#it woke me up way before the worst hit and it was directly overhead for an hour or so

[dogthemaverick]

So we had an absolutely RAGING thunder and lightning storm hit us about 4am last night, like shake the house, light up the room like Blackpool kind of storm which understandably shit my dog up. We're on round 2 now which is much softer and the thunder has now passed but gauging my dogs reaction, she's now stressed at heavy rain :(

[little-igit]

Crimson Roses

𝕮𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖘

Last Chapter

A/N:  Hey!! I still can't believe that I dreamt all of this- obviously not every detail but the basic plot of it. I was about to have surgery when I originally finished this chapter the update on that is good! I'm healed and everything! I do headcannons and things too by the way! I just haven't posted any yet! I do headcannons, roleplay, fanfiction obviously, I draw sometimes. I don’t bite so if you want to message me and say hi I don’t mind! I encourage it actually! Thanks to anyone who reads and comments, I'll talk to you all next chapter.

Here is a little key you might need before you start!

Y/N - Your name

S/N - Little Sisters Name(If you are an only child make one up!)

H/C - Your Hair Color

Summary: You have an odd dream on the plane that leaves you feeling worse than before. On the other hand you are one step closer to your sister!

Warnings Of The Chapter: None but if I missed something tell me!

~

Y/N sits in her seat, the plane had taken off a few moments before. She would be sitting there for thirteen hours and she was already tired of it. The roar of the plane’s engines as it flew through the air sounded more like an incessant humming as it was muffled by the wings cutting through the air. She closed her eyes in an attempt to relax, possibly even sleep. The sound of the plain only grew louder as she tried to get comfortable without disturbing anyone. The wings were like knives slicing through the atmosphere as the big hunk of metal was propelled through the air.

It's safe to say that she isn't a fan of flying. She can admit that it isn't the worst thing in the world but the thought that there's a chance they could randomly start plummeting towards the earth from thousands of miles above haunts her just a little. Granted the tendency to overthinking doesn't help that. 

It isn't all bad though. The dim lights of the cabin combat against everything else going on, in and outside of her mind, helping her feel tired when everything else acts like it wants to keep her awake. She ends up curled in an odd position, facing the closed window that she had unfortunately been put next to. She wouldn't open it until they had been up for a while and she felt safe in the air. That is unless she felt stuffy and wanted to see the outdoors to help with that.

The longer she stares blankly at the white surface keeping her view from the outside world the calmer she starts to feel, though it could always be the dull vibrations of the plane causing her to calm down. With time her eyes start to close, body relaxing, eyelids growing too heavy as she drifts off to sleep.

When she opened her eyes everything was dark. An endless void of nothing for her to stare into forevermore. She wasn't on the plane anymore but she didn't care. The darkness felt oddly comforting.

She doesn't know how long she was staring into the nothing until she heard the sound of a drop of water crashing into a puddle behind her. The sound was a miracle reminding her she was still alive, that she IS something. It echoed for a moment, The sound beautiful like a piano key.

The sound had barely enough time to echo before she spun around to face it. Instead of looking at a measly puddle on the ground, she found herself face to face with the most elegant mirror she had ever seen.

Is stood tall enough so that all of her could be seen, her feet carried her towards it, stopping her directly in front of it. It was drawing her in like a moth to the flame. Her feet touched something wet, surprising her yet she didn't flinch, drawing her attention to the ground as well as the fact that she had no shoes on.

There was a puddle, like what she had expected to see first instead of the mirror. It was admittedly smaller than what's she thought it would be, maybe the size of her hand, by the sound the drop made but a puddle nonetheless.

The puddle gave her no entertainment and she quickly found herself bringing her gaze back up to the mirror. Her heart dropped, there were six pairs of legs standing behind her own. She felt like she should be panicked, and a part of her was, but the darkness kept her feeling safe. She needed to see who it was, or maybe she didn't, but her head started to move to see without her realizing it. It was like she wasn't the one in control, merely looking through someone else's eyes. The people behind her were all dressed nicely from head to toe but she didn't get to have a good look at any of them, as soon as she was able to meet one of their eyes they all disappeared. Like they were never there.

Another drop, she saw it this time. It was hard to make out but the reflective shine on the otherwise clear droplet, despite the fact that there wasn't any light shining anywhere from what she could tell, gave it away. Her eyes followed its path. Just as it hit the ground, giving off the same odd echo as before, though, this time a lot less like the miracle it seemed to be before, her eyes snapped open.

She had been sleeping. It had all been but a dream. She woke up to the ding from the speakers above them on the plane. She still felt calm thanks to the dream, but she was glad to be awake. The pilot's voice, or one of the flight attendants, she didn't care enough to know which, came over the loudspeaker. "Attention everyone we will be landing shortly please make sure to have your seatbelts on, and thank you for flying with us today!" The flight attendant started to repeat the phrase in Japanese given that's where they were landing, even if she could understand what they were saying she didn't want to listen to it twice so she tuned it out the second time.

Y/N straightened out from her, slightly less, balled up position than when she had fallen asleep, and clipped her seatbelt on before letting out a sigh. Had she slept that long? It didn't feel like she had but then again dreams always feel short. Maybe she had stared into the inky blackness longer than she originally thought she was when it was happening. That could have definitely messed with her sense of time. She hasn't been this confused waking up since she was little, seven maybe? It was before she started school but it could have been earlier.

She sighs, bracing herself for landing as she feels herself lean forward involuntarily in her seat. The plain starts descending as she feels the need to pop her ears every few seconds. She's reminded why flying isn't one of her favorite things. She shuts her eyes, using her armrests to push herself back up against the seat. It was much less comfortable than it was when she was asleep and she briefly wonders how she fell asleep in the first place.

She doesn't know how many seconds she stayed like that until she's jostled in her seat, the plane touching the runway making everyone bounce slightly. Everything is bumpy for a while as the plane slows down, leveling itself on the pavement until it's rolling along like an oversized car. She opens her eyes then, still not comfortable but not as uncomfortable as before…knowing they aren't in the air helps.

Finally, after thirteen whole hours, she can't believe she slept through and can't really remember the plane lands, stopping completely. Everyone starts to grab their bags but she stays seated waiting for the cabin to empty a little. She starts to gather her own things as soon as she feels she can walk into the Isle without hitting someone. She takes her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment that had mostly been filled with snacks.

She walks out into the Isle muttering 'excuse me's as she passes others trying to enter the Isle. Everyone rushing out excited to be on the ground again and out of the plane.

She still can't believe she slept for the whole flight. It's not new for her to sleep for a long time, she's used to waking up around noon. That's usually because she stays up late though and she would wake up in the middle of the night. She's never been able to sleep soundly throughout the night as she had slept on the plane. She would always wake up at least once. But she hadn't, and if she did she didn't remember which might scare her more than just not having done so.

She paused in her steps, looking around after she was out of the plane and the loading area. She was somewhere in the airport but she didn't know where. She should have been paying attention to where she was going as she walked. 

She starts to walk again, looking for a sign of some type that might tell her where she is or better yet where to go. She found a map of the airport pretty easily as they tend to be all over the place. She studies it for a moment before following its directions straight to baggage claim. She doesn't know which one she's supposed to be at thanks to her not paying attention. This one seems right, she recognizes a few faces from the plane. She maneuvers her way near the front of the cloud excusing herself as she goes, waiting for her bag to come around.

She spots it easily, a Disney themed suitcase her mom bought on one of the few Disney trips she's been on. She grabs it and walks out of the way of everyone else to extend the handle so that it can roll along easily behind her. She takes a moment after that to type the location of the camp into her phone mapping services. So that she could have it ready. She grimaces as she sees how far away it is. She wouldn't want to bother with trying to find some public transportation that goes that far. She'll have to rent a car then…something she's never done that's for sure.

She leaves her spot, finding another map and studying it again before following it to a car rental place. She stands outside of it for a bit watching what everyone else does out of habit before walking up to the desk herself. She hopes someone speaks English because although she can understand it she hasn't actually had to speak Japanese in a long time.

The process is awkward and lengthy, even after they explained what she needed to do to get a car. She still doesn't really know what she's doing so that does nothing for her. It might even be the reason she takes so long.

After everything is said and done she finds herself standing in front of the airport with keys to a pretty nice car, though not an expensive one, in her hands. Before she gets in she opens the trunk, dumping her suitcase inside. She shuts it again, keeping her bag of snacks on her. She takes a second before she gets in to just stand and stare. She takes out her phone charger finding a place to plug it in. The one requirement she had when renting the car was that it had a place to plug in her phone as there was no way it would survive all the way to the camp without it.

When it's all set up she uses google to bring up directions to the camp. With all of that done, she starts to drive.

Next chapter(in the works)

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment is All We Are (5.1/?)

This chapter is REALLY long so I split the text ver into 2 parts for Tumblr. 

AO3 link: here

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Story type: Romance/Drama/comedy

Pairing: Dazai x OC/reader (Dazai is endgame, fic is long-running and will also feature Kunikida x OC)

OC (Kusunoki Kyou) and Ability are based off of "The Story of Your Life," written by Ted Chiang, aka the basis of the Amy Adams movie "Arrival."

Rating: M for Blood/violence/themes of depression, anxiety, suicide TW: The second half of this story will deal more heavily with themes of suicide, depression/anxiety. *No major character death will occur*

Story follows OC as she joins the ADA, partners up with the detectives to solve various cases around Yokohama and develops feelings for Kunikida and Dazai (Dazai endgame).

Written for those who want an immersive ADA experience :)

Updates every Sunday evening around 6pm PST

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It wasn’t always like this.

Okay, maybe it was.

For as far back as I could remember, the visions had always been random, random events I would see of the future. If I was in physical contact with someone, the visions would be from their future. If I wasn’t, then the visions would be from my own life. Sometimes when I was really stressed, the visions of my future would actually come in the form of a dream, like in manga or novels.

Perhaps that was the best way to explain how The Story of Your Life worked; it was like taking out a book, keeping a finger against the pages and flipping until that finger finally caught on a single page. Then, flip open that page and read the first paragraph that jumps out; the book was the person’s life and the paragraph was the event, a single scene from that person’s future that I bore witness to.

The visions didn’t always show me death, blood and despair.

In fact, the very first vision I had was that of a puppy—a cute little thing my friend Kiko gifted me at my fifth birthday party. I must’ve seemed shockingly unsurprised (and possibly rude) to Kiko and her parents, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain that I’d seen her giving me this puppy half a year ago.

In retrospect, the puppy vision had been great. Sure, it took some of the fun out of a surprise gift but it was still a vision about a puppy. Honestly, if my visions were nothing more than glorified versions of baby animal videos, I’d be perfectly fine with that.

Maybe then, I wouldn’t be left with this overwhelming fear of my own Ability.

I used to be able to touch people, shake their hands, and hold them. In the beginning, “The Story of Your Life” only activated with a prolonged touch...

