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astrognossienne · 3 years

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tragic star: keith moon

“If you don't like it, you can fuck off!” - last words of Keith Moon

This one was a long time coming, but frankly, it took me a while to get interested enough in the subject to actually do this analysis, let alone finish it. At any rate, Keith Moon, like most of the drummers from the rock ‘n’ roll period that we still read about today, led a self-destructive lifestyle. A close friend of his once said the drummer was “like a train ride you couldn’t stop.” Not only was his drumming chaotic – so was his life. According to some, he was at his core a kind and generous soul, but to others, he was lost, lonely soul, and terribly immature throughout his adult life. Perhaps it was the sudden success, upon joining the rock band The Who, when he was only 18 (although plenty of others of the same era were as young, or younger, and survived just fine), but Keith was so eager to please and make everyone laugh that he eventually became the “Moon the Loon” character that he was portrayed as in the media. It got to the point where he wasn't sure who he really was. A true Leo, he made a circus out of everything and he wouldn't walk into any room and just listen. He was an attention seeker and he had to have it. He used amphetamines, tranquilizers, drank way too much alcohol, destroyed hotel rooms and friends’ homes, threw TVs into swimming pools, set fires, and the list goes on. He was ultimately unable to outrun or outlast his demons; whether it was the wife and child he drove away, the friend and chauffeur he accidentally killed in early 1970...whatever else haunted him, it ultimately caught up with him just as he was finally trying to improve his life. Friends were well-acquainted with the many sides to Moon’s strange personality; one minute he was insulting, exaggerating, joking – the next minute he’s a wide-eyed, innocent-looking drummer boy. The public Keith Moon was The Who’s manic drummer and hellraising, daredevil comedian; a man who only ever lived in the moment. However, the real Keith Moon was a son, a brother, a father and a deeply insecure man. A man of extremes, his was a complete shitshow of a life.

Keith Moon, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Cancer moon (the moon is speculative). Moon was born to working class parents in Wembley, London, England. He was a hyperactive child by nature and a mediocre student at school. His art teacher said in a report: "Retarded artistically. Idiotic in other respects". His music teacher wrote that Moon "has great ability, but must guard against a tendency to show off." At the age of 12, he had joined the Sea Cadet Corp and was given his first musical instrument, the bugle. He left school by 15 and was in his first band, The Beachcombers. While performing with the Beachcombers, he used to attend concerts of a band called The Detours. At that time The Detours were planning to sign a deal with Fontana Records and for this deal, this band required a new drummer. The Detours changed their name to The Who in 1964. When Moon learned about the band’s need for a new drummer, he approached them for an audition. After the audition, he became their new drummer, and performed with The Who for the first time in 1962.

From the moment he joined, musically the band was complete, although adding his already volatile personality to those of the other three equally headstrong members meant that the early years of the Who's career were fraught with drama and violence, despite their almost immediate success. Much of the tension came from the fact that Keith readily joined in on popping pills with guitarist Pete Townshend and bassist John Entwistle, while lead singer Roger Daltrey (with whom Keith was never particularly close) didn't. After sacking Roger for two weeks in mid-1965, he was reinstated, band relations improved, and the Who continued to release a string of successful singles and albums before a downturn in their fortunes in 1968. However, the release of the album Tommy in 1969 turned them into international megastars overnight and from that moment until the day Keith died, they would remain one of the top rock bands in the world. Running concurrently with the Who's rise to stardom in the 1960s was Keith's relationship with his wife Kim. She first met Keith in 1965 when he was 19 and she 15, and while they fell in love rather quickly, he exhibited twin streaks of jealousy and insecurity and Moon was occasionally violent towards Kim. While his mental issues, which would now be readily (and correctly) diagnosed as a combination of ADHD and BPD, reared their ugly heads on innumerable occasions, Keith's true personality shone through enough that Kim stayed with him; she decided to marry him when she became pregnant within a year of dating, and they got married in 1966. Their daughter Amanda was born on 12 July. In those days, there was a belief that married rockstars with kids weren’t as appealing to their mostly female fans, and the marriage (and child) were kept secret from the press until May 1968. He loved his daughter, but his absences due to touring and fondness for practical jokes made their relationship uneasy when she was very young. "He had no idea how to be a father", Kim said. "He was too much of a child himself."

The chaotic sixties would not hold a candle to what the new decade had in store for him, however. Shortly after New Year’s in 1970, Moon accidentally killed his friend, driver and bodyguard, Neil Boland, outside the Red Lion pub in Hatfield, Hertfordshire. Pub patrons had begun to attack his Bentley; Moon, drunk, began driving to escape them. During the fracas, he hit Boland. After an investigation, the coroner ruled Boland's death an accident; Moon, having been charged with a number of offences, received an absolute discharge. Those close to Moon said that he was haunted by Boland's death for the rest of his life. Moon had nightmares about the incident and said he had no right to be alive. Also, compounding this tragedy, was the fragile state of Moon’s marriage. Even after marriage and his daughter being born, he was still jealous, self-centered, and abusive to his wife Kim, both verbally and physically. His mental state also deteriorated as his appetite for all manner of pills escalated and he exploded into a full-blown alcoholic. Even after separating for a year, Kim returned to him, hoping that he had finally changed, but the insane lifestyle Keith kept up at their house became too much. Kim and Amanda (nicknamed “Mandy”) finally left for good in 1973. Since his marriage was a central part of Keith's life, their divorce would come to affect him perhaps more than any other event in his adult life and it was a devastation Keith would never recover from. While most people would use an event like this as the impetus to clean up their act, Keith used it instead as an excuse to drive himself further into oblivion.

Moon's lifestyle began to undermine not only his health but his career. During the 1973 Quadrophenia tour, at the Who's debut US date, Moon ingested a mixture of tranquilizers and brandy. During the concert, Moon passed out on his drum kit during the song "Won't Get Fooled Again." The band stopped playing, and a group of roadies carried Moon offstage. After he was given a shower and an injection of cortisone, he was sent back onstage. Moon passed out again during "Magic Bus," and was again removed from the stage. The band continued without him for several songs before Pete Townshend asked, "Can anyone play the drums? – I mean somebody good?" A fan in the audience, who happened to be a drummer, came up and played the rest of the show. During the opening date of the band's March 1976 US tour at the Boston Garden, Moon passed out again over his drum kit after two numbers and the show was rescheduled. By the mid-1970s Keith was living in Los Angeles and getting up to even more insanity with John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Harry Nilsson, and other stars. Even a new love in his life, Swedish model Annette Walter-Lax, couldn't get him to slow down and take control. There were even stints in psychiatric wards after some mental breakdowns brought on by his despair at losing Kim and his daughter and his drinking. His alcohol and drug abuse was now not only affecting his health (he put on a significant amount of weight at this time due to infrequent gigging) but sadly, his drumming. In 1978 soon after he recorded Who Are You, his final album with The Who, depressed by the deterioration of his drumming and threats from the rest of the Who to clean up his act or else, that he finally decided to get some help. By the summer of 1978, he seemed to be trying to get his life in order, staying sober and solidifying his relationship with Annette. He was terrified to go into rehab or under psychiatric evaluation, however, and instead self-medicated with Heminevrin, a drug used for treating acute withdrawal from alcohol. However, he took too many on his final night and sadly died on September 7, 1978 at the age of 32.

Over forty years after his death, it's still difficult to think of Keith Moon as anything more than just a hard-drinking insane rock star who would smash his drum set on stage or destroy a hotel room. But regardless of the human being behind the drumkit, the legendary drummer should be remembered as the man who forever changed the sound of rock 'n' roll.

Next, I’ll go back to my beloved star analyses by covering a personal favourite of mine; a force of nature and an unsung pioneer of cinema whose death was ridiculously sensationalized and whose colourful life was almost as wild as Moon’s: Cancer Lupe Vélez

Stats

birthdate: August 23, 1946*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Cancer

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Libra

Mars: Libra

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Libra

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Gemini

Neptune: Libra

Pluto: Leo

Overall personality snapshot: He may sometimes have wanted a safe, simple life where he felt emotionally contained and able to pursue his own creative interests. Then, however, the compulsion to strive for a more central, leading role reared its challenging head, and he knew he had it in him – so out into the spotlight he went. So immense was his creative energy as well as his warm feeling for others that he could become both the artistic home-maker and the home-loving artist/writer/entrepreneur. His personality was large and welcoming, colourful and theatrical because he had such an uncanny knack of dramatizing his vivid impressions and selling himself in the most genuine, heartfelt way. Both the paternal and the maternal urge was strong in him. He needed to use his will to project and establish your identity in the world, and to use his instincts to nurture and protect his emotional and material security. The Sun and the Moon are in their ‘home’ signs here, so that potentially he had the creative vision of Apollo and the lunar wisdom of Diana all rolled into one. This could make him pretty overpowering at times, and indeed he needed a partner and a family on whom he could lavish his emotions. His bearing was often aristocratic, sometimes haughty, oversensitive and self-absorbed, but he always seemed to have enough affection to go around so that no one felt left out. He also managed to remain approachable and compassionate because he was so aware of his own vulnerability and need to be loved. Thus he made a warm and understanding friend, and he enjoyed expressing his feelings with original flair and thoughtfulness.

He was protective, possessive and clannish, a stalwart member of his family, group and nation, and utterly devoted to his ideals. Deeply honourable and dependable, he brought an attitude of devotion and romantic style to all he did. He may have actually had a good head for business because he possessed an instinctive knowledge of security needs as well as a shrewd understanding of people, their desires, fears and foibles. His refined taste for comfort and beauty was part of the impetus for success – he knew his own mind and did not easily budge from his preferences and high standards. Aesthetic sensitivity was strong, and combined with his innate tenacity and quiet ambition means that he was quite successful in the arts. Even though he readily turned a bright face to the world, he did not always feel confident and strong. He had a lively sense of individuality, but his potency was sometimes too dependent on emotional familiarity, and the range of his self-expression too circumscribed within repetitive emotional patterns. Inwardly he shied away from encounters with the big, bad world, and early in life he may have needed to find ways of handling challenges that normally push the panic button. This wouldn’t have been hard for him because his creative drive was tremendous and his individuality needed recognition.

He was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. He believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although he could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. He had a high opinion of his mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. He was quite sociable and expected other people to behave well at all times. He was eager for close personal relationships, so he tended to have a wide circle of friends. Self-indulgence was a problem for him, as was laziness and conceit in relationships. He tended to be impatient with superficial details, preferring large-scale situations, and he disliked being tied down by obligations over which he had little control. Conservatism may have affected his creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. He often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all his forms of expression. He could also take herself so seriously, that people think that he was older than his years.

He was part of a generation that was strongly interested in humanitarian ideals, new avenues of communication and progress in mechanical skills. As a member of this generation, he was able to bring original ideas to both his career and spare-time interests. Crises in thought and ideology arose because he looked beyond tradition and old attitudes towards new original and inventive ways of looking at things. His active mind tended to need constant stimulation and his tastes could be quite fickle and difficult to satisfy. He belonged to a time of peace-loving idealism when the family unit and the way relationships were managed underwent great changes. He could be too idealistic and a little unrealistic when it came to matters of love, sex and romance. As a member of this generation, he tended to need to be motivated to make the most of his potential, because the line of least resistance appeared very attractive, especially when it involved pleasure-seeking. He embodied the Libra Neptune generation in the sense that he was a huge part of a time when beauty reappeared in fashion. He was part of a generation which was highlighted by the clash between authoritarianism and individualism. As a member of the Leo Plutonian generation, he wanted freedom in his relationships and demanded the loyalty of his friends as a right. As a member of this generation, he wanted power over his own life and was prepared to challenge established structures. He didn’t feel comfortable being dictated to, unless he in some way agreed to it beforehand. He was a part of excesses of the sixties. He was part of a generation that brought about a revolution in forms of entertainment, recreational activities and leisure time, as well as attitudes towards children.

Love/sex life: He was a lover so in love with the idea of love that nothing else matters. At times his whole-hearted idealism made him too optimistic and too easily deceived by people who promised to fulfill his ideals and then renege but, as delicate and unworldly as his romantic fantasy may seem, it was remarkably durable. Though he may have been misused and hurt, he never lost his faith in the power of true love. Issues of the flesh were always secondary to him and he was apt not to give them much thought. If such urges must be satisfied, then so be it. If sex proved useful in reaching other goals, that was fine too. As long as sex did not intrude on his ideal of perfect love such physical inconveniences hardly mattered. Unfortunately, most of the rest of the world did not agree with him on this point and, measured by their standards, his sexual behaviour may have seemed immoral or at least strangely naïve. He needed to learn to allow for such harsh realities even as he strove to create that grand idyll of perfect love.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Gemini

Lilith: Capricorn

Juno: Libra

Chiron: Libra

Vesta: Aries

Ceres: Aquarius

Pallas: Sagittarius

His North Node in Gemini dictated that he needed to prevent his idealism from influencing his thoughts to such a high degree. He needed to consciously develop a more clear-minded and analytical approach involving his thought processes. His Lilith in Capricorn dictated that he was dangerously attracted to women who had a scrappy plucky attitude hot-wired into their psyche. Against his better judgment, he liked to be around a woman who needed to be in control and to be mistress of her own destiny, because her life was in the control of not-so-well-meaning others as a child. Juno in Libra, he sought a mate who was harmonious, artistic, musical and intelligent. He liked beauty and balance at home. He believed in equal partnerships where all lived up to the letter of the law. Chiron in Libra, he often felt wounded in relationships and could wound others in retaliation. He may have felt he was constantly hurt or rejected in relationships. Through learning that he was whole on his own, he could have freed himself from this destructive pattern. He would have benefited from a partner that could have helped him heal in some way. Vesta in Aries, he was incline to initiate work for religious and humanitarian projects. Action came from a desire to improve every situation. There was a great deal of insecurity in self-evaluation. Ceres in Aquarius, at his best, he had tact and the ability to compromise, making him well liked by all. Pallas in Sagittarius, he had the ability to evaluate true personal worth enabling him to use his resources in the most advantageous ways. Other people may think he was lucky. Ideally speaking, he could have been generally positive instead of being wasteful, and he could have been confident and reliable. Nonetheless, he still used his ideas in a practical way, especially in his career.

elemental dominance:

air

fire

He was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and he liked to stir things up. He was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. He was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. He carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, he lived in his head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at his best, he helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

cardinal

He was happiest when he was doing anything new, and he loved to begin new ventures. He enjoyed the challenge of claiming territory. He tended to be an initiator—and a bit territorial as well. Also, he had a tendency to start more things than she could possibly finish.

planet dominants:

Moon

Sun

Venus

He was defined by his inner world; by his emotional reactions to situations, how emotions flowed through him, motivating and compelling him—or limiting him and holding him back. He held great capacity to become a part of the whole rather than attempting to master the parts. He wanted to become whatever it was that he sought. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships.

sign dominants:

Leo

Libra

Cancer

He loved being the center of attention and often surrounded himself with admirers. He had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. His flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of his life. He wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At his best, he was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. He loved beauty in all its guises—art, literature, classical music, opera, mathematics, and the human body. He usually was a team player who enjoyed debate but not argument. He was, at his best, an excellent strategist and a master at the power of suggestion. Even though he was likely a courteous, amiable person, he was definitely not a pushover. He tried to use diplomacy and intelligence to get what he wanted. At first meeting, he seemed enigmatic, elusive. He needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call his own. He needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. He was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then he could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. He was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. He was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through him emotionally. He was often moody and always changeable; his interests and social circles shifted constantly. He was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about him under the cut.

