruce and no cameras.

So now you sat in the same pair of pants you’d come over in, the only pair of flip-flops he had. They were far too large for you, but your toes would have to hang on till home, and a large t-shirt that fit well enough. 

“Muscle up, Buttercup” was written on the front, Superman’s flexed arm between the words.

“Your taste in clothes is…”

“Cheap. Like second-hand cheap.”

“But… why…”

“To spite Bruce? I pay more for job-related injuries than money I actually have, it’s been tempting me to go back to crime, honestly.”

“…you sure that’s not to spite Bruce as well?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, an impish grin on his face as he lightly ruffled the top of your hair, causing you to childishly swat his hand away, “isn’t that what everyone else does? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

“Uh-huh…” you were honestly too much of a—

“Daddy’s girl,” he snorted lightly, unimpressed.

Before slipping one of Jason’s unused backpacks on, you stuffed the batsuit in the bottom, and the jacket you arrived in on top. Turning just in time to see him picking up Terrence’s sleeping form with incredible gentleness, you cooed lightly.

“You know, you’re not bad at that,” he looked at you, frowning, ears flushing before his attention went back to the bundle in his arms.

“Not even…” instead of moving to take the child from him, you opted to stand still and just watch the interaction instead, as if a point were being made.

Big boy looked like he was terrified of breaking the child in his arms, like an heirloom British teacup, “You look cute like that, a giant teddy bear and a tiny uh... new bat?” Walking over, he turned his eyes to the side, not a single trace of anger towards the situation in his voice anymore, “don’t get used to it,” he muttered, unsure of himself. “But you could get used to it,” you smiled, taking the giant marshmallow from him, “he’ll be around from now on, you know. You’ll have uncle duties~” Your teasing only increased his rising timidness, “right…”

“Well,” he began, heading to the door once you had everything, “I’m already late for patrol, let’s get you home.”

-

Alfred had greeted you at the door and mentioned putting on some tea, and you gladly accepted, though not before you went up and changed. With the promise to be back downstairs in a few minutes, he took Terrence from you to ready him for bed. Adorable child was actually quite active, having tired himself out at Jason’s temporary housing.

Quickly, you’d headed to Tim’s room to empty the contents of your bag in his faraday cage, hoping that it was secure enough being in his room. Once you’d locked the safe’s door, you headed out of his room and down the hall to your own. Sorry Jay, but the shoes were uncomfortable, and the shirt kept trying to strangle you more than the shirt of a giant should. Pajamas sounded wonderful right now.

The now empty backpack was tossed to the side near where Duke had left the your clothes from earlier in the day, and a few immediate items for Terrence. You figured everything else was probably in the nursery now, hoping it was all waiting for you in the next few days. The awkward clothes you’d worn over the suit had been tossed on your day clothes, and then Jason’s shirt and shoes were dropped on top.

The shower was quick, and having changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, you suddenly felt sluggish, your shoulders now heavy with tightness. Come to think of it, your thighs also felt rather wobbly, like jelly… but the only strenuous activity you can remember doing in all honesty was… base jumping… was it the wings? It’s all you could honestly come up with. Maybe you weren’t used to such a thing yet, and as you rubbed your shoulders, you headed back downstairs to the sitting room. “Nn…”

“Sore?”

It was still too early for anyone scary to be home right now, so…

You nodded, collapsing on the small sitting couch, Alfred going to stand from his seat to fix you a cup of tea from the tray on the table. “I did a dumb thing today. I’m not certain if I regret it or not.” He handed you the tea plate and cup before returning to his original position on a rather regal looking chair, “I’ve already put the Little Master to bed for the evening. The Young Masters went to bed awhile ago, though I suspect, they are not, actually sleeping.” He gave an amused hum at the thought of Damian and Jon and what they were totally not doing. 

He definitely hadn’t noticed when they’d snuck out earlier. Nope, not at all.

It was a long day filled with heightened emotions, anxiety, stress, confusion, and at the end of it, you were just so tired, and Alfred had always been your confidant next to Tim, and—

You tried to keep quiet as you spoke.

“I jumped out of a really tall building. Like… ninety feet up? I’m not certain, I was watching my life flash before my eyes.” He sighed and frowned into his own tea, “Master Bruce has already left for the night, Master Tim is accompanying him, as the boys are… supposed to be here for a night off. I really had hoped you’d grown up to be more intelligent and not as reckless as your brothers.” Or your father, Alfred mused, sipping at his tea, pinky out, the proper macaroni gentlebutler he was.

“I mean, I panicked, I was in a batsuit, I had a lot of intel on me, like, literally stole a laptop and backed up something called Project B (whatever that meant, though you had your suspicions having met Conner), there was a ton of guards outside going from door to door… I don’t have the same muscle mass to fight like my militant brothers, I was scared of what would happen if they caught me, like dad’s reputation?, I may have been overwhelmed by the—”

“—batsuit?” Ah, you looked up from your tea with wide eyes to see him staring, uncertain if the twinkle in his eye was worry or mischief. “Yeah, that. Uhm… Please don’t tell dad,” you sat up straight, gave him your biggest crocodile tears, and were about to clasp your hands together like a beggar before he waved your antics off. “I would not, not unless it endangers your life, Young Miss, you know that. Including young Master Terrence, of course.”

“This afternoon I must ponder over, What you did was, how shall I say, not okay,” he spoke, stern.

He stood to walk over, seating himself next to you while smiling gently, “though I must admit, I am quite curious as to the story behind all of this.” You gave your own small smile as you stared at your tea, “Yeah. I still don’t know all of it yet, myself, but… it’s actually really cool…” The two of you spoke in hushed tones.

Bruce may have been your father, but much like him, you were raised by Alfred, and seeing as you usually weren’t allowed out on the field like the others, your disposition was as Alfred’s was; support. It was something your brothers and father relished in when they had any extra time over the years. You loved to spoil them, and they were readily eager for it. 

It was also thanks to Alfred that you’d learned you had a unique knack for espionage.

Your brothers were raised to protect themselves and others, getting to go out nightly on risky (and deadly) vigilantism escapades. More than that, they not only got to be of use to your father, but they were able to grow up around him, their lives dedicated to the same purpose.

To say you were jealous was an understatement, often worrying Dick and Jay at times.

To say you were your father’s daughter and just as like-minded as him was also an understatement. This was something Tim and Damian understood better than your two eldest siblings.

You were determined as heck.

You graduated from avoiding Alfred’s detection to stalking your father and brothers, skills honed even further as you learned how to use their toys and listen in on their coms system. It was your father’s own fault, leaving you alone all the time.

You would never be useless again.

You would never be left behind again.

“So, your brothers are helping you, then? I am glad of that, it means I need not worry as much,” even though Jason and Damian only knew half the truth, it was Tim who knew everything you did. Duke didn’t want to know and apparently Jon’s dad had warned him not to get involved with “bat business,” and Alfred… “If… If Terry’s parents…” how were you supposed to frame this part, exactly? You ere bothered by the truth of it, so... maybe making it sound worse than it was? If that was even possible... “if they were bad people, like really bad people,” as if suddenly remembering the walls had ears, you lowered your head and voice, barely audible for him to hear, “do you think dad would let me keep him?”

The both of you knew that wasn’t the issue, Bruce had no problem with the child staying, but…

There was something about the boy that seemed to be worrying you…

“If there is one thing I take great pleasure and joy in,” Alfred beamed like the proud father he was, “it’s that at least one of you children turned out more like myself than Master Bruce.” No, honestly, he was so glad you weren’t gloom and doom like your father and siblings, “I’m certain you could tame the wildest of beasts.”

His parentage held no ground here, the two of you understood the meaning behind the words, memories of when Damian met you for the first time after arriving at the manor surfacing, “I think you’ll do just fine with the child. I have all the confidence in the world.”

Maybe you were being overly paranoid about the whole situation.

The evening was finished in comfortable companionship between the two of you, and he’d shoo you away to bed long before it was time for the boys to come home.

After cleaning up and assuring himself that at least someone in the manor went to bed properly, he busied himself with the surveillance of the manor.

He made certain you wouldn’t be caught just because of his curiosities.

-

Through part of the night, you’d begun doing as much research into the relationship between Luthor and CADMUS as you had time for, the past few days having been spent going over only CADMUS information. That was until you got a ping on Luthor’s name written on several specific checks, and gathering as much information available. You looked for key phrases in the news cycle over the past day’s incident, as well as dating back several months. You’d even taken the chip out of your work phone and popped it into the laptop sitting on the bed in front of you, allowing network protocols to take over.

There was only so much the news would give you, so you checked in on security feeds from the area, keywords during phone calls used to see if anyone noticed, satellite intel snapshots, everything. Anything.

The time-sensitive channels still hadn’t opened, no information from other informants was anywhere in the Societies channel logs, not even the time-delayed backlogs.

Someone else was cleaning up.

-

Early morning, the best time to avoid anyone in the manor who had a night life, also just in time to get breakfast as Alfred made the first batch of the day. Though mostly for himself, he’d generally make extras as you’d often join. Heading down the foyer stairs, Terry’s barely conscious form bundled in your arms, you beelined to the kitchen, the smell your guide. “Ah, good morning Young Miss! I even made some for the Little Master, just in case,” Alfred smiled down at the boy in your arms, holding up a small bowl of minced and steamed veggies.

The kitchen was large for an older-modeled mansion, constantly rebuilt with minimal changes, but still cozy and incredibly sustainable. Between the door to the foyer and the opposite wall, where the door to the dining room was, there was a large table. Several shopping lists, foodstuffs, and cookware took up a good portion, but there as still enough room for a small few people to sit comfortably at once.

You smiled, sitting down in the chair the older male pulled out for you, then pushing you in, food for the child set on the table. You situated Terry in your arms, finding a nice spot to rest his bottom without worry of him slipping off, and reached over to spoon some of his meal to him.

Strangely, he didn’t resist much, yawning in between bites as you had to scoop up what tried to spill out of his mouth, “so, how old might you say he is? I’ve been thinking about it, perhaps about a year?” you nodded as you looked up, agreeing with Alfred as he sat down, food cooking behind him in the meantime. “I think… if not that, maybe a few months younger… he can stand, and seems okay with soft solids… I think you’re right, maybe a year?” his clothing size certainly seemed to think the same, Duke having gone to extreme lengths to get a perfectly fitted wardrobe for the boy. He even included a few different larger sizes for the coming year as well.

“Hm…” Alfred leaned on his crossed arms, rested on the table as he eyed the boy, “I suppose we could begin early development lessons with him, signing especially, but I think he can do more, words, possibly.” In response, Terry sneezed, food spraying all over the spoon and bowl in front of the two of you, his eyes still groggy as he slumped in your hold. “Oh dear,” Alfred hummed in amusement, standing to bring you a small terrycloth towel to clean up.

Terry gave a small grunt as he pushed at the cloth now cleaning his face.

“Gonna… Gonna have to get used to that…” the suddenness surprised you, you knew it was a normal human function, but you just hadn’t… expected it.

“I think there will be a great many things for you to get used to from now on, even I will have to relearn a few things. It’s been… a very long time since an infant was in this home.” He went back to finishing his and your meal, a nostalgic and wistful look masking his face. Bruce had no idea what to do with you when you were an infant handed over to him, and it amused Alfred to this day.

Thinking about it, you looked down at Terry, your chin coming to hover over his head, almost as if you were trying to nuzzle him, loud enough for only him to hear, “…mama. S… Say mama.” The child just tilted his head and cooed at you instead, reaching up to pull at your hair again ohdeargodpleasestop.

Releasing your hair from the child’s grasp and holding both of his hands in yours this time, you tried once more, “mama.”

“Mmba,” he blew a raspberry at you as he slurred his speech, becoming more fascinated with the bubbles he blew than your inquiries. “Mm… bah.” He let out a giggle, popped his lips at you and then smiled, trying, and failing thanks to your hold, to reach for your hair again. After several attempts, he settled for turning slightly, resting his head on your chest as he watched Alfred and all of the very shiny cookware.

You flushed, wanting to beam but also feeling incredibly self-conscious about the situation still, it was honestly a lot to get used to. Frowning in determination at the snuggly bug of a child, you tried a different tactic this time, “ma.” He was still more interested in the food being cooked, however, and you heaved a sigh into his head of hair. “Mma,” well, it was a start, and you repeated your previous chant of mama to him, your own eyes wide with what felt like pride.

Was this how Alfred felt?

“Mmba.” Well, as you said, it was a start. With a sigh, you went back to shoving food in his mouth, though quickly you had to wrangle the spoon from his mouth each time. “Stop… biting it, Terry…” you wondered how Conner had gotten so smart in such a short amount of time, wondering if Terry had still been too young when you took him from the bio labs at CADMUS.

“Ah, good morning Sir,” Alfred greeted, and your head shot up to see your father standing in the doorway, bags under his eyes and a yawn hidden behind the back of his hand. “Good morning, Alfred,” he stared at the older man with a frown, obviously trying not to say something. Instead, he looked at you and the child for a long moment, giving both of you a morning greeting. And even though Terry couldn’t properly respond, he did give Bruce the same challenging look as the last time.

He was looking for something out of the ordinary, however, the only thing in the room that was new was Terry, nothing else seemed to be amiss. But you could tell, looking up at him from the corner of your eyes, head still downturned, he was searching.

“Morning dad…” you tried to be light as you smiled at him, nothing is wrong.

“Daah,” Terry tried imitating, but it was lost in the rest of his babbling as he grabbed the food from the spoon. He was making another mess as he shoved it in his mouth, fingers fiddling around tongue and mushy carrots. Thankfully you still had the terrycloth to wipe at his chubby cheeks.

Bruce’s footsteps were as silent as his entrance, stopping next to you and squatting down, large hand, warm and gentle, landing on Terry’s head as he ruffled his hair, “I’d like to talk to you downstairs soon, okay?” He studied Terry for a moment, eyes as brilliant as his own, though it seemed like Bruce almost enjoyed the small head of hair in his palm. You couldn’t tell beyond the awkward chill in the air, but the two of them were giving each other knowing looks, both challenging, though Bruce couldn’t understand why Terry looked at him that way.

He made to stand up, pulling his hand away before Terry could do any damage, cheeks puffing out in a pout. “There’s something I’d like you to look into,” he spoke as he headed back towards the door, a morning coffee handed to him by Alfred, “oh, and you’re not allowed to leave the grounds for the time being. The tracker seems to be faulty.”

Considering you broke them often over the years, well, yeah, of course it was faulty.

Again.

The smile he gave you before he left was smug and you weren’t completely certain as to why, and it was making you really really nervous, “the League computers picked up something quite interesting yesterday.”

“Uh…” Ah yeah. Well heck.

Yeah, metropolis was both a huge risk AND your last outing, you were glad you took the chance though, even if your stunt escalated the situation. You were now officially on house arrest by the most observant secret-wannabe cop in the world.

Then again, there was no telling exactly what he knew.

He might be bluffing.

“Maaam… ah…” Huh? Did he just… Quickly as if borrowed from the speed force, your thoughts of Bruce and the problems at hand seemed to flee as you beamed at Terry. “Mama?”

“Mamhh.”

-

[bigR] Was able to give the drive a quick look.

[bigR] I don’t understand villains. I just don’t.

The hell did that mean?

[steph] c u soon <33

Ah, crap.

-

The table before Bruce had only a few pieces of paper and only two photos. You’d come home nearly a week ago with a new addition to the family, from where he still wasn’t certain. He’d checked and there’d been no missing infant reports that matched up with him, both in looks and location. Tim seemed to be in on it, hiding secrets along with you, and holding back when Bruce would inquire about anything even remotely familiar to the situation. Tim had also been keeping busy with something the past few days, and ever since you’d come home from shopping, he seemed unable to stay still, constantly fidgeting.

Then there was yesterday, when Duke took you out shopping with the boys while Batman had been at the Womb at the League’s watchtower, digging up as much as he could. Which, unfortunately, was just the few scraps of confusing ledes in front of him. The annoying part is how well you avoided the cameras, there were only a few times where he had been able to make you out, the rest he had to guess based on your profile that day.

The subsequent events had started stacking up in a rather annoying fashion. Your tracker’d been broken since you gave everyone a scare a week ago, returning with a child in your arms and something akin to paranoia. Even Tim had been clueless (until he wasn’t), and now even his attitude was giving Bruce pause. It felt more unnerving than bad, something making Bruce’s own stomach knot when he kept coming up with dead ends.

The day you’d gone shopping, the Womb had picked up something the news hadn’t, as the news was calling it nothing more than an accident, and it was that that gave Bruce even more pause. The worst part is that he couldn’t just take a deep dive into the LexCorp building’s system, knowing that much was out of their (or his) hands.

If Cyborg found out that Batman was secretly looking into a non-incident on the League system for family-related business, then he’d never hear the end of it from Superman and the others. He’d have to go out of his way to get into the building, and right now wasn’t the best time to do so, security was increased ten-fold. He’d have to wait it out.

LexCorp wasn’t even reporting it as an incident themselves, but the fact that they were being very stringent about the details, the increase in surveillance, Bruce felt it in his gut; an obvious coverup. The problem was why, there was no way what had happened had been anything short of problematic for Lex, and yet they weren’t filing any kind of paperwork.

They did their best to act as if they didn’t care, but Batman saw all the extra measures, and he also saw the information black hole happening.

LexCorp, no doubt, was scrubbing.

What he had been able to do, however, was gather two snapshots of a black blur that sped out of the building before disappearing into the thick of the city below.

About the same area where Damian’s own tracker took a detour.

“I preferred it when you used to use electrical tape to tape a transceiver blocker to your arm to hide the trackers,” Bruce hadn’t looked up as you approached (and you were dang silent too, even Terry was being chill), “It was much less of a headache.”

“Yeah, but that was when I was a kid. Nothing I do now can hide me from you anymore, the technology is different from back then.”

“Except breaking it.”

“Except that.”

He snorted as you stopped at the table, situating Terry on your hip, and looked down at the photograph that Bruce pushed over to you. It took every bit of training not to give anything away as you picked the photo up and gave it a once-over.

“This is…?” you turned your head to see him with that smug smile from before, tapping the image in your hand with his finger, “this is what I want you to look into.” You would have bristled if you hadn’t known your father better, this was some kind of trap.

“The same day you headed off to Metropolis, intriguingly enough, the LexCorp building had a break-in,” he paused to gather more words, rolling them around on his tongue before swallowing them, I’m worried, and you’re the reason.

“A break-in? I hadn’t heard—”

“No, you wouldn’t have. LexCorp seems to be keeping it from the public knowledge.”

“Then the League computers?”

“Was able to take a few photos from another satellite, these two were the best ones I could find. One of whatever broke in as it took off flying, and another of the same building a few minutes after. No police, no fire crews, nothing.” He was watching your reactions like a hawk, unfortunately you’d played this game so often growing up (learning to lie and stay out of trouble was a skill your brothers and you freaking perfected, even if they got into trouble on purpose), that it was really very easy to just—

“Uhm, but… dad, how? You grounded me, remember? That makes gathering any kind of intel like, y’know, hard.”

The smug smile was back as he pointed at the rather established medical area, the two of you heading over together, “you’re the information broker, I’m sure you can find something useful. It’s not the first time you’ve had to gather information from behind bars, after all,” you really hated how he still felt compelled to remind you of that.

It was once, in a country where no one knew you and where records were shoddy at best.

And on purpose, dangit.

You still weren’t certain how he even found out, besides, he and your brothers had done worse by comparison.

As he began removing the old tracker, you ignored the pain, the lack of anesthetic nothing new to you, too used to it at this point. Not that it was terribly painful. He was precise in skill, second to Alfred, you were too preoccupied with keeping the child still in your lap to notice what he’d been doing prior to your arrival.

All jokes aside, he’d finally gotten ahold of something that could yield actual results.

He looked to the boy again, staring at his familiar features, at his hair, like midnight, “striking how much he looks like us.” You frowned at him.

It was a statement.

The joke wasn’t lost on him.

Or on you.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary- Chapter 52

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @thunderintheshadows​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @valkyrie-of-the-light​

It's just past eight in the morning when he arrives home; Nik had had one of her 'security specialists' pick him up at the airport, and relief had surged through him the second the SUV had made the turn into the long and winding gravel driveway. The feeling is always the same when he gets back from a job. All the tension and the stress that he'd spent days...sometimes even weeks...carrying squarely on his shoulders  lifting as soon as that last thousand metres came into view. The old metal mailbox at the end of the drive -no last name, just the numbers of the house that the previous owners had long ago put on it with white paint-, the towering, seemingly impenetrable wall of trees that completely blocks all view the house and property, the snow capped mountains off in the distance.

But while he's relieved to be home, the view of all those familiar and normally welcoming things fills him with little to no sense of comfort. They'd been safe there; hidden away from the rest of the world, just a normal (to outsiders, anyway) normal family that liked their peace and their solitude, who kept to themselves and never ventured far from home.  Now it's been violated. People have been there. People sent to destroy him and hurt his wife and his kids. With every photo taken and left in the mailbox, their security and their comfort had been stripped away a little at a time. And when those same people had pulled down their driveway and stepped onto their front porch, life as they'd known it was over.  Every shred of safety, every ounce of peacefulness, every time the view of the mountains had been both breathtaking and comforting, is now gone.

It's home, but isn't home in the way it used be. And it never would be again.

For the first time since they'd bought the place, his return isn't greeted by the excited shrieks and squeals of his children; no little bodies bounding out the front door and tearing down the front steps, all three of them throwing themselves at him all at once, all demanding his immediate and undivided attention. No puppy with its excited, incessant bark or the way it weaves in and out of his legs when he tries to watch. No wife standing on the porch with a smile on her face and the baby on the hip.  There's nothing but emptiness. Silence. And it makes the place that is usually so welcoming and comforting feel cold. Empty. Sterile. As if it belongs to someone else and he's nothing more than an unwelcome outsider.

He spends his first ten minutes outside of the SUV tending to the familiar things; body and mind moving in autopilot, so used to same domestic routine that he doesn't even think about it anymore.  Just going through the motions as he checks the mail, brings the trash can and recycle boxes from the side of the road and puts them at the side of the house, makes sure that the dog's outside water and food dishes are full, even though he knows well full that even Mac had the trip to Oklahoma.  And when he comes back around to the front of the house and gathers the lone bag he'd brought with him out of the driveway, he discovers Nik watching him as she stands on the front porch, one hand on her hip, the other holding the screen door open. And while he knows she's there for good reason and with the best of intentions, he still finds himself irritated by her presence. At the fact that she always seems to be where she doesn't really belong; just on the outside of his life, waiting for her chance to fully jump in.

“How was your flight?” she asks, as he climbs the front steps.

“Long. Aggravating.”

“Aggravating?”

“I was just anxious to get home, I guess,” he reaches for the edge of the screen door to pull it open further, wanting to simply step past her and get inside. But she keeps one hand on the screen and puts the other on the door frame, completely blocking his way.  And he heaves a heavy sigh and fixes her with a cold, almost menacing glare. “What the fuck now, Nik? Is there where you try and jump me and take advantage of me? Because you feel you haven't totally fucked up my life yet?”

“I never....”

“You should have never told Esme about McMann. You should have stayed the fuck out of it. I would have told her myself.”