At first, “prolonged” meant more than ten seconds. That meant getting to play tag in kindergarten, going over to friends’ houses and having sleepovers. Normal stuff. My life didn’t even change all that much when ten seconds shrank to seven some time around middle school; I was able to play contact sports and go out on shopping trips without incident. Seven seconds became five halfway through high school. Again, no need to make lifestyle changes. I could still hold hands with friends, so long as it didn’t go on for too long and I was still able to have my first kiss without seeing even a hint of my boyfriend’s future.

And then, college. Five seconds was no longer doable. It became three at best and just before I’d become a shut-in, even an instantaneous touch was enough to trigger my Ability. By then, however, I’d gotten pretty used to having the visions, so I remained relatively unbothered when I’d see a vision of the barista breaking up with his girlfriend when I got my morning coffee. In other words, managing my Ability was no big deal.

Or so I thought.

About six months ago, my visions went from being an occasional distraction to a panic-inducing nightmare. I still wasn’t sure why...

Maybe it was just luck of the draw. I’d only seen good things, mostly, for the first ten-plus years at least: faraway cities, weddings, and graduations. Every once in a while there would be a failed exam or a lost wallet but overall nothing too out of the ordinary for an otherwise regular teenager to see.

Maybe it was just a sign of the times. As I got older, so did the people around me, so the more likely it was that they were entering that phase of their lives where things could start to go south. Or perhaps their previous lives were just catching up to them.

Or maybe, it was karma finally catching up to me. I’d be lying if I said that I’d never used my Ability for personal gain before. There were a few exams I managed to ace with the help of a well-timed touch of the hand and a few pitfalls I’d managed to avoid through a combination of sheer luck and a decently fast reflex. Perhaps six months ago, whatever granted me this power finally decided that I had a good run and it needed to end in the worst way possible...

And it all happened so quickly.

I never had much control over my visions to begin with and they never really bothered me before but suddenly, they were invading every part of my life—and with each vision I saw, the accuracy increased. My dreams became more vivid than ever; I would see things that had yet to occur and before I moved out, my college roommate would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of my screams. I started passing out in the middle of class if someone so much as tapped my bare shoulder and when I came to again, it would be a minute before I remembered where I was and what I was doing. I was starting to consider seeking some kind of help until one day, I finally saw my first death.

It was horrible. I was at dinner with friends on a group date and I hit it off with one of the guys. He wanted to take me to the movies that weekend, and being relatively new to college and Yokohama in general, I agreed. Then, smiling, he’d held my hand just a millisecond too long and I saw it: him getting hit by a car while crossing the street.

I tried not to think about it too hard. Sometimes the vision were wrong. There were times when they’d been off by just a fraction of a second and because of that, I still had hope. Maybe there was a chance that things could change last minute, either by a miracle or by someone’s sheer force of will. But as time passed, my anxiety grew. He was running late and I didn’t like it. Finally, I spotted him at the intersection and, frantic, I waved him down just as the “walk” sign lit up and he started crossing the street.

That’s when it happened.

A single black vehicle, no license plate, ran a red... and ran into him.

I would remember seeing his body flying into the air for the rest of the semester.

After that, I started taking an alternate route to class, just to avoid going anywhere near the part of campus where he’d died. It wasn’t that people were whispering behind my back or accusing me of having a part of it—I just couldn’t handle the memory.

That was the first death.

The first.

It was as if some kind of floodgate had been opened. I had never seen death before that day but after...? Death became all I saw. I briefly shook hands with a foreign exchange student and immediately saw an image of a middle-aged woman lying in a hospital wing. The woman had been the student’s mother and I heard she died a week later. I could not have been responsible for the cancer that claimed her life but I spent weeks feeling guilty about it anyway. There was another incident where I accidentally, and literally, bumped into my English teacher on the way to class. I saw his brother being hit by a bus downtown. His death was announced a month later, on the morning news. When I saw it, I broke down in the middle of the cafeteria and my friend Eri had to take me home.

And it just kept happening.

I became afraid to touch people. I began wearing longer layers during the summer months and started keeping to myself. When even a brush of the hand or bumping into people on public transit could trigger a vision, I started wearing gloves. I got a lot of stares on the subway for wearing itchy winter gloves in the subtropical heat and the knitted fabric made gripping the overhead handholds difficult so I ended up changing to disposable nitrile instead. I got less stares for that but unfortunately, I eventually had to give up public transit entirely when I got squished between two tourists and had a panic attack in the middle of the car.

But giving up public transportation put me in a tough spot. My dorm was pretty far from campus and I didn’t know how to drive. If I really wanted to, I could walk but that would take far too long and make for far too many chances to see another person’s death. And I really didn’t want to ask anyone for a ride because that would just mean more questions and more explanations I wasn’t willing to give.

And yet somehow, I managed to make it work for a time, waking up early to go to class, avoiding hangouts in-between classes and running back to my dorm as soon as I got a chance. But I was still attending classes with lots of people in a crowded lecture hall and living with roommates in a dormitory building. Ultimately, the stress of trying to avoid people while also trying to keep up with increasingly difficult classes caused me to start having nightmares. They were frequent and they were bad. And I knew that these were all things that would someday happen to me: me and a friend being held hostage in an abandoned apartment building, a woman in a suit and sunglasses pointing two machine guns directly at my face, a man didn’t recognize growing steadily colder in my arms as I screamed for him not to leave me...

That following morning, I woke up sobbing—crying as if I wished I was the one who had died instead. When my roommate tried to comfort me, I jerked away out of instinct and immediately realized I’d made a mistake.

And that was it.

I couldn’t it take any more.

About a week later, I left the dorm and found myself a tiny studio apartment, one that I could still afford on my shoestring budget and more importantly, one where I could live completely alone.

Soon after, I dropped out of college and became a shut-in. In true shut-in fashion, I shunned all contact from classmates and friends in case someone came to visit and decide they needed to barge in because they couldn’t—shouldn’t—do such a thing. My apartment had become both my sanctuary and my jail. So long as nothing changed around me, none of the horrible visions would come to pass.

Thankfully, a month into my new lifestyle, the nightmares stopped.

So long as nobody came near me, I wouldn’t have to witness another death with my waking eyes...

I still remembered the night I decided to stop going to class. It was the same night I looked out the windows and saw my own reflection, touched my fingers to my face and pulled them away, confirming that it was indeed blood and not salt tears that dripped down my cheeks. I started avoiding mirrors from that day on and threw myself fully into watching anime, joining fandoms and drawing commissions, anything to distract myself from the invasive, self-destructive thoughts that grew stronger whenever I looked into a reflection of my own eyes.

Yes... Staying was the only solution. If I never stepped out of the apartment again, the world would be spared the sight of my hollow eyes and bloody tears... And I—I would be spared the curse of witnessing things I should never have seen to begin with.

***

“So you’ve been holed up in your apartment for the last six months doing...”

Kunikida frowned, tapping his pen against his chin.

“What exactly? Rent in Yokohama isn’t cheap. How have you been supporting yourself?”

“Commissions,” I explained. “I started watching a lot of anime and playing video games and fans pay good money for drawings of their favorite characters, original characters or even pictures of themselves in a stylized form.”

Summing up my Ability meant practically telling these two my entire life story, not just recalling the events of this morning, and I had to commend the detectives’ patience for sitting through what I would’ve considered a pretty long-winded explanation. Now I was even telling them how I’d stretched my budget and supplemented my allowance.

I held out my hand.

“If I could have some paper and something to write with, I could show you, if you like...?”

Dazai immediately ripped Kunikida’s notebook and pen out of his hands. Ignoring his partner’s protests, he held them out to me and, throwing his arm out to keep Kunikida from taking back his own things, sat back to watch me draw. Within seconds, a coarse outline appeared on the pages, followed by facial features: eyes, nose, hair—a minute later, I handed back Kunikida’s notebook, a quick, rudimentary pen sketch of each detective on its two open pages.

As one, they leaned in to stare at it.

“This is pretty good,” Kunikida said, looking up at me. He squinted down at the page, tracing the lines with his fingers, mumbling, “Does my hair really look like that?”

“It is... isn’t it?” Dazai agreed, rubbing his chin.

As Kunikida puzzled over the drawing, a mischievous glint appeared in Dazai’s dark eyes.

“Kusunoki-san... Have you ever considered a career as a sketch artist?”

At once, Kunikida shot him a warning look.

“Don’t even think about it, Dazai,” he growled, “Making decisions without the President’s approval—”

“I’m not making a decision, only a suggestion,” Dazai declared. “And what’s wrong with a good suggestion?”

“Dazai...”

Ignoring Kunikida entirely, he turned to me.

“Really, I don’t know how we survived like this for so long. We’re a detective agency, one of the best in the city and yet, we don’t have a sketch artist... It’s a shame, don’t you agree, Kusunoki-san? What do you think? Interested in a change of career?”

“Wait... are you asking me to join you?” I asked warily, looking from one detective to the other. “Why would you want someone like me? I can’t fight. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

“I’m asking you,” Dazai said pointedly, “if you would be interested in becoming a sketch artist. I mean, it just so happens that we are in dire need of one—(“No one said that!” Kunikida roared)—and you happen to have the exact skill set we are looking for! Not to mention you’re an Ability User... Just think of all the people you could help.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, looking away, “Wouldn’t someone like me be more of a burden than an asset? I can’t even control my Ability, much less use it to help people—”

“But what if you could control it?”

I froze. Having had no control of my Ability for my entire life, the possibility hadn’t even occurred to me...

“There’s a way?” I asked, looking back up just as Dazai’s grin turned into a triumphant smirk. “How?”

“I could tell you,” he drawled, his smirk growing even wider, “But it’s a closely guarded secret. You’d have to join us if you want to find out... Of course, I’d be more than happy to vouch for you if you’d like to apply—”

“Dazai—!! You—!”

Kunikida was on his feet.

“We can’t just offer a job to every stray Ability User we rescue from the Port Mafia! Atsushi was one thing but—”

“Oh my, so you’d be perfectly fine sending a nice girl like her back into the jaws of the Port Mafia? Really, I thought better of you, Kunikiiiiiida-kun—”

“That’s not what I said!”

“So you agree, we should take her in?”

Kunikida’s face was in his hands.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but it’s not our decision to make! And besides, she’s clearly been through enough, what makes you think she would agree to—”

“I’ll do it.”

Kunikida’s mouth dropped open. He looked stunned.

“You will—? Wait, no, I never said I agreed—”

“Let me apply,” I said, looking him firmly in the eyes. “I want to help people. I’ve always wanted to. Isn’t that what you do here at the Agency? Use your special Abilities to make their lives better?”

“That’s true,” Kunikida admitted, folding his arms over his chest, “But this can be a dangerous job. Especially for a non-combatant. You almost died today! Why do you want to help people so bad? In fact, let me ask you...”

His eyes flashed from behind his glasses, his expression fierce.

“Why did you go so far for a neighbor with whom you weren’t particularly close?”

I glared right back.

“I had to save her.”

“But it sounds like you already did, when you pulled her off the sidewalk—”

“That’s not good enough!” I burst out, startling Kunikida. “How could I say I saved her, truly saved her, if I knew she was going to die in a week and I did nothing to stop it?”