Keith John Moon was an English drummer who played with the English rock band the Who. He was noted for his unique style and his eccentric, often self-destructive behaviour. His drumming continues to be praised by critics and musicians. He was posthumously inducted into the Modern Drummer Hall of Fame in 1982, becoming only the second rock drummer to be chosen, and in 2011, Moon was voted the second-greatest drummer in history by a Rolling Stone readers' poll. Moon grew up in Alperton, a suburb of Wembley, in Middlesex, and took up the drums during the early 1960s. After playing with a local band, the Beachcombers, he joined the Who in 1964 before they recorded their first single. Moon remained with the band during their rise to fame, and was quickly recognised for his drumming style, which emphasised tom-toms, cymbal crashes, and drum fills. He occasionally collaborated with other musicians and later appeared in films, but considered playing in the Who his primary occupation and remained a member of the band until his death. In addition to his talent as a drummer, however, Moon developed a reputation for smashing his kit on stage and destroying hotel rooms on tour. He was fascinated by blowing up toilets with cherry bombs or dynamite, and by destroying television sets. Moon enjoyed touring and socialising, and was bored and restless when the Who were inactive. His 21st birthday party in Flint, Michigan, has been cited as a notorious example of decadent behaviour by rock groups. Moon suffered a number of setbacks during the 1970s, most notably the accidental death of chauffeur Neil Boland and the breakdown of his marriage. He became addicted to alcohol, particularly brandy and champagne, and acquired a reputation for decadence and dark humour; his nickname was "Moon the Loon." After moving to Los Angeles with personal assistant Peter "Dougal" Butler during the mid-1970s, Moon recorded his only solo album, the poorly received Two Sides of the Moon. While touring with the Who, on several occasions he passed out on stage and was hospitalised. By their final tour with him in 1976, and particularly during production of The Kids Are Alright and Who Are You, the drummer's deterioration was evident. Moon moved back to London in 1978, dying in September of that year from an overdose of Heminevrin, a drug intended to treat or prevent symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. (x)

#keith moon #leo #tragic stars #long ass post #star analyses #astrology #mine

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sadselfhelp · 4 years

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Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks.

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me.

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing.

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble.

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one.

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me.

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

#trigger warnings #mental health #anxiety #borderline personality disorder #adhd #domestic abuse #child abuse #self harm #violence #just all the trigger warnings

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goffilolo · 5 years

Text

Revival of Midoriya Izuku chapter 3

It’s been 84 years huh? As always the fanfic is up on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/52652386

also im aware of like some formatting issues with the fic when it comes to tumblr, so reading it on ao3 might be better if you particularly care about like italics and what not, but otherwise it’s all the same stuff.

“Move your ass Boom Boom Bitch, I wanna get there early!” shouted Izuku, as him and Bandit sat on rather stylish, but uncomfortable couch in the Bakugous’ living room that was probably worth more than both of them put together, which probably wasn’t even that much anyway since they’re both garbage, but it’s about the principle of the thing.

“Shut your mouth you Trash Twink, I’ll get there when I get there! And what the fuck are you doing in my house?” screamed Bakugou all the way from upstairs, although with his voice being as explosive as his quirk he might as well be standing right next to you considering the damage he does to everyone’s eardrums.

Speaking of hearing damage “Katsuki!!! Is that how you talk to our guest you rude brat?! Get over here!” exclaimed Aunt Mitsuki.

“Shut it old hag! Deku’s not a guest, he’s just an annoying cockroach that invites himself wherever he wants and does whatever he wants!” which is a fair point, considering Izuku has invited himself to Bakugou’s first day at UA for less than wholesome reasons. Some people might see it as the ultimate bitch slap to Bakugou’s ego (partially true), but for the most part it’s merely a testament of how far Izuku has come, considering he now only sees UA as a place where he can flirt with Tensei’s hot brother, rather than a means of accomplishing some bullshit dreams... But it’s not like Kacchan knows any of this, so he can fuck off.

If you were to ask Izuku what his deal with Bakugou was, he would reply “Best friends, duh” with enough sarcasm to last you the next ten years. If you were to press for any specifics his reply would be more along the lines of “I dunno, get the fuck out of my apartment” followed by having Trash Bandit sent after you. The bottom line was, his relationship with Bakugou was complicated, as were most thing in Izuku’s life, but that’s not unusual.

Izuku’s presence at the Bakugou household though? That’s quite unusual, yet more likely than you’d think.

And although the screaming match between the two Bakugous was ever so entertaining Izuku had places to be, and guys to seduce, so “Leave it Auntie” he exclaims in a dismissive manner “We don’t want to rile him up too much, otherwise he ain’t gonna get that 30-day chip from the anger management that he’s been gunnin’ for” he adds half-jokingly.

“I know, I know” she says “But you’d think he would act a little nicer by now, after all these months of therapy.”

“Wouldn’t expect miracles if I were you Auntie, you know what the say; Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree ” replies the boy with a shiteating grin as he motions towards Bakugou descending down the stairs, not missing the way Mitsuki flinched ever so slightly at his rather obnoxious comment.

“And to think you used to be such a nice boy yourself, I used to always tell your mother how great it would’ve been if Katsuki was more like you” she says in a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and regret.

“Yeah well, considering the shit I got for being nice , I think from now on I’d rather be a bastard and then some” exclaimed Izuku as he got up from the couch with Bandit in tow and made his way towards Bakugou. The other boy was getting ready to leave as well and his excitement for the day was concealed even more poorly than his mother’s discomfort at the current conversation “Have a good one Auntie!”

And with that, the two teenagers and one (1) sheep were on their way.

“Kacchan please , not everything is about you” said Izuku exasperatedly, hurrying over to the only empty seat on the train.

“Like hell it isn’t! This was supposed to be MY DAY, my first day at the school of my fucking dreams, and you’re trying to ruin it by following me around dressed like a dollar stripper!” replied Bakugou in a whisper-scream. He may have anger issues but he wasn’t a dumbass and the two of them were already drawing enough attention as it was. It wasn’t exactly easy to remain unnoticed on a train while carrying a green sheep; a task which fell on Bakugou, because Izuku was a weak-noodle-arm-bitch.

“First of all, I’m flattered that you think I’m worth a dollar” said the weak-noodle-arm-bitch in question “And second of all, this is my best outfit.” Said best outfit consisted of a worn out tank top that had THE HOES written on it in what once was a glittery pink; a pair of booty shorts with ENEMY OF STATE hand stitched onto the backside and rainbow patterned knee socks. The look was completed with a pair of pink platform crocs, because Izuku had standards ... and because he was short.

“God I hate you” murmured Bakugou.

“Don’t I know it Kacchan?”

The rest of the train ride was spent in silence.

It wasn’t until they actually reached the gates of the school that Bakugou had a thought; one that he probably should’ve had before they even left his house, but having a coherent thought while carrying a sheep and bickering with the sheep’s owner about whether the sheep should be referred to as a dog or not is in all fairness not possible.

“They won’t let you in” he said, voicing the sudden epiphany.

“Sure they will” replied Izuku.

“Oh yeah? How? Deku, you don’t fuckin’ go to this school, you don’t go to ANY school!” shouted Bakugou, because they were no longer on the train, therefore arguing with a lunatic stripper looking guy was now acceptable.

Izuku for the most part did not have a problem with that, because not only did he love having petty fights with people, he also loved proving them wrong, especially when everyone and their grandma accuses him of being a high school drop out.

“Shinjuku Metropolitan would beg to differ” he says, dropping the metaphorical bomb on the unsuspecting dipshit that is his childhood friend, after which he continues to walk, crossing the gates of UA High like he owns the damn place.

After about a minute of Bakugou standing frozen in shock, he finally snapped out of it when Bandit decided to start chewing on his uniform “Oi, hold the fuck up!” screamed the blond as he followed Izuku inside, while the sheep was being dragged along like a betrayed ragdoll “Did you just say Shinjuku Metropolitan?!”

“Kacchan, you know I can’t hold you, you’re too heavy” replies the other teen, while pointedly ignoring Bakugou’s question and the looks he’s been getting from the students.

“Don’t change the subject shitty Deku! How the fuck did your ass get into a top non-hero high school in the whole damn Tokyo you bitch?”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I fuckin’ swear to God-”

“Do it! Pull the trigger piglet!”

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

Their pointless quarrel, which was on a steady way into becoming a straight up brawl (Izuku having already pulled out his axe and lighted a cigarette using one of Bakugou’s warning explosions) came to a stop when they were interrupted by one of UA’s teachers, although in Izuku’s opinion she made a wrong career choice, considering being a Dominatrix probably paid more.

On another note, when someone asks you ‘what’s going on?’ that doesn’t mean they’re actually interested in whatever is happening at the moment, it means ‘stop’, therefore Izuku’s answer to that question, which usually involves something along the lines of “You see, I’m small, horny and full of rage, and I have no outlet for these emotions” is rarely appreciated. That is not to say that the lack of appreciation is going to stop him from spawning whatever dumb shit comes to his mind when faced with the judgement from authority figures. If anything it makes everything worse.

“That’s just how we flirt” replied the teen instead, all the while looking THE Pro-Hero Midnight dead in the eye and putting out his cigarette on Bakugou’s uniform jacket. Bakugou, for the most part was unable to even be mad at the cigarette burn considering he was busy recovering from being metaphorically punched in the kidneys by that line.

“And why aren’t you wearing uniform?” she asks suspiciously, pointing at Izuku’s attire.

“Oh, I don’t go here” he replied casually.

“Then pray tell , why are you in this school?”

“To get laid”

“TO WHAT?!” screamed Bakugou in surprise.

At this point Midnight took out her phone (no, her costume doesn’t have pockets, please don’t ask where she keeps it) and clicked on one of three contacts she keeps on her speed dial.

“Principal Nedzu, we got a situation…”

After telling Bakugou not to worry and that he will see him later in class, Izuku was dragged to the principal’s office by Midnight.

On the way there he tried cracking up another joke, telling her that his safe word was ‘avocado’. She did not appreciate that one either. For those of you wondering what happened to Bandit, the sheep ended up following Bakugou, much to the blond’s dismay.

Now, being sent to a principal’s office, especially of a school that you don’t even attend is usually a sign that you have royally fucked up. Not for Izuku though, because he had a plan! Contrary to the common belief, Izuku is not dumb. The fall didn’t kill off any of his brain cells, only his ability to give a shit, which made life much easier since he no longer had to worry about things like: people’s opinions, social norms, laws and heteronormativity.

Anyway, back to the plan. Izuku was not dumb, therefore even he knew that wandering around UA while not attending the school would not fly. He needed a way to stay, and for that he needed the guy who runs the whole shitshow; Nedzu.

Which is why the moment Midnight opens the door to the office Izuku stomps in like a man on a mission and stops right in front of an animal of questionable origin in a suit that is allegedly UA’s principal. A little unusual, but if a scumbag like Endeavour can hold the title of No. 2 Hero in Japan, then an animal can run a school.

The principal in question was calmly sitting on a couch and drinking tea, totally unconcerned with whatever bullshit Izuku was about to throw at him.

“Now, what seems to be the issue with this young man?” asked Nedzu.

“This young man-” said Izuku, pointing to himself in a rather cocky manner “has a message for you!”

“And what would that message be?”

The principal’s question was answered with what Izuku can only think of as the ultimate power move, or in this case; a literal ace up the sleeve. The boy proceeded to pull out a Monopoly “Get out of Jail” card out of his shorts (since he technically wasn’t wearing any sleeves) and slam it on the table right in front of Nedzu.

While to an outsider the current situation might seem absurd, it is important to remember that Izuku had a plan; one that could’ve never come to a fruition without a little help from the most unexpected person, which is why that card was no ordinary Monopoly card, but a very specific reminder that only Principal Nedzu would know the meaning of, and when he picked it up and flipped it around, the neatly written message on the back made its presence known.

It read: “You owe me one. - Hisashi”

“My dad says ‘Hi!’ ” exclaimed Izuku, taking one look at Nedzu’s face and knowing that he already won.

Was cashing in on a favour that his dad secured like 10 years ago a morally good decision? Debatable, but it got the job done so he’s not gonna complain. All that mattered was that Izuku now had a pass to enter the UA grounds whenever he pleased and nobody could stop him, and so here he was about to enter the classroom where Kacchan is supposed to be in. The bell hasn’t rung yet so he still had some time and who knows, maybe the handsome guy from the police station was in the same class?

With that in mind he opened the gigantic door and made his way into the classroom and was met with what looked like a pissing contest between his crush and his childhood friend.

“REMOVE YOUR FOOT FROM THAT DESK! SUCH AN ACTION IS INSULTING TO THOSE WHO CAME TO UA BEFORE US AS WELL AS THE CRAFTSMEN WHO MADE THIS DESK!”

“LIKE I CARE! WHAT MIDDLE SCHOOL ARE YOU FROM, YOU EXTRA ?!”

Ah yes, pissing contest at its finest, which meant that Izuku had options . The most obvious course of action would be siding up with Tenya and taunting Kacchan, which is not something Izuku would ever say no to. However , it also happens that the object of his affections had a massive boner for rules and authority, which is the exact opposite of everything Izuku stands for, so siding up with Kacchan it is.

And so he made his way to the pair of bickering teenagers and promptly pushed Kacchan’s feet off the desk, earning a scoff from the blond and an approving but baffled look from Iida, which only lasted for about 2 seconds, because Izuku being the gay disaster that he is simply HAD to ruin it all by claiming the desk as his sitting spot and giving Tenya the most ridiculous bedroom eyes that had Kacchan fake gagging like his life depended on it.

“Umm...Izuku, was it?” asked Tenya, feeling awkward under the other boy’s intense gaze.

“It sure was” replied the boy, feeling happy about leaving enough of an impression to be remembered from all those weeks ago “Fancy seeing you here, huh?”