“When? A week from now? A month? A year? Two years? Whenever your conscience got too much for you to bear?”

“What does it matter when? I would have done it.”

“It would have been too late by then, Tyler.  By the time you told her, the lie would have been eating at you and it would have gone on too long for her to forgive you. Instead of blaming me for this, try putting the blame where it really lies. On yourself.”

“You don't think I already am? That I don't hate myself for what's happening? For the fact my wife felt like she needed to get away from me for a while? But the fact is that she never would have felt that way and she never would have left if you hadn't stuck your nose where it didn't belong. Or was that your plan all along? Really tear shit apart so she would leave me. Would leave the door wide open for you, wouldn't it.”

“That was not my intention. It never has been.”

“Oh yeah? Because I have about two dozen text messages and emails from you suggesting a whole lot of dirty shit that definitely would have broken my marriage up. Or do you just forget about that kind of thing?”

“Nothing ever came of those.”

“Because I wouldn't let it. Just get out of my way, Nik. I'm tired, I'm sore, and I just want to see my wife.”

“You didn't need to come home. She's fine. Her brother is here, keeping an eye on her.”

“Well I'm happy about that, but she's my wife, so...”  he attempts to slip past her, and she once more blocks his way.  “...Nik, I will move you. And not nicely either.”

“You should be in Ireland. You should be leaving for New Zealand in two days.”

“Well I'm not. I'm here. In Colorado. Because my wife needs me to be here.”

“And I told you she was fine. That you didn't need to run home. I told you...”

“You're a doctor now? I don't care if you think she's fine. If there's something wrong...even the smallest thing...I should be here with her.  And maybe you'd understand that if you had a life outside of the job. You know, someone you actually care more about than the guns and the money.”

She frowns. “You're a real prick..”

“And you're standing in my way, so...”

She finally relents, positioning herself sideways in the doorway, motioning for him to step inside.   “What good do you think it will do?” she asks, watching as he tosses a set of keys on a table in the foyer and toes off his boots. “Being here?”

“Maybe it'll make her realize that I do love her more than the job. Maybe it will make her feel better, knowing that I'm here and that I didn't just say 'fuck you and the baby' and stay thousands of miles away. And maybe, just maybe, it'll make me feel better. What the hell is it to you, anyway? This is my life. Not yours. Why don't you go back to fucking Mark and Esme's brother.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What...?”

“I'm tired, Nik.  I'm sore. And all I want to do is go upstairs, see my wife and kiss her and make sure everything is okay. Why is this such a goddamn issue? This is my house, remember? And I appreciate everything you've done for both Esme and I. I really do. Getting her back home, getting me home. But just back off and let us work on our marriage, okay? For fuck sakes.”

“You are going back,” she states, as he climbs the stairs.  “And I'm not asking  a question when I say that.”

“It's my decision. Not yours.”

“They need you. The team needs you. Don't bail on them now. And don't bail on those kids either.”

“Why don't you just fuck off, Nik,” he suggests, his feet pounding on the stairs as he heads for the second floor.

****

She sleeps on his side of the bed; on her side with her back facing the door,  cheek resting against his pillow.  A second one tucked into her chest and her hand -the one with the IV placed into it- resting on top of it, an attempt to keep it slightly elevated,  the tubing from kinking, and things comfortable.  And he strips down to to just his boxers and his t-shirt before pulling the comforter back and settling in behind her; ignoring the pain that shoots through his bad shoulder as he's forced to lay on it, placing one hand on the top of her head and the other on her stomach.  His face buried in her hair, his eyes closed.  And she stirs; giving a happy little sigh and wiggling closer to him, her hand, IV and all, slipping under the blanket to rest on top of his.

“Whatever you're planning on doing,” she says. “You better make it quick. My husband's going to be home soon.”

“Yeah?” he grins. “What's he like? Nice guy? Big guy?”

“He's big and mean.”

“How mean?”

“Mean enough. He has a resting 'I'll tear you a new asshole' face.”

“Could I take him?”

“I don't know. He's really tall and has big muscles and is totally sexy.”

Grinning, he combs his fingers through her hair and presses a kiss to the back of her head.

She gives another sigh; long and content. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“I know that smart ass,” she laughs. “I mean, what are you doing home?”

“I came home for you.”

Smiling, she tips her head back to look at him, and he gives her a little wink and places a kiss on her brow.  “You didn't have to come home,”she says, as she once more nestles her cheek into the pillow.

“Yeah, I did. And I didn't have to. I wanted to.”

“How long are you here for?”

“As long as you want me to be. Why? You already want to kick me out?”

“I tried that once. I hated every second of it. I was miserable without you and wanted you to come home. That was the longest six months of my life.”

“Yeah, that wasn't the greatest time of my life either.” He'd spent more of it either working or drunk of his ass. Even missing scheduled visits with the kids.  “So much for staying away from each other for a while, huh? It lasted what? Thirty six hours? I guess the baby had other plans. Didn't think it was necessary. Wanted mommy and daddy together.”

“She's got a mind of her own already. She's going to be a trouble maker, you know.”

“Now you're calling it a girl.”

“It has to be girl. Causing this much problems right from the beginning.”

“You mean after five and a half years we actually agree on something? That girls cause the most issues?”

“It's true. Look at all the issues I cause you.”

“I'm not going to argue with that one,” he teases, chuckling when she elbows him in the stomach.  He moves his forearm up to rest her pillow, thumb gently caressing her forehead, fingertips kneading her scalp. “What did they say at the hospital?”

“Not much, really.  I'm dehydrated and my blood pressure was really high.”

“Can't say I'm surprised. About either of those.”

“They did some tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

“Blood work, mostly. Made me pee in a cup. Checked my heart. Which was perfectly fine.”

“Well that's some good news,” he says, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “What did they say about the baby?”

“Well, they confirmed there's actually one in there. They did an ultrasound to check on things.”

“And?”

“And everything looks great, they said. Healthy and perfect. So far anyway. Everything is where it's supposed to be and there's nothing missing and nothing extra. They said the heartbeat was really strong and everything was measuring right where it's supposed to be. They didn't see any problems.”

Tyler breathes a sigh of relief. “Good.”

“I'm farther along than either of us thought though.”

“How far?”

“Just guess. Out of everything you've experienced in the last five and a half years...all the pregnancies you've got to witness...just guess....”

“I dunno. Three months?”

“More like three months and three weeks. And two days.”

He raises both hos his brows. “Are they sure? Because that's almost right out of the first trimester.”

“Aww...baby....look at you,” she teases. “Remembering things you read in What To Expect When You're Expecting. I remember when you'd read that when I was having Millie. It was so cute. You sitting on the beach, all tan and buff, reading that.  Totally into it. Until you got to the graphic parts about child birth and couldn't take it.”

“No book could prepare me for that.” He'd missed that  moment with Austin; he'd been born while Tyler was on his last tour in Iraq. So Millie had been his first experience in the delivery room. And he'd almost wanted it to be his last.

“I don't know how you can do some of the things you've had to do to people, yet you almost pass out watching your daughter being born.”

“Because I don't know those people. I don't have a connection to them. I'm married to you. I had to see you in all that pain and I had to see her being delivered. I know it's beautiful and and it's a miracle and all that. And I felt that. But it also want me to puke. And pass out. But almost four months? How is that even possible?”

“Well, you were home then, so...'

“I don't mean that. I know how that happened. I mean how does it get so far head and you don't even know.”

“I don't know. Don't ask me.”

“I have to ask you. It's your body.”

“I thought I was stressed. Or that I was just run down from taking care of four other kids. I was still kind of getting my period, so...”

“I won't even ask what 'still kind of' means.”

“...so I thought things were normal. And you were using condoms. Or so I thought.”

“I was.”

“So what happened? Did one break or...?”

“Okay, so maybe I wasn't using them all the time.”

“Really, Tyler? Really?”

“I was pulling out though.”

She laughs. “Did you learn nothing in grade nine health class? When they taught that the pulling out doesn't work? Did you sleep through that class?”

“Okay, so I accept my part of the responsibility? But almost four months and you didn't suspect anything? Not even the smallest thing that crept up and made you wonder if maybe you were?”

“I didn't have a reason to think I was. I thought you were handling things and I was still sort of having periods. I mean, I felt a bit sick but I thought I was stressed and worn out. Being married to you is very stressful sometimes, I'll have you know. And neither have four of your spawn to worry about the same time. Not once did I think it was anything other than that.”

“Well, I guess we don't have that long to get our asses back to Australia after all. Unless you want to wait until after the baby comes.”

“No. God no. That is the last thing I want. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. Away from my evil mother. Did Nik tell you? Why would we left there? Why we came back here?”

“She told me a little bit. That you got into it with your mom and things got out of control and you passed out. What the hell did she say that got you that worked up? Because you've never...ever...got that mad at me and we've gotten into some epic fights.”

“It doesn't matter what she said. Just that she said it. And she followed it up with how we're all dead to her if I stay with you. Even the kids.”

“That means you can't get rid of me at all now. You have to keep me around out of sheer spite.”

“I want to laugh at that, I really do. But you have no idea the things she said. About you. About this baby. She's evil, Tyler.  Like she is legitimately evil. If you'd heard the things she said...”

“Who gives a shit what she says about me? I told you a long time ago to just ignore her. That it doesn't matter what the hell she says about me. I don't give a shit.”

“No...you don't understand...”  he hears the way her voice trembles from emotion, and presses a kiss to the top of her head and softly strokes her hair. “...the things that she said about you....they were horrible and they hurt so bad. Because she knows my worst fear when it comes to you and she preyed on that. She used that to break me and it worked and it just hurts so bad.”

“It's okay,” he moves his arm from the pillow and places it across her collarbone, pulling her tightly against him and kissing her temple. “It's okay now. I'm right here. It doesn't matter what she said about me.  I'm...right...here.”

“But one day you might not be.”

“That's not going to be for a long time. A really long time. Like, another forty years.”

“Oh God. I have to put up with your that long?”

He frowns, while she manages a short laugh through her tears.

“Bad time for a joke,” she's apologetic. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. We both know you won't make it that long because I'll end up killing you by that time for leaving the toilet seat up one too many times.”

“Well for what it's worth, I'd rather you laugh than cry. Even if it's at my expense.”

“It was just so bad. What she said. I can't get it out of my head, Tyler. Because she damn well knows what I'm most scared of and that's why she said it. And that just makes it even worse. Not just that she wishes that on you, but she wishes that kind of suffering and grief on me. What kind of person does that? What kind of person is so cold and evil?”

“She is. And she always has been. She's been like that with you all your life, you said. Especially after your dad died. Just settle down, okay?” he places his cheek against her ear, rubbing her stomach in slow, soothing motions. “You need to settle down for you and the baby. Or you'll actually end up in the hospital this time and I know you don't want that. So just calm down. It doesn't matter what your mother said. She can say what she wants. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

He tightens his hold on her, thumb moving back and forth against her collarbone, his lips against her ear, eyes closed.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“What if something is wrong? With the baby?”

“Nothing is wrong with the baby.”

“But what if there is? What if we found  out there's something going on? Like some kind of issue or disability or some kind of special needs or...?”

“Well, then we deal with it.”

“You don't mean...”

“No. I don't mean that. I mean we learn about whatever it is and we make whatever changes we need to make to our lives and we adapt. It's our baby regardless, yeah? So we just take things as they come and deal with it.”

“And you'd be okay with it? If there was something wrong?”

“Why wouldn't I? It's my kid.”

“And you'd be able  handle it? Because I wouldn't be able to deal with that alone. I just wouldn't. And if you couldn't handle it...”

“Baby, I'm not the same person I was back then. When I took off when Austin was sick. I'm far from being that same person.”

“I didn't mean to say to hurt your feelings. I just...”

“It's okay. I know why you said it. And if I was you,  I'd ask the same thing. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not that guy, Esme. That guy doesn't exist anymore.  He stopped existing when I met you.  He's gone and he's not coming back. So that's not anything you have to worry about. If something's wrong, we deal with it together. We made this baby together, we deal with whatever happens together.”

“Okay,” she sniffles. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“I don't think we're supposed to be having sex, so it you're wanting me to get you off...”

“Is that seriously the first thing you always think of?” she laughs.

“I can't help it. I'm a red blooded male. I'm lying in bed with my half naked wife who keeps pushing her ass back against my cock.”

“I'm doing no such thing.”

“Like hell you're not. So either keep your ass still or I'm going to sleep somewhere else.”

“Fine,” she pouts dramatically.  

“What's the favour?”

“I need you to dye my hair.”

“What?”

“I want to go back to what it was before. I don't want to keep the red. There's too much but shit associated with it. I bought some baby friendly hair dye but I can't do it myself because I have this stupid thing in my hand.”

“Why can't you ask Nik? This is a girl thing. She's a girl.”

“Because I don't want Nik to do it, I want you to do it. Please? I know it's not your usual thing, but you're always asking what you can do help me and right now, this is what I need help with. I know you're used to kicking ass and taking names, but  I'd really like it if you'd do this for me. Because you love me. And you want me to look pretty again.”

“You look pretty now. I like the red.”

“But you liked my normal hair more, right?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Please? It's not that hard. You know how to read. There's instructions on the box. There's no way you can screw it up. Please, baby? I'll make it up to you. And for the record, they didn't say we can't have sex. I have to avoid stress, not orgasms. And those calm me down, so...”

“Not while they're happening you're not calm. If all the bite marks on my shoulders and my neck and the scratches on my back have anything to say about it. So until I hear a doctor say it's okay, looks like I'm going to studying alone for a while. And yes. I will dye your hair. Even if it makes me the most whipped husband on the entire planet.”

“It doesn't make you the most whipped husband on the entire planet. It makes you the most awesome husband on the planet,” she declares, and he grins and presses a kiss to her cheek.  “I'm glad you're here,” she says. “You didn't have to come all this way and you know you didn't.”

“Yeah, I did. Because you needed me. And I've fucked up a lot and I've got things to make up for.  I'm sorry, baby. For everything. Not just this McMann bullshit. But everything. Every shitty decision I ever made. Every promise I ever broke. All the times I took you for granted and made you think I didn't love you.”

“I've never thought that. You've never made me think that way or feel that way. That's one thing you've always been good at. Making sure I didn't feel that way.”

“I've been a shitty fucking husband. And you probably never should have taken me back when we split up for six months. But you did. And you keep putting up with my shit. For some reason.”

“I told you. When a girl gets good dick, she has to hold onto it.”

He laughs at that. “I'm being serious here.”

“So am I. It's good dick. Like insanely good. So...”

“You know,  maybe it's actually been me putting up with you,” he teases.

“I think it's been both. I think we both drive each other insane sometimes. Yet neither of us ever want to walk away. At least not for good.”

“There's no other place I want to be than with you and my kids. You know that? And now...” he gently pats her stomach, kisses her temple. “...we got this little bean on the way and we've got five million reasons not to stick around here. We can go wherever we want. Raise our kids wherever we want.”

“Australia,” she says. “I just want to go back to Australia. A small town, this time. Nice and quiet. Close to the beach. You used to always take Millie to the beach and she was just a baby then.  The boys would love it. They're so much like you. Especially Tyler. He wants to do everything you do.  If anyone was meant to be a junior, it's that kid. He idolizes you. They all do. But especially him.  You know they'd love it there. And I know you want to go back. You were happy here, but never as happy as you were there. We were both happier there. We can find a house near the beach that's perfect for us. In some nice sleepy town where no one knows us. We can just start over. Sounds good, right?”

He nods and places a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Sounds perfect.”

“You'll be the hottest dad in the school pick up line for sure.”

Tyler laughs at that. “I have to do school pick up?”

“And drop offs. That will be your thing. And you can be the one that relocates the spiders and the snakes that get into the house.”

“Baby, for you, I will relocate all the snakes and the spiders that try to make themselves at home.”

“Because you'll stay nice and calm and I'll just burn the house down. We're going to find something for you to keep busy. You're not the kind that can sit still for very long.”

“There'll be lots to do. Even with Millie and the twins in school, we'll still have the Ginger at home and....”

“The Ginger?  Is that what we're calling him now?” she laughs.  

“He has red hair.”

“You have red in your hair and in your beard. You can  especially see it when you're out in the sun.”

“My head isn't red.  His is.”

“He's strawberry blond. Your mother was a strawberry blond. That's where he got it from.”

“I don' know, Esme....” he grins. “...I'm starting to think it wasn't a coincidence that he was conceived on the same day the cable guy came here to 'fix something'.”

“Oh my god, for the last time, it was not the cable guy. It was the UPS delivery guy. Get it right.”

“Isn't the UPS guy Mexican?”

“He's actually Filipino.”

“Which does not explain why Declan has red hair in the slightest.”

“Well, something must have went wrong. Don't worry, baby. This one is definitely yours. There were no cable outages or deliveries that day.”

“You're a fucking shit,” he laughs, and rubs his beard against the side of her neck, until she's wriggling and laughing against him. “Now that I think about it, isn't Declan an Irish name? Because I'm not Irish. And neither are you. So what's up with that? What nationality is that pizza guy that has the hots for you?”

“You're the one who picked Declan off the baby name list. You didn't like any of the other names. So that's on you.  And this one is up to you, too. You said the last two were your choices.”

“Wait...wait...that is not what I said. That's not what I said at all. I got to pick one of the twins and The Ginger.”

“Yeah, you picked Tanner and gave me a hard time about Tyler. Like what? That's your name for crying out loud! And you didn't even want one of them to have your name.”

“I didn't see a reason to have a reason to have a Junior.”

“Most men want a Junior,” she reasons.

“Baby, I ain't like most men.”

“Okay, I'll give you that.  But I wanted him to be named after you.  It's cute. A Tyler and a Tyler Junior. Regardless of what you think. And it worked. Because he looks and acts exactly like you.  Remember in the delivery room? Even that one nurse that was holding him was like 'oh my god, you look so much like your daddy'.”

He grins. “Lucky kid.”

“This one better look like me.”

“Probably look like the Filipino UPS driver.”

“Would you stop?” she giggles. “And his name is Manny.”

“Fuck, you're even on first name basis with him? Now I am starting to worry.”

“Like I'm going to choose Manny over you. What about that girl in town that works at the grocery store? That cute blond that always bats her eyelashes at you whenever she sees you. The one who told the lady waiting in line behind us that one time that you had a nice ass.”

“Oh yeah. Cheryl. The one that asked if I'd flex so she could feel my biceps.”

“Fuck Cheryl. And fuck you...” she digs her elbow into his stomach. “...for indulging the little tramp.”

“I never agreed to it. I'd never do that. She did grab my tricep once though when I was putting Declan in the seat.”

“I will fucking go there and beat the shit out of her. I don't care if I'm pregnant. I will go there and drag her out into the street and hand her ass. Who does that? And you having the damn nerve to know her first name.”

“She wears a name tag.”

“Which they wear on their chests so technically, you were looking at her boobs. So, you deserve to be studying alone for a while.”

“You know Manny's first name. I didn't know his name was Manny.”

“Tyler, you don't anyone's first name because you are not a people person. You're a scare people person.  Unless they're cashiers at the grocery store who like to feel you up apparently.”

“Oh, so now you're a people person. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Being a 'people person'.”  He makes air quotes around the last two words.  

“I will kill you in your sleep. No hesitations.”

Grinning, he presses a kiss to the side of her neck. “You were definitely a people person when we met. Especially in that hotel room in Dhaka.”

“You're such a dick,” she laughs.

“You were very...what's the word...personable...with me in Dhaka.”

“You're too much,” she declares.  “Now I know why I still stay married to you. Because we can do things like this. Joke around. We don't take each other too seriously. We can say shit like this and neither of us get upset.”

“I don't know, I'm pretty pissed that you know the UPS guy's first name.”

“Let it go, baby. I promise that little bean will not come out half Filipino. He or she is definitely yours. There's no one else I'd rather get dicked down by than you.”

“That's because no one can dick you down like I can.”

She smiles. “Exactly.”

“And it's a girl. It is definitely a girl.”

“We'll see...” she singsongs. “And if it is, we should name her after your mom.”

“Adaline?”

Esme nods.  “And Olivia. After Ovi. I think he'd like that. He's done so much for us. He really stepped up when it came to taking the kids and getting away. He was probably scared shitless and he's dealing with stuff from Dhaka so you know it wasn't easy for him. But he still did it. Mostly for you, because he idolizes you.”

“Yeah, I'd think he'd like that.”

“So Adaline Olivia Rake,” she concludes.  “I think it sounds beautiful.”

“I think it sounds perfect,” he doesn't bother hiding the tears that threaten. He'd been just a boy when his mother had died; not even a teen. So to have that kind of homage paid to her...

“We can call her Addie. So we'd have a Millie and an Addie.”

“And a Ginger.”

“Stop calling him that!” she directs another elbow at his stomach.  “What is wrong with you?”

“I can't help it that he has red hair. What do you want me to call him?”

“His name would be nice. The name you picked. He's going to have a complex when he's older if you call him that to his face. He's going to need therapy.”

“Well, I'll take him with me. Start him off young.”

“I'm proud of you,” she says. “For stepping up after our fight. You could have went the opposite direction. Like trashed the hotel room and got black out drunk. But you didn't. You owned your shit and got it together right now. I'm so proud of you, Tyler.”

He smiles and kisses her cheek. “I've got a long way to go, though.”

“I know,” she settles back into him once again.  “And I'll help you get there.”

[graceful-defender-of-paris]

Theonsa high school sweethearts

2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115370

Sorry for the late reply!

(2347)

If you had asked Sansa a month ago or even five minutes ago what she thought about Theon she would have said he was like a piece of furniture, he was always around the Stark household.

He had always been Theon her brothers best friend. Theon who was her brother in all but name if Robb had his way, he was an honorary member of the Starks.

So why was it that after being dragged along by the rest of the family to Theon's swimming gala. So she of course was disgruntled because she had planned to visit Margaery to watch ‘Love Islands’. each year they took attractive singles from all over Westeros and put them on an island, the year before they were in the Arbor but this year they were on Dragonstone, it was so exciting! Especially since Margaery's brother Garlan was on so it was basically her civic duty to watch it and support her friend's brother.

But, instead, she was watching Theon. In his swim shorts, that showed off his surprisingly toned body with a chiselled abdomen that the droplets of water cascaded so attractively down, as he pulled himself out of the water, her eyes were drawn to his muscled biceps that glowed as though sun-kissed in the fluorescent lighting of the Winterfell leisure centres swimming pool.

Oh, gods, she might have a crush on Theon.

This was TERRIBLE! No no no this cannot happen , she absolutely cannot like Theon because he is much older (a year above her) , he is a notorious womaniser and worst of all he definitely sees her as his little sister.

So, all in all, she was definitely screwed.

There was no way she could ever look Theon in the eye again, let alone be in a room with him so obviously, her best option now was to run away and join the silent sisters.

Yeah, that could work.

They were going to arrive home late-probably after midnight so she would have to watch Love Island on catch up at home. After Winterfell academy swim team won they were all invited for a celebratory meal where Sansa found herself increasingly panicked at the realisation that Theon was not just hot but extremely hot.

So she did what any normal person would do. She panic texted her best friend Margaery.

[Sansie]

Okay so

Has Theon suddenly become hot or have I been blind my entire life?

[Margie]

You’re only just realising??