My hands clenched into fists.

“That doesn’t count. Saving someone means seeing it through to the end, to fully committing yourself and doing what’s right! Isn’t that what you did for me? What both of you did to bring me here today?”

Kunikida was struck dumb. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Dazai got to his feet.

“I think it’s about time I take Kusunoki-san back to her apartment,” he said, making his way to the door, his long tanned trench coat swishing elegantly as he moved.

He patted Kunikida on the shoulder.

“I’ll let you think about what we should tell the President later.”

Kunikida instantly flushed an angry, embarrassed pink.

“Dazai, you—”

Ignoring his partner, Dazai called out to me.

“Kusunoki-san? I won’t be taking you back to your original apartment tonight. We’ll be going to one of the Agency’s safe houses instead. After everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Port Mafia had staked out your building and had someone ready and waiting for you at home. And if you’re wondering, Yamazaki-san is on her way to her nephew’s place in Nagano, so you won’t need to worry about her.”

“But what about my things?” I asked, “What am I gonna tell the landlord?”

“It’s already been taken care of,” Dazai replied, opening the door for me. “Shall we?”

[mariamermaid]

Three strikes Ben Mason x Reader Summary: Y/n was with the 2nd Massachusetts from the beginning on. When Ben came to them, they quickly became friends. Within time Ben makes mistakes, and after Maggie having her spikes inserted Ben made his 3rd strike and Y/n showed no more mercy. Words: 2345 Warnings: swearing, spoilers A/N: inspired by the song ‘three strikes’ by Terror Jr. gif credit to owner A strike in baseball results when a batter swings at and misses a pitch, does not swing at a pitch in the strike zone or hits a foul ball that is not caught. A batter is out when he get 3 strikes. It was a game. It was just a game to him and he had just made his 3rd strike. Game over. Strike number one was Maggie. It wasn´t like Y/N hated her, actually the girls went along quite well. But after Maggie had her spikes inserted, something changed. Y/n was with the 2nd Massachusetts from the beginning on, but she was a no one. They saw in her a little girl, who couldn´t protect herself. And so they stopped seeing her and she became invisible. Not for Ben, he stayed with her, star-gazing and talking all night long about things they missed. He laughed with her, when they made small jokes to lift the mood. And he fought with her, not allowing her to leave his sight for any second and having her back at any time. But the moment Maggie got her spikes, he stopped doing all of that. She didn´t blame Maggie for it, not even the spikes. It was his decision. Then his second strike. Ben had stopped talking to her. They had shared their most private and inner thoughts, worries and dreams. After Maggie, she would have taken an apology from him. But he didn´t apologize, heck he just acted like nothing happened. She didn´t care about his new feelings for Maggie, she cared that he didn´t tell her about his feelings and she had to find about it indirectly. And now his last strike. Underestimating her. Y/N still looked at him shocked. Since Ben had been the only one talking to her before, she had been alone since strike one. To distract herself she often went to train, her newest training tool were daggers. And like she knew it would happen, someday Ben would catch her training. “Y/N what are doing here?” He asked surprised, but not in a good way. Y/n didn´t turn around and kept her back to him. She spun the dagger in her hand, aiming it at the next target. She wound up, but Ben suddenly grabbed her wrist. His hand fit around her whole wrist and he applied a strong pressure, strong enough to leave bruises. “Ouh! Ben! What are you doing?” With his other free hand, he grabbed the dagger. “You cannot just train here! And especially not alone!” He explained, getting louder and gripping harder around her wrist at each word. “Ben, you´re hurting me!” He didn´t listen, he never did. Maggie was behind him. Y/N hadn´t realized she was there, but now even she tried to calm him down. “Ben…” She started off, but he didn´t let her talk. „You know you can´t train in here, we need this room.” “What?! And I am not allowed to train? Am I not strong enough? Or is it because I don´t have spikes?!” He yanked her nearer to him and lowered his voice. “No because you are and always be useless.” Game over, asshole. Rage rose in and there was no more getting back. She twisted her hand, to free herself from his grip. Then she spun around and her foot kicked his head down to the ground. In the next second she aimed a gun at him. Maggie stepped back, both surprised and afraid. She knew she couldn´t calm Y/n down. Ben looked up at her, surprised. “If you ever touch or talk to me ever again, Benjamin Mason, I´m gonna shoot that bullet right through your damn head.” Never had Ben or anybody from Charleston seen her like that. But the times of the little girl were over. It was time showing them her real face. With quick steps she left the room, letting Ben lay on the dirty floor. Her feet made quick steps through the halls and when she left the underground system, Maggie and Ben and Tom followed her. Y/N had walked past Tom, who had seen her anger and when he saw Maggie and Ben, he followed her as well. When they arrived overhead, Y/N was already at the vehicles. One of the Berserkers was watching them, making sure no one would just steal a car, but Y/n had a plan. The last feet before the watch, she started sprinting and when the man realized she was about to attack him, it was too late for him. She slid through his legs, jumped off the ground and gave him a blow to the jaw, which made him faint. Rule number one: don’t mess with a girl that knows how to fight. “Y/N! What are you doing?” Tom screamed over to her, which caused even more people to stare at her. Y/N didn´t even thing about answering, jumped instead on a motorcycle and started the motor. A car had just gotten through the gates and they were about to close, but the men closing them looked too surprised at shocked to even think about closing the gates. Especially when they saw that the girl on the bike didn´t slow down the speed and instead stepped even harder on the gas. In the last second Y/n drove through the gates and left Charleston. About a week later, she was still missing. The first few days there were search party’s, but rule number two said if a girl doesn´t want to be found, you won´t find her. The week was a busy week, most people didn´t even think about Y/N by the end of it anymore. Tom was still worried, but he needed to protect Charleston, he couldn´t waste his thoughts on trying to find a girl that didn´t want to be found. Most of the people thought like that, not Ben. Neither his family, nor anyone else in this world had seen him like that. He was the terrible. He didn´t talk, he didn´t eat, he didn´t sleep. All he could was think about her and the things he had done wrong. On Saturday evening Maggie, who was feeling all of Bens emotions, was done. She could feel his inner fight and she could see his feelings for Y/n. She saw that Ben loved that girl and she knew that there was a potential chance of never seeing her again. Maggie had decided to take her spikes out and Anne was way more comfortable taking them out than inserting them. The night from Saturday to Sunday was the worst. Ben didn´t sleep and everybody could hear his screams all night long. He stood on one of the broken buildings, screaming out all his pain. Around 5 a.m. Tom climbed on that building and embraced his son. While lying in his arms, Ben cried. “I´m so sorry Dad.” He repeated all over again. And every time Tom would whisper: “It´s okay.” “What if she´ll never come back? What if I never see her again? I could never apologize!” “She will, Ben. She will.” Ben looked at his father. “How do you know?” Tom just smiled at his son. “Dad?” “Hm?” “I think I love her.” Tom didn´t answer. Of course, he knew about his sons feelings and he knew if Y/n had the same feelings, she would forgive him. Tom and Ben feel asleep around 6p.m. Both having a restless sleep. At 6.30 screams woke them up. The screams woke up most people at Charleston but no one could figure out from where they came from or who screamed. But it didn´t take them long to find out. The gates opened and through them stepped a girl. Scratches and bruises made her seem dirty, like she had never seen a shower before. Her clothes were ripped and had blood stains all over them. Her hair was greasy and put in a messy ponytail. Her face was strained and her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. She looked down and every step she took, took all her energy and power. From the dark circles under her eyes you could see the sleepless nights she had gotten through. And her clenched teeth showed how much it took her to did what she had done. Her hands held a rope tight from her shoulder. The rope led to the ground behind her, where different knots formed a net. In the net there was an alien, not just any alien; an Espheni. One of the Overloads himself. The alien was full of blood and you barely could tell that it once was a full Espheni, because it was so badly hit. Sure the people of Charleston had killed one or two of them, but only in big groups of men and with heavy weapons. Now there was a teenage girl dragging one of them behind. She didn´t look at any of the people until she stopped a few foot away from Tom, Ben, Hal, Maggie, Anne, Colonel Weaver and some other soldiers. The yard was dead silence, everything you could hear was Y/n´s heavy breaths. She dropped the rope and finally looked at someone. First, she stared at Ben, then directly at Tom. Then she turned around, opened the net and took out the head of the Espheni. She held the head high in the air and then screamed. “I am not letting them take my home. They think humans are weak. They think I`m weak. And if anybody ever again underestimates me their head will be next!” She screamed while turning in a circle so everybody could see the head and the anger in her face. The last sentences Y/N said while looking directly at Ben. Then she dropped the head on the ground, which made a dull sound. Y/n made her way through the Mason family and the walked to the showers. After starring at the dead Overlord for some minutes, Ben quickly followed her. He now had the chance to apologize, and he would take his chance. When he entered the Common Bathroom without knocking, which was a pretty stupid idea, he stopped. Y/N stood there in her underwear and the bruised and cuts on her body. Her hair was now open and framed her dirty face. “You have two minutes.” “I am sorry, but I know just apologizing won´t work and I know I was a dick. Because you were there for me. You were there for me when no one wanted to talk to me because they were afraid. You were there for me when I wanted to jump off buildings in the middle of the night, even though you were tired and wanted to sleep. You were there for me when Karen tricked me into freeing her. You were there for all the time when I needed you and when you needed me the most, I left. And I know that leaving you is unforgivable and I can only imagine how you felt, when the only person you had left and trusted, hurt you the most. I don´t know if you can ever trust me again or if our friendship is ruined forever, but for me you were always more than a friend. Those nights on the roof I wanted you there not to watch me, but because we were alone. And you don´t know this, but how often did I held back the urge to kiss you and tell you that everything will be alright and how much I love you. You sat there staring at the stars not knowing in how much pain you put me in, while doing nothing else than just being next to me. But you saw me as a friend and I didn´t want to ruin that, so I kept my mouth shut. Then Maggie got hurt and I wanted to save her, because she is my friend. So, she got my spikes inserted and suddenly all the feelings I had for you, I had for her. I hated me for that and I stopped talking to you, because I could barely look in to your eyes. Next you were training, I freaked out and said things I shouldn´t have said. After all I still tried or at least wanted to protect you, but you didn´t need me and…” “Time is up.” Ben wanted to talk back but Y/n held up her hand, showing him that it was useless. “You are right. I never needed you to protect me. But do you think that I just taught myself to fight like that in a few weeks? No of course not. I trained my whole life. My dad was a Navy Seal, my mom had worked for an Russian secret service. This whole time where you were protecting me, I stayed with you, because you were my friend.” “Were?” She sighed. “Ben look, I don´t think we can be friends anymore. Not like we were.” Y/n took a break, but then kept talking. “Maybe we just need to build a new friendship, but it won´t be the same.” Ben took a step forward. “But Y/N I swear I will try everything!” “It won´t be the same because we might end up being more than just friends.” She smiled and for the first time in weeks, they both smiled at each other… Months later… “Once upon a time there was a place called America… But now going forward because before we were countries, we were human beings. Despite the horror, the loss, the death. The war might had made us even better beings, because we discovered; we are not alone!” Y/n looked to her right were Ben was standing. Next to him Colonel Weaver, then Tom on a pedestal. On the other side Maggie and Hal, Anne and Matt. The crowd was cheering and Y/N smiled, unable to keep a straight face. The occasion was just too happy to not smile. Ben leaned down to her to whisper in Y/N´s ear.” What do you think?” She grinned at him. “Homerun.”