“Indeed-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Deku!” exclaimed Bakugou, completely fed up with the cringeworthy display in front of him “Just tell four-eyes that you came here because you wanted to see him and be done with it!”

“WHAT?”

“Kacchan, not now! I’m trying to put on some moves!”

“Well your moves are shit-”

“Hey, aren’t you that guy from the news who stabbed a villain in the eye with an axe?!” shouted one of the students while pointing at Izuku. There was something ironic about the fact that it was his stunt on live TV from 2 weeks ago that got everyone’s heads turning and not his iconic outfit, or inappropriate behaviour, or literally anything else about him. Like that’s just rude ok? And interrupting him while he’s trying to flirt? Also rude.

“Bitch, I might be” he replied anyway, because his reputation was on the line and because at this point literally everyone has gathered around the desk that he sat on, so things were way past the point of return. People were throwing questions and accusations at him left and right, Trash Bandit is nowhere to be found and his quil flask is not full enough for this bullshit. At this point Bakugou simply got up from his seat and sat at the back of the room, as far away from this nonsense as possible.

“It’s you!”exclaimed the boy with dual coloured hair and equally mismatched eyes “You’re the guy who keeps T-posing in front of my house. Can you please stop?!” he asked with the most deadpan face Izuku has ever seen despite his voice being filled with desperation.

“Look, I T-pose in front of a lot of houses so you’re gonna have to be more specific” he replied sarcastically — despite knowing exactly who he was talking to — since it probably wasn’t a good moment to mention that you’re besties with that person’s mom because you were both stuck in the same loony bin and so you already know all the family drama and have dedicated a good portion of your time to harassing her abusive piece of shit husband…especially with like 20 people around you.

“You’re the one who egged my limo!” shouted one of the girls at the back. She was a very tall girl with long, dark hair tied in a seemingly gravity defying ponytail and a kind face. She had an air of a distinguished lesbian about her, which Izuku could respect even if she was rich if the limo comment was anything to go by. He egged several limos in his lifetime because seeing rich people out in public makes him go apeshit, as it should, so really how is he supposed to remember everyone?

“And I will egg it again!” promised Izuku “When I see rich people out and about it triggers my fight-or-fuck response”

“Don’t you mean fight-or-flight?” she asked.

“No”

“Are you ok?”

“Not in the slightest”

And with that more people joined in on the conversation, including a particular girl who very much looked like an alien with her bright pink skin and black sclera who ended up complementing his outfit, which thank fuck someone here actually had good taste , as well as a guy who ended up being Ms Shouji’s son, and the only reason he found out was because the guy recognised his antics based on the gossip his mom told him and isn’t that a small fuckin world? And in the middle of it all laid an inconspicuous yellow sleeping bag that has been conveniently ignored by everyone for the sake of the plot up until now.

The sleeping bag began to seemingly unzip by itself and soon enough Bandit’s head poked out of it.

“Bandit! There you are”

“Baaah!”

“Guys! Look at this dog!” exclaimed one of the students who Izuku thought looked like a personification of weed, but he wasn’t going to say that. At least the guy knew what he was talking about.

“I’m pretty certain it’s a sheep-” added Tenya, taking his role as the last standing voice of reason in this room very seriously, even though his voice has practically drowned in the sea of teenagers chanting ‘good doggo’, similarly to how one might feel if they were standing at a dance floor while Baby Got Back started playing.

It’s also important to note that while all of this was happening, Bakugou who has sat himself at the back of the room was forced to witness the chaotic force that is Izuku interacting with multiple people at once while being able to convince about 20 of them to refer to his sheep as a dog, and in that moment he turned around staring into the void and asked himself “Am I having a fuckin stroke?”

“Nah, he’s always like that” replied the one person who was sat at the back along with him that Bakugou previously did not bother to notice.

“And how would you know, you damn extra?” asked Bakugou somewhat offended, because sure him and Izuku were not on the friendliest terms and the whole incident from last year really changed him and what not. But they still knew each other their whole lives, so really that had to count for something and Bakugou was not willing to compromise on that with some random extra who looked like a Tinky Winky humansona on drugs.

Unfortunately Bakugou was not able to get an answer because the entire class was interrupted by a homeless looking guy coming out of the yellow sleeping bag to shame student kind. “If you’re here to socialise, then get out” he said. Soon enough the room was filled with a tense silence as the students were unsure of what to expect next.

“It took 8 seconds for you to quiet down. Time is a precious resource. You lot aren’t very rational, are you?” asked the man as he walked to the front of the classroom, making it very clear that he was in fact their teacher. The man was rather tall and unkept, his hair was long and slightly curled, similar to Izuku’s own and the outfit he wore could only be described as a goth onesie. There was something very familiar about him but Izuku couldn’t quite make out what it was supposed to be.

However, just because Izuku’s memory aligns very closely with a slice of swiss cheese doesn’t mean that the same can be said about the teacher in question. As soon as he turned around to get a good look at his new class his eyes fell on Izuku and his face has swiftly shifted from that of practiced disinterest to shock and recognition that Izuku honestly was not expecting.

“What are you doing here problem child?” asked the man with a certain degree of disbelief in his voice. Once again there was something very familiar about him and the way he addressed Izuku and wait a minute did he just call me a problem child? That can’t be-

“Uncle Shouta” exclaimed the boy in a way that felt uncertain, yet childishly hopeful “Is that you?”

“Of course it is brat, who else would I be?” he replied with a hint of amusement.

#revival of midoriya izuku #demise!au #bnha #fanfic #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #trash bandit #aizawa shouta #iida tenya

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berri-hopefulspouse · 4 years

Text

-- A Look Into The Past --

[ Reuploaded for your convenience~ Because tumblr is an ass~ ]

Fandom & Characters: Danganronpa, Ren (DR s/i, Ultimate Empath), [Mentioned/Minor roles] Celestia Ludenberg, Chihiro Fujisaki, Junko Enoshima, Sayaka Maizono, Makoto Naegi, Aoi Asahina, Kiyotaka Ishimaru, Yasuhiro Hagakure, various Future Foundation technicians and scientists

TW: Self-Harm & Suicide Mentions/Implications, violence/gore warning, emetophobia, Laboratory/Science stuff, Panic attacks, Runaway, Dissociation, Dysphoria implication, Neglect, Bullying mention, General assholery, Hella angst, Mention of bondage & restraints (mostly as jokes), Deadname drop, general PTSD stuff, Hallucinations, Alcohol mention, Homo & transphobia, NB-Phobia, Manipulation, Gaslighting

AN: Another reuploaded story from my previous account! This one was definitely the most uh. Chaotic in terms of trigger warnings, as you can see. All of these are events following THH, and not long before the events that predate DR2 occur. So keep that in mind. ALSO! At the time this is posted (10/3/2020) - this is the story that precedes the current F/O event going on, hinted at here.

Summary: After the events at Hopes Peak High, each member of the class- over time- are put into a procedure to regain the memories lost over the 2 years. It’s Ren’s turn, and being the last one for various personal reasons- they are nervous. Is it worth it to retrieve memories of the past? Or would they have been better off not knowing at all?…

Fidget. Fidget and broil in thought. Fidget and listen. Listen.

“You understand the conditions in which you'll go under, Mx?” An older man asked them, “The process will take but a few hours, with one of the devices we have on hand.” They didn't know much of this man- save for one thing. He was one of the technical scientists who worked for Future Foundation- something somewhat new to the brunette.

The weeks following their escape from Hopes Peak...from Junko...it was a bit messy. Scooped up by this organization that apparently was the revolution for hope and trying to contain the disease that was despair. Taking days to breathe and recover from the events, only to have to explain themselves alongside their classmates. So, here they were now. One by one, they were all being asked the same thing; Do they want their memories recovered? Do they want to recall the two years lost to them due to Junko’s meddling?...

“Yes, I understand.” Soren mumbles, shyly, wringing their hands into their shirt, “I am ready to proceed.”

Whether they were ready for it or not, they knew they had to know. They had to know what they missed, how they were connected to everyone...what their past was like…

Believe it or not, even their childhood felt fuzzy to them. In a way, them and Kirigiri were connected in that sense. Theirs however was...different.

‘I’m the last one who’s going through this procedure…’ They recalled to themselves as they got up, following the scientist into the laboratory...they felt nervous- and part of them wished Makoto was with them to offer some reassurance.

‘He’s been running himself ragged lately with tasks and plans though, we’ve all been working hard...I let him rest when I got called up.’

They thought back to exactly why they were one of the last people to be brought to this laboratory. Intensive therapy, trying to recover from the events of the Killing School life...sure, it affected everyone quite differently, but for them it almost seemed to bring out the worst in them. Persistent nightmares, paranoia, fainting spells… It didn’t take long for them to be brought to counselling once the others found out- although it was mostly due to Makoto outting his concern for them.

‘They figured it was PTSD, naturally. I knew that, it’s basic psychology... But still…’ From what they explained… ‘It seems like it goes far beyond just Hopes Peak. It just seemed like that whole shitshow might’ve just been a breaking point.’

Sitting down in one of the chairs in the laboratory, they looked to the various technicians who were around. All typing away at computers, ready to begin the process.

“Like I said, this will take a few hours...and given your special circumstance, definitely a bit longer than most to recover. However, we’re also not certain if all your memories will be recovered.” He explained, securing both their legs and arms to the chair with small clasps. Easy enough to break out of given an emergency were to occur, but enough to restrain any potential flailing. They lightly tugged on the restraints, feeling very little give.

“You going to explain the bondage, or am I just gonna have to deduce that on my own accord?” They joked lightly, giving a shaky smile to the older man who shook his head with a sigh, ignoring the younger adult’s antics.

“They’re just in case. We don’t know what memories might surface, and given your previous history...we just want to make sure you don’t injure yourself in any way.”

Looking away, they felt the slight phantom burns along their wrist as they recalled exactly what they all meant. Sure, the scars on their wrist were...older than they recalled...Most of which were faded deep into their skin. All except one, from a more recent relapse episode.

‘Hence the need to keep me safe, I guess,’ They thought to themselves, ‘No one at Future Foundation really treats me like the rest of the class…’

And why would they? Ren was a special case, after all, being hung with a slew of various mental disorders… As the psychologist in charge of them put it; “They walk the line of both hope and despair. They try so desperately to cling to hope, but given their potential history, succumbing to despair might simply be an inevitability.”

That anxious thought caused them to shudder, not quite listening to the scientific rambling of the technician as they secured a device to their head. Deep breaths...one after another. The static in their ears receded, until they heard the technician speak again.

“Did you hear what I said, Soren?”

“Huh? Oh. Oh yeah!” They lied through their teeth, “Let’s just get this over with, yeah…”

The technician headed out of the room, reappearing behind the glass wall that was before them. Taking one last glance around the room, it was circular. It reminded them almost of the trial grounds- but more...high-tech. It was an observation room of sorts, however, shown by the glass and the scientists working away behind it.

‘This is either going to go well…...or really, really poorly.’ They thought to themselves as they took a slow breath.

There was a slight crackle, an intercom. Their heartbeat skipped for a second but they quickly regathered themselves.

‘It’s not him. You’re not there anymore.’ They reminded themselves as a voice came on.

“Okay, we’re going to begin the procedure. Are you ready?”

They tried giving a stiff nod, but finding their head was basically fixed in place, simply hummed.

“Ready.”

“Proceeding then, in Five...Four...Three…”

‘Deep breaths, in and out.’

“Two…”

‘Everythings going to be just fine.’

“One.”

A weird sensation started, right at their temples, only mere moments after the word left the technician’s mouth. Then, a low hum, that made Ren sit a bit straighter with a nervous anxiety and itch at their mind. The hum got louder, louder, louder still…

Until they completely blacked out, altogether.

–☆–

“Ḷ̵̨̜̹̣̖̮̮́ȁ̶̧̼͖̥̰̱̆̈́͂i̴̦̗̪̯̲̻͇̫͑̾̄̆l̸̘̗͕͎̩̈́̄̃͆a̷̡̯͑̑̃̔̈̂̓.̸͓̮̓͂͛̆̏͗̈.̷̗̲̞͙̼̗̈́͗͌̈́͜͠͝.̸̡̛̺̰͓̟̼̙̙̯̀̂̌̓̅͑͜͜?̶͔͍͛̾̊̑̓̇̌̈̅̈́̚͝͝”

A voice. Disconnected. Everything felt heavy, almost familiarly so. The name- it didn’t feel like their own, and it rang with such a chord of familiarity that it felt like a dagger straight through their throat. They suddenly felt so...so sick, but they couldn’t place why...

“Laila?” A bit louder this time, taking a slow breath in and out, they- no, she- looked up.

“Huh?”

She was seated at a desk- one that...she(-they, no wait uh)...she believed was their own. However, the face that greeted her...she couldn’t even figure out who it was.

“Jeez, I can’t believe you fell asleep in class again.” The person said, a cheeky grin on his features. Jet black hair and light brown eyes greeted (him...them, fuck-) her, and she tried putting a name to a face but...she can’t seem to quite remember, “C’mon, slowass, we’ve got practice.”

“Pra...practice?”

Drama practice.

The word clicked into her mind, and almost instantly she sat up further.

“Oh shit- That’s today?!”

“No duh, it’s Tuesday, remember?! Sheesh, you’re so forgetful. Cmon-!”

Before the person- Viktor, the name clicked in her brain almost like it was always there- could finish what she was saying, the brunette had gotten up and run out of the room, into a hallway.

‘Hercules Middle School…’ She thought to herself (Himself? Why was it so difficult?), as she ran down the hallway, ‘I always grew up here...jeez, I just wanna leave from this nightmare of a school already.’

She skidded a bit as they turned, running straight into a wall with a slight thud and a yelp of pain.

“Okay, ow.” She groaned a bit, blinking. He- She had ended up on the floor, head fuzzy slightly as she pulled themselves to their feet.

“Sheesh, dude, you’re so clumsy.” Viktor talked to her, chuckling as she pulled herself to her feet, only to get smacked upside the head, “Watch where you’re walking next time!”

“Eheh...s-sorry.” She stuttered a bit, almost shy.

“Don’t apologize for everything, man, it’s gonna look pathetic on ya,” Viktor assured, causing her to blush a bit and look away.

“R-right.”

She chuckled nervously, not meeting his expression- afraid to express his- her (their?) mild hurt at what he said.

“Lets get going, we’re running late.”

“Okay…”

With that said, Viktor quickly took a hold of her hand, and the two quickly raced off through the winding corridors of the school.

Even so, as they started to step into the gym, he felt a slight buzz in her pocket. Taking out her phone- dated as it was- they checked the message she received from their- His- her childhood best friend...Kayla.