If I wasn't having my world rocked by your stupidly hot brother I'd jump on that

Also, have you realised that you are in love with him yet?

[Sansie]

please don't use 'world rocked' and 'hot brother' in the same sentence ever again

AND I AM NOT

[Margie]

Sure San…

[Sansie]

I mean it!

It's just that

Did I blackout for ten years or something cause I swear he was Robb's annoying best friend yesterday but now he's all attractive and annoying and oh god's I like him don't I?

[Margaery]

Yep

Now go get him before anyone else does

Since there were so many of them the family had been split into their mum's people carrier and Robb's small Toyota Prius, unfortunately for her, she was in Robbs car, which also seated Theon. She was in the back in the middle seat squashed between Arya and Theon and wondering if her life could get any worse.

She was terrified to even check her phone in the case any more of Margaery's messages came through and he would see it- which had happened with Rickon earlier.

He kept making kissing noises at her and Theon and now she found herself here.

It was nearly impossible to ignore him now. All her senses were heightened when he was around and now all she wanted was a scented candle of him, How he managed to smell like the sea and Winterfell would forever elude her but gods it was intoxicating.

Arya had been giving her odd stares as though she had been acting weird- which given the situation was understandable but it was when Theon whispered close to her ear “are you okay Sans? You're not acting like yourself” that she really fell apart.

Turns out all it took was watching Theon get out of a swimming pool for her to question everything in her life and then some.

She squeaked out an affirmation that was supposed to mean “I am fine” but sounded more like a smothered cry for help. Which Theon took to mean “I'm cold” as he took off his jacket, put it around her and put his arm over her shoulder and snuggled her closer to him.

And to make it worse, she fell asleep.

“Sans”

Her pillow seemed to be wriggling so she held on to it tighter to keep it still

“Sans, c’mon you have to let me go now”

Why was her pillow trying to talk to her?

“hrmph”

She could hear a little some bickering that sounded like one of her brothers but she just wanted to go back to dreaming of a world where Theon didn't just see her as his little sister.

Ahh Theon

Unbeknownst to her, of course, was that she had just said this out loud in front of said object of desire

“Uhhh… okay” her pillow seemed confused, “Sansa, Robbs about to drop me off at home, I'm just going to remove your arms from me so I can get out..”

Wait, what? Was she lying on Theon? Suddenly a rush of adrenaline shook her awake and she was keenly aware of how she was lying on top of Theon

She blearily tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes when she saw Theon's sea-green eyes staring intently at her, his mouth broke into a relieved smile and she fell deeper.

“You can keep my jacket, I know its cold, it's about a minute or two till Robb drops me off and I didn't want to have to wake you while everyone was watching” his eyes darted to Robb and Jon who were happily oblivious to the affairs of the back seat, and Arya who was texting away on her phone.

[Sansie]

Oh god it's so much worse I've gone completely 0-60 and now I can never show my face again

I slept on theon in the car

[margaery]

That's it?

No outburst of I love you?

boring

though if you were going to do a random declaration of love I would've liked to be there so I could do it justice in my maid of honour speech

[Sansie]

Let me live! ive only realised I liked him four hours

[Margie]

And he's liked you for at least the past four years

Honestly, I'll be dead before either of you make a move

I heard Jeyne has a thing for him, so really confess your undying love soon before we have to go on a ben & jerry's rom-com binge to mend your broken heart

[Sansie]

JEYNE?!?!

I'm so screwed :(

[margie]

You're using emojis

It's worse than I imagined

******

Its been three months since her startling realisation that she had a crush on theon and so far she had done absolutely nothing about it- not for Margaery's lack of trying.

“You know he likes you back” Margaery all but declared in the middle of the hallway on their way to geography- the one class she hated (she was failing at geography). What made that matter worse was that her teacher, Mr Luwin, had organised for Theon to tutor her for her upcoming exams.

Apparently, her teacher was out to get her as well.

“He doesn't! And I don't want to make things awkward for him and Robb. I also don't want to fail geography”

“c’mon! You cant say that you haven't loved every minute of your late-night study sessions” Margaery teases, Sansa could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks at the thought of Theon in his oversized hoodie and messy hair sitting at the desk in her bedroom.

“That's irrelevant.”

Margaery shot her an incredulous look and opened the door to their class, “you never know until you try and I have it on good authority that he would be very open to you advances” and gave Sansa a knowing wink before sitting at her desk.

Ugh, there was really no escaping it anymore was where Margaery would rest until she finally jumped the bones. And at the rate she was going she thought that theon probably would just be bones before she finally had the guts to tell him.

Thought of theon consumed her throughout geography and she found herself at a complete loss when she was called upon to answer in class.

“Miss Stark?, I asked you a question.”

She felt her heartbeat race as she stuttered out “um, could you repeat the question please?”

“How many islands make up the archipelago of the iron islands?” Mr Luwin repeated

She knew this one, Theon would always talk about his homeland and the way his eyes crinkled when gushing about the bracing wing and the waves crashed against the rocks had embedded itself in her mind “31 Sir”

“That's right Miss Stark” She let out a breath of relief, perhaps she might survive this after all.

****

She had taken Margaery’s advice to heart, so she had decided that tonight would be perfect. He was coming over for their study session and her parents and younger brothers would be away for Rickon’s Skagosi fighting tournament, Jon would be at his “nights watch” band practice and Margaery had promised her that she would keep Robb occupied.

She didn't want to know how , all Sansa knew was that she needed to do something now- or forever hold her peace.

Maybe that's a bit too much , she thought. No need to scare him senseless like “oh hello theon thank you for helping me study, by the way, let's get married”

‘Bzz’

‘Bzz’

her phone vibrated alerting her of incoming texts. She had been in the middle of getting ready- but not too ready for Theon's arrival and she rushed over to check her messages.

One was a snap from Margaery with her fingers crossed with “GOOD LUCK!” and “GET IT GIRL” splashed across it, the other was a message from theon.

[Theo]

Swim practice finished early so I’ll be there in ten

I'll lift some coffee on the way, your usual?

Oh no.

She was supposed to have at least another hour to prepare herself. She was supposed to be calm and collected not frazzled and panicked.

[Sans]

Sure :)

Crap she must sound like a prat.

She began pacing the house- her room couldn't contain her anxious energy and was midway through her second tour of the living room when Arya ambled in and said “could you please stop pacing! Just tell theon that you like him and be done with it” she had forgotten that Arya was home.

Spluttering she could barely form the words to try and denounce her claims when the doorbell rang.

Her eyes locked with Arya’s and it was a race to open the front door. Arya was using her training to vault over the sofa but Sansa’s determination drove her to push herself faster until she almost slid past the door entirely,

Her hair was a mess, Arya had just clung onto her jacket- which coincidentally was a leftover from theon when she had slept on him so long ago and opened the door. To a quite perplexed theon.

Her mothers teaching kicked in after the awkward pause since opening the door, she shook off Arya's grip and welcomed theon “Come on in!” in her best imitation of her mother's hostess voice.

Arya had other ideas, “Sansa likes you, you like Sansa. Can you two go off now and stop moping?” and pushed Sansa into Theon's arms before trudging up the stairs to her room to presumably notify the family group chat of this occurrence.

She thought Margaerys matchmaking was bad but now she was screwed.

No way to come back from this.

There was little that Sansa could really do about her predicament, Theon had dropped their coffees to catch her, “uh, hey sans” theon appeared confused as she looked up at him and then a mischevious glint appeared in his eyes and he teased “so you falling for me?”

She felt embarrassment take over as her worst fears were realised.

Pulling herself up with as much dignity is possible she turned to theon to say “There's no need to make fun of me if you don't like me that's fine and I can study just fine on my own” and made to close the front door on him.

Mother would baulk at her for such rude behaviour.

Before the door could close theon had stuck his foot in the gap preventing her from pushing him out, “Sansa,” her heart sunk further theon never used her full name. “Do you want to maybe get coffee?”

She nods tentatively in response.

Theon smiled in relief and he offered her his arm- if Margaery was here she would say his arm.

The remnants of their spilt coffee lay at their feet but maybe this was her chance, maybe he does like her.

As he opened the car door for her he bashfully asked “Was, was what Arya said true? Because, uh… if it was I would say that feel the same way about you.” she leant against his car stumped at his revelation. Sansa struggled to find the words to say to him and her eyes became drawn to his lips before dragging them back to the ocean pools that were his eyes.

So, instead, she pulled him in closer to her and placed a quick, barely-a-kiss on his lips.

He murmured “Do you have a map? Cause I got lost in your eyes”

Idiot she thought but still found herself giggling at it.

He held her closer to deepen their kiss and she could feel his smile that threatened to break out.

[seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana]

SE MCs background chapter 9: First Love

This is probably gonna be short?? Idk. But anyway after this chapter I will be writing a little short, not rlly a chapter, story or whatever about their childhood memories to show some sweet sibling love and stuff! Those memories will be related to throughout the story so I just decided to make a whole little story (?) about them or something. Anyway enjoy! Also, the way a person in here meets Sarah is so cliche but whatever-

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“Sarah! It’s time to get up!” I opened my eyes and instantly felt too tired to move. It was Monday and 8 am. No one deserves to be awaken at this time. Especially me, a person who only gets like 4 hours of sleep a night. However, it had to be done. I was in college and I had to get used to waking up early on Mondays. But at least I get over with all of my classes at 3 PM! It’s like regular school, but the classes are so harder, but it’s to be expected of a college. I was studying to become a teacher. I loved little kids and wanted to teach them. It didn’t matter what it was, I just wanted to teach them. So, it’s why I was learning to become an elementary teacher. Sepcifically, a 3rd grade teacher, or anything below that. I’d rather deal with little children and not children who are going through a lot of emotions (5th graders). I could barely handle my emotions at that age, so dealing with maybe 20+ kids? Nope, nada, no.

I groaned and decided to get up and get dressed. I wore a black dress with black leggings. It was hot, so probably a bad decision, but I didn’t care. I always make bad decisions. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to see everyone up. I must’ve been the last one. “You’re 24, when are you going to get up by yourself?” Alexandra said to me, with a little smirk on her face. She’s the eldest and has always been the best. Well, in my eyes, she was the best. Sure she had her flaws, but she kept us in line and loved us all. I stuck my tongue out at her and grabbed a cup and poured myself some orange juice. “Whenever I start sleeping better,” I told her. Her eyes got soft and worried. “Well, have you been taking that medicine?” I looked away and shook my head. “It doesn’t work. 5 mg of melatonin isn’t working. Maybe I need to up it a little bit more?” “Maybe you’re just not trying hard enough,” I heard someone say behind me.

I turned around and noticed Zed sitting there, eating his waffles like he did every day. He loved waffles. I was more of a pancake gal, but whatever. I stuck my tongue out at him, like I did to my sister. “Hey, I do try. I just...suck at sleeping.” Zed made a hum sound and continued to eat. I sat down next to him and Alexandra and drank my orange juice peacefully. “You going to eat? You have to eat so your stomach won’t hurt with your medicine.” I have ADD and I take medicine for it. However, my stomach hurts if I don’t eat anything. I shrugged. “I’ll get something on campus.” Alexandra didn’t like that answer.

“Eat. Now. I don’t want you to be distracted by your stomach,” she said in a harsh tone, but I knew she was concerned under everything. I rolled my eyes in a playful way and got a croissant biscuit thing I could heat up in the microwave. I decided to be a bit greedy and got two. My stomach would thank me later. I heated everything up, ate it, and got my backpack and stuff ready for my class. “Where is everyone else?” “Mom and dad are at work, Jacob is sleeping in since his classes start later, and Christopher is doing the same thing.” Lucky. I wish I could sleep in. “Okay. Well I’ll see y’all when I get home.” Zed and Alexandra both wished me a good day and I walked out the door.

I got into my car and it was so hot. The summer heat is terrible these days. I turned the air conditioner on and began to drive to my college. I got there with 10 minutes to get to my class. I grabbed my backpack and ran to my class. I was in the building and was close to my class when I ran into someone. We both ended up falling to the ground. The person was carrying books but now they were all over the floor. Luckily, my backpack was closed. I looked up at noticed a guy with blonde hair. He had pink eyes but with a dazed look on his face. “Ah, I’m so sorry! I was just rushing,” I told him as I helped him up and handed him his books. He took the books from me and had a soft smile on his face. Now that I looked closer, he did look pretty handsome. From the books he had, I could tell he was studying about welding, or something to do with cars.

“It’s okay! I can see that you’re rushing,” he said with a smile. Man this guy seemed really nice already. I smiled back and started to run off again. “Sorry! I hope we can talk more soon!” I yelled as I ran through the halls towards my class. I sat down in my chair in my class right before the late bell rang. I sighed and class began. I couldn’t help but think about that boy throughout class. I don’t know why he stuck with me, but he did. I payed attention and before I knew it, class was over. I had no more classes that day, which was my lucky day. I began to walk down the hallways to get back to the parking lot. This time I had no rush and I looked around the hallways. There were different rooms and other hallways.

I eventually passed the cafeteria and I saw that boy once again. He was talking with another boy and he seemed very shy, or anxious, I have a hard time reading people. I shrugged it off and continued my walk to my car. However, the boy must’ve noticed me because I heard someone shout “Sarah!” I turned around and saw that boy jogging up to me. I smiled and waved at him. “Hey,” I said a little bit shyly. He smiled and introduced himself. His name was Oliver. He was my age too, that was nice. I looked into his eyes as me and him talked for awhile. He seemed like a nice guy, so we sat down and continued to talk. I noticed that his eyes glowed once. His pink eyes getting a bit pinker and brighter. It was weird and I shook my head.

My mind must be going crazy. However, I felt the need to be closer to him, to know him better. It was weird. I never usually get this close to people this fast. I just...felt this urge to want to be with him. Maybe love at first sight? Who knows. I’ve never really believed in it, but maybe it is real? I just continued talking to him.

As the days went on, I began thinking a bit more about it, I even got his phone number so we could chat from time to time. He asked me to hang out a few times and we had a blast. Alexandra and Jacob would always give the usual “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” speech. They did it to everyone in this family. Alexandra would do it to Jacob if he had a date, Jacob would do it to Alexandra, they would both do it to me and Christopher, and it was all a mess. But it made me feel happy. It showed me that they actually cared for me. I usually doubted if I was worth caring for. But they made me feel worth it, so my self esteem was rising slowly. Not getting too high, but I began to feel a bit better about myself.

One day I was playing my violin in the orchestra room of my college. I wasnt going to school to teach music, but it would be interesting if I did. Maybe I’d go back to school one day and learn more about music so I can teach kids about it. However, I still loved playing my violin and playing new songs. It kept me at peace and helped me relax from a hard day. The sounds it can make and how soft or loud it can be makes me calm. Ive played since I was in 6th grade, so I’ve been playing for a long time. I still have to write the letters underneath the notes, but that doesn’t matter. I was playing my 2nd time through “This is Halloween” on my violin, when I heard a knock at the door. The door was open so I turned around and saw Oliver leaning against the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said with a smile. My heart did a little leap. I put my bow on a stand but didn’t put down my violin. I motioned for him to come closer. “Whatcha playing?” I smiled and blushed. I was happy he was interested into my music. Even if he only asked ‘what are you playing’ it still made me happy. “This is Halloween,” I told him. I picked up my bow and began to play it once more. It’s not because I didn’t want to talk to him, but I did want to show off. Maybe impress him a bit. I don’t know when that happened. I just wanted to impress him all the time. I ignored my feelings and let my hands do the work. The bow would go down slowly, then faster, then fast but soft at the same time, and I loved it. I occasionally looked over at Oliver and saw him watching me. I blushed a bit and messed up but kept going. That was almost the number one rule in playing. If you mess up, keep going. If you’re in a big orchestra group, wait until you know where you are in the music and start playing again.

I finish the song and he starts to applaud me softly. I smile and take a bow. We both laughed and he just smiled. “What?” I said while smiling back at him with a blush on my face. “Oh nothing. It’s just. You look so beautiful when you play the violin. You put your heart into it, and it’s amazing.” I was caught off guard. No one had ever really complimented me about my violin other than my siblings and my parents. It made me feel special. I put my violin down. “Thanks,” I said while taking his hand. His eyes glowed and I felt heat rise into my body. Before I knew what I did, I leaned in and kissed him. He closed his eyes, as if he wasn’t surprised by my sudden action. He pulled me closer and his body was so warm. It felt amazing.

After a minute or so, he pulled away from me. “Wow,” he said while trying to catch his breath. I laughed. I looked down, feeling a bit embarrassed. I don’t know why I did that, I just felt the need to. I mean, I did feel some feelings for him but I wasn’t sure if they were like that. I guess it doesn’t matter right now, I already did something I can’t take back, and I think I know my feelings. “It’s forward but, do you wanna be something? It’s fine if not, but Id like it if it could happen,” he said while blushing. I think that’s the first time seeing him blush. It was adorable. I nodded and smiled so hard. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a boyfriend. Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve loved anyone else other than my family. I’ve stopped dating for awhile since everyone seemed just not right.

Let’s see how this one goes.

[qvicksilversass]

Bad Habit - Part 8

(Pietro Maximoff x Reader)

Glancing over their expectant eyes, you weren't sure you wanted Wanda in your head like that; could she face the memories of someone torturing her brother? Could you?  

Words: 3309 Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture and violence...this parts get very dark, I tried not to make it too gory.

An: Sorry this isn’t a new part, I’ve had to repost this and part 3 as they got flagged :( x

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6   Part 7   Part 8  Part 9   Part 10

Masterlist 

Over and over again your last few seconds replay in your brain, Pietro’s hands around Wanda’s neck, his lifeless eyes after you violently steal his essence condemning him to die with you...except this time the scene fades to white, your eyes open and it’s blinding. You feel around trying to get your bearings, an IV was in your arm and pads and wires were attached all over your body. There’s no space around you, and you panic realising you are trapped in some kind of box. You bang your fists on the sides and rip out the wires attached to you, shielding yourself when the hatch slides open.

"Y/n you're ok, you're safe, breathe,” relief washes over you when Bruce’s face emerges from the bright lights. You continue to struggle for breath your chest heaving and head spinning as Bruce gently helps you out of the chamber and onto a bed, "the cradle and Pietro's abilities healed you but we had to suppress his speed, you might feel dizzy for a while."

"Where is he? Bucky, is he ok his head was bleeding so much and..."

"He's in cryo, we thought it might help slow the deterioration down until you woke up, and Bucky's fine he needed stitches and his arm still needs fixing but he wouldn't leave you," Bruce chuckled, "he's been here three days, we had to practically throw him in the shower."

You drop back against the headboard in an attempt to help the sickness in your stomach, your muscles ached so much you couldn't really move. Three days? Only moments ago you were bleeding to death. Your hand grazes over your stomach, only soft skin under your fingers.

Bucky walks through the door in just a white t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still wet and fiddling with the sling on his arm, "I messed it up again doc, is there any change-?."

Banner coughs and Bucky glances up, face full of surprise and he breaks into a grin, "Y/n?"    

"Hey Buck."

"Watch the arm!" Bruce warns and Bucky ignores him, hugging you tightly with his free hand. You rest your hands around his waist, letting your body relax into him, enjoying his warmth.

"You really scared us this time," Bucky smiles into your hair, pulling back to hold your face, you smile at the relief in his eyes and he kisses your forehead, "it's good to have you back doll."

"You should let them fix you properly, how's your head?"

"I've had worse." He grins and moves away a little, his arm snaking around your waist and letting you lean against him.

"How do you feel?" Steve bounds in his eyes almost as tired as Bucky's and he checks you over before giving you a hug. He sits himself down on the opposite side to Bucky and the bed bounces with the weight of him, "we tried to get to you sooner, I'm sorry kid."

"You got us home, that's all that matters." You mumble, his arms squeezing the air out of you.

"It's good to see you well."

Wanda was the last person you expected to see, let alone smile at you in quiet thanks. You returned the gesture though and she trailed in behind Tony, hiding her shaking hands under her shawl. Your eyes were drawn to the purple bruises spread over her neck, her skin a pale grey and dark shadows under her usually vibrant eyes.  

Steve and Tony share a look and you put your hand on Steve’s getting his attention, "What is it?"

"Do you think you're up to using your powers?" Steve asked and your stomach turned with dread, "we need you to try and find out who did this, to sort through his memories as you return them. If we can figure out what happened to him, maybe we can reverse it."

"I'm not sure Steve, I don't have that level of control yet-"

"I can help you." Wanda suggested, stepping forward.

"Not a bad idea, in case y/n falls unconscious Wanda will be like a back up drive."

Glancing over their expectant eyes, you weren't sure you wanted Wanda in your head like that; could she face the memories of someone torturing her brother? Could you?

"Yes," Wanda whispered and smiled at you knowingly, "we must try."

There wasn't really anything to decide, you wanted Pietro back, you wanted to know who turned him into a killer and there was no other way.

"How do you want to do this?"

Bruce straps you down to the bed, the amount of restraints and just how tight they were making you nervous, "when we remove the inhibitors it will be a massive shock to your system, we're not sure how your body will take it."

"Don't want you zooming off to China." Tony smirks, sensing your unease and you roll your eyes at him.

While Bruce begins to hook you up to machines you watch as the cryo chamber is wheeled into the room. Pietro looks so small inside, so still, you can't even see his chest rise. You need skin contact for your powers to work so they open a hatch on the side and you slip your hand inside, hesitantly placing it over Pietro's.

They were so rough now, scratches covering the pale skin that's icy to the touch. Such a strange sensation. He was always so warm, never still. You go over the softness of his fingers, remembering their gentle touch as they caressed your skin. You didn't register the quiet as everyone left, the touch of Wanda's hand taking yours the only thing grounding you.

"Ready?" Tony asks and you turn your head to give Bucky a reassuring smile, you could feel how much he didn't want you to do this.

No one knew how Pietro would react when he woke up; if he woke up at all. Bucky refused to leave in case he turned violent, to keep you safe. Wanda squeezed your hand, her calm expression not hiding how terrified she was, still, she nodded for you to begin.

A familiar sensation rushed through your veins, your power taking on a life of it's own as it built up inside you. You gripped Wanda's hand as the energy ricochets inside your brain and you struggle to control it as it flows back out. With her help you gradually slow it down, you start grabbing onto memories, trying to find anything familiar in the chaos.

Picking through memories was a skill you had never managed to control and even with Wanda's help they were erratic. There were flashes of Ultron, his parents, Sokovia, Wanda and you, lots of girls but overwhelmingly you. Lust, sex, pleasure and chasing at first changed to flashes of Pietro watching you sleep, noticing your smile, your laugh, an overwhelming sense of something you never expected...

'Concentrate.' Wanda's voice scolded you in your mind, 'I dont want to see this.'

'I do.'

"You know printessa, your eggy bacon would stop that rumbling..." Pietro walks out of the bathroom drying his hair and it takes him a second to notice you're not there, "Y/n?"

Guessing you'd gone to make breakfast, he gets dressed and walks out to the kitchen hoping he'd find you in his shirt, cooking that scrambled eggs and bacon that no one could make taste as nice as you did...your bare thighs making him want run his hands up them and bend you over the counter... but there was no you, no delicious smell. Getting worried he sped to your door and was about to knock when he got your text.