Edit for this imagine–>

[stalialikecrazy]

iridescent

Summary: “You know, my boy. Some of us get dipped in flat, some in satin, and some in gloss…But every once in a while, you find someone who’s iridescent, and when you do, nothing will ever compare.”

A/N: Loosely based on the movie (and book of the same name), Flipped. Summary and title taken from the book. No copyright intended. Written for the @staliasecretsurprises​ Easter Bunny event. Special gift for @celestallison who said she loved aus, childhood friends turned soulmates, and when Stiles and Malia protect each other. Happy Easter, Samantha! I hope you had a great Easter and that you enjoy your Easter Bunny Surprise! Special thanks to @staliasupportsfeminism for all her wonderful work organizing and keeping the Stalia love alive. Apologies in advance for the messed up tenses. I wrote most of it in past tense, but when it came to the home stretch my brain started thinking in present tense, and it completely screwed me over. I’ve tried my best to fix any mistakes I’ve made but I’m sure there have been some that have slipped through. 

All Stiles Stilinski ever wanted was for Malia Tate to leave him alone.

It all started when he was seven. His dad had just taken a new position as Deputy Sheriff in a small, unknown town in the lesser known part of California. Beacon Hills was its name, and well, suffice to say, Stiles hadn’t exactly been thrilled by the move. He had loved his old town – his old life. He was in a good school, with a best friend and the whole world seemed to come crumbling down when his parents sat him down one day and told him the news. Of course, being seven, it wasn’t like he’d ever had much of a choice in the situation.

The drive had taken hours, and at that age, Stiles had a really bad problem with motion sickness. So bad, in fact, that by the time they’d arrived, he had already been sick at least three times, messing up his shirt and trousers in the process. It was the worst. It took ages, but final – finally – he had managed to fall asleep, head upright and nose pressed up against the window. Hey, what can he say? It was the only comfortable position he could find.

When they finally arrived in their new street, Stiles had still been soundly sleeping when his door was abruptly opened, causing him to fall out moments later. Disoriented and completely thrown, Stiles glared up at the person staring down at him – the girl staring down at him. A tall, gangling girl with wild brown hair and brown eyes, though from that angle it almost seemed like they held a tinge of blue. Which made absolutely no sense.

“What’d you do that for?” he snarled irritably, scrambling to his feet.

The girl’s demeanour instantly changed, crossing her arms against her chest. “My mom told me I should be nice and say hi,” she announced grudgingly, nodding in the direction of the woman talking to his parents. “And your dad said I should wake you up, but well, you were kinda dead to the world.” Stiles cringed, the angry tone not really doing much for him, especially since he felt a little dizzy and that all-too-familiar urge to barf again.

The pair stood staring at each other for a moment. Stiles could feel her eyes taking in his appearance, going from stained clothes to the red-mark on his cheek from when it had been pressed up against the window. She sighed. “For the record…” the girl continued without prompting.

However, Stiles never got to hear what the record was. Her talking was interrupted by him and that barf he had mentioned coming up and almost landing on her nice white shoes.

The girl was aghast, but before she could say anything more, Stiles moved, wanting to get away from her as fast as possible. No young boy wanted anyone to see them barf – let alone a girl. He was completely humiliated.

Turning sharply to move towards his house, Stiles faltered for a moment, the quick movement messing with his head. “Whoa…” he muttered, stumbling backwards. It was almost like he was moving in slow moment. He was absolutely sure his butt was about to hit the ground and land in his own barf. Stiles shut his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable that… never came.

With what must have been lightning quick reflexes, the girl had reach out and caught his arm – her hand slipping into his – and steading Stiles so he didn’t fall.

Caught, in more ways than one – Stiles stared blankly at his hand, at the way their fingers automatically intertwined together. He stared and stared, until an uncertain cough sounded from overhead.

Stiles and the girl looked up to see the parents watching them amusedly.

“So Noah, it looks like our son and Malia are getting along great,” Claudia Stilinski remarked with a strange smile that Stiles had no idea what it meant. “Stiles, have you introduced yourself yet to your nice, new friend?”

Immediately, Stiles dropped her – Malia’s (apparently) – hand, wiping away imaginary swear and cooties onto his already dirty trousers. “She’s not my friend! I’ll never be her friend,” Stiles exclaimed indignantly at the same time she said, “I’m not nice, especially not to him.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Stiles before turning and stalking away.

The three adults stared after Malia’s retreating form. The new Deputy Sheriff was the first to speak up, lifting his hands in surrender as Stiles also trudged towards his new home. “I don’t wanna know”, said Noah, before following his son.

Once inside, Stiles stared out the living room window, following Malia as she too entered her house – the one directly across the street.

The two mothers watched their children respectively. Claudia watching Stiles watching the girl. She shared a small, knowing chuckle with Evelyn Tate.

-

Later that evening, Claudia teased her son about his meeting with Malia. And of course, he was still completely embarrassed by the mere mention of her name. Stiles couldn’t believe he had barfed right next to her shoe!

It was horrible. She was horrible. And he told his mother as much.

His mom had simply laughed in response, leaning down to smoosh Stiles’ cheeks together.

“Oh, you never know, my boy, she might just be the girl walking around with your first kiss!”

“Ew! That’s so gross, mom. Don’t you know girls have all sorts of cooties?!” Claudia laughed again at the disgusted frown her son pulled. Which he didn’t understand, at all.

-

Despite what Stiles and Malia had said, the pair were still thrown together a lot in this small town.

It turned out her last name being Tate meant that they had to sit next to each other through most of their classes together. It completely sucked. Stiles would have much rather sit next to his new best friend, Scott McCall or even the pretty strawberry blood girl that Scott got to sit next to. But no, Stiles was stuck with the increasingly grumpy and growling Malia.

To make matters worse, because they were neighbours, Stiles and Malia were forced to walk to and from the bus stop together.

“You should never let a young lady walk home alone, son,” his dad had said when Stiles had complained, and of course, Stiles always listened to his dad.

Even if he hated it.

Probably the only good thing about being forced to spend so much with Malia was that she was fearless. No matter what, she didn’t like bullies and when Jackson Whittemore started stealing Stiles’ lunch money at school, the former had mysteriously ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye one day at lunch. And from that day onwards, Jackson never bothered Stiles or Scott again.

Don’t be mistaken though, Malia wasn’t nice in the slightest. At least, not with Stiles.

She got on really well with Scott and Kira and Alison and Isaac. Just not Stiles. And that totally wasn’t his fault. And he wasn’t jealous. Not in the slightest.

The only thing Stiles liked about Malia was her younger sister. Kylie idolized Mala, always running up to meet them after school – usually carrying a treat for Malia, and usually telling her sister to share with Stiles which Malia would always do. Grudgingly, of course, but she did all the same.

Also, Malia and Kylie spent a lot of weekends at Stiles’ house, or vice versa. And so he kind of had to sort of be her friend. Even if they never said it out loud.

It didn’t change anything though. And it wouldn’t change anything as they grew older. Stiles was sure of it. He still wished Malia Tate would leave him alone.

Except when he didn’t.

-

Stiles pretty much decided from the moment he met her, that he loved Lydia Martin, and that she was the girl walking around with his first kiss. For some reason, this proclamation annoyed Malia to no end and she refused to talk to Stiles whenever he brought up Lydia. Which meant Stiles just talked about her more.

It was an added bonus, really.

He could ask Scott all the questions he wanted about Lydia and Malia would usually roll her eyes and walk away. This tactic doesn’t change over the next few years and it’s pretty much perfect.

By the time he was twelve, Stiles has also decided he’s going to marry Lydia one day. He has it all planned out – a five-year plan, to be specific, to get Lydia to fall in love with him. It’ll be slow but he has no doubt in his mind that he can make it happen. He just has to get her to fall for his charm.

-

“Son, there’s been a horrible accident.”

These words haunt Stiles for three days when he woke up one morning to find out Malia’s mom and sister were in the hospital, and Malia was missing. It was the first time since he’d met her that Stiles had felt the urge to vomit.

His mom and dad won’t talk about it around him, but he pressed his ear up against the door to listen to them talking. Whatever. He needed to know these things. His dad has just been promoted, so he has been kept informed about every part of the investigation.

“The leading theory is she’s been dragged off by coyotes. If we don’t find her in the next day…”

The way Stiles’ dad’s voice trailed off, and the horrible sobbing of his mom was too much for him to bear.

Up until now, he hasn’t been allowed to help. His mom had said he was too young and his dad had been too busy with the search party that he’d never really been given the opportunity to volunteen. But there was need – a drive – inside Stiles that would not be stopped. He couldn’t explain it. It didn’t matter how irrational it sounded. For some unknown reason it felt like finding Malia was his responsibility. He just... he really needed to make sure she was okay. 

It took Stiles all of thirty seconds to decide that if he was ‘not allowed’ to help, well, then he’d just have to run away.

He didn’t get far, of course.

Less than an hour later, Noah had found his son hiking along the side of the road towards the Beacon Hills woods.

“Son…” Noah had tried to reason but Stiles cut him off before he had a chance.

“Dad, I can’t not help,” Stiles argued without provocation. “It’s been three days, and I’m going crazy! I know her. I know where she might have gone. If you just… just trust me… let me help find her. I can do this, I know I can.”

He didn’t realise how close he was to tears until the cool night air blew against his wet cheeks, stinging his eyes.

Noah sighed deeply. “Okay, son, let’s do it together then. What do you say?”

-

They searched all night, until Stiles’ feet were dragging behind him, but the young boy had never been more determined in his life. There were others out combing the woods, too - Stiles heard their calls all throughout the night - but there was something deep inside him telling him that he would be the one to find Malia.

-

And he was.

There are bruises all over her face, her leg is broken and her body is shaking with cold but she’s alive and conscious. 

Stiles never left her side once while they waited for his dad to get the ambulance. He shushed her once when she tried to speak, but only because she seemed so weak, her breathing shallow and teeth chattering loudly in the cold early morning air.

His hand held hers tightly until her dad arrived, and even then Stiles was reluctant to let go. Malia seemed equally as reluctant but she was safe now.  And that’s all that mattered.

- 

Stiles visited Malia a couple of days later in the hospital. 

He hadn’t really expected to say anything because he’d heard his dad say that Malia wasn’t speaking to anybody. And yet, after he’d entered and sat in silence by her bedside for a really long time, she’d said, “It was all my fault,” in a really soft whisper that Stiles had barely heard. 

It wasn’t true, of course. And Stiles had told her as much, but Malia kept shaking her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. 