[ (Kay) 2:43 PM: Hey...dude, U should see this shit. Are you with Vik rn? ]

[ (Lai) 2:44 PM: Yea, y? ]

[ (Kay) 2:44 PM: U need to see this. ]

[ [Kayla sent IMG32452 ] ]

Looking at the image, her heart froze. It was a series of texts between her and Viktor, with the former talking about how childish she was. How much of a crybaby she was over the littlest things, sensitive to every little poke at her. How much of a copycat she was. How it was just so easy to be friends with her, to use her...And her eyes teared up. Kayla looked to be at least trying to defend her...these weren’t even from 20 minutes ago…

“Laila? You coming, dude?” His-Her thoughts were interrupted by Viktor, as their head jerked up to look at him. He-- She didn’t know what she felt. Part of her wanted to hit him, part of him wanted to scream at him, part of them wanted to ask if they did something wrong...but...

“I...Uh...I don- I don’t feel good suddenly. T-Tell t-them I’ll be in...in a minute…” She mumbled out, feet slowly staggering back as an arm laced around their stomach. That wasn’t entirely a lie, either, they felt faint…they felt sick...she felt...hurt.

Before Viktor could see them cry...she turned and ran off, tears blurring his-(her-their--) her vision as the squeak of sneakers filling the hallways and their crowded mind.

The colors around them blurred, holding their head in their hands as they trembled in place. Suddenly, they were in the bathroom- though they sensed the day was different than it was mere moments ago. But that wasn’t what was taking up their thoughts. It was staring into the mirror- at the square glasses and overly pudgy baby-face they have. Staring at someone that wasn't her- that isn’t who they are!

‘Fuck, fuck, why do I hate myself so much?!’ (They- She- he-) She asked herself, struggling to breathe. Even being in the girls’ bathroom felt suffocating, but it was all she knew. Sure, she didn’t feel “dysphoria” like Viktor did...but she felt wrong. She felt WRONG. Her arms shook, nails digging into her skin as she hugged herself tightly. She wanted to shave all her hair off- she wanted to rip off her chest- she wanted- she wanted--

‘Agh! I can’t...I can’t breathe-!’ She forced herself to look away from the mirror, thinking about all the times she was addressed as a girl...all the times she felt wrong in an environment where she should feel comfortable. She always considered herself a tomboy- someone who definitely wasn’t on the feminine side of things...but it felt deeper. Her name made her want to puke- this long hair made her want to scream. The floofy, glittery, feminine clothing made her want to cry, scream, do anything. Something. But all she could do was struggle to breathe, struggle to consider what was happening to her.

That wasn’t even going into all the bullying. How she didn’t fit in with anyone in her class- even amongst her friends. She didn’t THINK she was transgender like Viktor was, but she knew something was...wrong with her. Something different. She couldn’t be a girl, either, she couldn’t be. All the torture she went through day to day- with her family, with her friends, with her classmates, with her-fucking-self. She was in a war she felt like she was losing.

‘...Wouldn’t it be great, if I died right here?’ A voice whispered in the back of their head, causing them to freeze up, ‘Taking the razors and digging them deep into your neck-’

“Laila?”

A voice from outside the bathroom quickly shut them out of their intrusive, suicidal thoughts. She recognized that voice- it was the school nurse. She took a deep breath, in and out- but words struggled to escape their throat, save for a soft squeak of a sob.

“Is everything okay?...”

‘...I can’t keep doing this to myself...I-I need to tell her...what’s going on…’ She at least was self-aware enough to know that much. She couldn’t put herself through her own hell anymore...So whether she was ready for whatever would come or not...she rubbed her eyes a bit, slowly stepping back out into the hallway to try and finally reach out- after years of remaining silent.

...Darkness...it kept swallowing them up, almost like a tidal wave. It took a second to recall what was going on. Right. The procedure. Future Foundation. Was...was that a memory then? Were these dreams of memories of their past? How long did they feel like this?!

‘Viktor…’ The name felt bitter on their tongue, and with it a small swell of various emotions came to head. Depression, anguish, betrayal…

‘He talked shit behind my back… we went all the way back to middle school. I trusted him with everything but…’

A voice, Viktor’s, cut through the noise of their head.

“C’mon man, you know I never mean it. Besides, if you weren’t such a damn prick, I wouldn’t need to call you out on your shit all the time.”

“Jeez, you never had gender issues before until I started bringing up that I was trans. What are ya, a copycat?”

“What are you gonna say next, that you’re trans too? Haha! Dude, Nonbinary folk can’t be trans. Besides, you don’t have any physical dysphoria, yeah?”

For years, he manipulated them. Teased them. Backstabbed them.

‘How could I forget about him?...How could I forget about how I was treated growing up by everyone?! Well, I guess I chose to after I came to Japan…’

The sadistic smile came into their mind’s eyes. Those dark brown eyes they admired for so long...it was because of him they became an artist. That they were exposed to who they were, and yet-

A sharp pain echoed through the back of their head, causing them to physically flinch- though it was restricted.

‘That’s right, I was bound to that chair in case something unforeseen happened…’ They reminded themselves, despite still trying to thrash. If their voice would work, they’d likely be crying out in pain.

Still, after another moment, the pain ebbed a bit. They recalled something else. Why that betrayal, that anger...it was so strong…

The blog. The hate. The messages telling them to do something drastic- to kill themselves. The pressure that nearly did cost them their life, had it not been for their escape…

‘...Yet it took me until...some point later...because I know he’s definitely not in my life anymore.’ They told themselves, taking a few breaths to try and ease the picture of the blog from their mind- to stop themselves from seeing red.

They didn’t notice the shuddering they were feeling until a few moments later, but that soon calmed back down.

‘...I do wonder how Kayla is...I didn’t even remember her until now. Did she hurt me too? Did she forget about me when I ran away to Japan…? I don’t know..’ Still, they sighed as Viktor’s laugh cut through their thoughts. Despite themselves, they felt a sense of nostalgia at the sound.

‘Even if he’s a bastard...even though he hurt me in ways that could potentially never heal...I hope he’s doing okay in all of this.’ That little part of them whispered in the space of their subconscious, as memories of their friendship swirled in their mind, ‘I wouldn’t wish despair like this on anyone else…’

It was vague images, ones that felt distant enough that they couldn’t recall in full detail, but they were still there...his house- all the sleepovers. He helped them get their hair cut. He helped them with art. He introduced them to all sorts of new media that, looking back then, they realized was what made them who they were now… A small smile drew out of them. He took them in when they almost couldn’t take their home life anymore, for a short time. Laughing together with Kayla...it felt so distant, but the happiness they felt then...it was still real. It was still real to them, throughout all of that.

Still, that hum, that distinct hum from before that they realized had fallen into the background noise was suddenly at the forefront of their attention once more- growing louder and changing frequency, in a way that made it feel like they were burning. Not with any emotion, but just...burning.

Soon, their thoughts slipped away once more, and with it- the hum died back down once more.

“All readings are going according to plan.” One scientist said to another, “Though we’re picking up distress and hints of pain after turning up the frequency... Is the machine correctly calibrated?”

“It should be as such, unless…” The technician that talked to the brunette earlier pursed his lips in though, before hissing lightly in annoyance through his teeth, “...Unless the subject has an auditory processing issue. Shit- Turn the frequency down a few notches.”

“But sir, if we do so, the memories will most definitely be unable to resurface. Remember, this science isn’t quite perfect yet- we can’t make expenses for the issue.” One female technician spoke up, adjusting her glasses.

“...” The man bit his nail nervously, before sighing and nodding, “Of course. Continue the procedure.”

–☆–

“Where is that piece of shit kid?!” It was dark. There was lightning going on outside. Their heart was racing, “I’m going to rip her to shreds!”

‘It’s just a hallucination, god please just let it be a hallucination,’ They thought to themselves, closing their eyes- trying to shut out the feeling of fear- even if their head was pounding.

“I can’t believe she got another F on a math test- can you believe this?! I work with her constantly on it, and yet it's like she doesn’t even hear me!” The gruff man grumbled, the voice a distinct echo, as the brunette hid their face into their knees. The sounds of screaming, the sounds of banging… the sounds of things being thrown- it made their heart race. But they knew better. These were just their mind playing games on them from the past. Focus. They had to ground themselves, but…

‘I’m so scared, god I’m so damn scared…’ They took a few deep breaths, putting their hands to their ears. Focus.

‘I’m in my room. It’s summer. There’s rain outside and the...smell of... alcohol... is very strong in the air… M-maybe I should open the window.’ Reaching up, they fiddle with the locks in their window for a few moments before flinging it open, letting the smell of nighttime air and rain pattering to the ground slowly drown out the scent of booze that lingered. In moments, the noise in their ears ebbed, and they were able to breathe again. Thankfully. With a bit more focus, the numbness seeped in, and they felt themselves slowly relax. Numbness...it was the only reprieve from the living nightmare of their heart. Controlling it took practice, and being able to shut everything out...it was their only escape. Even if…

‘...Even if it cost someone their life before because of my neglect…’ They thought to themselves, feeling their focus wane and the anxiety starting to ebb back into their vision.

“It’s okay...it’s okay…” They whispered to themselves as they got up, “It’s...It’s not like that anymore. It’s..It’s okay.” They forced themselves to breathe again, focusing again on keeping that numbness deep in- if only to protect themselves from their own pain. They had to get up. They had things to do. They had to keep going.

Their feet felt heavy, slowly gliding across their small room and peering out into the hallway. Silence. Somber, peaceful silence- save for the sounds of the television faintly heard from downstairs. Slowly slipping downstairs, a voice greeted them.

“La- I-I mean, Soren?”

“Y-yeah?” They stuttered out, feigning a smile as they poked their head over to where their father sat on the couch- watching the television screen. He at least tried with them, but still…

“Did you take your medication?”

“I-I’m gonna…” They mumbled sheepishly, their smile flickering a bit.

“Are you okay?”

“.....Y-yeah.” They lied through their teeth- in a manner that was not at all subtle. Part of them wondered if he’d ask, or if he’d just happen to not notice again.

“...Okay.” He smiled, “Don’t forget you start class next week. Hercules High needs you!”

“R-right…”

“And don’t forget you perform for the next few weeks!”

“I-I do? B-but I thought that wasn’t until next week!” Their shock was portrayed in their tone, feeling their heart race. Summer felt like the only time they got to rest, and even then it didn’t feel like it was long enough to deal with the stress they went under.

“They’re starting volleyball season early, and you know the boss needs you.” He shrugged it off, ignoring the clear concern on their features, which fell to simple stress. A few moments of silence drawled on- to which they felt their phone go off in their pocket. They didn’t look at it for a little while, trying to not start crying at even the slightest thought of performing, before finally speaking up once more in a defeated tone.

“...O-Okay. I’ll g-go take my medication, night dad…” “Night sweetie!”

As they tiptoed away though, walking only on the balls of their feet, one thought only crossed their mind.

‘I need to get out of here. I can’t wait to escape any longer. I can’t wait. I can’t deal with the bullying anymore...I can’t take the manipulation anymore...’ A slow inhale, a slow exhale. They had been preparing it for months. Getting a passport, slowly packing things they would need- including funds to transfer from euros into yen…

‘I have to buy that ticket tonight. The last plane out for the next week.’

Their phone buzzed again, which brought them from their thoughts. Slowly, they sighed, taking out their phone.

‘If anyone can calm me down after this nightmare, it’d be my friends-’ They thought to themselves, until seeing the ID.

[ (Stepmom) 11:34 PM: Have you helped your dad out with his account yet? You have to take care of him you know, he can’t take care of himself. ]

Their blood boiled a bit, and despite themselves they quickly texted back.

[ (Ren) 11:35 PM: ...I’m 16, I shouldn’t have to take care of my own parents. Also, it depends- do you still have my binder hidden away somewhere? ]

[ (Stepmom) 11:37 PM: Your what? ]

[ (Ren) 11:37 PM: You know what it is, because I haven’t seen it since I put it in the wash a month ago. ]

For several minutes, as Ren went about the kitchen preparing their medication, they watched her type, the ‘(...)’ making them nervous as they tapped their fingers along their side. But, eventually…

[ (Stepmom) 11:41 PM: Oh, that. It’s going to hurt you if you wear it, it’s too tight. Honestly, I don’t know why you wear something that physically hurts you, so I threw it out. ]

[ (Ren) 11:41 PM: . . . You what. ]

It took everything in them to not throw their phone at the wall in anger. They saved up for months for that! They just wanted to present as themselves! It wasn’t even that tight compared to other, less safer binders! It fit fine!

[ (Stepmom) 11:43 PM: This is for your own good, darling. After all, you wouldn’t want your chest to start sagging, would you? ]

[ (Ren) 11:44 PM: I told you it fit fine. I told you not to mess with it, and how to properly wash it, and you decide to throw it out? The thing I bought with my own money? ]

[ (Stepmom) 11:45 PM: I told you, it’s for your own good. Besides, this phase of yours with being ‘transgender’ will pass in time. ]

Slow breath, in and out. Their grip on their phone tightened before turning it off altogether, taking very intentional slow breaths so they didn’t outright explode into a fit of anger in the middle of the kitchen.

‘She never fucking understands! I explained it to her so many times, I’ve told her this wasn’t just a phase, I begged her to use my name and let me just exist- but she just...can’t! And my dad never does anything! They’ll never do anything!! I just...I wanna be myself. I can’t take it anymore!’

As they gathered their medication, which rested in the kitchen, along with a bottle of water, they looked to their father’s wallet- which rested on the counter. They just needed to pay for the plane ticket... Slowly, they crept over, thinking to themselves, ‘...Am I doing this?’

Their grip shakes for a moment, trembling with anxiety- anger, sadness...every emotion at once swirling inside like a broiling soup, ready to boil over...They took a photo of the credit card- front to back, and slipped it back into his wallet.

‘...I have no choice.’

In one blink, they were upstairs. The next, purchasing the next plane ticket out of there. The next, slipping out of their room and onto the lower roof of their 2 floored house. The next, running down the street and down to the bus stop. The next, in an airport. And the next...they were gone. Over the course of the next...several hours...All of this occurred within the next day or so, even if everything felt like a blur. There was anxiety flooding through their veins, slowly breathing in and out. Looking down while seated in the plane, they noted the transfer papers in their lap. A normal, public high school. They did it. They got out. They were free of everything. Of a shitty, unsupportive home life… of friends who only used them for the money they had, and talked shit behind their back...of the work that dragged them rugged...they were free.

They were finally, finally....free.

....And slowly, just like that, the awareness came back. The feeling of their hands, their legs, and the emotions that came from those memories.

‘That’s right...I ran away from home to transfer to a normal life...I got a part time job, cut off everyone I knew in the past...and left. It wasn’t even just that my family was...abusive… Or at least at that point, But they were…. Neglectful. Emotionally and mentally neglectful... My father...he didn’t acknowledge how poorly he raised me, forced me to work on my singing abilities even when sick or mentally unwell… put so much pressure on my schoolwork that chores and life-skills took a back seat. My stepmother was transphobic, homophobic...and my mother…’

Their thoughts trailed off for a short moment...before the realization cut their heart in two.