Pietro stared at his phone, reading the message over and over again until he was fuming. He wanted to bang your door down and demand answers, why would you break it off? You seemed to enjoy him enough last night, and this morning - how could you go from that to brushing him off? Instead he just stared at the door and listened to you cry until he couldn't take it anymore.

Running to his own room, he picked up the first thing he could get his hands on and smashed it against the wall, then another, not satisfied until his room was trashed. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, blood on his hands and tears staining his cheeks with no relief from his anger and frustration. Coward.

Pietro's phone buzzes from under his upturned bed and he grabs it, reading the text from another girl he messed around with before you. He's ignored her and others since; yes, there was the odd bit of flirting here and there, but he only needed you in his bed, he only wanted you.

L: Wanna hook up?

Pietro glances back at himself in the mirror, he couldn't understand what he'd done wrong, why did it hurt so much? He was angry, confused and he decided if you could just throw him away so easily, it was your loss. He wanted to show you what you were missing, make you hurt, so he typed his reply.

P: Of course frumoasa. When and where?

Wanda tears you out of the memory, her impatience making you lose control and his memories start to get away from you again, all you see are quick flashes of images until you catch a more recent memory, Pietro emerging from a run-down hotel, the sun beaming down and dust in the air.

Pietro was following a lead, speeding through backstreets until he reaches a warehouse. He ignores the anxious feeling in his gut and walks into a meeting with the vibranium dealers, not realizing until it's too late he's walking into a trap. They hold him down, and he feels the needle jab into the back of his neck and the heat of the drugs as they burn through him until it's all black.

Pietro wakes up in a nightmare, he's in a replica of his Hydra cell, he screams for help, tries to force the door open until his shoulder is bruised and probably fractured. He's left for hours, days with no food or water, left to go insane without being able to run, to burn off his energy.

"It's good to have you back 8296."

Pietro can't make out his face, but he recognizes the voice and his blood turns cold, it can't be him.

The doctor steps into the light and Pietro scrambles away from the brightness, his eyes stinging after so long in half-light, not even trying to fight off the guards as they held him down. He knew what this was. Fighting would do him no good, he just had to wait it out, whatever they did to him. He was afraid, and this time he was alone.

Wanda tries to break the connection, she must recognize the doctor. You try to keep her present, forcing her mind to stay and the picture changes again, loud music, so many voices...

Of course you were here with him.

Pietro hated how close you were to Bucky and Steve, but especially Bucky. He could never compete with your friendship and he saw the way Bucky looked at you. He knew this casual arrangement would end someday but not yet. He was sure that bastard was the reason, always whispering doubts in your ear, and he was right. Bucky could offer you more than Pietro ever could.  Fuck, he wants you so badly and it hurts him when you head straight for Bucky, not him. So he takes his anger out on you, watching your reaction when he kisses the girl, his hands roaming her body and not feeling as bad as he should for using this girl. She was beautiful and fun, but she wasn't you. He watches you leave, his pride happy while his heart hurts for you.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"I don't have a problem." Pietro turns away kissing the girl again and Bucky yanks him back by his collar and slams him against the bar. He vaguely hears the girl scream and good old Mr Rogers consoling her, leading her away from the scuffle.

"You think you can treat y/n like that?" Bucky growls at Pietro, shoving him back again, glasses rattling on the bar and people quickly move out of the way.

"She ended it, why should I wait around?"

"Did you really need to throw it in her face, asshole?" Bucky hissed, his metal fingers tightening around Pietro's neck, the pressure almost cutting off his air.

Pietro shrugs, smirking,"She's so special she opened her legs for the first man that paid her any attention..."

"Come on Buck, he's not worth it, let's go home..." Steve attempts to calm Bucky down, however Pietro was enjoying making him angry.

Pietro leans in close to his ear, "I know you want her old man, how it kills you it's my bed she runs to," he was getting under his skin, Bucky's nostrils flaring and jaw set, it wouldn't take much more to make him snap, "you want her? Just give her a bit of attention, her curva legs will open right up."

Pietro regretted the words as soon as he said them, he didn't really mean them. He wanted to hurt Bucky, hurt you, he wanted to get what he thought he deserved.

"What did you just say?!"

The first punch had him stumbling back a little, the sharp pain and blood in his mouth not enough to wipe the smirk off his face,"just that she's my curva, but you know, give her a little and she'll..."

"Say that again."

"What? Curva?" Bucky's metal fist smashes into his face, Pietro wipes the blood from his nose and finally gives in to his anger, speeding over and knocking Bucky into a bunch of tables.

'Y/n! We're not here for this.'

Wanda would come, you would come, he just had to wait.

Pietro holds onto memories of you at first, the most private ones he saves for the nights. For the few hours he's thrown back into his cell. His body left to heal until they decided it was time to break it again. Eventually they twist those too. As his body changes he needs less time to recover and every hour they find a new way to torture him, twist his memories of you, Wanda and the Avengers. His hope fading a little more each time.

"Why do you think no one has come for you 8296?" "Who do you think told us where you were?"

For hours he'd been strapped into this chair, an IV slowly pumping god knows what into his system. Forcing him to watch endless videos of war, violence, altered images of the Avengers, killing in such gruesome ways he never imagined...every time he closed his eyes an electric current passed through the wires attached to his temple and straight into his brain. The doctor's voice played on a constant loop, whispering in his ear, worming his way into Pietro's subconscious.

"They betrayed you, killed your parents...they want you to suffer like this," he knew it wasn't real, yet the more he watched, the more pain he felt, the more numb he became, "you were right to hate the Avengers, they left you to die here, they want you to die here."

"No one is coming for you, 8296."

Wanda would come, you would come, he just had to wait. Just had to...

Pietro sneaks into your room, avoiding the creaky floorboard and chuckles seeing you spread out all over the bed, the amount of times you kicked him during the night he'd lost count. Your soft snoring and serene expression made him want to slip into bed beside you, but he had to leave he couldn't bear to hurt you anymore. He gently brushes the hair from your face and kisses your forehead, inhaling your scent, it was always jasmine,"You're better off without me, printessa, take care of yourself."

"This will keep you still," He's brought out of the memory by a burning pain in his arm, he tries to struggle, his body not responding, "now, let's see how fast you can heal."

The doctor laughed, an evil shrill sound letting Pietro know he was going to have some fun.

Pietro sees the glint of the scalpel in the bright lights the dark figure of the Doctor leaning over him. He strains to see what the doctor is doing, biting into the gag, his body tensing when he feels the cold scalpel press, then puncture and cut through his skin. Screaming when the blade slices down his chest, screaming when the doctor reaches down and pulls back his skin.  

Pietro's head falls back on the table, his eyes rolling back when he feels hands inside of him pulling, twisting, cutting, until he eventually passes out from the pain, the image of the doctor holding up his heart flickering to black.

'Wanda, we have to keep going, he could lose all his memories, he'll be stuck inside the last memory before the break...please, I know how much you're hurting but we can't leave him here...'

'I can't y/n, he's in so much pain it's too-.'

'Please, just a little longer..."

Pietro's lost track of time now, strapped down to another metal bed in another grey room. There's almost nothing left, he can't feel, can't think, all he knows is the pain, everything seems distant, hazy. The scientist approaches him but Pietro doesn't hear him, even when the scientist slaps his face leaving an angry bruise Pietro just feels...nothing.

"Is he ready?" Another man enters the room holding a vial of black liquid. Attaching it to a needle gun he fires the substance into Pietro's neck without waiting for an answer. More pain shoots through his body as the liquid does it's job, finally numbing everything except his rage, and he welcomes it.

"8296 are you ready to comply?"

'Let me out! Y/n, break it, let me out!'

Both Wanda and Pietro rip from your mind and you hang on just long enough to see flashes of his last few hours before you found him, the last remnants of his essence flowing back into his body. Oh god, the things he did, things they told him to do...your eyes blink open desperate for it all to be a dream, to forget everything you've seen.

Steve carries Wanda out of the room trying to calm her, her sobs breaking your heart, nothing could erase what happened, nothing could bring him back; not the Pietro you knew. His eyes flutter open and you struggle to get the straps undone.

"Y/n?"

"Pietro?" There's recognition and confusion in his eyes for a few moments then he starts to struggle, using his powers to vibrate the metal holding him in place, cracks appearing all around him.

"You're not real," Pietro studies your face sadly, "I wish you were..." he screams in pain as the black creeps over his eyes again and it's not Pietro that stares back at you.

"I thought I'd killed you printessa?" He grabs your forearm, dragging you and the bed against the chamber. His nails dig deeper into your skin not letting go when Bucky unties you. His grip only tightens while Bucky pulls you away, his nails leaving angry bloody scratches in your skin. Pietro starts screaming again, the same animalistic rage you saw when you found him consuming him, driving him insane.

"Y/n, we need to go!"

"No!"

"Y/n, you can't help him!"

"I can't leave him like that!"

"Look at him! He's gone y/n." Bucky grabs you around the waist, picking you up and carrying you out of the room. The doors close and sedative gas is released.

You collapse against Bucky, your screams muffled by his warm body, tears rolling down your cheeks. He pulls you to him both of you huddled against the wall of the corridor. Steve mirrors your position with Wanda, both men feeling helpless.

Covering your ears to block out Wanda sobbing, images of what you saw burn into your brain as if they were your own memories, your own pain and you cling onto Bucky unable to control your emotions, your own mind.

"They had him for weeks, I felt all of it Bucky..."

"Shhsh, it's ok, I'm here, Y/n it's ok."

"No it's not..."

Nothing will ever be ok again, for any of them.

Part 9  

[heather1815]

My little test subject: Chapter 9

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, and chapter 8

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

WARNING! This fic contains: Foul language, torture scenes, blood, use of medical tools, drug use, suicidal tendencies, self-neglect, violence, self-harm, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

A storm raged on a dark, cold night.

Lightning flashed the clouds, and thunder soon followed with a booming roar. Heavy rain poured down upon the town, and the wind howled so strongly it swept everything away in its path. The streets were empty, with a few occasional cars running up and down the road, and the light poles dimly illuminating the way. With the ravaging storm, no one dared leave the safety and comfort of their homes, especially in such late hour.

All, but one.

A solitary figure trekked along the sidewalk, soaking wet and freezing cold. Hunched over and arms crossed over his chest, shivering as the strong, cold wind blew against his soaking wet form. Most would've hurried back home in this condition. But not him. He pressed on, looking around the streets wearily.

He waited hours on end back home for his companion to cease knocking, and calling out to him through his door, just so he could leave. Now his companion was fast asleep back in their apartment, blissfully unaware of his nightly outings. At least he thinks so. They haven't seen each other since they got the news-

Another shiver racked his body and the man sneezed, nose running. Using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the snot away, he kept on going.

He peeked into dark alleyways, and looked all around the streets; as if searching for something. Weary narrowed eyes squinting against the shadows, trying to make out any shapes within. When his eyes found nothing, he decided to move on. A loud clatter of a garbage can that fell over made the man jump, startled. He peeked back into the dark alley. A shape moved around. Hope filled the man's heart.

"Tom?!"

Lightning struck again and lit up the place, revealing the mysterious shape hidden in the alleyway as a black cat with a bristling pelt. It jumped and hissed, startled by the storm. It quickly scampered away back into the shadows.

The man looked down in disappointment. Sadness and guilt consuming him.

"Oh Tom… where did you go?"

With a tired sigh, he carried on with his hopeless search.

(Meanwhile…)

The door slid open with a slight hiss, and walked in the stoic figure of the Red leader himself. His face expressionless as he entered the small, simple quarters, of his present test subject. The door slid shut behind him as he took over the scene.

Tom lied in slumber on his bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he snored softly indicated the deep sleep stage the Brit is under. A bit of drool seeped down from the side of his mouth, staining the pillow. Tom's usual spiky, and messy brown locks are a bigger mess than usual; containing a serious case of bedhead.

All in all, nothing too out of ordinary as of late.

It has been a couple of days since Tom passed out unexpectedly. When Patrick alerted him of what took place, Tord had felt his heart come to an abrupt stop. Despite their fight and still being angry at the Brit for openly defying him, Tord still couldn't afford to lose Tom. He is too valuable for his research; his army. His plans. And so, the Norsk had found himself racing through his base's long corridors, all the way from his office to the labs belowground, as fast as his legs could carry him, to evaluate the situation as quickly as possible.

Poor Paul. The devoted soldier tried to keep up with his pace at the time, only to come close to passing out as well.

Tord, cooled down from his earlier struggle with his test subject, but now worried and anxious for his wellbeing; quickly got to work. He checked Tom's vitals through the connection of the implanted chip and his robotic arm, but it showed nothing out of ordinary. After doing a thoroughly check-up, they came up with no definitive answers. They proposed a theory for this sudden occurrence.

Tom, from what they have observed so far, hasn't been in the greatest of conditions. Malnourished, bruised, addicted, and even more prone to violence; clearly something is up with him. They theorized that the recent events; with the whole drugging, kidnapping, testing, and… "discipline", put Tom under a lot of stress which caused his body to shut down. Makes sense, considering that since Tom arrived in the facility the only sleep he got was forcefully induced upon him. But they will just have to wait and see when he wakes up to get any proper answers.

Tord continued to stare down at Tom's sleeping form. His one-eyed gaze wavered down to his heavily, bandaged arms.

When he came in to analyse Tom's condition at the time, he was rather shocked to see the full state that he was in. Various bruises and cuts decorating the Brit's pale skin, extending from the arms to the torso. He was somewhat baffled for missing such a detail when he first removed the man's hoodie; and looking back at it now, Tom's defensive behaviour made sense at the time.

He was trying to keep them from seeing the wounds.

Tord let out a low chuckle. Tom is far too proud for his own good. Even at his lowest, the eyeless man refused to give up or show any form of weakness in front of him. His stubborn attitude surely made things interesting. Too bad it also makes his progress go at a lower rate than he would've wanted.

In his mind, things seemed a lot easier:

Kidnap Tom?

Check!

Bargain with him to become his "willing" test subject?

Check!

Experiment on him?

Unfortunately, this is the stage where their entire progress halted.

Everything was going exactly as he had planned, until they realized the malnourished state the eyeless man is in. This called for a special process, and a slow development. And now they find out he is decorated entirely out of bruises and cuts. This was the last straw. Tord wasted almost nine years working on this experiment, to fail time, and time again; at this point he can no longer afford to waste any more time.

They need results.

Tord's gaze narrowed down at Tom, still blissfully asleep in his bed.

They need the serum to be ready, now.

The door behind him hissed open once more.

The Red leader did not turn around, already knowing who it is. Patrick walked into the room, carrying a small tray which contained a special ointment, fresh bandages, and an IV bag. He barely acknowledged Tord's presence in the room as he set to work straight away. Carefully, Pat began to unwrap the bandages around Tom's arms. Tord watched the procedure in silence, deep in his thoughts.

Dam. Tom is way too out of it and unfit for the experiments. He realized, observing the process. Considering his state, we'll have to wait for a complete recovery before the serum tests can begin. Speaking of which; the thought reminded him that he needs to speak with his supplier about a new shipment of chemicals for his experiment. Good thing he already scheduled a meeting with them for this afternoon.

He snapped out of it when Tom uttered a low sigh as Patrick gently applied the ointment to his sensitive, bruised skin. But he still did not stir, flinch, or gave any indication that he might wake up. The Polish soldier carefully resumed with the treatment.

The sight reminded Tord of a small detail he forgot to ask before.

"How did the appointment go?" The Norsk spoke up. His metal hand pressed against his cheek, as his other arm supported beneath it.

Patrick just gave him a quick side-glance. "It was fine."

"Did he behave accordingly?" Tord prompted with clear interest. "I can just imagine the hard time you must've had to get this brute lunatic to ta-"

"Oh no! Quite the opposite, actually!" Patrick exclaimed, interrupting his leader's rant. "I mean, I admit that at first he refused to cooperate. But considering what he's been through, I can't really blame him." You could just make out the invisible outline of a smirk in his voice, as he shot another glance at the Norsk. "But after I complied with his demands he was much more open."

"Demands?!"

Tord stared at his soldier, utterly flabbergasted at what he has just heard. His straight posture deflated at his words. A sharp and quick pain pierced the side of his gut; it came and went by so fast he would've missed the feeling completely if it weren't for the sudden emptiness surging inside him. What is this that I am feeling? He wondered silently. The emptiness was being quickly replaced with a more familiar sensation. Anger. But why? Tord couldn't quite figure out the meaning or reason for this. Even stranger was the fact that this anger was being targeted directly at Patrick.

Tord pushed down the unneeded anger, though not without some amount of effort on his part.

"Well, I suppose the only proper way to get anything out of Thomas is by bargaining." Tord coolly commented with a shrug, trying to ignore the tingling sensation within him. "Did he reveal anything of interest to you? Any information that we might benefit from?" He waited expectantly, the uncomfortable sensation still pricking him. But his confusion grew as his excitement dwindle when Patrick had not uttered a single word in response.

Tord frowned.

"Are you purposefully ignoring me?" He prompted, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Absolutely not, sir." Pat replied, lacing new bandages over Tom's arms with careful precision. "I am just not allowed to disclose any personal information my patient entrusts me with to anyone else."

A long silence echoed in the room. The only thing remotely audible was Tom's soft snoring.

"What?"

Patrick paid him no mind. As soon as he was done changing Tom's bandages, he moved to replace the nearly empty IV bag with a new one. He is well aware of the imminent danger that loomed over him, but remained calm in the face of the situation.

Tord, on the other hand, was fuming and trying very hard to keep his proper posture and anger at bay.

"That was the terms of our agreement, sir." Patrick continued. "He shares anything he wants with me, and in return I cannot disclose anything said to you or anyone else for that matter."

Tord lost his cool now.

"Excuse me? Since when does Thomas have any sort of power in this base? I don't remember ever granting him any." He argued indignantly, casting a narrowed eyed glare in Tom's direction. "Second, I am your leader, not him. This is my facility. My base. My army! And you are supposed to obey every order I give out." He turned his glare back to Patrick, who finished placing the new IV bag in place, and calmly turned around to face him. "In fact, you have been acting out quite a lot recently. Continue with this behaviour, Patrick, and I just might demote you. Or worse."

The Polish soldier kept his face expressionless, seemingly unfazed by his leader's threat. He simply folded his arms behind his back, and kept their gazes locked. He chose his next set of words carefully. He's stepping in thin ice right now, and one wrong move could result in a lot of trouble. Trusted soldier or not, Patrick isn't foolish enough to put it past Tord when it came to his threats.

"Sir, I assure you that all my actions thus far have been for the better benefit of the red army. It may not have been what you ordered, or the way you wanted, but I'm still very much loyal." Patrick stated coolly. "As my leader, I trust your judgment. However, with all due respect, when your anger gets the better of you, your mind tends to get a little clouded and loses all reasoning." Though not directly mentioning, he was clearly referring to the most recent incident between his leader and their test subject. "What's the use in warning him not to mess with you, when you keep aggravating him?"

Tord's mouth hanged open in disbelief. "I aggravated him?" He echoed, still not grasping the concept. "He attacked me!"

"Only because you wouldn't back off him." Patrick countered. His expression softened as he let out a tired sigh. "Sir, I know you two share a history of animosity. From what you told Paul and I about your experiences prior to creating the red army, it's clear you two despise each other. We get it." He stated solemnly. "But for this to work out, we're going to need the two of you to cooperate with each other's standards. Thomas will obey as long as you give him some space and freedom; otherwise he will just continue to retaliate against you. Yes, your threat over his friends lives still poses, but when it comes down to rivalry and pure anger, reason doesn't have much space to work with." He stared at Tord with an enigmatic expression. "You know that better than anyone else, don't you sir?"

Tord clenched his teeth and straightened his jaw. God, he hated when Patrick was being a smart-ass. Especially because he was always right. No matter how angry Tord could get at him, he values his wisdom way too much to foolishly ignore it for the sake of his pride. He cast another quick side-glance at Tom, still peacefully asleep and unawares of their conversation.

"As always Pat, you're right." Tord admitted, immediately feeling his heart feeling the crushing defeat. Ouch, my pride. "I suppose i was being rather brash." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I will try to control myself around him in the future."

Patrick nodded, glad he managed to get through his leader without too much of a hassle. "By the way, sir. I thought best to remind you cause it's most likely you have forgotten it by now; that you are to leave, first thing in the morning."

"Huh? Why?"

Patrick clicked his tongue, having his assumption proved right. "Because sir, you are required to go to all of our existing bases and inspect their development. This may be your main base, but don't forget you have other ones to look after." He explained, finishing patching Tom up. He placed the palm of his hand over the Brit's forehead, feeling for fever.

Tord huffed in discontent, placing both his arms on his hips. "Well then what's the use in appointing Lieutenants to lead your multiple bases if I still have to look after them? Seems rather pointless if I say so myself."

Patrick sighed, still very much patient. "Like you said, it's your army and they are just your Lieutenants. Do you really trust them enough to lead things all on their own without your consent or knowledge?" He pointed out. "What if they're leadership skills are lacking and something goes amiss?"

"They should know better than to displease me by now, Pat." He flexed his robotic arm, bringing his organic one up to crack his own knuckles against the metal. "Otherwise I wouldn't have named them so in the first place; much less leave them in charge of my bases."

Patrick placed a wet cloth over Tom's forehead, to try and bring the fever down. Tom moaned at the contact but did nothing more than that. "Besides, with Thomas's current condition he will be out of commission for a while. So the serum experiments will definitely be put into a halt until he improves." He states, looking up at Tord. "Until then, you can be quite busy with your other army related activities while Paul and I work to set him straight."

Tord glanced at Tom, taking note of his patched bruises, bone thin figure, and pale skin. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

Patrick: 2. Tord: 0.

The polish soldier took note of his posture, and although he did not let it show openly, he did have a little smirk of victory. "Honestly sir, where would you be without Paul or I?"

Most likely dead. His mind replied dryly. Preferably in the wreckage remains of my failure.

Tord yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be heading up now." He informed, turning away to leave the room. "Notify me right away if there's a change to his condition."

"Yes, sir."

The door hisses open and he walks out of the quarters. In quick strides, Tord walks through the immense corridors of his laboratory. The shiny marble tiled floor and walls gleaming his reflection back at him wherever he goes. The cobalt blue coat of his uniform is only half-done, letting free the vision of his red hoodie underneath.

With only the heavy footsteps of his boots against the marble floor, he marched towards the elevator and went up, pressing the -4 button.

The elevator ride was quiet, despite the constant humming of the lift as it went upwards. Tord leaned back into the mirror wall surface, his hands grabbing the handles behind him with a sigh of content. His shoulders slump as the tension left him. He idly ran one of his hands through his hair, looking at the ground before his gaze fell on his prosthetic arm. A small frown made into his facial features as he continued to stare at it.

He flexed his robotic fingers.

It's been a year since the incident and the amputation, and yet, he still isn't used to the new arm. Sure, he has made a lot of improvements to it, and he certainly likes the feeling of power it brings him. He loves especially when he sees the fear in the eyes of his newer soldiers the first time they see his arm. However, it seems no matter how long it passes, the arm was still a stranger to him.

He turned his hand over.

It was… Funny. The new arm is a part of him now. But it will never be him. At least, not in the way that it was meant to be.