Stiles didn’t know what to do. He wanted to help her, but being only twelve, he kind of felt at a complete loss. So, he did what his mom always did for him when he was really sad. Stiles stood, grabbed a tissue and helped wiped her tears away. 

Eventually, he ended up sitting next to Malia on the hospital bed watching old episodes of The Simpsons, all the while holding her hand. 

“I told them, I wished they were all dead, and then they... almost...” Malia said quietly just as Homer was about to do something stupid. “I...so I tried to run to find help, but I...couldn’t... I didn’t.... ” 

“Malia, listen to me,” Stiles said assertively, turning his body to meet her gaze, squeezing her hand as he tried to comfort her. “This was not your fault. None of it was. I over heard my dad, and he’d said that a deer had jumped out in front of the car. There was nothing you could have done.” 

Malia closed her eyes and nodded, blinking back tears. Her eyes remained closed after that, and Stiles was beginning to think she had fallen asleep when he felt her squeeze his hand back. 

- 

“Thank you for finding me.”

“Anytime.” 

-

By the time Malia had fully recovered from the accident, it had only just dawned on Stiles that he and Malia are actually more than the enemies/sort-of friends that he’d thought they were.

-

When Stiles turned fifteen, he decided it was high time he put his plan into action and finally ask Lydia out on a date. He’d been talking about it for forever, but up until now, he had always found reasons to put it off.

He could admit, it’s a little more difficult than simply asking her because, well, she still didn’t even know his name.

-

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Stiles looked at Malia purposefully, waiting for her to answer. The question is a little out of the blue, but whatever. He was thinking about what it would be like to kiss a girl and Malia was just there, sitting beside him and he began to wonder…

“Why do you want to know?” Malia asked in return, looking at him skeptically. It’s really unnerving when she does that, like she can read his mind.  

“I…”

“If this is about Lydia, Stiles, I swear to god I’m going to hit you.”

“What? No, no… no.” But he guessed from the way his gaze shifted, no longer meeting hers, that she could tell the truth.

Malia sighed deeply. “Not that it matters, but no, I haven’t.”

Stiles can’t really categorise the relief he felt when he heard this.

So…he doesn’t try to.

“Well, do you ever think who it could be?” he asked. “You know, ‘the first guy’ you’re gonna kiss.” 

Stiles doesn’t get to hear her answer though. They’re interrupted by the gang coming out of the diner anyway, so they just drop the matter.

-

Or so he thought.

-

“Well, do you?” he prompted a little while later when they’re walking home together. Honestly, Stiles tried to drop it, but it still lingered on his mind all day. It was seemed like his brain just didn’t want to let it go.

“If I think about ‘the guy’?” Malia asked, giving Stiles an odd look beforeshrugging. “No, not really.” 

She already knew what he was talking about without asking, but Stiles doesn’t even try to look into what that might mean on a deeper level. He’s too distracted, because he knew for a fact that Isaac wanted to last month and they were getting really close – a little too close for Stiles’ liking but it’s not like he had any say in the matter.

“Why?” 

His follow up question earned him another strange look but by this point Stiles figured he might as well go for broke.

Malia just shrugged again. “Just because.”  But she does this thing with her nose she always does when she’s lying, so Stiles still can’t help but press even more. 

“Because why?”

Malia paused mid-stride, turning to look at Stiles in a shrewd, calculating manner that once again made him feel like she could read his mind.

“Why do you want to know, Stiles?” she repeated her question from earlier.

This time, it’s Stiles’ turn to falter. “Well, I don’t know, I guess I just thought maybe we could try…” Stiles let his voice train away and they stare at each other for what felt like forever.

He had absolutely no clue where that idea came from because he wasn’t even thinking it, but for some reason, he really wanted to know what it would be like to kiss Malia. Perhaps it’s because of that idea his mother planted in his head all those years ago, and now he’s old enough to actually think about what it might mean. He doubted it. But it is a possibility.

They’re both silent for a really long time, and Stiles doesn’t dare look away. His heart is pounding so loudly in his chest that he is almost certain Malia can hear.

Finally, Malia rolled her eyes, looking away before she continued walking. “No.”

Something akin to disappointed welled up inside Stiles when he heard the finality in her voice but he pushed it aside so he could catch up to her.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to kiss you while you wish you were kissing someone else.”

“I wouldn’t…”

The look Malia shot over her shoulder was enough to make Stiles shut up. This time, he knew the conversation was done. 

It wasn’t a lie though. He wasn’t thinking about anyone else when he’d asked. Stiles doesn’t try to analyse what that might mean. He’s still determined to ask Lydia out because, well, he loves her and all, but Malia is different from Lydia.

Don’t ask him in what way.

She just is.

Under normal circumstances, Stiles might have noticed that Malia never said she would never kidd him. Just that, she didn’t want to kiss him right now. But Stiles wasn’t paying. As usual.

-

Stiles never got around to asking Lydia out that year. Or any other time, for that matter. And he’d had the perfect opportunity and everything.  

He and Lydia had met randomly while he was out buying a birthday present for Malia. She had called his name and even flirted with him a little bit. Which was... wow. But then Stiles realised that the shock that Lydia Martin knew his name wasn’t even half as exciting as those few seconds he thought that maybe, just maybe, Malia had considered saying yes.

-

The summer that Stiles turned sixteen was the worst of his life.

It started off like any other. Hanging out with Scott, Malia and the rest of his his friends, dreaming wistfully of when he can get his licence and officially be allowed to drive, and trying to ask work up the courage to ask Malia out on a real date.

Stiles can admit that it was a little weird that he still hasn’t asked her yet. Especially since they still spend as much time with each other as they always have, but… Stiles wanted it to be just right when he asked.

That idea got shot to hell when he walked into the kitchen one morning to find his mom and dad talking in soft voices, both their faces streaked with tears.

Sure, his mom has been acting a little strange lately, but like, nothing serious. She might have been a little more emotional than Stiles would have guessed when he graduated from Junior High, and there was that weird fixation on the neighbor’s cat that she had been incomprehensibly angry with. And there was that time he’d walked into the house and she’d screamed bloody murder about him being an intruder... 

But still… his mom was still his mom. She still loved him with all her heart. She’d even started doing more spontaneous things now that he was older. Like that time she let him skip school so they could dress up in cosplay and watch a triple feature of all the original Star Wars movies at the town theatre.

It was all perfectly normal... kinda. 

But then Stiles learned that his parents have known about this for a while, but they’d kept it from him so he didn’t worry.

Things have apparently gotten worse, to the point where the doctors think it would be best if his mom is admitted to hospital full time. There is a sense of denial when his dad is explaining all this to him, even with his mom sobbing at the table next to him. It just felt way too surreal.

His mother is dying. And there was not a damn thing he could do to stop it.

-

Stiles doesn’t tell anyone but somehow they all still find out any way.

Only Scott is allowed into the hospital room at first because he’s Stiles’ best friend and Mama McCall is the nurse on shift during the day. Plus it would just be way too hard with the all the rest there too. Stiles doesn’t think he could deal with all their sad faces.

Of course, Malia doesn’t let that stop her, but then again, he never really expected it to. 

Stiles walked out of his mom’s room that night to find Malia sleeping in the waiting room just outside, her hair as ruffled and messy as that first day he met her. For some unknown reason, the memory comforted Stiles and he smiled.

He took a seat next to her, and her eyes opened to look at him, blearily. They don’t say anything because there really isn’t anything to say and they’ve never been particularly good with words anyway. But Malia moves her head so that it’s resting on Stiles shoulder and they kind of just stay like that, which is... it’s everything. 

-

It only took a few more weeks before his mom started to act more erratically, worse than Stiles had ever seen her before. She absolutely hated the room at the hospital and Stiles often found her wandering the halls, completely lost. 

After that, Malia moved where she sat whenever she knew Stiles needed to leave to do something, like eat or sleep or have a proper shower.

-

Late one night Stiles entered his mother’s room to find them playing a game on Malia’s laptop. From the sound of it, it’s extremely violent and gore-y and his mom apparently loves it. Both Malia and his mother didn’t even acknowledge his presence when he does, and the only indication that they know he is there is when Malia shifted over in her seat to allow Stiles to sit too.

Their conversation is all over the place, and Stiles chimed in every now and again when he can, but it’s the first time in over a week that his mom has smiled. He doesn’t want to do anything that will make it go away again.

It all felt so normal, so ‘every day’, that he never wanted it go away.

Around midnight the night shift nurse entered and tried to kick Malia out. Stiles could tell straight away that his mom didn’t want that, and of course, he didn’t either, especially if it’ll upset his mom. He didn’t even realise he and Malia were holding hands as she sat next to his mom, watching the game, until he was squeezing her hand tightly in his, worried that she might actually leave.  

“I’m afraid only family are allowed after hours, sweetheart. Sorry.” the nurse had instructed, even if she couldn’t have sounded less sorry if she tried. But then Malia did something so defiant and bold that it made Stiles’ jaw drop in awe.

“Well, then too bad for you, because Stiles and I are going to be married one day, which makes us family,” she replied with such certainty, such conviction that the nurse is completely taken aback. The emphasis on the last word was unmistakable, and the nurse can only look at the three of them like they’ve somehow melded into a horrific three-headed monster.

The look on her face was so funny that it made his mom laugh. She laughed so hard and so long that Malia and Stiles couldn’t help but join in, while the nurse just backed away slowly.

Malia and his mom continue playing their game for another couple of hours but at some point he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Stiles knew he was opening eyes to see Malia curled up in the chair next to him, head resting beside his. 

Stiles blinked, confused. His mom has stopped playing the game and Malia is still here.

But that wasn’t not even the confusing part. 

Stiles blinked again, looking down and staring at where their hands were still linked.

“You know, my boy…” Stiles jumped a little, glancing up to see his mother watching them curiously, a small, vaguely familiar kind of smile on her lips. “Some of us get dipped in flat, some in satin, and some in gloss…But every once in a while, you find someone who’s iridescent, and when you do, nothing will ever compare.”

“I… I don’t know what that means,” Stiles replied honestly in a hoarse whisper, shaking his head. To his surprise, his mom just sat there and continued to smile, her gaze floating over to where his dad sat in another chair opposite the bed, also sleeping. This idea, whatever it was, sounded so strange that Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if his mother had slipped into that realm where she wasn’t all there anymore.

But then she replied confidently, more certain than he’d seen in a while. “You will, my boy. Some day you will. Some day your mind will catch up and when it does you’ll know it. I have no doubt.”

And he did eventually. It took him years, but his mind did finally – finally – catch up with his heart. 

-

There were times when Stiles was almost hopeful that the doctors were wrong. It just seemed too impossible for there to one day be a world that didn’t have his mom in it.

-

Of course, he was the one that was wrong.

-

Stiles can’t really remember much after that.

The entirety of his mom’s funeral was a blur of people and faces that he can’t recall. What he did remember, however, was that Malia’s hand never left his, not once.

And that, in itself, was enough to help him survive the day.