‘I haven’t heard from her since I was 7.’

A crippling feeling of loneliness flooded their thoughts, and they swore they felt warmth trailing down their cheek. They swore they felt this before...they knew this feeling of loneliness, and it felt suffocating. It felt like only until recently...they had never known what it felt like to truly belong somewhere… Shit- they were definitely crying, they felt tears falling off their cheek with what awareness they had of their surroundings, despite their eyes being closed. They tried to reach up, to wipe it off, but they once again felt the tight leather restraints keeping them still.

“Hey, Deep breaths.” A voice cut through the pain. The technician, “How are you feeling right now?”

Their eyes fluttered a bit, and eventually...opened. Their body felt heavy. It took a moment or two to piece together how their tongue worked again, but then they eventually mumbled between nervous clicks of their tongue.

“Shitty, thanks,” They sarcastically muttered, “I’m doing as well as I can be. How long has it been?”

“4 hours.” The technician spoke up, “Do you recollect anything from Hopes Peak yet, Ren?”

“...No.” They took a second to gather their thoughts, slowly shaking their head as slightly as they could to try and clear the feeling of static and prickles that surrounded their headspace, “Just...my childhood.”

“Right. Well, we’re about halfway done. If we tried going past 8 hours...well, we don’t know what sort’ve effect it might have on you.”

The intercom spoke, as they nodded, taking another breath. They had stopped crying by now.

“How does this equipment work again?” They were a bit curious now, and it's not like they were really paying attention earlier when he probably was explaining it to them. The sigh he gave confirmed this suspicion, and while quietly smothering the instant guilt in their stomach that came with feeling like a burden for making him repeat himself, he spoke.

“It basically delivers electromagnetic waves through your ears and to your brain, and depending on the frequency we put through these waves, it will help drudge up any forgotten memories...That is to say, it is impossible to ‘steal’ memories persay- but with the right technology, repressing them very deeply into your mind is very possible. It takes very miniscule, very specific triggers to drudge them back to the surface. That’s what the humming is- the electromagnetic waves,” He explained, “However, we cannot select what you do and don’t remember...and given you have ADHD, what you do recall can vary greatly. You still might not remember as much as most of your classmates, hence why yours is taking that much longer compared to your peers.”

“ADHD...of course this is the first I’m hearing of it,” They noted, spite in their tone, “Gotta have a word with that shrink later.” Even if, thinking of it then, ADHD clicked perfectly with how they acted and their personality.

“Soren, please do not nearly break the arm of another psychologist.”

The technician’s exasperation was heard in his tone, watching the brunette’s dark eyes blink up towards where he was sitting in the window. He was holding what, they could only imagine, was yet another coffee. A small stack sat on the desk next to him.

“Nah, I won’t…” They responded, hiding a hint of a chuckle at his tone...They were about to ask another question before quickly giving the slightest shake of their head to brush it off, “Anyway, let’s keep going, yeah?”

“Right. Ready to go back under? Now, I won’t be able to speak to you again until after the procedure ends. While you’re under, you’re technically unconscious, but after each memory ends- you’re briefly brought back to a slight sense of consciousness to give your head a break. Understand?”

“Gotcha, doc.” Their tone was thick with drowsiness, the slight irish drawl slipping between pursed lips. They were sleepy already… What time was it?

“Right...Good luck, Mx.”

The hum started back up as he spoke, growing louder until his voice was drowned out altogether. One breath in...One breath out...And their head went slack once more as they fell unconscious.

–☆–

How is it someone like them got accepted here again?

They honestly had no clue. Extensive testing, sure, they were a decent learner...but their emotional capabilities were apparently one to behold. Sure, they knew they helped a student down and away from suicide, but honestly? Anyone could really do that. Either way, after further examination, they were the designated ‘Ultimate Empath’...Jeez, what the HELL were they doing here?

‘But I mean...if those rumors I heard are true, I’ll be set for life,’ They thought to themselves, shyly posted up in the main hall- watching slowly students trickle in of all ages, ‘And I don’t want to work a part-time job for the rest of my life.’

Some were talking amongst themselves, others kept to themselves but...they were amongst the latter, arms nervously crossed over their torso. Amongst orientation, they would be introduced to the classes specifically picked for each individual student, and fitted into proper ‘Hopes Peak’ uniforms….you know, the same ones no one seemed to really wear- if the appearance of some upperclassmen were any indication.

But they, personally? They didn’t want to make themselves too known within the class. After all, they knew there were missing posters for their deadname so if they weren’t careful…

‘I can’t go back home. I can’t. But also...do I really belong here?’

Looking around, the energy of everyone seemed so...so different...compared to them. So much stronger, mentally and physically. Confident. Cheerful. Perfect.

‘...Maybe I shouldn't be here.’ Their thoughts started walking away with them as they slowly started backing over towards the door…

Only to run into someone- causing both of them to start to stumble.

“Eep-!”

“Whoa!”

They felt the person behind them, though, trip, and suddenly, they were on the floor, on top of this poor unfortunate soul. A few moments of silence pass, a few classmates piping in, asking if they were both okay, before Ren slowly sat up, rubbing their head… only to realize they probably nearly crushed the person below them, and jumping up to their feet.

“Oh my gods, I'm so sorry!” Their voice came out as a shrill squeak, slightly muffled as their hands clasped over their mouth in anxious surprise.

“Ah, jeez-” The boy in question they watched as he rubbed the back of his head, “I-it’s alright, really… Should’ve watched what was in front of me.” He laughed softly, and they looked away.

They wouldn’t lie...he was pretty cute.

“D-did you just walk in? I-I mean, it’s normal not to notice me...I’m pretty short.” They asked and explained themselves, fiddling with their fingers.

“Yeah, I did...and believe me-” He got up himself, standing not much taller than the brunette in question, probably around 5’2”-5’3” or so compared to their 4’10”, “I’m...Not much better in terms of height.”

There was a bewildered silence for a few moments, before the two in question bursted into a small fit of laughter, doubled over in their fit of snickers. As a result, they relaxed a bit, calming down around this boy.

“I’m guessing you’re also in my class then?” They asked, wiping away a small tear from their eye.

“Yeah, actually. What’s your name?” Olive eyes met their own, and they tried everything in their being to keep from squeaking shyly at the eye contact.

“N-Name’s Soren. U-Ultimate Empath. And you?” They offered a hand to him, despite themselves. The boy in question chuckled, taking their hand in his own and giving a soft squeeze as he shook their hand.

“Makoto Naegi...I-I’m the Ultimate Lucky Student, apparently.” He spoke, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. Ren tilted their head, curious.

“Luck student? How the hell do you measure luck…?” They asked, obliviously. Makoto sighed, looking a bit downcast, and they could practically see the insecurity written in his body language and face.

“It’s a long story...But honestly, it’s...kinda ridiculous.” He mumbled, “Not sure if someone like you would wanna hear about it.”

“No, no.” They quickly shook their head, not retracting their hand and instead putting their other hand on his, leaning a bit closer with intrigue written on their features, “I wanna know… If you’re comfortable talking about it, of course. I mean…” They tilted their head, “It’s weird feeling different from the other Ultimates, huh?”

His eyes widened, caught off guard, “How did you…” They grinned a bit, a soft smile, “Empath, remember? I can sense your distress about being here...I can sense your nerves. You don’t...feel like you belong, do you?” They asked.

Makoto blinked for a few moments, eyes searching theirs for any sign of joking, before sighing and relaxing a bit. Right.

“Spot on, I guess. Alright, alright, I’ll spill. But you best not tell anyone else, okay?” Makoto put a finger to his lips, a curl of a joking smirk on their face. At that moment, they noticed the faint sprinkling of freckles across his face, the slight dimples in his features when he grinned...Their heart jumped a bit, and they laughed.

“I won’t tell a soul.”

In one blink, there they were talking to Makoto, and in the next…

“Ren?” Looking over, they found themselves in a different environment. They were seated outside, underneath a tree, with a few other girls around them. If memory serves right…

‘This is Chihiro, Celestia, and Asahina.’ Their memory clicked perfectly back together.

“Hey!” It was Hina talking, “Dude, are you okay? You were spacing out pretty hard there.”

Ren blinked a bit, before shyly chuckling and looking away, “Ah, yeah, I’m okay. That just...tends to happen.”

Hina blinks a bit before shaking her head, “Well, yeah, clearly. You should really get that checked out you know! If you can’t even focus on food, how will you be able to focus in class?! I mean, midterm exams are coming up soon you know.”

“...A Lot of studying.” They chuckled nervously, biting their nails, “Still, I just have a lot on my mind lately, I guess.”

“A- A-lot on your mind?” Chihiro spoke up, blinking and leaning a bit closer towards Ren, “D-does it have to do w-with studying?” “...No, I wouldn’t say that…” They mumbled, shyly, looking down at their food and taking a shy bite.

‘How can I tell them everything that goes on in my head? How can I tell them that it's a fight everyday to survive? How can I explain...that something’s wrong with me?’

Simply put, they couldn’t. They managed a small smile and chuckled.

“Just thinking of boys, I guess.” They quickly averted the actual subject- unknowing of them setting themselves up for disaster.

“Oooh?” Asahina got a mischievous grin on her face, “Any particular boys?”

Their face flushed...it was no secret to any of them that they, simply put, were a bit smitten.

“Noooooo….?” They lied through their teeth, even if their goofy grin gave them away.

“Not even a particular luckster?” Celeste leaned in a bit, joining in on the teasing with her own little devilish grin, giggling quietly as the brunette interrogated squeaked shyly and hid their face in their hands, the image of the Ultimate in question immediately flooding their thoughts.

“Nooo!!!” They tried to protest, shaking their head rapidly. The group of girls giggled, Chihiro wrapping an arm around the brunette’s neck in an attempt to reassure them.

“You’re going to have to ask him out eventually, you know, before Sayaka beats you to it.” Asahina said with a cheeky grin. Their smile faltered slightly.

“No, no. I shouldn’t meddle...I’d feel bad.”

“Even if he clearly has no romantic interest in her?” Celeste spoke up, red eyes widening a bit, “That is to say, I’ve only seen him so starstruck around you particularly, my dear.”

Ren’s face flushed even brighter, biting their lip shyly, “Noo, he definitely wouldn’t want someone like me…” Their self consciousness was starting to show, “I mean, I’m just a nosy empath with gender issues. Sayaka is...a literal popstar.”

“And? Popstar or no, you still have something special about you that Naegi senses! Cmon, Ren, be a bit more confident in yourself!” Hina rebutted, determination glittering in her bright blue eyes before giggling and shoving a baked treat into her mouth.

“I-I’m plenty confident in myself!” ‘I...I think.’ They left that last bit out, looking away to bite their lip in uncertainty.

The rest of the girls shared a mutual doubtful, somewhat concerned look, before shaking their heads.

“Tell us that when you manage to ask Naegi out yourself, dear.” Celeste concluded, delicately eating at some sparse vegetables she had served herself, smiling sweetly towards her.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They huffed, blushing with a slight pout as they idly drank at the sugary drink that sat next to them. It tasted sweet, and reminded them of peaches… Peach soda. Huh.

Still, looking over to the tree next to them, they spotted Makoto amongst some of the guys- laughing alongside Ishimaru, Sayaka, Kyoko, and Yasuhiro...and found their heart sinking a bit in their chest.

‘He’d...never fall for someone like me. It’s not like I’m extraordinary or anything… I’m not like the rest of the Ultimates here.’ They thought to themselves, feeling their mood start to shift. However, the next moment, his eyes met theirs and he smiled, offering a shy wave- and they felt their heart start to race all over again.

‘...Still. I’ll...I’ll stay hopeful for it. It never hurts to dream, right?’

Slowly, the memory faded into nothing once more, and while they didn’t open their eyes again, they felt the sense of their surroundings return once again.

‘Hopes Peak Academy...I never expected I’d get in, especially while I was a runaway...but when I did, it changed my life. For the first time I had friends. I had people I cared about...but at the time, I was so wrapped up in my own trauma, in my own depression...I just didn’t notice. I thought I was alone..’ They thought to themselves, a curl of a small smile on their features, ‘...And my love for Makoto...it goes even beyond the Killing School Life...Gods, Hina isn’t going to let me live THAT down anytime soon if she remembers that.’

Still...there was something about knowing their classmates...truly KNOWING their classmates now, compared to back then...that hurt their heart even more.

‘...They all deserved so much better… None of them deserved to die. None of them deserved to be murdered...none of them deserved to suffer the way we all did. I hope they’re doing okay in the everafter…’

Still, as sweet as the memory was, they had to continue. They had to keep going down memory lane. And, it seemed everyone else agreed, as the electromagnetic humming started once again, filling their head with noise. This one felt more abrupt, more sharp, and suddenly they were groaning in pain a bit. Whatever was going on, it hurt...it actually really, really hurt-

“I-Is...is everything...okay??” They managed to open an eye slightly… Only to notice the panic in the technician’s faces. Was something going wrong??? Why did this hurt so badly and all of a sudden- it felt like their head might burst from the pain that came from the sound.

...They had little time to ask, as within the next moment the world spun back into oblivion once again.

–☆–

“Soooooreeeen~!”

A cheerful voice brought them to their senses, a thin thumb running over their cheek and wiping a tear from their eyes.

“Hey, are you listening to yourself?” Junko. One of Ren’s newer friends- though she’s been the most honest to them about everything going on.

“I-I ah….s-sorry. I guess I was rambling again, huh?” They looked over to her. They were sitting in an abandoned classroom, the blonde in question was sitting on one of the desks, looking down at them through empty, crystalline eyes.

“Yeah, you were totally out of it.” She chuckled, a smirk on her face, “I can’t believe how heartbroken you look, but honestly? It’s really cute.”

“Oh shutup-” They blushed a bit, looking away, “I-It’s...it’s nothing.”

“Oh really? Even though Makoto is going on what’s totally a date with Sayaka?” Junko leaned into their face, “It’s okay to feel that, y’know? It’s totally okay to let those feelings manifest into something quite...gorgeous. Wouldn’t you agree? It’s like you said, right?” “...There's beauty in everything. Even the worst bits of life…Even in the pain.” They repeated, another tear falling down their cheek.

“There we go… It’s really sad, how you’re literally the side character to your own life, you know? How often Asahina and the others just go off on their own without you?...Well, at least I’m here, you know?” Junko grinned a bit as they nodded, slowly.