Tord slowly rose his hand up to touch his scarred cheek. He could feel the cold, metallic surface against his permanently damaged face. But his hand could not feel the scars and burns along his flesh. He closed his eyes; painful memories from that terrible day began to resurge.

Being rushed to the infirmary on a stretcher. Blood gushing down his arm. Paul and Patrick's panicked and horrified faces.

His doctors, practically all of them, analysed his case but it was hopeless. He had to cut it off. He already knew this was going to be the outcome. That's why he took the robotic arm from the wreckage. It doesn't take an expert to know that his arm was beyond salvageable. He went on with the procedure. Paul and Patrick assisting him with hesitance for what he was about to submit himself to.

Tord took a shaky deep breath at his next memory.

He had failed his mission. He had only one objective; to infiltrate the home, take the robot, and fly back to the base for his plans to commence. But he failed. If any of his soldiers were to fail their mission, he would punish them. He is their leader. He should be setting up an example for them. That failure isn't an option. If he can't do that, what kind of leader would he be? No. He failed his mission, and he deserves a punishment.

That's what he told himself; when he ordered his doctors to cut his arm off without giving him an anaesthetic.

Everyone was horrified by his orders. Paul and Patrick tried to plead for him to reconsider, and not put himself through the pain that he was about to subject himself to. Tord figured he already suffered the worst. He went on with it anyway.

All he remembers next was putting a cloth in his mouth to bite down, and Paul and Pat holding him down as the doctor got closer. Then there was an agonizing pain. His bloodcurdling screams muffled by the rag. Tears welled up in his eyes. Trashing around the surgical table. The horrible snap and crunch from his bone. He nearly passed out after that, as his vision blurred with the shock and blood loss. He closed his eyes for one second, and when he opened them again; his arm had already been replaced.

Sure, it wasn't the same arm back then. It was only a prototype for him to use until he could fix the one he is currently using now. But still, the memory haunts him just as much as the confrontation with his former friends.

Tord dropped his arm back to his side, releasing another sigh. The elevator ride was short, just going up one level; and yet it was feeling like an eternity.

Alas, the elevator ringed and the doors opened as he finally reached his desired level. Tord recomposed himself, pushing all his dark thoughts away, and plastered a confident smirk on his face as he strolled out.

The sight of his soldiers greeted him. They were walking through the hallways, chatting with one another; most likely heading for training. They cheerfully greeted and saluted him as he passed by, and he returned the gesture.

"Good morning, sir!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Hello, sir!"

"How's the morning, sir?"

Tord raised his head with pride, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod and a small smile. The soldiers who have been in the army the longest have grown used to their leader's presence enough to feel at ease, and still hold respect for him. The recruits always tend to cower away in their first time meeting him face to face. But overtime they grow to trust and respect his authority rather than fear it. But of course, he still occasionally makes sure to let it be known for all members in the army; his power is not to be tested. He is a just and merciful leader, but he won't hesitate to teach a lesson to those who defy him.

"Excuse me-! Red leader, sir!"

A young woman hurried over to his side, falling in step with his quick strides. The soldier wore their trademark red and blue army uniform, with her name 'Scarlett' written on the tag, huge round glasses, and she carried a couple of folders with her. Her red mahogany hair was tied in a messy bun, with two strands of hair flowing elegantly alongside her face.

Tord glanced at her with a tilt of his head, prompting her to speak. "I thought I would let you know of your schedule for today." She stated, pulling out her notebook and pen from her pockets. "Not that I am complaining about you sir, but you did leave me in a wild goose chase earlier. Looking all over the base for you!"

Tord chuckled. "My apologies, I was quite busy this morning down at the labs. You know how it is."

She pushed up her glasses, looking at him with a slight frown; clearing her throat before speaking. "Well, Commander Paul requested your presence in the training hall. He would like you to evaluate the progress of our newest batch of recruits. Then I suggest you head over to the conference room for the meeting you scheduled with the army's supplier immediately after. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting." She advised, throwing him a narrowed glance.

Tord shrugged but nodded regardless. "Affirmative." He smiled.

"Then you have weapons inspection, scheduling the cafeteria's menu for next month…"

"Nah, clear the rest of my afternoon for me." Tord cut her off, waving his hand in a careless manner. "I'm going down to the labs again after the meeting. Have one of the lieutenants go in my place instead."

The girl groaned in exasperation. "Sir, this is the 5th time this week you ask me to clear your schedule from all your other activities." She stated. "At this rate, I'm gonna run out of things to say to the soldiers!"

"I am confident you can handle this task; otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you so." Usually it was Patrick who dealt with Tord's daily agenda. But since he was too busy looking after Tom, as well with his other duties, Tord needed another secretary and thus he appointed Scarlett for the job. She's not a soldier, although she is battle trained. She's in charge of keeping track over the army's archives, records, and files down at the library; and is infamously known for being very well organized. So clearly, she was the ideal choice for the job. Though he was quick to figure out she doesn't deal well under pressure.

Scarlett sighed, scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "Very well, sir." She bowed her head and left his side, presumably heading back to her office in the base's library.

After she left him, Tord continued down the path of the long, fancy hallways. Taking turns; left, right, going up a few flights of stairs. It would've have been easy to just take the elevator up to the level he was heading to. But Tord likes to stroll around his base whenever he could, make sure everything is in order, and admire the secret empire he so expertly constructed beneath the very foundations of his home land.

Pride swelled in his heart at the thought. His army has grown exponentially since he first founded it. The number of new recruits have diminished as time went by, but that did not bother him. His army is large enough as it is. It's only a matter of time now for the red army to rise above ground and begin their reign over the entire world. Once he finally gets his desired result with the serum experiments, only then he will put Tom to some good use. And to think, that his "former friend" is going to aid him in his quest. The notion itself made Tord immensely happy.

Before he knew it, Tord arrived in the training hall. The glass doors sliding open with a 'swush' and he strolled in. The polished floor gleamed with the reflection of the lights. Various equipments displayed on both sides. And in the centre of the room, where a large area is cushioned with blue mats, a line of soldiers is standing in a straight posture and staring straight ahead of them at the wall.

They hadn't notice their leader's presence in the room yet, due to them facing away from where he is. Not to mention the fact that they were too busy focusing on their Commander walking along the line, facing each one as he addressed them all.

"Three months ago, you came to us and joined our ranks. You have all trained very hard since then." Paul spoke, looking at each soldier as he stepped by them. "However, by no means does this give you the right to slack off. You still have a long way to go before you move up the rank from private to soldier."

He halted his movements, fully turning to face them. "We're gonna have a little test today. Remember, this may not be your final assessment yet, but I will still judge your improvement and skill just as seriously." He stated, shifting his calculating gaze over the privates.

Tord had to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles. Paul sure knows how to put up a good show. He watched the performance with keen interest.

"Your goal in this test is to pin me down, before I do the same to you." Paul announced, observing the trainees for a reaction out of them. They gave nothing away. He gave a curt nod of approval. "If you succeed; then congratulations! You get the highest mark. If I pin you down though, you'll fail, and I will give a score to your performance." Paul walked ahead of them, turning his back to the privates as he faced the wall with hands clasped behind his back. His steps even. "Now. Who would like to go first?"

Without the hesitation of a moment's heartbeat, one of the privates broke away from the line and rushed at Paul while he had his back turned. The dark-haired man threw a punch his way, but Paul, already experienced with training privates over the years in the army, had expected the move coming from a mile away. He side stepped at the very last second, catching the private off-guard instead of the other way around. Paul then grabbed the man's other arm, kicked out his legs to make him stumble, but before he could fall over on himself; Paul hurled him backwards clean over his head and threw him down onto the mat.

The private groaned in pain as his back slammed down hard on the cushioned floor. Paul held him down with one foot. "I like your initiative. However, that ain't gonna be enough to save your ass on a real battle." Paul commented, looking down at the man. "You have a lot to improve on. I'll give you a 2 out of 10." He pulled his foot away, letting the private up. The man quickly nodded and stepped away. "Who's next?"

A girl hurled herself at him, so fast she was barely just a blur. Paul swiped downwards, aiming for her head. She dodged at the last second, and jabbed him in the ribs and shoulder. Paul staggered back, letting out a low groan of pain before he grabbed one of the girl's arms as she went in for another jab, this time aimed for his face. He twisted her arm behind her back. In retaliation, the private kicked out with her legs against his knee, making him buckle under his own weight. He did not let go of her. Instead, he used the opportunity to switch their positions around as they fell, so that she was the one who lands on the mat instead of him.

"That's more like it!" Paul admired, brushing himself off the ground. "7 out of 10."

He was barely done with his sentence when he was jumped on by three different privates all at once. Tord shook his head, clicking his tongue. These privates were about to learn a lesson they weren't soon going to forget.

Paul made a grab for the nearest private, who had taken a hold of his arm, and was trying desperately to use his own weight to bring Paul down. The Red Army commander grabbed the private by the collar of his uniform and easily threw him off, hurling him against the other private; who had lunged at him only to get hit head-on by her own comrade. The remaining private had snuck up behind Paul and tried to take him by surprise by putting him in a headlock.

"Not bad." Paul commented with a grunt, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly he hurled backwards, slamming the back of his head against the private's face. A crunch was heard, and the private let go of Paul as he moaned in pain, and gripped his bleeding, and broken nose. However, Paul did not let up. He swiped one foot from beneath the private's feet, knocking him over; only to grab the man's arm and hurl him down against the other two knocked-out privates.

Paul spat on the ground, looking down at the pile of winded trainees with disdain. "Usually I would give a good scolding to those who try to team up to take me down." He commented, fixing his sleeves. "But you guys are barely worth the effort. 3 out of 10."

Before another private could step out of line for their turn, the sound of clapping got everyone's attention. Tord stepped out of the shadows, from where he was watching the whole thing, and made himself known. He applauded rather condescendingly. His robotic hand slowly coming down against his organic, gloved one.

"Well, well, well… That was quite the show." Red leader chuckled, approaching the group. He took in the privates looks of awe, shock, and apprehension at the sight of him. "However, I must say I am quite disappointed in the lacklustre performance of these recruits." He eyed the defeated bunch, letting his gaze waver over each one of them. They all bowed their heads and adverted their gaze away from him.

"In their defence, they had only three months of training so far and they were only shown mostly defensive moves." Paul shrugged, facing his leader. "Clearly they still have an awful lot to learn before they can become proper soldiers."

Tord grunted in agreement. "Indeed." He crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture as he strolled alongside the line; addressing the recruits with his authoritative figure. "I will admit. For recruits, you lot are brave to attack with no hesitation and with so little combat experience." He stated, his voice loud and clear. "But there's a fine line between bravery and recklessness. And bravery alone won't be enough to keep you alive in the battlefield." He stopped walking, and turned to face them. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder here on out. I expect nothing less than the very best of my soldiers. It's the least you can do for us, after taking you in and giving you lot a second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The privates saluted in unison.

Tord nodded in approval. "Dismissed."

The trainees didn't need to be told twice. They immediately scampered out the room, shooting weary glances at their leader along the way; whispering quietly to one another as they did so. Tord shot them a wicked smirk and a glare their way, and they were quick to flinch and leave the room.

Tord chuckled slightly at their reaction, shaking his head. "Hmph! Amateurs…" He scoffed, turning away and facing the commander. "Well, that was a waste of my time. Why bother bringing me here to witness this unexperienced display?" He questioned, earning a half-hearted shrug in response.

"Thought you needed to lighten up a bit. You have been spending way too much time down in the labs worrying over To- I mean, test subject #1826!" Paul answered, quickly recovering from his mistake. "You used to enjoy evaluating the privates' performance and training; especially if it gave you a chance to intimidate them out of their boots. What changed?"

Tord sighed, heading out the Training hall with Paul trailing behind him. "That was in the beginning! You know? When the army was small, we barely had anything, and any shred of development had my most immediate attention." He stated genuinely, glancing back at his Commander over his shoulder as he spoke. "But 9 years is a long time to get used to it, my friend. I have seen privates training time, and time again. Unless they have any special abilities I should know about, I don't see the point of looking into their development for myself anymore; with the exception being their final assessment." He explained, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. They may have had their struggles keeping their base a secret and afloat at the start. But it sure made all the more joyous when things were improving. Although of course he is very proud of his army, he is a busy man with a tight schedule; Tord doesn't have time to keep observing his newest members training. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like looking after Tom?"

Tord halted abruptly in his steps, nearly making Paul bump into him. He turned his head around stiffly, and shot Paul a dry glare. The red army commander looked skittish, and laughed nervously. "Ha ha. Very funny." Red leader scoffed sarcastically.

Tord said nothing more, before resuming his travel along the base. Paul followed, breathing a quick sigh of relief. "Uh, where we going?" He asks hesitantly.

"To the conference room." Tord replied. "I'm having a meeting with the army's supplier."

Paul groaned audibly at this. "I don't like those guys! They are way too shady for my books." He complained.

Tord rolled his one visible eye. "Like them or not, we need them. They have helped us plenty in the past, and they never disappointed with my demands." He explained calmly, as if reasoning with a child. "Sure, they may be rather annoying to deal with at times. But never anything too harmful!"

"I guess."

As the two of them walked along the army base's corridors together, other soldiers spotted them along the way. They greeted them with respect, and murmured quietly to each other while shooting glances their way.

"Ey boss!"

All soldiers, including Tord himself, froze at the sound of the heavy accented voice that came from somewhere far behind them. Simultaneously, the exact same thought flickered on their minds in response to it.

Oh f#ck no.

"Sh#t."

"It's Reagan!"

Immediately, the soldiers, that were around him mere seconds ago with excitement; scattered into different directions as quickly as possible. Some of them were even pushing each other out of the way to leave faster. Tord inwardly winced and let out a long, exasperated sigh. He wished he could go with the others. But he has places to be, and a leader doesn't run away from anything. Even if it bothers him to no end.

He let out a long, resonant groan of aggravation; pinching the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the migraine that was about to be bestowed upon him. One quick glance told him that Paul was not faring any better. His huge eyebrows are pointing down, and his face was a mixture of a permanent frown and a scowl. Whatever good mood he had with him after the assessment has completely vanished without a trace from his features.

Much like he anticipated, a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. "Heyo! So nice to run into yah, boss!" The soldier laughed. "I've been trying to contact you for the longest time now, but you never picked up my calls!"

"Yes, well, I have been quite busy with my work Reagan." Tord muttered in disdain, finally turning around to face the obnoxious soldier.

The man in question was not much taller than Tord himself. Messy blonde hair, starkly bright green eyes, a stubble, and a seemingly permanent sh#t-eating grin always present on the Irish man's face. Reagan laughed at his comment, and placed an arm over Tord's shoulder to lean on. Tord mustered all his self-control not to push the man off.

Reagan glanced sideways and took notice of Paul's presence next to them. "Oh! Hey Paulie!~ " He greeted with a sickly-sweet voice. "How's Patty?"

Paul's fists clenched, and he glared at the Irish soldier. "Just fine!" He huffed, crossing his arms. Reagan giggled at his expression.

"Anyways, what can I help you with?" Tord questioned, taking Reagan's attention away from Paul, and back to himself. He had a feeling if Reagan kept pestering Paul, the red army commander might actually sock the officer right on the jaw. As pleasing as the notion would be, Tord doesn't want to lose the trust of his soldiers. Even ones as annoyingly irritating as Reagan.

The blonde soldier turned his gaze back Tord, with a large smile plastered on his face. "I was just looking to report the case of my latest mission, boss." He spoke, bringing himself with an air of smug confidence.

"Your partner, Officer Bennet, has already reported to me all the details of the mission." Tord answered with a lack of emotion in his voice, proceeding to shrug off the arm clinging around his shoulders and continue along his way.

Reagan did not seem bothered. "Speaking of witch, have you seen Benny-boy anywhere?" He asks, still following them. "Went off for a drink, he left without waiting, and now I can't find that son of a b#tch anywhere!"

Tord felt genuinely bad for Bennet. He is a good officer. Had given plenty of years of loyal service under the Red army. A reliable spy. He most definitely did not deserve to be paired up with Reagan. But someone had to. Reagan is wild, and out of control. Bennet is calm and reasonable; he can put Reagan in check. But Bennet can be kind of a push over with his kind nature, and he does not possess any trace of ambition or that much confidence in himself. Reagan is clever, sly, and cunning. He will use whatever means necessary to get what he wants.

Teaming up the two of them together was the obvious choice; they complement each other. However, the same thing was said about the other six soldiers Reagan had teamed up with in the past. And none of them turned out alright.

The Red leader sighed. "He gave me the mission report digitally, before personally meeting me in my office." He stated coolly. "He is currently away from any army related activities, in a 7-month licence."

Reagan blinked. "What's that mean?"

"It means, that he will be gone for seven months to care for his family and new-born child." Tord sighed patiently. Usually he wouldn't give such a long time for his soldiers, but again, Bennet was a good officer. Besides, god knows he needed a holiday break from Reagan.

Tord winced when the Irish soldier let out a loud gasp of shock. "What?! Benny-boy is married this whole time, and I never knew?" He echoed in disbelief, clinging onto Paul; who glared at him in return. "Blimme me! That sly dog! How come he never told me?!"

"Probably because he doesn't want you anywhere near his family." Paul grumbled under his breath. "Honestly, I don't blame him." If Reagan heard his comment, he paid no heed.

"Also, boss, is there any chance I can change my fake identity?" He requested, completely changing the subject. "I mean, Lenny? Seriously? That's just a plain dumb name! Doesn't exactly fit with me, you know?"

"I find it quite suitable, if I say so myself." Paul muttered.

Tord narrowed his eye. "You are in no position to make demands out of me, Reagan." He states, glancing back over his shoulder with a cold gleam in his eye. "If anything, you are lucky that I haven't thrown you out due to your delinquent behaviour."

Reagan chuckled, not the least bit intimidated by his leader's serious tone of voice. "By the way, boss, who was that creepy looking fella you ordered us to eliminate?" He asks, changing the subject yet again. "The poor bastard didn't even see what was coming to him, nor did he stand much of a chance against us. Must've been his freakish lack of eyes!"

Immediately, Tord knew who he was talking about. "That's classified information." He answered, feeling somewhat defensive on the subject. "But let's just say that he owed me one." He left it at that.

"Oohh! Cryptic!" Reagan echoed, clear interest showed in his mischievous green orbs as he fiddled with his hands. He then proceeded to laugh, clutching his sides. "Oh man, I just remembered the best part from the mission!" He wiped away a tear from his eye. "As if disposing that freak wasn't good enough by itself, delivering the news to his friends was a riot!"

Red leader's confident strides slowed down, until he was merely just walking. All noise was muted, focusing only in Reagan's voice.

"I wish I had a camera to film their reaction though. It's a real shame I didn't!" The Irish soldier went on with his retelling. Being as casual about it, as if he was merely speaking of his eventful day. "The look on their faces was priceless! We brought their hopes up, only to bring it down. Then we brought them up again, only to shatter them in a million pieces." He continued to laugh. Paul, who walked next to him, was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between him and his leader. Dreading, but anticipating, the outburst to happen. "The guy in the green hoodie was specially devastated. He dropped his soda, and ran back inside his apartment; crying like a little baby! To be fair, the ginger guy wasn't faring any better. He was nearly bursting into tears himself when he sent us away."

"Is there anything important you might be leading up to with this information, Reagan?" Tord whipped around, and snapped through gritted teeth. His one eye blazed with fury, and Paul could see that he was barely holding his rage inside.

Reagan shrugged. "Not really. I just like to chat."

"Well, keep the details to yourself." Tord snarled, turning away with a scowl. "Unless I order it, I am not interest in them."

"Whatever you say, boss!"

Paul thought this was going to be the end of it. Reagan would take the hint, and scamper away to annoy somebody else. But this is Reagan. He never takes the hint that he might be taking it too far. And thus, he stuck around them for a little longer.

"Hey boss, I heard from some guys that the labs are off-limits." And by that, he literally means he eavesdrop on some people talking. Because no one in their right mind will ever associate themselves with him. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tord was drastically losing his patience. He just wanted to get to the meeting, end it, and go back to his work. Was that too much to ask?

Remembering his anger-management exercises with Pat, he took a deep breath to control himself. "Because I ordered it so."

"Does it have something to do with the secret project you have been working on for so god dam long?" He pressed on, imminent interest in his voice.

Tord gave him a long-side glare. "That's classified information."

Reagan beamed. "But if I were to be promoted a rank up, would I get access to said information?"

The Red leader stopped abruptly in his path. So that's what he is after! "Perhaps. But I don't see a reason why you should get promoted at all." He snaps, whipping around to face the man. Tord brought his robotic arm up, and began to tap into some buttons; bringing up a screen which showed a file. "In your four years of service to the Red army, you managed to break 18 out of the 26 rules. Push away all your previous designated partners. Constantly disobeys orders. Provokes fights between other soldiers. And you keep smuggling cigarettes from our canteen, time and time again; and never paid any of it." He read the file.

"Pfft! I would never!" Reagan scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away rather dramatically. "You got no proof!"

Tord smirked, tapping a few more buttons before inverting the screen. "This is footage from one of our CCTV cameras. That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a soldier, clearly Reagan, walking by the canteen with both hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked around, checking to see if anybody was looking. He then grinned and proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cigarette packets from the stand before running off.

Reagan looked dumbfounded, while Paul snickered quietly next to them.

"That footage was tempered with." Reagan tried to argue. Tord raised one hand to silence him.

"Enough! That's proof enough to show me, that you aren't ready to become a sergeant." He turned around and walked away. Thinking he had the final word. But Reagan was not one to give up so easily.

"C'mon boss! Please! Give me a chance at least!" He practically begged, running up ahead of Tord and walking backwards as he just continued along his way. The Red leader paid no heed to him. "I am a changed man, I promise! Let me prove it to you!"

As the Officer continued to pester him, Tord felt his patience about to burst. From the corner of his vision, he spotted Paul looking upwards at the ceiling with a pleading look. He didn't need to read minds to tell that the Commander was silently praying for Reagan to go away. Tord couldn't blame him.

Reagan is… effective in the battlefield. But he can be reckless, and sometimes goes a little too far. If it weren't for other soldiers accompanying him on missions, there would never be any prisoners to interrogate. He is most definitely not to be trusted with tanks, planes, or any heavy machinery. One good trait that was evident about the man though, and really; the only reason the Irish man is still around in the first place, is his charisma and way with words.

He could manipulate people with extreme ease. In the beginning, when he first joined the army, Reagan would always charm-talk his way out of trouble. Maybe that was a bad thing to let happen. Now the man is too cocky for his own good, and is not afraid of authority. A thing Reagan is known to do as well; whenever there are new recruits in the army, he would manipulate and trick them into doing certain chores for him. That's why other soldiers are quick to advise the newbies to stay as far away from Reagan as possible, because the man is just trouble.

If only there was a way to use Reagan's abilities, benefit the army in some way, and get rid of him enough to stop bothering them-

A lightbulb lit up atop his head.

Tord halted, and a wide grin stretched along his face, as he slowly turned to face the Irish man. Paul raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, but kept his mouth shut. He was keen to know what his leader has in mind.

"Reagan.~" Tord practically purred, as he placed his arm around the officer's shoulder. "I may have judged you too harshly, and for that, I am sorry. I think you are absolutely right in deserving a chance to prove yourself."