-

Time continued to pass, one day at a time. Some days are completely unbearable, and others… are only a little less unbearable. But Malia is there through it all to help shoulder the burden, and for that Stiles will be eternally grateful.

-

He doesn’t really know when he fell into this hand holding thing with Malia, but it just… felt right.

-

What they have was completely unspoken. They never even put a proper label on it or anything. Like some girls will go around gushing about their boyfriend or whatever, but Malia never did that. It had just become a given fact that they were together, even if they weren’t ‘officially’ together.

-

It didn’t even strike Stiles until weeks - months - later that they still hadn’t kissed yet.

But he was okay with that. 

His mother was right. 

Someday Stiles knew that his mom’s prediction would come true.  Malia Tate was walking around with his first kiss. She was also walking around with a lot more than that too. And although he knew that they both still weren’t quite ready yet, Stiles was sure it would be someday soon.

[rhinozilla]

I accidentally deleted the request, but I had the prompt saved in a word file!

“Hello<3 would it be too much to ask for you to write a second part to the one shot where daryl's been bit? I really wanna know what happens when he wakes up”

Sequel to this prompt

http://rhinozilla.tumblr.com/post/155979061647/daryl-saves-rick-from-a-walker-and-then-gets-bit

Also, I wrote this weeks before the finale yesterday, and now my heart hurts.

--

“Zero tolerance for walkers…or them to be.”

“That what you’d want, if it was you?”

“Yeah, and I’d thank you while you did it.”

A hacksaw, a splatter of blood on the department store roof, and Merle’s hand…but no Merle.

“If she saw you comin’, she would RUN in the other direction man!”

“Kick off them high heels and climb, boy.”

Hershel crying out as Rick swung the axe down again…and again…and again…

Rick running the hacksaw back and forth…back and forth…back and forth…someone screaming…

“Is that why I lost my hand?!”

“You lost your hand ‘cause you’re a simple minded piece a’shit!”

“Nine lives, remember?”

Daryl jerked awake with a shudder and a gasp, eyes flying open and finding a white panel ceiling overhead. Whatever strength he had had to wake up immediately fled, leaving a heavy emptiness that pushed him down into the mattress again…along with a hand at his shoulder.

“Easy, easy…” Sasha.

Daryl closed his eyes briefly, took a composing breath, and then opened them again, looking for the source of her voice and finding Sasha sitting in a chair next to him. The edges of his vision were cloudy, and it was hard to focus.

Sasha meant Hilltop. Hilltop meant Maggie and the others. That meant safe.

That connection unconsciously let his nerves relax a little, but that was quickly being eclipsed by a dull throbbing pain in his left arm that was sharpening with every passing heartbeat. He lifted his shoulder a bit in an effort to jostle the pain away, but that proved to be a monumental mistake, as liquid fire seemed to ignite through the veins of his arm. He yelped and twisted a bit, as though to escape the pain of his own body.

“Whoa, easy, Daryl, hey, look at me,” Sasha was saying, and he tried to focus on her.

Unfortunately, instinct won out, and he looked down at his arm.

Nothing registered at first. Everything hurt too much, and it made his brain thick. He stared at the mass of bandaging at his elbow…not completely comprehending that there was nothing left of his arm past the elbow…The bandages were red at the end…the end….the END…

He exhaled hard in a rush and bonelessly dropped his head back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes hard and tried to breathe, tried to keep from throwing up, feeling his stomach rolling at the image burned into his eyelids.

“God, Daryl…” Sasha sounded half exasperated, half soft. “Okay…Shh…It’s…Shh…”

Daryl lifted his other hand…his only hand…and pressed the heel of it against his forehead. He pushed on it, trying to find an anchor in the pressure there…something else to focus on…something else…something else…anything else…

“You’re at the Hilltop,” Sasha abruptly spoke. Her voice was firm and something to grapple at. “You and Rick made it back. Rick is okay. You’re both alive. You were bit—“

A shameful keening noise clawed out of his throat, and he pushed his hand against his forehead harder. Even as she said it, he remembered flashes. Just agony…cold earth under him…Rick taking the hacksaw…He remembered wanting to die right then and there…just to make it stop…

“Rick amputated in the field,” Sasha went on. “Got you back here. Doc here patched you up best he could…That was two days ago. There’s no fever, no other signs of…It didn’t take hold.”

Daryl peeled his eyes open, forcefully breathing through his nose. Out of his periphery, Sasha leaned in, more directly into his line of sight. Sasha had always had a wall of a face; it was the only way he could think to describe it. When she was upset, when she was pissed, when she was sad or happy or conflicted or any emotion he’d ever seen out of her, her face had always had a firm, unyielding look to it. Even when she was soft…there was a steeliness there. It frustrated the tar out of him most days, when he thought she was hiding behind it or acting tougher or more knowing than she was…but other days, days like this…Shit, he was grateful for it.

He wasn’t in his mind enough to know not to stop staring at her. He was terrified that if he looked away from that kind of anchoring presence, he’d get lost in the horror of it all. Sasha just stared back, her brows knit together and her eyes full, but everything about her expression impregnable. His brain sluggishly digested what she’d been saying.

“Two…days?” His voice came out hoarse and broken, and his throat was like sandpaper.

Sasha nodded. “Yeah. Doc kept you sedated.” She spoke as she reached out of his line of sight, bringing back a bottle of water with a straw in it. “He had this wild idea that you might wake up and be an uncooperative patient…You sure you two’ve never met?”

She was speaking just to fill the empty air, and he appreciated it. He took his hand from his forehead, feeling his skin stick a bit from the sweat, and he held the water bottle. His fingers were shaking so badly that he nearly dropped it, and Sasha wordlessly helped him hold it as he greedily drank.

The water hit his dry and shredded throat, and the relief was so strong that his eyes started to water. That involuntary response seemed to trigger everything else, and before he could get his wits to stop it, tears were filling his eyes and breaking past his temples. His breath hitched, and he nearly choked. Sasha withdrew the water bottle and set it aside.

“Breathe…” she coaxed, patting his forearm before taking his hand in hers. “You’re gonna get through this. The worst part is over, but you just got the hard part to go. And you’re not going through this alone, you hear?”

Carol, soaked to the forearms in Hershel’s blood, trying to keep him alive.

Finding an iron heated over a stove, where Merle had cauterized his stump on his own.

The iron…pressing against some sumbitch’s face as Negan’s whole community watched.

“The hard part…” he wheezed, clearing his throat and wincing at the ripples of discomfort that moved through him. “What part of any of this is supposed to be the hard part?”

He pinched his eyes closed briefly to clear away the tears and slowly turned his head to look at Sasha. Sympathy was rampant across her features, and she pursed her lips before schooling her expression into something more sustainable. Both of her hands folded around his remaining one comfortingly, and, surprisingly enough, he took comfort in it.

“I guess that’d be the part where you decide if this beats you or not.”

Daryl grimaced and looked at the ceiling again.

Sasha shifted a bit, taking one of her hands back to rustle something out of her pocket, from that jacket that had been Bob’s before she inherited it. “Hey, I pilfered these out of your jacket…Figured you might want one when you woke up.”

He slid a look toward her and found her holding a cigarette and a lighter. A bubble of dark humor touched the edge of his mind.

“S’a hospital room?” he grunted.

Sasha glanced around and then winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. I think you’ve earned it.”

He took the cigarette and lit it himself, taking a short puff on it. That first breath of nicotine helped in ways that he hadn’t thought possible in that moment. He tried to look as grateful as he could, and Sasha gave a grin.

“Looks like I win the bet. I told Greg you were a tough bastard,” she tutted.

He swallowed smoke and let it burn his lungs for a second before exhaling. Bob’s jacket tugged his thoughts back to those days on the road, listening to them two play their game of finding the good in bad situations. Bob and his damn infuriating optimistic attitude.

His hand was gone…but he was alive. His getting bit hadn’t cost anyone else their lives yet. Everybody else was okay.

Maybe that was all the good he could find today.

“Thanks.”

[ecotone99]

[RF] The Isle

(ANY EVENTS OR CHARACTERS IN THE STORY ARE NOT BASED OF ANY REAL LIFE PEOPLE OR EVENTS. ANY CONNECTIONS ARE COMPLETE COINCIDENCES. THIS IS A COMPLETELY FICTION STORY.)

Chapter 1 The Time Before

10:30 AM June 18 1989

The weather that day was horrible, the storm thundering outside the window. The pitter patter of the rain against the bedroom window. A small boy with messy brown hair atop his head slowly woke out of his slumber. He tossed and turned for a good bit before eventually giving up and sitting up. His emerald green eyes opening to see the room. He was tired but not tired enough to not notice the smell of bacon upon the air. He pushed the blankets off himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed and into his slippers. The warmth felt through his toes and up the rest of his foot. He stood up with a yawn and stretched his arms and began to walk down the stairs from his bedroom. His mother was down there cooking breakfast, her ginger hair cascading down her shoulders. “Good morning Matt sweetie, did you sleep well?” said His mother. Matt replied, “Yes mamm, i slept quite well. What's for breakfast?”. His mother showed him the bacon and eggs. She finished cooking breakfast and set the food down on the plates for the two of them. He thanked her and finished his breakfast in around 10 minutes. The two were going on vacation to Hawaii that day. They had been working and saving for it for quite some time. Matt helped clean out the dishes. He had a smile on his face. His thoughts running rampant throughout his head of the vacation that was to come. He had packed the night before so there was nothing to worry about packing. He had packed his pocket knife in his luggage. They lived in San Francisco so they never lived far from an airport. He walked back up the stairs to get dressed. Pulling a red t-shirt over his head and pulling on some jeans. His mind spinning still from the prospect of Hawaii. He couldn’t believe that this was going to be the life he lived for the next two weeks. They were gonna be staying with some family there so they didn’t have to worry about hotels and such. Matt helped his mother load the bags into the car. He was a bit wet from the rain but it wasn’t much. He soon got into the passenger seat of the car. The obvious smile on his face. He was definitely optimistic about this trip. It had been oh so long since he had seen his aunt last. Whom they were staying with. The car began to move as his mother drove their way to the airport. His mind wanders the possibilities of the trip. They arrive at the airport, parking the car on the 7th floor. They unloaded the bags and eventually made their way to the bag drop off and took their stuff to the security check point. Matt looks around the security area. There were 3 lines with three metal detectors and 3 x ray machines. He set his filled book bag onto the conveyer belt. He turns to his right and walks through the metal detector without any problem. Picking up his bag on the other side. He waited for his mother on the other side. She soon came through. They gathered their belongings and began to walk down the long corridor to their gate. They waited until their group was called to board the plane. Matt looked down the light gray metal jetway. He looks out onto the large jet. He was throughly excited for the flight. He gives the gate agent his ticket and walks down the gateway. His mind spinning from the joy of being able to fly for the first time. He was smiling widely. He got on and put his bag overhead and sits down in the chair. He felt tired all the sudden. Come to think of it, he didn’t sleep much last night. He was generally a quiet person and such. He was what you would call a nerd. He liked being calm versus being a party guy. He laid his head against the hull of the aircraft, and fell into sleep… Chapter 2