“Yeah…”

“Junko...We do have a plan to discuss, you know…” A voice caught both of their attention, and looking towards the corner of the room, Mukuro Ikusaba. A sweet girl with dark black hair and another array of freckles. If they weren’t so bent out of shape with Makoto, honestly Mukuro was also very cute…

“Oh shutup!” Junko’s high pitch voice cut through their gay thoughts, quickly looking back to the blonde, “Anyway, let’s go over the plan I came up with! Alright?”

“Okay…” Mukuro nodded quietly, submitting to her sister’s behavior once again with a passive smile. This seemed to be quite the pattern with these two, and Ren wondered if all siblings acted like this...

“So, I heard some super super secret news about how this whole...event that happened at the school is only going to get worse,” Junko explained, “But with the rest of the outside world. We’re pretty sure that the school will lock up a bunch of us in here, and we want to make things that much more fun for everyone.”

“...Okay…?” Ren raised an eyebrow, concerned.

“We want you to be the one to get back at them.”

“Huh?”

“You know!! Beat up everyone who keeps abandoning you! Your so called ‘friends’ and your ‘crush’ who abandon you when you need them the most? The ones who clearly couldn’t care less about you? Don’t you want to get back at them?” Junko leaned in towards Ren, who bit their lip, shaking their head.

“N-No...No of course not...I-I mean, they have lives of their own, they shouldn’t have to pay all their attention to me all the time…”

“Even when they clearly forget about you all the time? When you almost killed yourself at the end of last year?” Junko’s eyes stared into Ren’s soul, and they felt...almost violated by the eye contact.

“...E-even so...I-I wouldn’t hurt them…”

“So what are you gonna do? Turn tail and run back to Ireland? Back to your family?” They still don’t know HOW Junko found out about their past- as far as everyone else knew, they were just an Ireland transfer student.

“...N-No, of course not.”

“So, you’ll stay. And play our game.” Junko smiled, “Okay?”

“I…”

“I wouldn’t want something...devastating happening to your dear Naegi, would you?” Junko’s grin turned almost sadistic as she spoke, harshly grabbing their face, “So, you’ll play our game, right?”

Their heart stopped...if Makoto was going to put in danger.......no, they’d do anything in their power to make sure that happened, even if- for the time being- they had to play along.

“...Yes...yes of course.” They mumbled, cheeks squished.

“Good! Besides, it’s not like you’re killin’ em or anything! Not unless you wanna, then of course I’ve got your back on that!” Junko chuckled a bit, letting go of their face, watching as they rubbed their cheeks.

“I-I’d...I’d never kill anyone…”

“Oh dear, we’ll see.”

Junko got up from her seat, slowly approaching Ren and cornering them in their chair.

“J-Junko?...” Their eyes widened, “What are you doing?”

“Hmm...I just want to show you something. Is that okay?” The blonde grinned, tilting their chin up, “After that, we can further discuss this prank of ours.”

“...N-Noo…?” They had a bad feeling about it, but Junko didn’t seem to listen. They quickly got up to leave, they suddenly didn’t feel safe in the room alone with her- but they felt their arm yanked back, and pinned back into the next desk.

“J-Junko-!”

The blondes bright eyes appeared in their vision next, her grin a bit sharper than it probably should be.

“Mukuro, hold them down, I want to watch how they react to this video…”

...Something happened during that day. Something that...even to their mind's eye, was fuzzy. They remembered that they started crying again at one point, they remember they felt violated- but they didn’t know why. They don’t remember what happened. They don’t remember how they felt after- or if they even felt anything...But all they could recall after was a faint whisper of a voice, menacing yet dripping with faux sweetness.

“You’ll make them all pay for what they did to you, right?”

“Yes, Junko.”

…

“Junko?”

“Ohmygod- Yeeees?”

“...Let my memory get erased too. I promise I’ll still follow up on my deal. I...I’ll still have my anger, I’ll still have that aggression. I promise. Just...wipe my memory alongside everyone else. So I don’t spill our little secret. Okay?”

“....Fine.”

–☆–

In that brief moment, they suddenly jolted upright- body trembling and a pained gasp leaving their lungs. They- they couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, and everything suddenly felt so loud-

The primary technician who ran the whole ordeal ran inside, quickly detaching the device and kneeling down in front of Ren.

“Soren?! Hey, can you hear me?!” No. No they couldn’t. All they could think about was how sick they felt, how suddenly suicidal they felt. Were they drowning? Why couldn’t they breathe?!

‘I agreed to hurt people for Junko...S-she manipulated me...she hurt me...to get me to play her game. To keep me from leaving before shit hit the fan...Fuck. Fuck, if I followed through on any of her ideas…To think I agreed to HER game- God I’m a fucking idiot!’ Their thoughts were running at a thousand miles an hour, struggling to breathe. Their hands were tugging desperately on their restraints, unsure if they wanted to hold their throat in attempts to try and breathe again, or if they wanted to claw at their arms until they bled.

They shook their head violently, and in the next moment- with little warning aside from their stomach doing a complete 180- doubled over in their chair and threw up right into their lap. The technician, alarmed, quickly rang up their psychologist who was a few floors down, to provide assistance.

Everything in their vision swam. They conspired with Junko to hurt people. They conspired with Junko...they...they enabled the Killing Game before it even started.

They puked again. They felt like they might throw up their lungs next, at this rate.

Why were they alive? Why did they have to be the one alive?! They kept making one mistake after another- and this just proved it! This just proved how fucked up they were. How dangerous they were to others.

“Ren- Ren, tell me what you saw!” The technician grabbed their shoulders, trying to get them to focus. Their trashing just got worse. “No! No- No let go of me! Let go of me! I- I can’t breathe- oh my god what did I do!?” Their voice was hoarse from the acidic bile in their throat, struggling not to get sick even more.

“What did you see?! What did you recall?!” The technician kept trying to talk to them, which only resulted in overwhelming them all the more. The last thing they can completely remember after abruptly waking up from their memory revitalization- was screaming at the top of their lungs. They just wanted to die- they didn’t deserve to live for working with Junko- for working with despair. Frankly, they wished they had died instead of recalling anything at all.

They…frankly don’t remember the next hour or so. They remember faces, eyes, voices speaking to them...a needle being put into their arm…

And soon, they calmed down a bit, feeling sluggish and heavy. Everything felt a bit fuzzy at the edges of their mind as the screaming- both physically and mentally- all but stopped.

‘Sedatives,’ The thought connected briefly, before the word escaped them altogether in the cloud of drugs. Their psychologist helped them to their feet-- when did they get onto the floor of the laboratory?-- and out of the lab.

Being barely supported under their arm, they basically dragged their feet back to their shared apartment room within their sector’s building with Makoto. Their psychologist stuck by their side until they were able to walk easier, before heading off to schedule a few more appointments in the very near tomorrow. They had a feeling they’d be busy tomorrow, if they even had the energy to get up.

They remember looking at the time...But they don’t remember what it was. Late, they figured. They stumbled inside, nearly falling on their face as they held their head, still trying to wrap their mind around everything they remembered.

The slight shifting from one of the rooms in the apartment got their attention though, and within another blink Makoto was at their side- helping them stand up a bit and trying to help them into bed. His mouth moved, and they acknowledged that he was saying something to them...but it took a few moments before anything he said actually was heard by them. When they were, they looked up a bit more at him, to which he sighed.

“What happened?” He asked them, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Their eyes watered a bit, mumbling a quiet, ‘I’m so so sorry...I’m… I failed everyone here…’

“Failed? Ren?” He sat them down, clasping their hand, “You had the memory recovery procedure today right? What happened?”

“...I-I can’t...I can’t tell you.” They mumbled, eyes squeezed shut, “You’d hate me. Everyone would...I-I can’t… I can’t take it…” They shook their head, breathing starting to go shallow again as Makoto quickly waved his hands in mild panic.

“Hey, hey, calm down, calm down! It’s going to be okay. Y-you don’t need to talk about it right now, okay? Everything’s okay.” He reassured them, concerned and slightly panicked, “I could never hate you, Ren…” “...” They wanted to scream, they wanted to explain everything to those eyes, they wanted to prove him wrong. They wanted to prove that they should be hated, especially after what they’ve done...but they just felt too tired. They felt too scared...they felt too insecure to admit to it.

“Just rest for now, okay? I’ll bring you some water, and..” He noticed how stained their clothes were, and his nervous smile faltered, “And a change of clothes, apparently, yikes… Do you need anything else?”

“...Medication…” They mumbled quietly, tossing off their shirt and pants without much mind to it, “Please…”

“...Right, okay.” He faltered a bit and quickly looked away from their frame, getting back to his feet, “You rest up for a bit, and I’ll...I’ll get what you need, okay?”

“Okay…” “I love you…” ‘You wouldn’t if you knew what I did…’

Laying down, they felt their eyes flutter as the sedatives further kicked in, feeling their consciousness start to slip…

“I love you too.”

6 notes · View notes

iamthegaysmurf · 5 years

Note

Ok 3 and 28 is so soft and already so wayhaught but I think I am going to request 24, please.

03. forehead kisses28. forehead touches or nose nudging or any soft variation on the theme24. ‘just really needed a hug’ sort of a hug13. family

@darienplays6688, I wasn’t sure if you were asking for #24 instead of #3 and #28, or if you wanted that in addition to both of them. So… I went ahead and included a little bit of those for you, too. Just in case.

———-

Okay, so… Here’s the thing. I know these were all supposed to be “Super Soft And Fluffy” prompts, but… I think my brain overloaded on all of the fluff that wrote during the last three or four of these prompt fills. If I didn’t let out some of this bottled up angst, I’m pretty sure I was going to explode.

So, like… That’s not to say that this doesn’t have some really soft moments in it (and a happy ending, of course), but there’s definitely some angsty stuff along the way, and it’s not what I would call “fluffy” by any stretch of the imagination.

I’m really sorry, guys. But I just couldn’t do it. I hope you can still find a way to enjoy this fic that you’re getting instead. : /

———-

Set just a day or two after the end of 3x07, but before it picks up with any of the events of 3x08.

Also, the scenes are not in chronological order. It starts in the present, and then alternates between flashbacks and then back to the present again. Should hopefully be pretty easy to follow, but just wanted to give you a head’s up.

———-

“Hey, Babygirl. I think you might need to come down here.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Nicole? Is she hurt?”

“No, she’s okay. She’s just, uh… really quiet and kind of spacing out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was stoned. But this is Nicole ‘I have a lawbook shoved up my ass’ Haught we’re talking about here, so…”

“Wynonna.”

“Yeah. Anyway. I think maybe the stuff from today just kind of got to her a little.”

“Oh, god. The little girl. Was she…?”

“No! No. The kid’s fine. Haught was a goddamn superhero today. But don’t you fucking dare ever tell her I said that.”

“Where are you guys? I’m packing up now.”

“You can meet us at the Shelterlands Forest Trailhead.”

“That’s where you guys are? Fudgenuggets. No wonder Nicole is spooked. I’ll be there in like thirty minutes.”

“Half an hour?!”

“I’m at the library, Wynonna. Unless one of you has figured out how to teleport yet, then it will take me thirty minutes to get all the way out there.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with your ginger poptart until then? I think she’s slightly burnt right now instead of lightly toasted.”

“I don’t know, Wynonna… Maybe try talking to her?”

“Come on, Waves. You know I’m fucked when it comes to all of that soft and gooey feelings bullshit.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“Just… hurry. You gotta fix your girlfriend before I end up breaking her even worse.”

“You sure you’re okay, Waves?”

“I’m fine, Wynonna,” Waverly answers, shoving notebooks and tomes into her bag. “There’s nothing going on today. I’m just gonna do a deep-dive into some of this research. I’m tired of us always being two steps behind on everything.”

Wynonna understands the frustration. They’ve been behind the 8-ball on this thing from the very beginning, dating all the way back to Wyatt himself.

But she knows there’s more to Waverly’s mood, and it has everything to do with Mama skipping town again a couple of days ago. At least she’d left a letter this time, but that had done little to quell Waverly’s heartbreak. She doesn’t think Waverly had been completely caught off guard by the disappearance – it was less surprise, and more disappointed resignation – but that doesn’t mean she’s hurting any less.

Wynonna wishes there was more she could do to console Waverly, but to be completely honest, she still hasn’t quite recovered from the sting of it herself. And that’s not counting the fact that she’d discovered Doc’s betrayal not five minutes after reading the warning Mama had left her.

Welcome to the shitshow, population: me.

“If you’re gonna do research all day, why are you packing everything up?” Wynonna eventually asks, worried about what Waverly might really be planning. She’s not sure she has the energy, nor the mental capacity, to save her sister from some half-cocked mission she’s concocted to prove something to herself and everyone else in this godforsaken town.

“I’m just going to the library,” Waverly snaps, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“Whoa, now,” Wynonna says, dropping her feet from the table they’ve been propped up on. “Calm your tits there, girlie. I was just wondering why you aren’t going to use the BBD office since everything is already here.”

“Sorry,” Waverly sighs heavily, her shoulders sagging as she drops into the nearest chair. “It’s just… Jeremy’s doing one of his experiments and he’s gonna be back any minute and I just don’t think I have it in me today to listen to him ramble all day.” Shame causes her head to hang low, and she picks absentmindedly at one of the pockets on her bag. “Nicole’s gonna be out on patrols all day to try and get her visibility up right before the election, so I can’t even use the desk in her office, and I just… I just want to be alone with my books for a while. My mind needs some peace and quiet,” she mumbles at the end with a half-hearted shrug.

Wynonna hesitates for a minute before finally biting the bullet and reaching out to place her hand over Waverly’s on the table between them.

“Whatever you need, Babygirl,” she says quietly, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m here if you need anything.”

“I know,” Waverly says, eventually meeting Wynonna’s eye, but Wynonna can tell by the tremor in her voice that she doesn’t know. That Mama’s selfishness has proven to be a crippling setback for Waverly, erasing the year and a half of progress that Wynonna and Nicole have been making toward helping Waverly believe they’ll never leave her.

Her baby sister may as well be at the bottom of the well that Bobo recently vacated, for all the good the past couple of months have done toward her abandonment issues.

Wynonna continues to hold Waverly’s gaze for a few more seconds, saddened by the doubt she finds there. Squeezing her hand one last time, she finally leans over the table and kisses Waverly’s forehead. She could kill Mama for what she’s done to Waverly again, and she could kill Doc for being complicit in her getaway.

She grits her teeth as she pulls back and stands from her chair.

That’s a problem for another day.

“So, you said Tater Haught’s gonna be on patrol all day?” Wynonna asks as casually as she can.

“Yes…” Waverly looks Wynonna up and down. “Why…?”

Wynonna shrugs, playing with the fringe on her leather jacket.

“Thought maybe she’d like some company.”

“You are volunteering to ride around on patrol with Nicole?” Waverly hesitates,narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “What are you really up to…?”