"Really?" Both the man in question and Paul gasped simultaneously.

Tord nodded. "I am going to give you a very especial task." He went on, words dripping with honey as he grinned through half-lidded eyes. "It shouldn't be much of a hassle for you anyways. After all, with that silver tongue of yours, this should be a walk in the park for you."

"Well, what is it?" Reagan prompted eagerly.

Tord clasped his hands over the man's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "Reagan, I want you to take part in this year's recruitment program."

"The recruitment program?"

"Yes."

Reagan was rather amazed at this sudden turn of events, though he was not complaining. Another quick look in Paul's direction, told Tord that his commander did not agree with his decision. He was shaking his head, and raised his hands; shaking them as well to signal that this may not be the greatest idea.

"Why the recruitment program though?" Reagan questioned.

"Because, I think this task will put your talents to better use for the good-will of the army." Tord explained smoothly. "Tell you what; if you can successfully find, and convince five new members into joining the army as new recruits, then I might consider promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan tapped his chin, and hummed deep in thought. "Will I get my very own private quarters?"

"Anywhere you want!" Tord nodded, still grinning widely.

"Access to the premium selection on the cafeteria menu?"

"Of course!"

"A different name for my fake ID?"

"I don't see why not?!"

"Granted access to the super-secret project down in the labs?"

Tord's whole facade nearly shattered at this; it took all his self-control to keep it up. His smile faltered for a millisecond, and his eye twitched. He resisted the urge to choke the Irish man where he stood, and continued to hold his charade. Just barely though.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chuckled forcefully. "But who knows? Anything can happen!"

Reagan smirked triumphantly. Paul, at this point, was just staring at the ground in dismay; still shaking his head.

"Alright boss, I'll take on the task." The blonde officer agreed, brushing the invisible dust off his shoulders in a stuck-up manner. "Just you wait and see. When I come back with the army's five newest members, you'll finally see the competent soldier that I truly am."

"I expect no less from you." Tord stepped back, folding his hands behind his back.

"See yah around, boss!" Reagan raised two fingers to his forehead, giving a little salute of farewell before walking away in the opposite direction.

Tord waved his robotic fingers, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter. When the blonde soldier turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight, both the red army commander and the leader breathed out a sigh of relief. Their shoulders slumped; both feeling absolutely drained from the experience.

"He's gone at last." Tord breathed, his anger slowly dissipating. He pressed a button on his robotic arm, and opened a compartment containing aspirin. He gave one pill to Paul, and one for himself.

Paul side-glanced at him in concern. "Sir, please tell me you didn't mean anything of what you said to him." He asked pleadingly.

Tord shrugged. "To be fair, most of what I said was just to get rid of him. He was getting on my nerves." He replied truthfully. "But with that said, at this point I am just giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"By putting him in the recruitment program?" Paul crossed his arms, raising one of his bushy eyebrows questioningly. "Was that really such a bright idea?"

Tord sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Kind of risky, I admit." He raised one finger. "But, at least we'll be rid of him for a while until he completes his mission. And get new members for the army as a bonus!"

"I don't know sir, Reagan is very impulsive. Not to mention that the recruitment program is a very delicate operation. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything we build over the years!" Paul pointed out worriedly.

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Tord demanded, narrowing his eye. "Yes, I am well aware of the risk. But I don't think we'll have to concern ourselves with it." He stretched his arms, re-focusing his mind to his goal and continuing along the path he was originally going. "Reagan may be plenty of things, but he is far from stupid. He knows better than to speak about the army so openly in public." He reasoned, glancing over his shoulder to see his Commander trailing behind him. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea sooner. It's perfect for a person with Reagan's capabilities!"

"I don't think I quite follow…" Paul murmured in confusion, tilting his head.

"Isn't it obvious? Reagan's biggest trait, aside from his constant nagging and rather annoying personality, is his manipulation skills." Tord explained. "The recruitment program is all about sending our best socially skilled soldiers out into the world, and convince potential recruits into joining us. This is our chance to finally put Reagan to good use!"

Paul was silent, making sense of his leader's idea. "I guess that could work…" He trailed off hesitantly. "But, doesn't it take months, possibly more than a year, just to target and prey one person and convince them to join us?"

"Precisely.~" Tord smirked mischievously, chuckling under his breath.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Paul and he reared back in realization. "Oh. Oh! Sir, that was ingenious!"

"Why, thank you!" Tord laughed, giving a mock bow in return with a smug grin.

"To be honest, you should've done it sooner." Paul added, laughing slightly before his expression turned to worry once more. "But you're not seriously going to promote him if he does succeed, right?"

"A leader always keeps his word. But thankfully I only said that i might, MIGHT, consider in granting him the promotion. Never said I would indubitably! So there's that." He reasoned with a confident smirk. "But like hell am I ever going to grant him access to my project, or clearance to the lab! Last thing I need is him meddling in places that he shouldn't."

The mere idea of Reagan being involved made Tord feel noxious. As if he doesn't have enough trouble as it is with Tom alone. A drifting thought made itself known in his mind; a possibility that made his spine tingle in all the wrong ways. Tom and Reagan in the exact same room. A shudder ran down his spine at the scenario. That's a recipe for disaster, if he'd ever seen one. One pisses him off to no end, to the point of wanting to rip the hair out of his scalp. The other is Reagan.

No. Just… no.

Before he realized, they finally arrived in front of the huge double doors to the conference room. The doors so huge, it reached the ceiling.

Pushing one of the heavy doors, Tord and Paul slid inside, making sure to shut it behind them. The room was huge, yet, filled with an empty space. There were no lights, but only the flickering static of the huge screen that covered the opposite wall illuminated the room. In the centre, there is a small platform raised a few steps above the ground, and on top of it there is a throne with two control panels on either side of it's arms.

Tord walked up the steps and sat down on the tall, comfortable seat; immediately set to work, and typing the commands into the control panels. Meanwhile, Paul stepped ahead of the platform. He began to fiddle with the camera that was positioned directly in front of the throne.

"Is everything ready?" Tord questions.

Paul gave a thumbs up, flicking the camera on. "Yes, sir!

Tord nodded. Paul quickly made his way to stand by the Red leader's throne; crossing his arms and with a straight posture.

"Starting the call… Now!"

He pressed the switch, and the large screen ahead of them flickered to call sign. Tord sat back in his throne, placing both hands beneath his chin intently, as he patiently waited for his ally to pick up the call.

At last, the screen changed, as the call was finally answered.

"Ah! Red leader! It's been a while since our last negotiation."

The screen switched, and showed two men. One of them, the one who spoke; is a man with dishevelled brown hair, white shirt, and brown eyes. Standing just behind him, is his assistant. A man with dirty blonde hair, wearing a tuxedo, and one of his eyes is covered up by an eyepatch.

"Indeed it has, Mr. Bing." Tord replied smoothly.

"To what may I owe you this pleasure?" The mad director questioned, leaning back on his reclining chair. "Is it the usual order, I assume?"

Tord clasped his hands together. "It is. But that is not the only reason for this call." He announced, deciding to be direct and not beat around the bush any longer. "Along with the next shipment, I would like to request a barrel of the "purple stuff" as well."

"Oh? You're still on that silly project, boy?" Bing prompted, leaning his head against his hand rather tiredly. "Let me guess; the last barrel I sent you went down the drain along with your failed attempts?"

Tord's eye twitched in annoyance at being called a boy. Paul uttered a low growl next to him, glaring directly at the screen. But Tord made a subtle sign for him to step down, and not do anything rash.

Tord masked his irritation with an amused laugh. "I am not one to give up so easily, my friend." He stated, tapping his fingers along the arms of the throne. "And this time, I had a breakthrough in my research. I am close to my goals, and I won't stop now for anything."

"Whatever you say, Red." Bing shrugged, seemingly disinterested. "However, I don't have to remind you the cost for getting you one of those things. This chemical stuff is really hard to obtain. Especially after the incident with the plane crash, the chemical spill, and the short zombie apocalypse you managed to cause."

"I am well aware." As he spoke, Tord sent a glare towards his commander through the corner of his eye. Paul smiled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "What is it you want in return this time, Bing?"

At that, the evil director hummed, deep in thought. "You wouldn't happen to have an anti-gravity device or a shrinking gun, would you?"

Paul and Tord exchanged an uneasy glance. "We have a prototype of a shrinking laser… But nothing like an anti-gravity device..."

(Time skip)

Darkness seemed to have consumed his vision. He's been in the dark for so long. But how long? There wasn't a sense of time in this place. Not that he could tell. It was a familiar feeling though, but not one that he was glad to welcome. Hisses and whispering voices echoed in the distance, but he couldn't make them out.

I want to get out of here!

He felt like he was eternally falling.

No. Worse.

He felt like he was drowning. It was suffocating. It's dark. His movements were sluggish and slow. The sensation was very much like he was cast into the ocean with a cinderblock chained to his ankles; dragging him down to the bottom. And no matter how much he flailed and struggled, he couldn't get free. He was stuck in the darkness, just staring upwards at absolutely nothing as if he anticipated something to come out, grab him, and pull him out of the eternal dark abyss that he has fallen into.

But he has seen this before. No one ever comes. Why should they?

After a while of struggle, he would just lean back in defeat and let himself drift further down; staring ahead of him numbly.

It's for the best, anyway.

He would simply close his eyes and drift aimlessly until this was over. Sometimes he would get flashes of events happening somewhere else. But this time, there was none of that. It was rather strange, but he was not complaining. It's a welcomed change. Now he wasn't disturbed with the guilt anymore. Despite the choking feeling, he wouldn't mind keep floating in the dark for the rest of his miserable existence.

It's what he deserves.

Unexpectedly though, the fuzzy pressure on his head began to uncurl, and the choking sensation he felt previously lifted away. He knew what it meant. He was gaining back consciousness! Dread filled the pit of his stomach. What would he find outside?

A bright bean of light flash down from above him. He refused to look. He did not want to know what awaited him on the other side. But the light began to brighten, more and more, until even with his eyes closed he felt blinded.

Tom finally opened his eyes. Slowly, and he squinted them against the bright light shining above him. He raised one hand to block out the brightness from his dark sockets. Although his vision was blurry at the start, it progressively got used to its surroundings; enough for him to realize he was in his room.

No. Not his room. His quarters in the red army base, deep underground, somewhere in Norway. That's right.

He heard a soft snore next to him. Blinking sluggishly, he turned to look and noticed the other presence in the room. The Red leader is seated in a chair next to his bed, though he wasn't conscious. His scarred cheek was pressed against his robotic palm that rested on one of the chair's arms, leaning sideways, as he slept.

Tom's breath hitched at the unexpected sight, but he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth to cease making any noise that might arouse the Norsk from his slumber. His gaze wondered his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of Tord's chest. It was a rather unusual sight to see, but he had to admit that the man looked peaceful. You know, without the smug look on his face towering above his, or the one of unrelenting rage that threatened to seep the life off him; it was a good change of pace.

Too bad it only lasted a couple of seconds.

The tranquil atmosphere of the room was suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Tom jumped, looking around panickedly. He searched for the source of the noise, when his gaze landed on the Norsk's prosthetic arm.

His eyes widened. Mother f-

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as the beeping grew louder and Tord jolted awake. Tom grimaced, quickly shutting his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow down enough for his breathing to reach a steady pace.

Tord panted, caught off-guard by the notification alarm coming from his arm. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't mean to fall asleep. Last he remembers, he came in to check on Tom, and then-

The train of thought disbanded when Tord stiffened in realization. He checked the screen on his arm, and sure enough, it displayed a heart monitor; showing the sudden change to the usual rhythm it has kept over the past few days. It could only mean one thing.

Alert, and fully awake at this point, Tord shifted in his seat and glanced at his "supposed sleeping" test subject. "Tom?" He called out, hoping to receive an answer this time. "Tom, I know that you're awake. The chip I've implanted on you gives me direct access to your nervous system, and it's currently telling me that you are awake."

Despite already knowing his cover has been blown, Tom did not open his eyes. He doesn't want to face Tord. Not now, nor ever.

On the other hand, Tord was starting to grow impatient. He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly while tapping one foot repeatedly as he waited for Tom to realize he wasn't fooling him.

He grinned. "Hm, must've been another glitch from my arm. This stupid thing!" He banged his prosthetic against the wall with frustration. "Oh well, I guess I was mistaken." He shrugged with a sigh, still grinning maniacally. Not that Tom could see it, anyway.

Next thing he knows, Tom hears footsteps distancing themselves away from his bed; and the familiar hiss of the door as it slides open and closes again. Tom strains to hear anything else but he is met with absolute silence.

Is he gone?

Tom takes the risk. Squinting one eye open, barely just a slit; he sees the room Tord-less. No signs of the Norsk.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, running one hand through his messy locks. "That was close." He murmured. "What a weirdo! Talking to himself like that-!"

"You are not much better yourself."

Tom practically jumped on his bed, and yelped in surprise when Tord peeked out from beneath the bed. The Norsk laughed; mighty pleased with himself for causing such an effect on the eyeless man. He clutched his sides as he rose from the floor.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Tord continued to laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Tom stared at him indignantly. How dare he do this to him? He huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the Norsk as he waited for him to finish his fit of laughter. "Are you done yet?"

Tord nodded, nearly out of breath. He sighed contently before recomposing himself. "That was worth it." He kept grinning that stupid, trademark smile of his.

An awkward silence hung in the air between them as the laughter died down, and they simply stared at each other. Neither of them knowing what to say in their current position. Tom wasn't too uncomfortable though. He was still rather tired, and he just merely blinked at the man before him with a deadpanned expression; waiting for him to leave so he could be in peace at last.

Ultimately, it was Tord who broke the silence. He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… how are you feeling?"

Tom shrugged. "Fine. But tired." He stretched out his arms above his head as he lets out a huge yawn. "Mostly tired." It was then that he was startled to realize he has wrappings on both arms. Curious, albeit rather wearily, he turned his arms to inspect the bandages so expertly wrapped around his limbs. From the tip of his finger, all the way to his shoulder. And judging by the slightly pressure applied to his abdomen, chances are, he has even more bandages.

"You were in quite a sorry state, my dear friend." Tord's voice broke him out of his personal inspection. Tom turned to glare at him. "I can't help but worry, what could've possibly been bestowed upon you to leave you such a sorry mess?" He questioned, mildly interested.

Tom did not even bother to rebuke with the usual reply for being referred to as a friend, by the Norwegian man. His shoulders slumped, not feeling particularly aggressive right now. He simply glanced away. "Just a usual night at the bar taken too far, I guess." He answered tiredly. "I got drunk around other drunk people, and it escalated from there."

The reply took Tord by surprise. He wasn't expecting such a genuine answer from him. Now, whether or not he is actually being honest is debatable. But Tord is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, until he has some compelling evidence disproving otherwise. Or Tom admits it himself.

Tord nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Thomas, what was the last thing that you remember?" He questioned.

Tom tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"You passed out unexpectedly, and we got no clues as to why. Only mere hypothesis." He explained the situation calmly, trying to refresh the Brit's memory. "You have been asleep for nearly a week."

"A week?!" Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. Was he gone for that long? More importantly, what did he do while he was gone?

"Can you tell us any reason as to why that happened?" Tord went on, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed; anticipating Tom's answer. He seemed to be cooperative. Maybe the other times he was merely cranky due to lack of decent sleep. Tord laughed at the notion. Whatever the case may be, he will take advantage of Tom's unexpected willingness to comply. "What was the last thing you remember, Thomas?"

"I… I remember our fight in the gym." Tord visibly winced at that. He was secretly hoping he had forgotten about that little ordeal. "Then I went to talk to Patrick… Tasty juice…" Tom subconsciously licked his lips at the memory. He wished he could take a sip of that right about now. His head stung, as he struggled to remember the rest.

"And? What else?" Tord pressed on, anxious to get any sort of information that might prove useful out of him.

Tom shook his head slightly. "I just felt really dizzy all of the sudden." He continuously rubbed his head. "A bad headache, and then… nothing." He hissed in pain, still feeling the sharp lingering remains of said headache.

Tord stood up, walking to the bedside table Tom failed to notice, that contained a cup and a jug of water. He poured water onto the cup, then settled the jug back down before he opened the compartment in his arm containing aspirin. "Here, take this." He offered to him.

Surprisingly, Tom did not question about the contents. He was just glad to have something to relieve him of the pain, and drench his sore throat. He popped the pill in his mouth and drank the entire glass in one swig.

"Better?" Tord watched him curiously.

Rather than answering, Tom just leaned forward in his bed and grabbed the jug from the bedside table before taking a chugigng it down. Tord stared at him in silent awe. The Brit nearly managed to drain the entire thing of its contents before he placed the jug back down; wiping his mouth with one hand. "Now I am."

The Norsk chuckled at his antics, shaking his head slightly as he moved to sit down again. He began to fiddle with his hands, his expression softening. "Has this happened before?" He asks.

"Sometimes." Tom rubbed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stay awake a little longer. "But I don't know what triggers it." He paused, his face grim.

Holding his own shin, Tord hummed deep in thought. "Thomas, do you by any chance have been getting trouble sleeping?"

The Brit's empty gaze lifted, and met his. "For a while now." His voice, barely a murmur.

"Why is that?" Tord asks.

He shrugged in response. "I don't know."

Tord frowned, somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting any clear answers. Another mystery to add to the jumble. He pursed his lips, tilting his head. "Then this sudden blackout and short coma could be as we had anticipated." He deduced. "Perhaps your lack of sleep has simply been trying to keep up with you. And when your body couldn't handle it anymore; your system running on fumes just to keep working, your body shut down until you got enough energy back."

"You mean like, a computer restart system, or something?"

"Precisely like that." The Norsk nodded. "And the only way to stop it from happening, is to get plenty of rest until you are back to proper health."

"If you say so." Tom muttered, not the least bit fazed by this information. It's easier said than done.

Tord stared at him in dismay, not sure how to fix the problem. "Is it insomnia, or nightmares?"

"Nightmares." Tom answered begrudgingly, eyes closed shut.

The Red leader blinked in surprise. Maybe Tom is finally warming up to him after all! An idea suddenly hit him, and he started to rummage through his uniform's pockets. "I have just the thing that can help you friend! Here-!" He pulled a tiny black disc out from his chest pocket.

Tom blinked as Tord placed the tiny thing on his hand. He brought up to his eye-level for a closer inspection, turning it in his fingers. He has no idea what it is. But it looks rather tasty. Tom numbly tried to take a bite of it.

"Wha-? Tom no! You're not supposed to eat it!" Quick as lightning, Tord took away the disc from Tom's hold before he could actually damage it.

The brit whined in disappointment. "It isn't? But it looks like a tiny burned cookie!" He stared at Tord's hand; the one which currently held the disc. "What is it then?"

"This, is a special device that I personally invented to help users gain a peaceful sleep, undisturbed by nightmares. I created it for my own needs, but I figure you need it more than I do." Tord explained, turning the disc around in his hand; inspecting it for any substantial damage inflicted by Tom's baby-bite. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, thankfully. He leaned closer to Tom. "All you have to do is place the device in your ear, and then press this switch right here to activate it. Then you just go to sleep, and the device shall do its magic." He instructed, showing him exactly what he needed to do. He carefully placed the device into his ear, like so, and backed away. Tom scratched behind his ear, a little bothered by the thing; though the sensation wasn't that much different from wearing an earphone.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Red leader took a deep breath, running one hand through his own hair. Somewhat hesitant now, he cleared his throat. "Tom, I am going to be away for a while." He announced.

Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Away?" Echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. "How long?"

"Hopefully, this shouldn't take more than a couple of months. But still… it will be a while." Tord murmured, glancing down at the ground. "Paul and Pat will be looking after you while I'm gone. I merely request that you behave accordingly, and be nice to them." He paused, shifting his weary gaze back to Tom. "One thing is for you to aim your anger and frustration at me, for all the sh#t I put you through; and rightfully so. But they are good people. They are only following orders, and don't deserve to be mistreated. So please don't be difficult with them." He requested, before a sad smile graced his features. "Though, something tells me you won't be nearly as stubborn with them as you are with me. You seem to get along with them far better than we ever have."

If he detected the wistful tone in his voice, Tom showed no signs. "Where you going?"

The Red leader straightened himself, fixing the collar of his uniform. "I need to check my other bases. As leader, duty always calls." He answered. "Oh. It's also best that I should warn you now before I go. Since you haven't consumed any alcohol these last few days, you will probably start feeling the effects of the withdrawal soon enough. It ain't gonna be pretty." He advised. "These next couple of weeks are going to be… hm, how do you so eloquently put it? Oh, that's right! Lame."

"Nice." Tom says sarcastically.

Tord chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. After all, you're gonna have both of my best soldiers looking after you." He reassured, though Tom wasn't entirely convinced. Tord's expression softened. He leaned forward and ruffled Tom's hair slightly. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, old friend."

A low grumble was uttered by the Brit, but he did not voice a complaint or displayed any signs of aggression at the contact. Once more, all he did was blink with a blank expression.

"See you in a few months!" Tord smiled, waving his test subject farewell as he stepped away and made his way out the room.

"Wait."

At his call, Tord halted in front of the door. He glanced back at him. "Yes?" He blinked expectantly.

Tom shifted in his bed, feeling conscious all the sudden. "I… Shucks I'm going to regret saying this, ain't i? Uhm..." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before. And ripping off your eyepatch. I don't know what came over me, but I didn't really mean to do it. You just… get on my nerves."

At this point, Tord is sure this is just a dream. He is still sound sleep on his chair, he will wake up, and see that Tom hasn't awaken; proving that this is all just a figment of his imagination. Tom is apologizing? Surely this can't be real? The only thing Tord could think to explain the weirdness of this situation, is that Tom might be suffering the effects of the withdraw, and that's why he's been so unresponsive than usual.

Subconsciously, he touched his eyepatch. "It's fine, Thomas." He reassured. He took a deep breath, remembering Patrick's words from earlier. "I am… sorry as well. I shouldn't have provoked you, and I acted immaturely for a leader." And for the second time that day, the Red leader felt his pride get wounded. He could practically see Patrick's triumphant smirk if he were to see this development.

When there was nothing more to be said between them, Tord gave him a nod of acknowledgement. The door slid open with a hiss, and the Red leader left the room with a final wave of goodbye.

Breathing a tired sigh, Tom fell back on his bed; gazing at the ceiling. Things are finally going his way it seems. Life decided to take pity on him at last, and grant him a few months free of Tord. Yeah, the withdrawal sucks. And he's still at the red army's mercy. But at least he won't see Tord's smug face anytime soon.

But he had more pressing matters to worry about. More notably, his blackout. He wasn't lying when he said that it happened before. But the thing is, it wasn't triggered by lack of sleep. The real reason is worse. Much worse. Thankfully enough, nothing seemed to have happened this time. But it's only a matter of time until the thing gains its strength back, and manages to break free one more. Tom dreads that day. All his hard work to keep it under control, and it was for absolutely nothing in the end.

He picked the tiny device from his ear and held it up to his face, twirling it in his fingers as he dived deeper into his own thoughts. Whatever happens here on out, Tom will just have to toughen up and take it. But one thing is for sure. By the end of the year, either one of two outcomes will come into fruition.