Chapter 2 The Isle

Matt was soon awoken by the shaking of the cabin. The seatbelt sign dinging signaling that they were to stay in their seats. Matt brushed some of his brown messy hair out of his face. Looking around the cabin, he then looks out the window seeing the wing starting to shake. Fear flooding his senses. He could feel every painstaking movement from the plane. One thought running through his head, ‘Don't snap, Don't snap, don't snap!’. Well that was more of the censored way it was going through his head. The next bump got even worse, his worst fears were soon confirmed by the sudden spinning of the plane. Everything stuck to a wall someway or another. Matt’s head started pounding trying to withstand the force that was felt. The wing he was right next to snapped off the plane. The sound of tearing metal and other materials ringing through his ears. That wing pulled a chunk of the hull out of the plane. Sucking passengers out. Matt held on for dear life until a seat buckle hit him hard in the face knocking him unconscious. His limp body fell from the plane into the sea below. Several hours later he felt himself come back to reality. Remembering the whole ordeal. He could pull himself together if he tried. He eventually pulled himself out of the wet sand. He then vomited profusely. This comes from the immense amount of sea water that he swallowed. He couldn't think straight. Flashes of home and the plane flying through his head. He pulled himself up again, now more conscious than before. He looked around the beach he was on. His eyes wide thinking about how lucky he was to be alive. He glared at the jungle and then thought about what had been taught to him when he was in the boy scouts. God that was a long time ago. He looked around for something to use for a walking stick. Only one thing was on his mind. Water. His throat was dry and scratchy. He found a good stick to use as a walking stick. It was around 4ft long and straight. He began to trek through the wilderness of the island. This island wasnt that big. It was only like a mile wide or so. It was quite small. He searched and searched until he heard that magical sound. A running river. Or a stream he wasnt sure but it had to be fresh water. He ran quickly into the direction of the noise. Seeing the stream from a few feet away overjoyed him. He didn't care about when the next episode of Cheers, Golden Girls or Doogie Howser was (How many of you guys know what those are?). All he cared about was the fact that he had water. He collapsed on the side of the bank. Drinking the water directly from the stream. He had water. He just had to remember where this was. He looked around and eventually found a spot that he could set up his camp. He began to place sticks and twigs around in a pyramid fashion. He worked for at least 3 hours in just this tiny horrible shelter. It didn't even work. Seeing the sun setting over the treetops he laid inside his shelter. And fell back into sleep.

9:30 AM June 19th 1989 His eyes slowly opened to the glaring sunlight. He thought the entirety of yesterday was a dream. He stood up from his shelter. Realizing that yesterday was real. That though quiet kid collapsed on the ground once more. One thing running through his head. His mother. He began to sob. “M-mom… mom where are you!” He said, starting to sound like a small child. Tears streaming down his face. He screamed out into the forest. “WHY ME! WHY AM I STILL HERE AND SHE ISN'T!” He screamed out in a sad loud voice. His loud voice soon dwelled back deep inside him. He cried to himself. Not thinking about his next meal. Not thinking about anything else. Only thinking about his mother. Whom he presumed was dead. He couldn't think properly. He curled back into a ball and muttered to himself. ‘M-mom….’

Chapter 3 The Pig

3:00 pm June 19th 1989 Matt’s mind was acting like a broken record. He was only stuck on her. He got himself together after his well, episode this morning. He let himself get back to work. Drinking the water from the stream once again. He was clear minded again, now taking a second look at his shelter thinking that he needed to redo it thought of one thing now, the beach. Maybe he could find something that could help him. He used sticks stuck into the ground to mark the way back to camp. He wanders around the beach. His heart began to beat faster when he saw what he hoped he would see. Luggage, and debris. He began to pick up anything he found. Several suitcases, metal from the plane, parts of pallets and so far the prize of the crop. 2 rolls of duct tape. He brought his treasure trove back to camp. He began to sort through the luggage. Only finding clothing and stuff you would take traveling. Not much he could use but it could work. One thing he was overjoyed to find was a lighter. It didn't work cause it was waterlogged. One of the best things he found in that whole luggage was a pocket knife. That was his only weapon. This island could try to kill him but as long as he had that knife he felt unstoppable. He eventually found a large branch to start to dig a hole in the ground. Thinking that it would be easier to do than to have to engineer a whole other shelter. He worked on that for another 3 or 4 hours. He placed a few pieces of metal from the plane over the whole to make a roof. He sat down on the side of the bank. He listened to the water running down the stream. He felt it extremely calming. He felt his stomach start to cramp from not having enough food in the past day and a half. He looked for that stick he had used the day before as a walking stick and used the knife to make it into a spear. Hoping that it could work. He made a few extras with nearby saplings and then went off deeper into the forest. One roll of duct tape around a strap he made with some of said tape to hold it. He listened mostly for the sound of an animal that he could possibly kill. One thing he knew was meat was quite nutritious. And it could keep him alive. It was then when he saw it. A pig or a hog. He couldn't tell. He readied his spear raising it above his head. Looking at it. It soon turned around and looked him right in the eyes. This look, he couldn't do it. He wanted to kill this creature but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He lowered his spear and approached the pig. He soon realized that it wasn't a pig or a hog. But a small piglet that was all alone, he now knew why he couldn't kill it. He picked it up in his arms and took it back to camp and let it roam about. He began to feed it and tried to make sure that it was safe. He left it in the shelter and soon went out to the beach. Using his spears to try to spear fish. He did eventually catch enough food for that night. He used grass and berries to feed the piglet. He eventually named this piglet George after realizing it was a male. He went to sleep that night with that piglet in his arms.

Chapter 4 The New Life

August 24th 1991

It had been three years since Matt had arrived on the Isle which he had come to call it. George is still doing well. Each day he goes out, feeds and comes back to sleep. Life had been well quite uneventful for the past 3 years. Matt had scavenged during his time, he did eventually find a notebook and a pen and began to write. Writing down his own story. His mind wasn't ever the same as it was. Matt had no longer cared about his mother’s death. His life got quite boring and he killed things just for the adrenaline. He survived because that's what he found quite interesting. He just couldn't seem to die. His cycle went day in and day out with the same routine. He was wondering one day if he should try to escape..

September 19th 1991

Matt awoke one day to something that he couldn't ever comprehend. The sound of children playing. That sound he remembered oh so well. The only thing he cherished was his childhood. Matt was now a 19 year old man. He no longer comprehended compassion or love. Matt wandered out to where he heard the voices, he saw what he had hoped to see. People. A boat. A way home. He screamed out. “FINALLY! I KNEW SOMEONE WOULD COME!” The family who had visited the isle took him and George back to where they were staying which happened to be Maui Hawaii. This was the end of his time on the island. But not the end of his story.

Epilogue August 12th 2017 Dear Reader, I was welcomed back into society with open arms. What was left of my family that i visited both before and after had said that i wasn't the same as before. i said the following in an interview years after my incident. “I am a different person than when I went in. I admit it. My mind is broken. I have never been the same since I woke up on that island. Even after I learned to live with my worst mistakes. I did things on that island that no human should ever have to go through. The only thing that kept me going w-w-was…” I had begun to tear up. “The adrenaline of killing things. I was going insane. In a way bloodlust was what kept me going. I am actually glad that I was the only one on that island. Because I think I could have ended up killing another human being…. I was becoming a mindless killer. I-i-i didn't want that to happen to me. But the human mind isn't something you can easily control, it's like a bucking bronco, thrashing around in moments of stress and trauma, And if it hurts itself it doesn't heal.” Within the time between this interview and a few documentaries’ that were done on My behalf, I was in therapy to try and reverse the effects of the island on my mind. On that island, saying life was difficult is an understatement, it was torture. I suffered years and years after, mentally and physically. I haven't traveled since in fear of what could happen. I am not a psychotic killer anymore. My life got better. And with that I leave you with this… “Life is more than just surviving, life is thriving. Don't let Life get in the way of you thriving.”

Yours Sincerely, Matt Halladay

January 1st 2085

To Whomever it might concern,

Matt lived as normal of a life after the letter above. This book was made in his memory. Seeing that the isle was sunken many many years ago, I believed that it was needed to tell my grandfather’s story. My grandfather was a kind man who had eventually married a sweet woman who gave birth to my mother. Who then married my father who then gave birth to me. His stories were what taught me about how awful the quality of life when you are stranded or not have any human contact for years on end. I hope that this story can inspire you to remember that life isn't going to stop for you and your mind isnt going to cooperate with you all the time, but it can do the best for you as well. Thank you for reading this.

Yours Sincerely Rebecca Jones-Halladay

The END

(ANY EVENTS OR CHARACTERS IN THE STORY ARE NOT BASED OF ANY REAL LIFE PEOPLE OR EVENTS. ANY CONNECTIONS ARE COMPLETE COINCIDENCES. THIS IS A COMPLETELY FICTION STORY.)

submitted by /u/Leaf3137 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3bcS9td

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, chapter 13

[Summary:  Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

***This chapter contains descriptions of an injury and a procedure some may find disturbing***

on FF.net/on AO3]

Demyx woke on Lea's couch with the sun directly in his eyes. It was very early—courtesy of going to bed before eight—and he was groggy and vaguely headachy. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair.

He noticed Lea in the kitchen, nursing some sort of hot drink. There were prominent circles under his eyes. "Oh good, you're awake," Lea said. "I'm afraid you're on your own if you want a good breakfast. I haven't got much of anything."

"That's fine," he said. Despite it being nearly summer, it was cold in the room, and he kept the blanket around his shoulders as he shuffled over to the table.

Lea yawned. "There's still coffee."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I tried to." He leaned back in his chair. "But I'm on Heartless duty, and they needed me, so off I went."

Demyx poured himself a cup and sat down. "I guess being a hero is pretty exhausting."

"You don't know the half of it."

For a moment there was silence. The room smelled like stale coffee and cigarettes. Lea shut his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them.

"You have to go back," Lea said. "The others are worried about you. Dilan was bitching about it."

It was too early to know how he felt. The potency of the coffee, combined with an empty stomach, made him jittery. "Are they," he said. "Then why didn't they tell me the truth?"

Lea huffed. "I'm not going through this with you again. For once in your life, won't you just do what you're supposed to?"

Silence. Demyx looked into his mug.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He jiggled his leg under the table, and Demyx felt the vibrations through the wood. "I get cranky when I'm tired."

He stood. "I guess I'll go then. Thanks for the hospitality." He set the mug in the kitchen sink and set the blanket on the couch.

"Hey…" Lea said. "You really shouldn't take everything so personally. You know? You'll be a lot better off."

He nodded without making eye contact and then set off.

Home sweet home. Or whatever.

He cleaned up and ate. The whole floor where they all lived was eerily quiet. He could hear his own breathing as he moved from place to place. The tap in the bath seemed deafening in comparison.

What now?

Demyx knew he should find Even or Ienzo, and tell them where he'd gone and why. And then they would probably lay into him about running off, and then he would get angry and hurt again at their neglect, because anything that had to do with him was not important enough to be mentioned in passing.