“Nothing,” Wynonna huffs. “I’m just bored. The Revs are quiet. We have no new leads on Ball-Shart. You’re off to find your Fortress of Solitude, and that leaves me with Opti-mug Prime over there.”

And Waverly may be looking for some peace and quiet, but the last thing Wynonna wants right now is to be alone with her thoughts. There’s also that.

“You know what the Fortress of Solitude is?” Waverly asks and Wynonna immediately winces. “Wow, you really have been spending too much time with Jeremy.”

Waverly giggles, and despite Wynonna’s mortification, she’s glad to see the small spark of joy in her sister’s eyes, no matter how fleeting.

“Right?” Wynonna gasps, feigning disgust. “I’d much rather drive around with Haught Sauce and heckle the townsfolk than have to learn one more thing about a comic book character today.” She spins Peacemaker around her finger ominously, surprising even herself when she doesn’t fuck it up this time like she usually does.

“I doubt Nicole will let you get away with much heckling.” She watches Wynonna fumble with Peacemaker for a minute and then drops her hands to her hips. “Although…” she starts, her head cocking slightly. “Maybe a little ‘quality time’ would do you some good. Might even be better than the get-along-shirt I ought to make you two idiots wear after all of the trouble you caused the other day.”

Wynonna opens her mouth to launch some snarky retort, but Waverly holds a hand up to stop her and Wynonna’s mouth snaps shut on its own before she even realizes it.

“I’ve already heard every excuse under the sun from both of you. I’m not in the mood for reruns.” Wynonna grumbles and shoves Peacemaker back in her holster, but refrains from arguing. “Good. I’ll text Nicole to pick you up out front.”

With that, she finishes gathering up her things and breezes past Wynonna, pausing in the doorway only long enough to tell her to have a good time and to behave.

Wynonna stands alone in the BBD office, silently wondering when she became the child to Waverly’s mom friend instincts, but then she hears Jeremy’s cheerful chattering coming down the hall and she decides to hightail it before she gets cornered by another one of his science-fiction lectures.

Grabbing a donut from the box Waverly had left on the table earlier, she stuffs the entire thing in her mouth in one go and rushes out of the station.

Still brushing the litany of crumbs away from her shirt and jacket while standing on the front sidewalk, she doesn’t notice the cruiser pull up to the curb. When Nicole chirps the siren right behind her, Wynonna trips over her own feet, nearly doing a header right off the sidewalk and into the street.

She can hear Nicole’s laughter, even through the rolled-up windows of her patrol car. She flips Nicole off as she stumbles closer to the car, so Nicole proceeds to chirp the siren at her again.

“Fuck you, Haught!” Wynonna curses through her remaining mouthful of donut as she wrenches open the passenger door, drawing a smug sort of satisfaction from the appalled look on Nicole’s face when even more crumbs come flying out of her mouth to litter the front seat.

“Gross, Earp!” Nicole scolds, immediately scooping the crumbs into her hand and depositing them in the little trash compartment she keeps in her center console.

Wynonna completely ignores her, propping her feet up on the dash.

“Let’s roll, Haughtie.”

“Maybe try talking to her,” Wynonna mocks under her breath when Waverly ends the call.

Wynonna slips her phone back in her pocket and glances over at Nicole.

She hasn’t moved a muscle in at least five minutes, just staring blankly into the open trunk of her patrol car while the climbing harness still hangs from her hips. Wynonna may not always be the most observant person, but she’s not as oblivious as she likes to let everyone think she is. She can see the way Nicole’s entire body is trembling, the carabiners on her rigging jangling softly with the constant movement.

“Maybe try talking to her,” Wynonna mumbles again, kicking a rock and watching it skid off in the opposite direction. “What the fuck do I know about this kind of trauma,” she grumbles as she finally takes a step in Nicole’s direction.

A lot more than you might think.

Wynonna rolls her eyes at herself as she approaches Nicole.

Okay, that’s a fair point.

She hesitates briefly when Nicole doesn’t seem to notice her, then reaches out to lay a cautious hand on her shoulder. Nicole jumps and spins to face her, hand immediately falling to her sidearm, ready to draw if necessary. Wynonna stumbles back a step, eyes wide. She knew Nicole was a little zoned out, butshe wasn’t expecting that.

“Jesus, Wynonna,” Nicole croaks, trying to catch her breath. “I could have shot you.”

“You could have tried,” Wynonna returns, patting Peacemaker at her hip with a wink, opting for an off-color attempt at humor as she so often does in these situations. It doesn’t land, of course, and Nicole just continues to stare at her blankly. “Okay, okay. Geez. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”

“Sorry,” Nicole says, her shoulders sagging a bit. “I was just… just…” She looks back into the trunk of her cruiser, then down at the climbing gear still dangling from her waist, then back up at Wynonna with a frown. “Fuck,” she sighs. “I don’t even know what I was doing. Sorry,” she mumbles again.

Wynonna wonders again how the person with the worst interpersonal skills ended up in this position.

Dolls. Dolls was always good at calming me down when I was freaking the fuck out. What would he do to help Nicole right now?

“Take a deep breath, Haughtstuff,” she tries, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder again. “Let’s start by getting you out of that harness.”

Nicole looks down at it again, but makes no move to start unbuckling it, her hands still hanging uselessly at her sides.

“That’s what she said… HA!” Wynonna holds out her hand for a high five,proud of her joke, but still gets no reaction, even after high-fiving herself.

Fuck. That was a terrible Dolls. Focus, Earp.

“Snap out of it, Haught,” Wynonna says more firmly, reaching out to place her hands on both of Nicole’s shoulders this time, looking her square in the eye. “You were a hero today.” She immediately winces. “Dammit… You weren’t supposed to hear me say that part,” she mutters, but straightens her back and raises her chin anyway. “A goddamn hero.”

Much better. Very Dolls-like.

“Now I know I must be losing it,” Nicole finally says, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly as she shakes her head.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Wynonna says dryly and punches Nicole in the arm, snorting when she grabs it and whines dramatically. “Seriously, though,” she continues, gesturing back at Nicole’s gear. “Finish taking that off so we can relax for a minute, Haughtpants.”

“Yeah…” Nicole turns back toward the trunk, staring into it again for a few more seconds before finally starting to unbuckle the harness. “Yeah, I should do that.”

Wynonna leans against the back bumper, watching Nicole step out of the harness and begin to pack away the rest of her climbing gear. She nods to herself, and for the briefest of moments, she could swear she sees Dolls smiling at her from over Nicole’s shoulder. But when she blinks, he’s gone again, and all that’s left is a strange whisper on the wind.

Proud of you, Earp.

“So this is what you do all day? Just drive around town and jiggle a bunch ofdoor handles?”

Nicole completely ignores Wynonna, not even taking her eyes off the road long enough to glance in her direction.

“Because I can think of some things that are a lot more fun to jiggle,” Wynonna says with a wicked smirk, leaning far enough over the console to nudge Nicole in the ribs. “We could always go and visit Pussy Willows again, like we did that one time. Maybe one of the girls could pull that rod out of your ass for you.”

Nicole’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, and Wynonna can see the muscles flexing in her jaw. She immediately wishes she could kick herself.

“Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” Nicole cuts her off, voice tight.

The massacre.

The massacre that had brought the Cult of Bulshar to the forefront of their investigation.

The massacre that dredged up traumatic memories Nicole had locked away for twenty years.

The massacre that, according to Waverly, had conjured nightmares that haunted Nicole nearly every night since.

That massacre.

Wynonna doesn’t even think Pussy Willows has re-opened in the two and a half months since it happened. But here she had gone and dragged it all up again, just for a cheap laugh.

God, I’m such a fuckhead sometimes. Looks like Doc’s assholery is contagious.

Doc.

There’s another subject she doesn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. She’s batting a thousand today, it would seem. Desperate for any change of subject she can come up with, Wynonna backtracks to the last relatively safe thing she said.

“So these door checks…” Wynonna mumbles, plucking nervously at a string that hangs from the frayed hole in the knee of her jeans. “You have to do the same ones over and over again?”

“It’s important work, Wynonna,” Nicole says defensively.

Wynonna recognizes the look on her face as the one she makes when she’s preparing herself to be made fun of. A pang of guilt stabs at Wynonna’s gut when she realizes just how often she must badmouth Nicole and the way she does her job. It’s not fair and she knows it, but sometimes she just can’t help herself. It’s like a compulsion.

“I know,” Wynonna agrees, still trying to smooth things over.

“You do?” Nicole obviously wasn’t expecting that kind of response. Wynonna glances up to find Nicole looking at her while they’re stopped at a stop sign, eyebrow raised as though she’s expecting there to be more to it than that.

“I mean… I think I know,” Wynonna falters. She frowns as she continues to pick at the string on her jeans. “Okay, actually I don’t know,” she finally admits. Nicole’s face falls, resigning herself to whatever jab is about to come next. “Butyou could explain it to me,” Wynonna continues. “Or whatever,” she adds at the end with a wave of her hand, still trying to play it cool like she always does.

Nicole is silent for a long moment, and Wynonna considers just climbing out of the car while it’s not moving and starting the long walk back to the station by herself. Surely she can’t fuck that up as much as she’s fucking this up right now.

“You’re really asking?” Nicole finally ventures, and the skepticism is etched deeply on her face, but Wynonna thinks she catches a glimpse of something else in her eyes.

“Nevermind,” Wynonna sighs, deflating a little. She’s not getting anything right today. “You don’t have t–”

“No, it’s okay.” Nicole reaches into the center console and withdraws a metalclipboard. “I don’t mind,” she says, handing it over to Wynonna before pulling away from the stop sign and turning at the intersection.

Excitement. That’s what Wynonna had seen rippling beneath Nicole’s skepticism. And maybe even a little hope.

God, she really does love this job.

“What’s this?” Wynonna asks, looking over the pages of checklists on the clipboard.

“That’s our Daily Patrol Log,” Nicole explains as she continues driving to the next location on the list. “I sat down with several of the local business owners last year when Nedley first started giving me more leeway and responsibilities. We worked out a schedule of rotating patrols for their establishments to help with the new visibility directive I was writing, and also to encourage better preventativepolicing.”

“So you really do just… drive around and jiggle their door handles every day?” Wynonna asks after staring at Nicole for a long moment with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s more than that, Wynonna.” Nicole rolls her eyes, but continues explaining, her tone much gentler now. “Increasing our visibility in these areas helps make both the owners and the customers feel safer. We do a rotating schedule during the day shifts, which mostly just consists of driving by, or checking the locks on the back doors and storage areas – jiggling the handles, as you put it – so that we don’t interrupt their normal business. People get used to seeing us around, even in the background, and that makes it less likely for a bunch of shitheads to show up and cause trouble.”

She glances over to see if Wynonna is actually paying attention or if she’s already being ignored. To her surprise, Wynonna is still watching her intently.

“And for the night shift, we check every business on every shift – so long as time allows; sometimes we’re too busy with active calls and have to just do spot checks when we can – but we still try to do them in different orders so that no one can pinpoint exactly when we’ll be there.” They pull into the back parking lot of the Crown Surplus, and Nicole shifts in her seat to face Wynonna. “The night checks are a little more involved. We get out and walk the perimeter. Check all of the doors and windows. Make sure the alarms are engaged. Clear out any jackholes that are drinking on the premises. Things like that.”

“And this…” Wynonna gestures first at the clipboard in her hand, and then out the window at the building they’re parked behind. “It actually works?”

“Some. It’s just…” She tilts her head to the side and Wynonna watches as she searches for the right words. “I mean, Purgatory is a dangerous place, evenwhen these people want to bury their heads in the sand about what’s going on. And if I… If I can get them to trust us, even just a little bit more than they used to, then at least they’re more likely to come to us – to me – if some weird shit starts happening. You know? Like if they have someone that they think might actually believe them instead of just telling them they’re crazy…”

Nicole sighs and turns to stare out the window, the sudden silence in the car covering them like a thick blanket until it’s almost smothering.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, still looking out the window. “Maybe it’s stupid. Just wishful thinking on my part.”

“It’s not,” Wynonna says immediately, reaching out to lay a hand on Nicole’s forearm. She turns back to look at Wynonna, clearly surprised by the gesture. “It’s not stupid.”

“It’s not?” Nicole doesn’t sound convinced.

“No. It’s important,” Wynonna says quietly, squeezing Nicole’s arm gently. “What you’re doing for these people. Whether they recognize it or not.”

It’s in that moment that Wynonna realizes she’s talking about herself, too, and clears her throat uncomfortably as she jerks her hand back away from Nicole’s arm.

“You came up with all of this on your own?” she asks, settling back into her seat and plucking at the string on her jeans again. She smirks to herself when she sees Nicole’s face immediately begin to flush.

Some things never change.

“Yeah, I uh…” Nicole mumbles, rubbing at the back of her neck. “I guess I did. I ran it all by Nedley after I’d written it up, before I met with the business owners. But, umm…” She gives a dismissive half-shrug. “I guess I just wanted to help any way I could.”

Wynonna doesn’t say anything, but she does give a slight nod that causes Nicole to duck her head shyly. They sit in an awkward silence for a long moment before Wynonna hands the clipboard back to Nicole.

“So I guess we gotta g–”

“Haught,” Ruthie’s voice interrupts as the radio crackles to life between them. “Got Ranger Jett on the line for you. Sounds urgent.”

“10-4, Ruthie,” Nicole answers after grabbing the console mic. “Go ahead and patch him through.”

“10-4”

There’s a short beep followed by a series of clicks before a new voice comes through, slightly staticky from the relayed connection.

“Hello? Sheriff Haught?”

“Hey, Robin. Not officially the Sheriff yet,” Nicole says with a slight grin, “but what’s up?”

“It’s a little girl, Sheriff,” he continues, ignoring Nicole’s playful comment. “She’smissing.”

“I can’t, Wynonna. I’m still on shift.”

“Technically, your shift ended two hours ago.” Nicole eyes her carefully, and Wynonna shrugs. “Just sayin’.” She gives the silver flask a jiggle where she’s still holding it out between them.

She had done her best to channel Dolls earlier when she’d needed to snap Nicole out of her stupor. But recognizing the haunted look in her eyes now, Wynonna decides it’s time for some good old-fashioned Earp tactics.

Whiskey.

It’s never let her down before.

Okay, maybe it has… but who’s counting? That’s not important at the moment. What’s important is that Nicole is warring with a darkness right now, and sometimes you just need a little fire in your belly to hold it at bay for a little whilelonger.

Or at least until Waverly can get here and fix things the right way.

She watches the gears turn in Nicole’s head, like she’s weighing a heavy decision, and is more than a little surprised when Nicole reaches out to take the flask from her. She raises an eyebrow, but Nicole levels a look at her that practically dares her to say something about it when she raises the flask to her lips and downs several large gulps without so much as flinching.