The worst-case scenario; Tord ultimately wins. He finds out all his secrets, and finally gets what he wants from him. Using him in his schemes as he sees fit. Or the best possibility; Tom becomes just another one of Tord's failed attempts, and he joins all the other fallen test subjects. He will die during the experiments. It would definitely be the better outcome out of the two. He wouldn't let Tord win. The monster will be gone forever. And he won't hurt anyone ever again. His miserable existence will finally be put to a rest. He knows it's for the best.

Dark thoughts continued to drift around in his mind. He hadn't realized it, but tears were pricking the corners of his empty sockets.

[leonmckennedy]

me: im gonna write out this scene from a future fic that i cant get out of my head. it’ll be quick, its fine

me, 1400 words later: fuck

contains: prompto | noctis + a smooch or two. it’s like, brotherhood esque

theres a ref here to this one fic which is like, the best fic ive ever read

by the time the credits start to roll, prompto has nearly forgotten they were even watching a movie. prompto had made some offhand comment, something about a chocobo that was present in an earlier scene, and that caused noctis to snort and say something snarly, and that sparked the sudden conversation they’re having now.

the movie itself is of no consequence; it’s a mediocre movie they’ve seen many, many times together that it was only really on due to how familiar it was — and there’s some voice in prompto, something equally anxious and excited, that’s amazed he’s such friends with the crown prince now that they have a comfort movie— so, really, the movie managing to run it’s course while they argue about the sizes of monsters isn’t special at all.

unlike prompto, who’s all wild gestures and noises, noctis is rather still when he talks. it’s probably because of his seemingly perpetual drowsiness, with the current late time undoubtedly feeding into it. where noctis was facing him before, making faces at prompto and laughing whenever he said something particularly outlandish, now he’s leaning heavily into prompto’s side, head falling to land on the blond’s shoulder.

for a moment, prompto can only think of how warm noctis is.

“...i don’t get you at all,” noct says, voice amused even though he sounds like he’s suppressing a yawn. “i mean, you’re usually wrong about stuff like this, but never this wrong.”

prompto manages a huff. “i’m offended. a behemoth sized chocobo wouldn’t be scary at all. in fact, the bigger the bird, the more to love.”

“okay yeah, but we were talking about fighting. and i can guarantee you wouldn’t want to fight a chocobo the size of a behemoth.”

“dude. a giant chocobo could crush me with their giant feet and i’d thank them, probably.”

noctis laughs, a low chuckle that prompto can feel rumble through his body. noct moves, probably intending to push him or something equally terrible, but doesn’t seem to have the energy for it. instead he ends up shifting, depositing more of his weight into prompto’s side instead. prompto feels… well, he isn’t sure how to feel about it yet, besides of it being nice.

“alright, so let me make sure i got this right: you’d rather face a behemoth-sized chocobo, than a chocobo-sized behemoth, because you’re certain you’ll manage train the giant chocobo to not kill you.”

“having a giant pet chocobo is my new dream.”

“you’re so dumb, prom.”

prompto starts to say something in response but noctis shifts again, reaching for one of the blankets that became disheveled in their argument, and prompto ends up just… watching. he notices belatedly that the credits have completely finished rolling and the screen is blank now, the screen defaulting to the movie’s menu. so it’s late, and it’s quiet — thus, a certain type of hush falls over them. it’s something warm and comforting, not unlike the blanket that noctis proceeds to bundle around the both of them. all ridiculous conversations aside, it’s been a great night. no class tomorrow, homework either finished or left for another day when it’s more urgent.

right now it’s just them, and while prompto sits there in a deep silence slightly uncharacteristic for him, he lets it wash over him. he’s probably never been this content in his life. if noctis would look at him now, he’d probably see the dopest smile of prompto’s face, and then prompto would have to be forced to joke off his friend’s teasing. as it is, however, noctis is looking away, eyes half open and staring blankly at a spot on the blanket. his face is obscured a bit by his hair — because his fringe is growing, because prompto can’t remember the last time noctis has gotten his hair cut at all — so prompto can’t see his expression. but his hands are gripping the blankets, and he’s still besides the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

unbidden, the thought that noctis is really cute passes through. prompto doesn’t ignore it, per se, but he tries his damndest to squash the urge to grab his camera and snap a shot.

they continue in comfortable silence for a bit. prompto is ready to ask noctis if he’s fallen asleep already when the prince speaks himself. “hey… prompto.”

“yah?”

noctis opens his mouth but then closes it again, exhaling through his nose. prompto can feel the action. can feel it, clearly, when noct turns his head to bury his face in prompto’s neck, breathes against his skin. prompto bites back a surprised gasp, swallows hard.

“noct…?”

“sorry,” noctis says, doesn't move. “you’re just…. warm. it’s nice.”

funny, it’s what prompto has been thinking this whole time. noctis is so warm and calm by his side, prompto thinks that they could fall asleep like this. together, bundled up, with each other. it makes prompto’s stomach flutter.

“you’re just trying to use me as a pillow, aren’t you?”

“maybe.” the word is nothing but a breath against prompto’s skin. prompto shivers slightly. “maybe not a pillow but….something.”

something?

“you’re just the snuggle monster tonight, then.”

noctis shakes his head slightly and looks up at him then, completely and fully. their faces are close, and noctis’ sleepy blues have a particular shine to them. prompto swallows again and noctis follows the bob of his throat, watches his jaw, trails back up to prompto’s lips. like a built in response prompto darts his tongue out to lick them and noctis watches that too, copies the action himself.

“prom.”

“yeah?”

“kiss me?”

it sounds like a suggestion, a question, and a command all at once. there’s a bit in his mind that, while chugging to process what’s happening, asks how this is possible. is this what their relationship is? was? a split second, spent watching the anticipation in noctis’ eyes, isn’t enough to find a suitable conclusion; or any, really, that wouldn't make him scream in embarrassment. however that voice inside that screams at him, that bit that’s half anxiety and half bad decision making, nags at the edge of his self-restraint and then he’s nodding, a slightly jerky movement.

noctis leans in, and prompto meets him halfway. it’s a pretty chaste kiss, probably lasts not even five seconds. noct’s lips are soft, and when they part noctis is looking at his, head tilted as if to consider them.

the nerves start to tug at prompto almost immediately and he laughs, pitch a little higher than he’d like. “h-how was that?”

noctis blinks. “good.” and then: “one more?”

prompto nods, a little too quickly, and leans in again. the second kiss last twice as long, still pretty chaste. prompto’s hands, slightly shaky, has found themselves on noctis’ arms, holding firmly. his lips move against noctis’ and he’s suddenly not thinking much at all. soft. warm.

noctis pulls away first with a strange sound, and prompto shakes, opens his mouth to start stumbling out an apology because wow, maybe he managed to mess something up, but noctis places a hand over his. shaking his head, noctis simply settles back against prompto’s shoulder, face slightly buried. they fall into silence again, just for a moment.

“was… was that good?”

noctis doesn’t answer immediately. he closes his eyes, breathes in, out. “it was.”

prompto feels heat in his head, shakes it slightly as if that could help clear his thoughts. everything feels so warm it’s almost smothering. “do you wanna do that again? i mean, i wouldn’t be mad if you did. wanna kiss, that is. again.”

noctis shakes his head against prompto’s neck and prompto feels his stomach begin to drop. it’s like a weight suddenly sliding down his chest with the sudden fear. he’s going to lose something, something soft and decidedly lazy that he didn't think was even an option until just now and he tries to quell the disappointment. noctis, as if sensing his distress, grabs his hand and holds it firmly. in a moment he’s lying fully on prompto, eyes closed, and his uncontrollable yawn soothes prompto’s nerves. or maybe it’s just from the way he rubs his thumb against prompto’s fingers, back and forth, soft.

“i just… wanna sleep, now…”

“oh. bedtime?”

noct yawns again, muffled against the blanket and his friend’s shoulder. “bedtime.”

though prompto is sure sleeping in a position like this will just cause him embarrassment and a terrible crick in the neck by morning, he let’s it happen. he doesn’t hazard getting up to find the television remote, or another blanket, or any other excuse he would try to think of any other day. noctis, asleep almost instantly after his declaration, is a solid weight against him, warm. comforting. and with the light of the television, blue and almost humming against the otherwise dark room, lures him to sleep.

[the-ace-of-the-moon]

this got derailed oops

im really sorry i havent refilled the queue lately and that i havent been posting much but i sorta have good news and bad news. Both are mostly related to me personally but obviously they have been (a/e)ffecting the blog so i will be sharing but to start off, i will be continuing this blog and its here to stay. If you want my whole rant/ breakdown its below the break but long story short good news i got a job bad news im having some life problems that are making my mental problems flare up like my anxiety and trichotillomania so i will do my best but i probably will only have scattered posting for a while sorry.

The good news is that i fimally got a job so i wont just be lazing about anymore and so far ive been enjoying it there! I dont know what i get paid but tomorrow is the last day of my 2 weeks of training, which is great because i actually got proper training and also i get to see how i do on my own after this!

The bad news is i have a lot of things that have been getting set aside even before i got the job and some of it is kinda approaching deadlines and while im trying to forcus on the new job, the job is taking a forefront priority as a commitment thats blocking everything else out. I have to return a couple audio books, start and finish a painting that im just blocked on, set up a day to talk to a councillor so i can apply to a new college, apply for college, and balance my social life with my down time. The new jobs sorta eclipsing everything so im trying to think of how i can even do college while having a job and my mom keeps pressuring me about college and in the meantime my friends keep trying to schedule things and i dont know how to react so my brain keeps just kinda fritzing and then rerouting to a different task so i end up ignoring them which is bad but i dont know how to explain to this one friend that shes kinda pushy and ive been really nice about it but its not realistic to expect someone to drive for hours on end not only frequently but also at insane hours of the night and not even out of town. Like just cruising the streets from 9 pm to 3 am. And enjoy it. And not get paid for gas or anything. Just tonight she said "oh yeah and [name redacted of friend who usually tags along] is leaving in a couple weekends (this person goes to college out of state so we dont get to see them) so we are gonna need to go on a drive soon" I dont want to? But if the friend thats leaving wants to go its 2 against 1 and honestly both those 2 have been having some drama of each saying the other interacts with their significant other too much and they keep talking to me about it and its exhausting? Like i get that both of their significant others live far away and in different time zones and have jobs but neither of my friends have jobs or can drive and i have to listen to their shit waiting for something to blow up and worry about how im gonna take care of my problems and its not like i can drop these 2 bc i keep burning bridges due to lack of social motivation so i only have 4 people i actually consistently initate contact with but 2 of those people are far away and have actual lives so i try not to bother them and the other 2 are these messes and really its the one that causes the most problems but all of this has been stressing me out which makes me anxious and kinda depressed and unmotivated to do anything and its all made my trich worse but ive been doing my best to control it but now today there was too much going on bc i had my axiety at the forefront, my problems on my mind, i had an exhausting family event to go to earlier, and then this shit gets shoved back into view and since im home alone i finally dug out the tweezers ive been trying to hide from myself and now half of the inner lashes on my top left lid are gone and i look fuckin wierd and im too keyed up to sleep and im ignoring my friend and i want to pluck more but ill just go for the left eye again bc it looks wierd and ill end up with no lashes and my coworker who's training me will ask and itll be awkward and my mom will see and be mad bc she thought the trich was just a phase when i was in elelmentry and why didnt i tell her about it still going on ant ittl be a whole thing which will make it worse and now im fucking crying. Or not bc apparently ive suppressed my emotions too much and too often that im fine now ok that was wierd any way sum up lifes good but simultaneously shitty so now my lashes and skin (didnt mention but i typically have really good skin unless im stressed real bad so now my face is starting to break out and get dry and irritated) are fucked up and i wont be posting as often until i can find the motivation to fill up the queue agan. Sorry you had to read this mess and apparent roller coaster of emotions (with an anticlimactic end) but hey now you know more than you ever would have about the admin of this blog other than that shes an aro(flux)ace witch

[whoreditary]

.

[allinsgaywitchaesthetic-moved]

literally no one asked for this and i was bored so heres monsta x as a jazz combo under the cut

shownu

sax player, brass/winds leader

plays every single saxophone known to man + clarinet, flute, and p much every other wind instrument ?? like how?????

hes amazing thats how

so so so dedicated but like

where kihyun is like …. aggressively dedicated shownu is more relaxed abt it

like kihyun plays more but shownu listens more and analyzes more sort of??

thats why hes the leader

has a very good understanding of different styles and how to break them down

just perceptive musically

also really good at imitating specific styles

always has extra valve oil and grease and strings and sticks in his bag it’s ridiculous the thing probably weighs like 30 pounds

he doesn’t really have a specific music taste?? like hes just not picky

also too compliant for his own good …

minhyuk showed up at rehearsal once like “shownu, lets play death metal!!”  and shownu was just like “ok sounds good”

also doesn’t really like to be super assertive so he’ll usually suggest articulations and phrasings rather than saying “tongue this note and slur that”

everyone listens to him anyways tho because he’s right

not really tonally or rhythmically inclined tbh hes just good all around

hes really flexible stylistically and likes to play in lots of different styles

loves bob florence, john coltrane, ellington, but will listen to everything

likes to challenge himself w rhythms bc hes pretty good at them!!

he gets really anxious before performances tho and it definitely reflects in his playing :(

kihyun

trumpet!!! lead trumpet!!!!

his sound is really sharp (like cutting? almost) and strong and honestly??? the most beautiful thing uve ever heard

probably a prodigy tbh

he isnt leader tho like just bc he plays the ~visually most important~ instrument doesn’t mean hes in charge lol

always attentive, has like 3 pencils on him at all times, records rehearsals, Model Musician tbh

tonally inclined

eats, drinks, and breathes long tones

can’t sleep?? long tones

hungry?? long tones

bored?? long tones

i.m: hey kihyun whats the answer for question 11?

kihyun: long tones, changkyun. the answer is always long tones

i.m, in the background: im a guitarist????

his range is ridiculous bc of this

loves ballads!!! especially basie ballads like little darling bc he can just … drag out his beautiful sound like theres no tomorrow

probably doesn’t like a lot of contemporary jazz but plays it to challenge himself

also loves thad jones, miles davis, jalc (modern groups playing old jazz make him happy!!) and jazz vocalists - frank sinatra, cecile mclorin savant, etc.

biggest weakness is probably the fact that he doesn’t listen as much as he should so he doesn’t always grasp style well :(

shownu: kihyun listen to this recording!

kihyun: i can’t ,, im playing rn .. ., gotta go fast

minhyuk

hes a trombone player and no one can tell me other wise

this is bc trombones are the worst and so is minhyuk

shownu: alright everyone lets start at measure 39

minhyuk: *slides around on the trombone* how about i solo for 30 measures instead

never fuckingf listens

but hes not a bad player!! hes just .. an unstoppable force of nature .. .,

his sound is really warm and broad but occasionally sounds a little muffled

esp when hes lazy or doesn’t like the piece theyre working on

tbh don’t even expect him to try if he doesnt like the music ur playing

tonally inclined

hates long tones, has never done them in his life probably??

bc of that his range isn’t super big but his sound is really strong and powerful

kihyun works w him on long tones bc ‘minhyuk!!! ur range is holding us back,, please!!’

prefers up tempo funk or latin tunes but doesn’t like super complicated rhythms

loves gordon goodwin and the brecker brothers to bits …

will blast them while showering :)

really impatient as a musician

like he cant focus for super long periods of time and he cant sit through all of those long rehearsals so his playing suffers bc of that

he practices better in small groups than alone bc the other members help him focus better so he gets more done~

i.m

guitarist

hes the only guitarist u will ever meet who shows up on time to rehearsal… amazing

its rlly relaxing to watch him play hes just really confident n comfortable w his style of playing bc hes p flexible and he loves jazz a lot bc its so different and complicated as a genre!!!

has read every single jazz autobiography and watched every single jazz movie known to man

rhythmically inclined

he, hyungwon, and jooheon just .. have rhythm clapping competitions where they see who can clap the most complicated rhythms for the longest amount of time …. theyre a trip

plays clappingmusic on his phone when hes bored and has converted the entire band to it

fuckin loves free jazz and fusion!!!!  and contemporary jazz

he, hyungwon, and jooheon just hang out listening to ornette coleman, charles mingus, chick corea - its a great time

(hyungwon hates ornette coleman but he wont tell changkyun bc he doesn’t want to break his heart :( )

hes a sucker for like .. old romantic sounding jazz

he plays through his real book every couple of days- he really loves the classics too

loves wes montgomery

hes the bands treasure; you make fun of a lick he played?? u wont see the light of day . …

his biggest weakness is he has troubles communicating with the other group members like w eye contact and tempo changes and stuff

also gets lost in the middle of pieces sometimes bc hes a little spacey n he worries :(

wonho

pianist, rhythm section leader

naturally bouncy style, very swingy - he’s a natural, also possibly a prodigy?

won a bunch of classical music competitions when he was a kid but then he realized he liked jazz more so he switched over

the biggest jazz history nerd!! just knows a lot of random facts about all the composers

favorite facts include: billy strayhorn was gay and mingus punched his lead bone player in the mouth (hyungwons response ‘youre next minhyuk’ always makes him laugh)

buys food for everyone before rehearsal

always trying to help everyone become more confident and happy with their own musical abilities

helps everyone rehearse by doing 1-on-1 stuff if they need it

probably plays in elderly homes and in orphanages to help the kids

also not really rhythmically/tonally inclined hes just good

rlly likes jazz-inspired classical music and like … jazz movie soundtracks

watches jazz movies with changkyun

also likes ragtime, second line, dixieland … all those old exciting jazz movements bc theyre so fun to play!!!

he isn’t very confident in his playing like he knows hes good but he doubts himself a lot so he lets other people’s preferences control him??

like if someone doesn’t like something abt a solo of his he’ll change to appease them, even if he likes it a lot :(

hyungwon

bassist

plays both upright and electric

really smooth long sound on both instruments - his entire style feels very relaxed

honestly was dragged into this by minhyuk without knowing what jazz really was but he really grew to like it!!

loves his role as a bassist bc hes important but like … behind the scenes important >:)

most people don’t think abt the bassist at all in the band but hyungwon Knows that hes important so hes ok w that

definitely doesn’t know how to work his own equipment like

quarter inches?? amp head??? what r those he just doesn’t know

he and jooheon always argue about the best way to do a fill and tempo and anything else under the sun bc theyre both stubborn and think theyre right

wonho is the only one that can make it stop

hyungwon probably shows up late to rehearsal w like … cup ramen and a book someone help him

the book is a jazz autobiography and he discusses it w changkyun after rehearsal over coffee

hes rhythmically inclined and loves to challenge himself w odd meters and weird fingerings

he doesn’t necessarily like that kind of music though?? like hell play it to challenge himself but he won’t always like it and won’t really listen to it

loves every single bassist known to man

esp victor wooten, mingus, esperanza spalding, ron carter

he hates jaco tho bc jaco is an asshole

minhyuk: but mingus was also an asshole??

hyungwon: shhhhhhh mingus was a special kind of asshole so its ok

will honestly just listen to entire bass concerts

loves cool jazz and bebop

hes really … absorbed in his own playing because he throws himself into it and wants his walking to be good and he wants to be in time and all these other things so when hes playing he sometimes ignores the rest of the group bc hes trying so hard to sound good

hes a lil bit of a worrier internally and its gets in the way of the confidence of his playing

also procrastinates on his deadlines like theres no tomorrow lol

jooheon

drummer!!!!

carries at least 3 pairs of sticks, brushes, and a practice pad with him at all times

he??? drums in the bath room sometimes????? you’ll just walk by and hear vague slapping noises like ‘oh thats just jooheon! hes working on his rudiments’ :)

one of those 3 pairs of drumsticks is broken and taped together so that it doesn’t fall apart tbh

wants to bring back jazz rap

also rlly likes electroswing and jazz trap

just give him jazz thats influenced by new technologies in music !! he loves it

rhythmically inclined - especially likes playing in odd meters

his fills and hits are always so in-time it’s ridiculous

loves don ellis and buddy rich

his jazz playlist is 50% all of the standard jazz he needs and the other 50% is like thess tracks from single composers that have been dead 20 years w no meter or are in like 17/8 or something

jokes abt having 'perfect click’ all the time like

jooheon: you know perfect pitch??? ive got perfect tempo ;)))

hyungwon: jooheon shut up, you rush all of your fills

sets up pranks w minhyuk before rehearsal starts so that its 'more fun’ because jazz is 'all about rebellion against the status quo’ like ok

he worries a lot bc he feels like he needs to carry the entire band on his shoulders bc he’s a drummer and therefore The Most Important

but then everyone always says “but we’re all drummers!” and he feels a little better abt it

probably cries after every performance

[queertransjew-blog]

top surgery revision recap

A little background: I had top surgery on Monday, July 17 of this year. I had a hysterectomy about 1.5 weeks later, on Friday, July 28, so I asked for the drains to be pulled the day before, even though it was a little early for the one side according to how much was draining, because I didn't want to have to deal with the drains while getting a second surgery.

On hindsight, that probably wasn't the greatest idea, considering a seroma formed on the right side, where the drains had still been outputting a little bit more. I went back and had it drained 1-2x a week for the next month, but scar tissue formed, and so I had surgery yesterday, Oct 30, to have the scar tissue taken out.

I'm not upset with my doctor for pulling the drains, and the seroma could have even happened after pulling the drains at the right time. Of course, if I could go back in time, I would've just put up with the drains through the hysterectomy, but honestly I had no idea that this was going to happen, so...

Usually, revisions can be done in-office under a local anesthetic, but my surgeon (Dr. Bluebond-Langner at NYU) thought, due to the amount of scar tissue, it would be a better idea to put me under because it would be less uncomfortable for me. Which was fine with me, I wasn't too fond of the idea of being opened up while still awake.

I had to be at the hospital at 9 am. I got there a little early, check in, was brought back, a nurse took my vitals, etc. Then, I changed into the very fashionable, one-size-fits-all hospital gown and grippy socks, and brushed my teeth, like they tell you to do. She also asked if I still had a uterus, because if so, I'd need to take a pregnancy test. But I said no, so I did not, which was pretty nice. It'd be even nicer if I didn't have to answer that question, but...

Also, my gender was marked as 'female' on my wristband, which was frustrating, and I didn't remember that being the case when I had top surgery, but it must have been? Anyway, I guess next time I get surgery there I'll have to get that fixed.

My mom was brought back to wait with me. Then, I waited a while for Dr. BL. When she came in, she looked at my chest, since she hadn't seen it since I saw her mid-September. I told her it was looking better, probably because the swelling had gone down.

She agreed. At my last appointment in her office, she'd said she may need to put a drain in after the revision to be sure that another seroma didn't happen. Understandably so, considering why go through another surgery if the same issue was just going to happen again? But I was also like, ugh. Because drains suck.

But when I saw her yesterday, she said she didn't think we needed a drain anymore, and she was just going to use glue. I imagined her glueing me together with Elmer's glue, which I'm sure isn't the reality of it, but it's a funny visual. Anyway, I was much happier about that. She marked me up, branded me with her initials on my chest, and then left.