"I really have to stop," he said out loud to himself. Wallowing in self-pity was plain pathetic.

He headed towards the library and tried not to listen to his own breaths. As he approached, a cold, skittering sensation formed along his spine and he jerked his head around. There was no one there; maybe it was a draft?

The sensation deepened and tightened in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing… bad, about it, particularly, and in fact it was vaguely familiar. He took a couple of steps back to compare.

He felt their blood, he realized. It was nowhere near as terrifying or painful like immediately after the darkness in the water had fucked with him, but it was still there. He closed his eyes and reached a little farther into the silence around him, until he was able to feel the water in the pipes not too far overhead.

Okay. So that was a thing. Right now completely useless, but at least it meant his powers were on the mend. Maybe the rest of him would be too. Some hope.

There were at least three of them there. He couldn't tell who they were, just that one was still and two were moving. Was someone sleeping? Or hurt?

He exhaled. "Of fucking course."

Demyx followed the feeling down into the library. A hush of startled whispering crept at him from down the stairs.

"…I'm not certain what happened. One moment our work was going smoothly. And then… everything collapsed. I did my best to get us both out of there before we were smothered." Dilan said. He was coughing.

"I'm trying my best—but I'm not sure I can do much more. He might lose the arm."

Demyx froze, and steeled himself for what he might see.

"We need to get him to the lab. There's only so much I can do from here." Even's tone was resigned. "Careful, Dilan. Careful."

Demyx saw them coming down the stairs. Dilan carried an unconscious Aeleus in his arms, and both of them were caked in blood and dust. His whole left arm looked battered and flat like a shirt sleeve, the skin mottled purple as the blood oozed under it. Demyx's hand flew up to cover his mouth and he tried not to get sick.

"…Nine," Even said with a note of surprise in his voice. "Good timing. You might be able to help me. Come."

"Do I have to?" he said without thinking.

Even gave him a distasteful look and grabbed his wrist. "Since when are you so squeamish?"

Demyx followed them all the way downstairs, keeping his eyes stubbornly on the floor instead of on the blood. Even rushed them into the lab and over to a cleared table. He doused it in disinfectant and dried it hastily. "Set him here," he said. Dilan put Aeleus down and dropped to his knees, coughing and wheezing. His face was a concerning shade of purple.

"Wash your hands," Even barked at Demyx. "And get over here."

He did as he was told. What did Even mean by "helping him"? He wasn't going to have to… cut anything, right? Wasn't that Ienzo's purview?

"Won't you give him something for the pain?" Dilan said in a hoarse voice.

"He's beyond feeling anything right now," Even said as he cleaned off the arm. "I sealed the wound," he explained. "I froze the blood supply. The bones are completely shattered."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Demyx asked. He couldn't get his eyes off of the battered arm.

"I need you to keep his blood moving through the procedure. I'm afraid that if we keep the blood frozen, the tissue will die," he said.

"The procedure?" he repeated. "You're not… you're not going to—"

Even probed the bones. "I believe we can grow the bones back," he said. "It's not as if the shoulder is crushed, just the arm."

"It'd be more merciful just to amputate," Dilan said from his corner, still coughing. "He… he could work around it. You'd rather subject him to weeks of agony?"

"Then what would we do with it?" Even asked. "Throw it out? So it would become Heartless bait?"

Demyx was convinced this was a surreal nightmare, and he was still on Lea's couch.

Even went back to the sink. He piled up his long hair and pulled it under a cotton cap, then began meticulously and thoroughly scrubbing his hands. He slid on latex gloves with a snap and Demyx flinched.

"There's no need for you to stay, Dilan," Even said to Dilan. Dilan fled, still coughing, trailing dust out the door.

But why can't I leave? Demyx thought.

"No need to look so frightened. I'm only removing the shattered bone," Even said in a voice he must have thought was comforting. "I've done the very same thing to your ribs. Won't be nearly so difficult. I remember that. Ienzo didn't sleep for eighteen hours, keeping vigil, keeping you unconscious through the worst of it."

Demyx shook his head. He felt at his ribs convulsively.

"Oh goodness—you needn't even look, so long as you can keep his blood moving. Enough to keep the tissue alive, but not so much as to hinder me, you understand?" He pulled a scalpel and forceps out of a sterilizing machine. "I'm going to unfreeze it. There are ethers right over there. You might want to take one."

He took the small blue bottle and looked down at Aeleus. He shut his eyes—equally in concentration and disgust—and felt the blood supply. It was strange to do this after so long, and slightly straining. Many of the distinct vessels in the arm had burst, or been cut, so he rerouted the flow as best as he could. It was an oddly intimate experience because he could feel Aeleus's nerves and capillaries, and the strength in the muscles. And, dimly, the pain.

"Good," Even said. Demyx tried not to hear what he was doing as he set about working. And the smell—the dust and the blood—made him dizzy. He gritted his teeth and tried not to think about what would happen if Aeleus woke up.

"I would have been so useful to have you in the Organization," Even said casually. Demyx heard slight ticks of bone against a bowl. Aeleus's pain began to beat against the back of Demyx's eyes. "But then again—you are so very good at slipping away at the worst moments. How's it feel?"

"Me or him?" he asked in a strained voice.

"You."

"Hurts," he said.

"Pain has to go somewhere," Even said. "It felt you were there and jumped to you. I know I've asked a lot of you. He'll be grateful to know you helped. Really. Amputation. Dilan must have a very low opinion of me. I am no amateur. Drink some ether, and sit if you need. You're losing your color."

He did so and flinched at the oily taste. The pain subsided for a moment.

It seemed to go on for a long time. Demyx could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, and Aeleus's. He started trembling, and a cold sweat crept under his arms.

"That's the last of it. Let me fix the vessels and your work will be done."

His muscles had started to cramp up.

"Nine, breathe. Slowly. Deeply." Even worked for another few long, torturous minutes. "Very good. You've done so well. You can let it go now. Slowly, though."

It wasn't something that could be done slowly; it was more like a rubber band that would snap. The magnitude of what he'd done hit him only once he'd detached himself from Aeleus's vascular system. "Oh, god. Oh, fuck." Aeleus's pain had left him, but the strain on his power had given him a magnificent migraine, and he was shivering uncontrollably. He opened his eyes. The room seemed much brighter than it used to. If he'd slipped even once, or if his powers had decided to act up, he could have hurt him. Or worse—

"Breathe. Breathe."

"I am breathing!" he snapped. His whole chest was tight. He looked at Aeleus. The arm was better in color, though still bruised, and now it looked more comical than horrific. And then he made the mistake of looking slightly to the right, at the bone fragments.

"If you must be sick, there's a waste bin over there," Even said calmly. Demyx was too tense to get sick, but his hand hovered over his mouth anyway. "Did you happen to sense whether or not there was bleeding in the brain?"

"There's not even any swelling," he said weakly. He sank to the floor.

"Excellent. Excellent! If only I had your power…" He cleared the bone away into a hazardous waste bag. "I supposed I'll have to get Lea to dispose of this."

Demyx heard Even take off his gloves. He shivered in sharp bursts. Even draped a wool blanket around his shoulders and checked his vitals absently. "…Fascinating," he said. "Low body temperature. Shallow breathing. Blood pressure and heart rate are quite low. But no need, I feel, to be concerned. Oh, dear." He passed Demyx the waste bin just in time for him to finally and quite violently get sick.

The door slammed open. "I came as soon as I heard," Ienzo said breathlessly. "I—oh. Oh my."

"Where in the blazes have you been?" Even snapped, though he didn't move from Demyx's side. "Get him some electrolytes. The purple, I think. Do you feel faint?" The last question was address towards Demyx.

"My head hurts," he said through the acid in his mouth.

"Of course it does," Even said soothingly.

Ienzo still breathed hard. "I found something," he said. He handed Demyx a glass of viscous liquid and two white pills. "Even, you would not believe. But what… what happened here?"

"Come, Nine," Even said. He helped him stand. He was still shivering, but the purple stuff was starting to help, even if it tasted like snot.

"I want to hear," he said.

"You will. We need to get Aeleus settled first."

A few moments of transition. Ienzo gave him some more purple goo. Dilan came back, clean but still wheezing, to shepherd off Aeleus to his room. He shook his head disapprovingly. "He'll have to deal with the loss either way," Dilan said.

"Perhaps not. Nine was a great deal of help," Even said. "Why don't you meet us in the kitchen? Once this is all done." And then they were all gone.

Demyx shuffled back upstairs. The medicine he'd been given had numbed the pain but made him fuzzy. How long had he been in there? Hard to tell. He made it, somehow, and slumped into a chair. He knew he should eat, but couldn't find the strength to prepare anything, so he sat staring at the empty glass he'd carried all the way up here.

Dilan came in and put up a pot of coffee. Wordlessly, he made a peanut-butter sandwich and passed it to him.

"What's this for?" he asked.

Dilan shut the cabinet and said nothing.

He forced himself to eat. The bread tasted like paste. Maybe there was something wrong with his tastebuds. Once the coffee had finished, Dilan gave him that, too, boiling and black.

"Um, thanks, but I can—"

"Why is it that something like this happens only as soon as the truth comes out?" He asked. His expression was cold and fierce.

It took him a moment. "What do you mean?"

Dilan turned; his face set in a scowl. He said nothing and stood frozen at the corner of the small room. Demyx sipped at the coffee even though it was too hot, but it eased some of the shivering.

Even and Ienzo returned. Even seemed relieved; Ienzo's face was hard to read.

"Good, you're eating," Even said. "I'm afraid I may have pushed—"

"What is going on that you're not saying?" Dilan asked. "What happened out there?"

"I am not sure what you're implying, Dilan, but I could do without your ugly tone," Even replied coolly.

"You were the one to witness it, were you not?" Ienzo asked. "Why don't we start from the beginning?"

"We were clearing tunnels belowground. We've done this work for days and we've never yet had an issue. But today… Aeleus seemed off," Dilan said. He began to pace. "Tired. Strained. It seemed like he was having difficulty. I suggested we might rest, but he refused. And then it seemed like his powers stopped working. I saw him going through the motions, but nothing happened. And the tunnel collapsed. We barely survived. His arm got crushed in the debris." He looked at Demyx.

"I think exhaustion is natural," Even said. "We all know Aeleus never speaks of his discomforts. He made a mistake."

"He never makes mistakes. And if you're correct, then by all means, I should be burning out as well."

"Then what do you think it is?" Ienzo asked tersely.

Dilan grunted in response. "We've all been having some sort of trouble. What if it's… advancing?"

"What trouble?" Demyx asked.

Silence. Even stirred his tea.

"You mean nobody's told the boy?" Dilan asked.

"Nobody tells me anything!" Pain shot through his head and his vision grew fuzzy for a moment. Even came over to him and stared into his eyes, as if looking for something.

"Perhaps we should wait," Even said.

"Dilan is right," Ienzo said. "What I found today concerns us too. We've all been altered. Every one of us."