Then, I waited a very long time for the anesthesiologist to come in. I was supposed to go in for my surgery at 10:30, but when I went into the OR, I noticed it was about 11:15, so I'm not sure what exactly caused us to be running late, but it wasn't really a big deal.

The anesthesiologist was really nice. I told her that when I had my top surgery, I had been super groggy for hours afterward and hadn't been able to stay awake. She said she would try not to have that happen again.

Then, the OR nurse came in, talked to me, asked me more questions, and then finally I said goodbye to my mom and was brought back to the OR. The nurse was really nice, we were joking with each other as we walked down the hallway. I liked her, it felt like she was making an effort to distract me which was much appreciated.

I got into the OR, laid down, and they went to work attaching me to monitors, putting compression tubes around my lower legs, etc. The anesthesiologist took 3 tries to get an IV started in my hand. I normally have bad veins, even after being hydrated and fed, so I can understand the difficulty considering I hadn't drank or eaten anything since last night, and the room was also cold.

They started me on some 'relaxation' drugs, and the anesthesiologist said she was going to give me some oxygen beforehand, but I don't remember that happening.

I just remember waking up, either when they were rolling me into recovery or just in the recovery room itself. I asked if I had a drain in (I think about three times, haha), and they said no each time. They asked how I was feeling, and I said ok, just a little nauseous, and if I was in pain, which I really wasn't. They said they could give me two things for the nausea, and I can't remember the other option, but I opted for a shot in my arm. It hurt pretty badly, like, the pain from that was worse than anything else, and my arm is still a little sore the next morning. But it worked and I was not nauseous afterward.

Then, my mom was brought back and I asked if she had talked to Dr. BL, and she said she had, that it had went really well. Then, I guess the nurses asked me mom to leave for a while and told me to try to sleep.

I slept for a little while, I have no idea how long. But then I told them I was feeling ok when a nurse came back, and they asked if I wanted to sit in a chair, and I said yes. I also told them I had to go to the bathroom so they let me do that.

I was then sat in a chair, and they asked if I wanted anything to drink, so I asked for tea. I really wanted coffee, but they said it could make me nauseous again.

They said they could give me fentanyl if I wanted it, and I said no. I just wanted tylenol. So they gave me tylenol. I'm not a fan of narcotics. Then my mom came back, and I got some graham crackers.

Then they let me get dressed, and explained to me the post-op instructions, and then I was free to go. Initially, they had told me I would need to spend 23 hours in the hospital afterward, but I think because I didn't have the drain they let me go early.

Oh, and also, my mom talked to Dr. BL after my surgery, and she said (quoted from a text from my mom): "She came Out All smiles and said it went very well took out the extra tissue which wasn’t much and said that she knows how anxious you are but it will all be fine- just give it Time".

On the way out, I got an apple juice and a Clif protein bar from the cafe. I was hungry. I also saw one of the three nurses that took care of me, since apparently they were all going on their breaks around the same time, and waved to her.

Overall, it went really well. I wasn't misgendered at all by nurses or hospital staff (at least, not to my face) like I was last time, though I think I pass a little bit better than I did in July. But all the staff who took care of me were really nice.

Then we went home and I got changed and laid in bed. I peeked at my chest, and it looked good. They told me I'm allowed to shower the next day, and Dr. Bluebond even said I could go out for Halloween if I want (I'm not going to, haha, but...).

I'm just super anxious about the seroma coming back, but I'm trying not to be, and trying to trust that my surgeon did the right thing, which I'm sure she did. I'm going to take it really easy and hang out all this week. From what Dr. BL said, it seemed like I could go back to class pretty quickly, but because I thought I was going to have a drain in, I had already told all my professors and my job that I was going to be out for about two weeks. I'd much rather chill at home than stress myself out trying to get to class all wrapped up in a compression binder and carry a bag and etc., so I'll milk my time off a little.

I'm not a fan of sitting around, but I know that not moving and relaxing is probably what's best for me at this moment. I would much rather spend this week sedentary, lying in bed and watching Stranger Things, than potentially causing another complication. I'm sure I'll be back to my normal life in no time.

I'll keep updating y'all if anything else notable happens. Right now, the best case scenario happened -- I didn't have to stay in the hospital overnight, and I don't have any drains. I can shower today, too, instead of waiting a week, like after top surgery. Of course, having to get another surgery after already having two over the summer wasn't ideal, but, things happen.

If anyone has questions, I'd be happy to answer them. I'll also maybe post some pictures once I don't have to wear the binder anymore.

I know it seems like most guys have top surgery and heal really well and quickly. But, obviously that's not the case for anyone, and while complications are super frustrating, most problems can be fixed.

---

So I wrote the above right after my surgery. It’s been almost three weeks since then. I had glue over my incisions, and at my first post-op a week after, Dr. Bluebond removed the glue. She took the foam padding out of my binder but told me to keep wearing it.

Later that day, I noticed some fluid in my chest on the side where the revision had been done. Obviously, this was worrying to me. But I put my binder on and tried to ignore it. When I took a shower later in the day, I massaged the area where the fluid was, and it all started draining out of the incision around my nipple. Which I guess was a good thing, because my chest was flat afterward.

The fluid came back the next day, and my nipple also looked pretty gross and raw, so I emailed Dr. Bluebond’s office, and was told to come in the next day. Dr. Bluebond gave me Aquacel to put on the incision, thinking that perhaps the bactroban I had been putting on the incision was irritating it. She also drained the fluid in my chest.

I went back the next week, and she again drained a little bit more of the fluid. I was told to keep putting the Aquacel on my incision, but to alternate it with Aquaphor.

It’s been almost a week since then. After the fluid was drained a second time, it didn’t return. My nipple has finally been healing. I truly believe Aquaphor works miracles. My chest looks great and I’m really happy with it. I have my next post-op appointment with her in a day, and I’m hoping I’ll be cleared to return to the gym.

As always, I’m happy to answer any questions. If I’m cleared to stop wearing my binder on Tuesday, I’ll also post some pictures, despite my nipple still being in the process of healing.

[literupture]

my ac got fixed today, so after almost 2 weeks of being in a hot apartment and even more sleep deprivation than usual, i’m a little less miserable.

i gotta get this off my chest tho. i haven’t been okay for a while now. these past few months ive been feeling anxious and hurt by my friends over stuff they prolly dont even realize they’re doing. and it sucks because i cant say anything about it thanks to my RSD. but its just a fucking cycle of anxiety and anger. (why am i being treated this way? but am i wrong for feeling hurt about the way ive been treated?) i got over it a tiny bit for a few days or so, but this past month i’ve been in the absolute worst headspace. ive been getting progressively angrier with my friends recently because of all their stupid drama. mediate between these two friends. oh these other two friends are feuding because one’s being a prick and the other is secretly dating his ex, and that ex is your best friend. other friend is super flaky and is dealing with her own personal stuff but then acts offended that no one is around to hang with her, even tho she’s the one who doesn’t make an effort to be online before everyone has to go to bed.

im just fucking sick of it. i feel like all these friends whom i love, i’ve just been building resentment towards. and they don’t know about it, obviously. every minor annoyance just adds to the pile and i end up with a laundry list of reasons for “why x friend is pissing me off lately”. i feel like such a bitch for thinking this shit about them, like maybe im overreacting but at the same time i am justified in my feelings. im sick of their stupid drama. about 80 percent of the drama could be avoided too if they all just spoke to each other truthfully and acted like adults. we’re in our fucking mid-twenties, man. but some wanna throw a baby tantrum and others are being petty in response. and other times i just feel like im there, caring too much about everything and everyone, but no one gives a shit about me. two of these friends in particular barely even refer to me, even if it’s a game question i have an answer for. even if its a question specifically related to only me. they’ll just ask my partner. it’s like im not even there.

today was specifically rough. yes we got our ac fixed, but i was nearly late to an event and didn’t have time to eat or really wake up, so i was extra grumpy and angry. then i got into an argument with my best friend over some stupid fucking bullshit bc she said my hatred of harry potter “isn’t a valid opinion because you don’t have any personal experience, your views are secondhand” which is like???? that fucking sounds an awful lot like you just wanted to defend harry potter. i dont need to have read all the fucking books or seen all the movies to criticize harry potter. god. i literally said “sorry guys, i’ll just never offer my opinion on anything i haven’t personally interacted with, since it’ll just be invalid.” it’s a kinda childish thing to say but, fuck, man, i was so fucking hurt. things like this shit make me just wanna do what i’ve been considering for a while now, which is just fucking STOP talking to anyone. close myself off again. if everyone’s too busy in their fucking drama, fuck em, i’ll just focus on myself. what’s the fucking point being in a voice chat when i’ll just be straight up ignored or told my opinion isn’t valid. 

i can’t deal with this anymore. i haven’t been okay for a while and im just getting worse. and the only thing i can think to do is rebuild the walls that they all helped me break down. stop trying to worry why no one else cares enough, and just focus on myself. fuck them. at least for now. at least till im better, or i have the courage to speak my mind. i need to stop blaming myself when im the one being hurt.

im at my fucking limit. i need time to myself. i just dont want to push everyone away. i hate my brain.

[rheasunshine]

As I delve a little into what happened yesterday during my second half infusion of Ocrevus, I want to be very clear that “weakness” is not at all meant to be a taken as derogatory, or a stand-in for failure.  I do not intend “weakness” to bring up feelings of inadequacy or defeat.

Weakness, in this piece, means vulnerability, means softness, means disarmed – and the context of these words are meant to evoke in us the power of our humanness and to speak to the testament that though we are all fragile, that fragility bonds us together and opens up the pathways for empathy.

As I wrote about in my last piece, my decision to start Ocrevus was not an easy one and the long-term side effects were scary and the short-term ones turned out to be terrible.  This all comes with the territory of long-term disease management and medications.  So I won’t re-hash that and I’ll start with yesterday morning.

(Full disclosure, as I’m writing this, I’m currently basking in the warmth of 7.5 mg of Vicodin, 50 mgs of Benadryl, plus the haziness of sheer exhaustion.  Also, my skin is burning at a level best described as “infuriatingly distracting” and I have no feeling in either of my legs, so every once in awhile I’m taken out of writing mode to try to figure out how my laptop is floating in front of me because I can’t see the lump of legs beneath the blanket and so the whole “out of sight, out of mind” comes in to play.)

Knowing that we would have to leave for Duke at 5:30 am on Tuesday morning, I went to bed at 7 pm Monday night; not surprisingly, I woke up at 1:45 am, anxious and pissed.  But I got dressed, combed my hair and took a “Let’s Do This” selfie in an attempt to get myself pumped up.  I was thinking I looked pretty good for 2:30 am, especially since I was fighting a panic attack and couldn’t take anything for it (so there would be no interactions with the pre-medication they give you at the infusion center).

We headed out right on time, and despite the Tropical Cyclone warnings, there was only a light rain falling.  Thommy and I took the obligatory “WE’RE ON A ROAD TRIP!” photo at the first red light we came to, and then he took an adorable shot of the two of us once I inevitably passed out in the passenger’s seat.

Durham rush hour traffic was reliably crazy, so we rolled up to Duke Hospital with 15 minutes to park and check-in.  While I nervously waited for them to call my name I couldn’t help but notice the obnoxiously optimistic vending machine taunting me.  Similarly to adding the words “in bed” to the ending of fortune cookies, I sometimes like to add the words “my ass” to the end of inspirational quotes.  In case the image is too small for you to read, let me assist you in recreating what I read in my head yesterday morning as I waited for the IV toxicity:

“The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it … my ass.”

Despite my obsession with quotes and my belief in their ability to empower and embolden us, sometimes the only thing that pulls me along in life is sardonic humor. Apologies to C.C. Scott.

Anyway, the appointment started out great – especially the first three things.  For starters, the scale was broken!! After just getting weighed in at a doctor’s appointment on Monday (yes, I truly do spend most of my life at doctor’s appointments), I was really not looking forward to it on Tuesday.  Most people dislike getting weighed in on those hideous contraptions anyway, but for someone with anorexia it’s an even harder proposition. Sometimes I do the weigh-in backwards, but most times my sadistic side takes over and I can’t avert my eyes.  I’m going to be writing a special post about my upcoming 10 year anniversary from Renfrew and one of the things I’ll be talking about is some ways people with eating disorders engage differently than regular folks with seemingly benign tasks.  For example, on the day before a scheduled weigh-in, I usually dehydrate myself and often times use a diuretic or laxative (despite the fact that I am chronically dehydrated and have diarrhea anywhere between 5-15 times a day).  I also wear as few items of clothing as possible.  This is much easier to accomplish in the South, but regardless of the fact that I am always cold, I usually wear shorts and flip flops to appointments so I can take them off before stepping on the scale.  At the infusion center, none of these preemptive steps are possible because those places are kept at what seems to be “just-below-freezing”, so I’m forced to wear jeans and shoes.  I digress: I didn’t have to get weighed in.

The second good thing was finding out that they try to keep you with the same infusion nurse for sake of continuity of care.  I loved my nurse the first time and I was ecstatic to be back under her care.  The last positive to happen in quick succession was the fact that she was able to get the IV in on the first try.  Last time, it took 3 pokes (plus the delay of waiting for the “IV Team” to show up).  Then, things started to take a turn for the worse.

Despite assurances last time that were going to double ALL my meds to start (including the Benadryl, which is a god-send during these infusions because it either knocks you out or keeps you in a “I Don’t Give a Fuck” haze), I was informed that only the Pepcid and the steroids would be doubled.  That was the first time I wanted to cry in the infusion chair.  I held it in.  I dug in hard, gritted my teeth, focused my energy and willed myself to stay ahead of the thundering rumble of disappointment I could hear building up in the background.  Thommy must have taken a picture at this moment, which I didn’t see until later, but perfectly captured the internal pep-talk.

And then he asked for a picture, grinning.  I tried to smile back.

  Then, as my nurse administered the normal dose of Benadryl, none of the twilight-like sedation that had blissfully overcome me during the first infusion took hold.  It might as well have been saline.  Again, the tears swelled up from my gut to the edges of my eyes – but I blinked them back down and just let the crashing wave of disappointment and frustration wash over me.  All my senses and emotions were so heightened that it felt more like drowning than washing, but I didn’t want to give up on the day so early in the process.

The day marched on.  Thommy did some work and I mostly stared ahead at the wall, or occasionally at my phone, but mostly I just looked at the IV.  A little blood had started to flow back into the tubing, a hazy mixture of red blood and opaque medicine creating a pink swirl in the line.  I don’t know why it was mesmerizing.  Something about blood leaving my body was calming; it was just the smallest amount, really, but it was beautiful.  It didn’t even scare me that I wished it was coming faster, or that the tubing wasn’t there, or that the earlier moments of “washing disappointment” turned to a wistful hope that the droplets of blood would turn to tiny streams, then currents.  Visions of crimson liquid on pale skin lulled me.  It wasn’t the meds but this vision that acted like the Klonopin I hadn’t been able to take earlier, and my eyes closed.  Thommy must have looked up from his laptop shortly after this and captured with his phone what must have seemed to him like a momentary respite from the struggle and a rare moment of calm.  It was.  But for all the wrong reasons.

***

As we hit the mark in time where I had experienced a reaction during the first infusion, I was ecstatic to realize I wasn’t having one this time.  I stubbornly decided (as one does when they think they can control everything around them) that I was NOT going to have a reaction this time and we were going to get out of there on time, beat the Durham rush hour and be back home after “only” 12 hours.  It was not to be.  30 minutes later when they once again bumped up the infusion rate, I started to get the faintest tingle around my ears and the outline of my face.  Then a little on my neck. I tried not to think about it; I certainly tried not to touch it.  I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself while surrounded my hawk-eye nurses and an even more attentive husband, who for reasons that entirely escape me, seems to actually like looking at my face.  I again tried to convince myself the increasingly hard to ignore burning was simply a matter of psychosomatic manifestation.  No allergic reaction to see here.  Maybe if I pretend to sleep, no one will look at me.

Then I coughed.  Just once.  But Thommy looked up.  I shook my head nonchalantly: “I’m fine, just a tickle, it’s fine.”

Then another cough, deeper this time: “I’m fine,” I laughed, “seriously, go back to work.” Then 3 more in quick succession, harder and rumbling, ones that forced my body upwards in the chair.

Fuck.  Me.

After 2 minutes of “Should We Get the Nurse” ping-pong, he poked is head above the nursing station.  I could hear the mumbling and I shot Thommy the coldest death stare I could muster and like a mother scolding an insubordinate child, I mouthed “SIT. DOWN.”

“Never mind, she’s ok.” Thommy said with a sheepish chuckle.  It was his turn to try to laugh it off.  But it was too late and here she came, arms crossed, smiling.  It wasn’t my nurse (she was on lunch), but one that had remembered me from last time and had come over to say hi when we first got there.  “Good to see you again,” she had said.  She was young and very pretty.   It’s strange, but even after just two visits, they seem like a family to me.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I laughed, waving my hand in an attempt to shoo off the inevitable.  I try to act like the smartest person in the room when in medical settings, like it simultaneously makes everyone up their own game and also allows me the upper-hand.  I do it because pretending I’m in control is the only way I’ve found to survive all this shit.

I don’t remember exactly who said what, but among the three of us, words like “itching”, “just a little irritation”, “cough”, and “I really am fine,” got tossed around.  No dice.  In quick succession, 3 nurses and the PA who oversees the floor and is probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met in a medical office were standing and sitting around me.  Then I started to fucking cry.  Not sobbing, not hysterically, but a stifled stream of tears finally made their way out of my eyes and down my already red and itching face.  The nurses and Thommy tried to console me, thinking what, I’m not sure.  The darker part of my nature thought maybe they believed I was weak – easily rattled – being a brat.

I doubt anyone actually thought that but those were the assumptions pounding against my skull as I tried to explain that I was only crying because I didn’t want to stop the infusion, I just wanted to get through it like (seemingly) everyone else did and go HOME. I wanted them to understand that my body does not know any other mode than “self-sabotage.” It is a betrayer.  It lies and it breaks and it defies logic.  I wanted them to ignore what they were seeing, go against all ethical and practical guides of medicine and just let me have my reaction in peace and get the fuck out of there.  As I explained that, minus the expletives, the PA sat down next to me and placed her hand on my knee that was huddled up next to me as I did my best to place myself in the fetal position in the chair.  Her eyes were the warmest shade of brown, and empathy and sympathy shot out of them like laser beams set to a better frequency than mine.  Excitedly she said, “we won’t stop like last time!! No, no…” she comforted, “we will just stop the drip while we give you more Benadryl, more Pepcid and some Allegra, and then I promise you we’ll start right back up.”  There were some hesitant, doubting looks on the faces of the nurses surrounding her.  The PA must have noticed that too because she added – “I’ll start it back up myself if I have too.”  I agreed, but kept crying.

They all started shuffling around doing what had to be done and within a few minutes, my own nurse was back.  They explained to her what had happened.  They tried to explain why I was upset.  I started to defend myself, but she stopped me.

“Of course you’re crying.  You’re tough and happy for as long as you can and you do what you have to do and then all it ever takes is one final thing, the straw that breaks the camels back, to put you over.  It’s not pain, you can handle that; it’s just frustration at one more thing not working out the way it should and you just have enough.  You’re ok.”

I cried harder.  She actually fucking got it.  I’ve known her for a total of maybe 18 hours in my life and she completely understood the secret language of my tears in that moment.

They infused more meds and I watched the clock tick.  And then, when my time was up, and every nurse was with another patient, the PA (who works in administration and oversees the floor, and who was wearing high heels, a skirt and a blouse, but who had promised me that this little setback wouldn’t get me off track to go home on time), found gloves and started my drip back up herself.

The state of medical care of this country is currently broken.  I know this because I am a professional patient.  But the level of care I’ve received at my infusion center, and especially at the hands of this PA at that moment, healed so many fractures for me.

I still had well over an hour to go when my nurse left for the day.  She came over to say goodbye and that she’d see me in 6 months.  She said a few things, all so genuinely sweet that I wanted to cry again.  Then she said “it was truly a pleasure being with you today.”  I could only nod.  When she left, Thommy turned and said, “she loves you.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about all the times doctors and nurses would fawn over Memere, even as she experienced the worst that hospitals have to offer.  “I learned that from Memere.”

***

In my ongoing commitment to showing how “real” complicated and ongoing illness and disability can be, I allowed Thommy to post a picture he took of me crying to Facebook.  We try to document as much of our lives as possible, and while most people who know me know that I’m incredibly open and honest about what all the colors of life look like, there are lines I try to draw.  I’m struggling with that right now as I’m drafting my Renfrew piece, because despite the trigger warnings and the explicit language I’ll use to shy away people who shouldn’t be looking at it, I know if they’re anything like me they’ll be compelled to do so anyway, and so I haven’t decided if I’ll use pictures to help illustrate what my personal weight and health struggles have looked like over the last 18 or so years.

When we finally got home last night, I kept looking at that picture.  I really had to fight the urge to take it down.  I still think displaying vulnerability, depression, anxiety and self-harm are ways that help me fight against them.  I know not everybody feels that way and I do worry maybe it’s too triggering for people.  And maybe I’m delusional, but I do feel that if someone is battling their own demons in secrecy, and maybe feels like no one else understands, that they might see one of my pictures or posts and realize that weakness does not have to equal defeat or inadequacy or failure.  Sometimes – hell, most times – weakness is permission to feel vulnerable, hurt or broken while simultaneously seeing the strength that all those feelings require.  It is permission to be human, and to let others know that not everything they see or read from people they consider “strong” is the whole story.  Strength requires too much energy sometimes; it needs its’ counterparts to be whole.  When someone tells me I’m strong, I want them to know that, while it’s often misquoted and not used in accordance with the original source material from “A Farewell to Arms”: we are all broken, that’s how the light get’s in.

So today, as I sit here, I am bloated from the steroids and terrified about how much worse it’s going to get in the coming weeks. I am in incredible amounts of pain radiating from all over, and both legs are numb.  I am starving, but I won’t eat.  My face is broken out in hives (as are my neck, chest and shoulders), and I am dizzy and nauseous from all the medicines.  I am worried about money because our car just needed $1,100 worth of repairs.  I am feeling like a horrible friend and daughter because there are things I’m supposed to be doing for my friends and family that I just can’t.  I feel like the “World’s Worst Wife” (a title I bestow on myself often) because Thommy is stressed and anxious and I can’t be as attentive or patient as I should be.

I am feeling my humanness today: hard.  I am still crying.  But I’m urged to remind you that while it’s not necessarily fair to feel this way, we are okay.  And if you need to reach out, reach out.  And if you want to share your struggles with social media but worry people might think you’re being “dramatic,” tell that voice to shut up and share what you want.  You have no idea who it might help.  Or how it might help you.

What’s the point of being strong if you can’t define strength on your own terms?

What’s the point of struggling in silence because you’re worried about what other’s might think? People who would turn their backs on you deserve to be walking away.

What do you need today?  Ask yourself – then ask for help if you need it.

If you’re doing OK today – ask someone else what you can do to help them.

Results may vary.  You may make someone’s day.

Or you may save it.

  In strength and solidarity,

Rhea

    In Defense of Weakness As I delve a little into what happened yesterday during my second half infusion of Ocrevus, I want to be very clear that "weakness" is not at all meant to be a taken as derogatory, or a stand-in for failure.