“Well, alright then.” Wynonna takes the flask when Nicole hands it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It’s more than half empty. Wynonna gives Nicole an impressed look, raising the flask in a mock toast. “Cheers, Haughtshot,” she says before downing the rest of it.

No way she’s gonna let an Earp be outdone when it comes to drinking. Especially not by Five-O. Though, to be completely fair, Wynonna has always been impressed with Nicole’s constitution. It takes a lot to get her drunk, and even then, she still continues to hold her own. She’s proven that over and over again.

Drinking whiskey that night at the station a year and a half ago, back when times were simpler. Nicole had matched her swig for swig, but the minute they’d gotten sucked into an actual case down in the morgue, she’d sobered up instantly. That’s not easy to do, and Wynonna knows it.

Just a handful of months later, covering for Wynonna while staking out Jonas by drinking for both of them just to keep the baby safe. She’d definitely gotten drunker that time around, but no so much so that she couldn’t still shoot out a fuse box from across the room with a .380 Walther PPK she’d pulled out of her sock, and that’s saying something, given their long history of questionable accuracy.

And just a couple of days ago in that Revenant bar. Nicole had been drunk off her ass by the end of that disaster, but even though she would never admit it out loud, Wynonna knows that Nicole is the one that technically won that drinking contest fair and square. The Revenant had lost when he’d hurled everything back up. And Wynonna… Well, Wynonna had been cheating the entire time. And that leaves Nicole. Who matched Wynonna and the Rev drink for drink, kept all of it down, and then, even though she was unsteady on her feet, she still managed to help Wynonna kick some ass in the woods.

If there’s one thing Wynonna can respect, it’s the ability to hold your liquor. And Nicole keeps proving over and over that she can match pace with an Earp. So that’s pretty solid in Wynonna’s book.

She looks back at Nicole, whose cheeks are now flushed from the healthy dose of whiskey. Tucking the empty flask back into the inside pocket of her leather jacket, she climbs up onto the trunk of Nicole’s cruiser. Nicole starts to balk, but Wynonna ignores her, patting the space beside her.

“C’mon, Haught. We got a little time before your unicorn gets here. Take a load off.”

“Waverly’s coming?” That’s the first sign of hope she’s seen in Nicole since they originally got the call from Robin.

“She’s already on her way.”

Nicole lets out a weary sigh, but climbs up next to Wynonna without protest, leaning back on her hands as her feet find purchase on the bumper. She looks up at the moon, already visible in the dimming twilight, and Wynonna can see the deep worry lines etched across her brow and at her mouth. For a fleeting moment, she looks far older than her twenty-seven years would suggest.

Wynonna knows a little bit about that. She’s twenty-eight now, but sometimes she feels like she’s already been dragged through a hundred lifetimes full of griefand guilt and loss.

“Hey, it’s okay to relax for a minute.” She reaches over and pats Nicole’s knee. “Today was a win, Nicole.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before whispering something so softly that Wynonna can barely make it out over the rustling leaves in the nearby trees.

“Sometimes it��s hard to tell in this town.”

Ain’t that the goddamn truth.

“We’ve been out here for hours, Nicole. Maybe we sho–”

“We’re not giving up, Wynonna!”

Nicole stomps off through the trees, and Wynonna lets her go.

It’s suspicious that another kid has already gone missing in the woods again, especially so soon after what they went through with the missing kids on Christmas just barely a week ago. She and Charlie had tracked them down andwiped out one of Bulshar’s evil beekeeper hives, rescuing Robin and severalothers in the process. Surely he hasn’t already rebuilt and started over again…

No, something about this one feels different, she thinks as she watches Nicole search for tracks in the underbrush up ahead, weighed down by far more than just the pack full of gear slung over her shoulders. Her phone buzzes in her pocket before she has time to think any more about that.

Angelpants: Are you still with Nicole? She’s not answering her phone.

Bacon Donut: we’re on a call

Angelpants: Everything okay?

Bacon Donut: little girl missing in the woods

Angelpants: Bulshar???

Bacon Donut: nah peacemaker isn’t giving me any tingly feelings in my pants

Angelpants: WYNONNA

Bacon Donut: i think she just got lost

Bacon Donut: mom lost track of her by the playground whilechasing after toddler

Angelpants: Is Nicole okay?

Bacon Donut: she’s in full sheriff mode right now

Angelpants: You guys need anything?

Bacon Donut: the whole cavalry is out here

Bacon Donut: i think we’re good

Bacon Donut: you just work on that research babygirl

Angelpants: Okay… But keep me posted?

Bacon Donut: 10-4

Angelpants: You really have been spending a lot of time with Nicole lately. lol

Bacon Donut: shut it shortstack

Angelpants: Be careful, okay?

Bacon Donut: you got it boss

Wynonna slides her phone back in her pocket and does her best to catch up to Nicole again. Nicole continues to ignore her, and Wynonna approaches cautiously.

“Hey…” She hesitates when Nicole freezes in place, but doesn’t turn around. “Charlie has the entire fire department out here, and Robin called in all of the other Park Rangers. I wasn’t suggesting that everyone give up, Haught. I was just wondering if we shouldn’t leave it to the Search & Rescue boys, since that’s what they do.”

“I’m Search & Rescue, Wynonna!” Nicole snaps as she finally spins to face Wynonna. She points at one of the patches on the pack she’s carrying. “I got certified in it at the Academy, because I never wanted another little girl to be stuck in the woods by herself with no one to come looking for her.”

Oh.

Wynonna suddenly understands everything.

That explains a lot.

She opens her mouth to say something – anything – but it seems her brain has forgotten how to string two words together right now.

“It’s going to be dark soon, Wynonna,” Nicole continues, much quieter this time. Her eyes are hollow and she’s white as a ghost. Even paler than usual. “It’s going to be dark, and she’ll be out here all alone, cold and scared, and… and…” Nicole swallows hard around the lump that Wynonna can hear is stuck inher throat. “What if it had been Waverly?” she pleads, desperate for Wynonna to stay out here with her.

“Okay,” Wynonna says, finally finding her words again. She reaches out and catches the trembling hand that Nicole’s been waving around. “Okay, Nicole. We’ll keep looking for her.”

They hear the muffled calls of the other groups echoing through the forest as they continue their search. Nicole was right: the sun is beginning to set, and the beautiful colors painted across the sky bring a sharper chill in the air with them. They’re running out of time.

Wynonna suddenly feels an odd weightless sensation, and then her stomach is in her throat as she starts to tumble forward. Before she connects with anything, though, she’s being yanked backward by her collar, until she’s lying on her back,staring up at the trees.

One red-headed tree in particular.

“You’ve gotta watch where you’re going, Earp,” Nicole says sternly, hands on her hips as she looks down at Wynonna. “I don’t have time to be saving your ass,too.”

“Thanks, Haught,” Wynonna manages to croak. “I didn’t even se–”

“Shhhhh…” Nicole whispers harshly. “Did you hear that?”

Wynonna frowns, straining her ears in the eerie silence of the forest around them. Just as she’s about to accuse Nicole of losing her mind, she hears it, too. It’s faint, almost as though they’d imagined it, but it’s there.

“Hello…? Is somebody there?”

Nicole trembles slightly as she pulls Wynonna up from the ground.

“This is the Sheriff’s Department!” she yells, loudly enough to make Wynonna wince. “Call out if you can hear me!”

They both wait, staring at each other with wide eyes.

“HELP! WE’RE DOWN HERE! HELP, PLEASE!”

“We?” they mouth in unison, still frozen in place for half a second longer.

“Don’t move! We’re on our way!” Nicole finally yells back as she turns and sprints in the direction of the voice, along the edge of the ridge that Wynonna had nearly tumbled over.

Wynonna does her best to keep up with Nicole in the waning light, struggling to stay upright in the wake of the sure-footed Sheriff. It’s painfully obvious that Nicole is far more comfortable in this terrain than Wynonna will ever be.

They finally begin to slow their approach when they start to hear barking mixed in with the small voice. That must be the ‘we’ the little girl was referring to.

“We’re almost there, Ashley!” Nicole calls out again as she begins looking around the new area. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“I fell,” the little girl cries in response. “I can’t move my leg!” Her answer is accompanied by another round of barks and frantic whines. “And Hugo’sdown here, too,” she adds.

Nicole drops to her belly in the dirt and the leaves and creeps closer to the stony ledge. Wynonna crouches and carefully peers over Nicole’s shoulder to find asheer rock face, wrought with stray branches and roots and moss-covered rockssticking out at odd angles. Wynonna knows from experience now just how easy it would be to miss a step if you weren’t looking and suddenly find yourself twenty feet below with nowhere to go.

There, in a muddy patch of snow and leaves tucked away in the shadows below the ledge, they can see a puffy pink coat with a matching set of snow boots – one leg sticking out at an odd angle – and a large dog wrapped around a shivering body.

“Hi, Ashley. I’m Officer Nicole.”

“Hi, Nicole,” Ashley answers weakly.

“Don’t move,” Nicole says again, gentler this time. “I’m coming down to get you, okay?”

“Okay,” the little girl sniffles. “Hurry. I’m sca– I mean, I think Hugo is scared.”

“Don’t be scared, Hugo,” Nicole says, nodding seriously at the dog. “Everything’s gonna be okay now.”

Hugo barks once – a muted sort of woof – and Ashley clutches a little tighter at his fur.

“He says he’ll try to be brave.”

“That’s very good, Ashley.” Nicole pushes up onto her hands and knees. “You and Hugo just need to be brave a little longer while I get my rope ready, and then I’ll be down to get you, okay?”

“Okay…”

“You can talk to my friend Wynonna here while I’m working.” Nicole nudges Wynonna a little closer to the edge, despite the what the fuck look she levels in Nicole’s direction. “Just talk to her, Wynonna,” Nicole says so that only Wynonna can hear her. “So she knows we’re still here and she’s not alone anymore.”

“Uh… hi,” Wynonna says awkwardly, sticking her head over the ledge and waving. She turns to see Nicole unpacking her gear, ratcheting one end of her rope to a nearby tree that looks sturdy enough to serve as an anchor. “I’m Wynonna…”

“Duh,” Ashley says, giggling a little in spite of herself. “Officer Nicole already said that.”

“Officer Nicole says a lot of things,” Wynonna grumbles loudly, sticking her tongue out dramatically at Nicole behind her back. Ashley giggles again, and Hugo thumps his tail against the leaves. “My little sister would love that pink coat of yours,” Wynonna adds after a moment, unsure of what else to say.

“You have a little sister?”

“Uh huh. Her name is Waverly.”

“Walervy?”

“Eh… Close enough, kid,” Wynonna snorts. “She loves pink stuff and rainbows and unicorns.”

“I have a unicorn!” There’s less sniffling in Ashley’s voice now, replaced by excitement instead.

“So does my sister!” Wynonna laughs, especially when hearing Nicole groan behind her.

“His name is Sparkle!”

“His name… is Sparkle…” Wynonna can barely contain herself. “That’s–”

“Wynonna,” Nicole hisses quietly. “Be nice.”

“–a great name!” Wynonna finishes.

“What did your sister name her unicorn?” Ashley calls up again after a moment.

“Officer Nicole,” Wynonna giggles, and then yelps when Nicole kicks her right in the ass with her muddy boot.

“What?” Ashley asks, confused.

“Ummm... I said Tootsie Roll!” Wynonna calls back a little louder this time, still trying to stifle a giggle.

“Like the candy?”

“Yep,” Wynonna answers, popping the p loudly. “Just like that.”

“That’s kinda weird…” Ashley says, thinking about it for a moment. “But I like it!”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought, too,” Wynonna says, glancing back over her shoulder and catching the hint of a smile on Nicole’s face, just barely hidden behind the curtain of her hair.

“Okay, Ashley,” Nicole says, stepping back up to the ledge. “I’m coming down to get you now. All I need you to do is just stay still, okay? Don’t try to move until Iget there.”

“Okay,” Ashley answers, sounding nervous again.

“You need to hang on to this for me,” Nicole tells Wynonna, handing her a portion of the rope after making sure it’s secured through her climbing harness. “Getting down there shouldn’t be too difficult, but I’ll need your help when I’m climbing back up with her.”

“What?” Wynonna balks, trying to back away. “I don’t know anything about this shit. What if I fuck it up?” She can’t handle this kind of responsibility right now.

“Wynonna, focus,” Nicole says sharply, grabbing her by the shoulder. “Look.” She points over to the tree. “I’m rigged up to a pulley system. All I need you to do is keep this part tight. When I create slack from climbing, just keep pulling it tight, okay? It will keep me from falling backward if I lose my footing with her inmy arms.”

Wynonna doesn’t understand how any of this climbing shit works, but she thinks she can manage at least that much.

“Okay,” she finally says, still a little unsure. “Hey, wait…” she adds when Nicole starts to back up toward the ledge. “Do you have our coordinates or whatever? I was just gonna shoot of a quick text to Charlie with our location so he can send some of the EMS boys this way.”

Nicole pulls out her phone and frowns at the missed calls and texts from Waverly.

“It’s okay,” Wynonna says quickly when she sees Nicole’s face. “I texted her a while ago to let her know we were on a call.”

“Thanks…” Nicole says softly. “I didn’t mean to ignore her. I just…”

“Had a lot on your mind?”

“Yeah,” Nicole answers sheepishly, and then clears her throat a couple of times. “Here’s the coordinates,” she says, handing Wynonna her phone with the GPS app open.

“Okay, got it,” Wynonna says after typing a few things into a text message. “Now go and save the day, Sheriff,” she says, warmly and with no hint of sarcasm, as she hands Nicole’s phone back to her.

Nicole rappels down the rock face with ease, and Wynonna watches as she pulls out the emergency med kit from her pack and places a cervical collar around Ashley’s neck to stabilize her c-spine. It’s not ideal to be moving someone like this without a full backboard, but sometimes the circumstances of these search and rescue situations don’t always provide the best conditions. At least she’d been sitting up the entire time she’d been talking to them. That has to count for something. Hopefully.

After placing a makeshift splint on Ashley’s leg, Nicole begins to prepare her for transport. She carefully works another harness up over Ashley’s legs and hips, and then secures it to her own with another short section of rope and somecarabiners. Then she slips Ashley’s hands through a set of loops that almost look like handcuffs made of rope, explaining that they will help her hold on to Nicole while she’s climbing back up.

Ducking her head to put it through Ashley’s arms so they’re around her neck, Nicole scoops her up and holds her close as she moves back to the rocks and slowly begins her ascent. Wynonna is diligent in keeping the slack out of the rope, digging her heels into the soft earth to help her hold her ground. It’s much slower going, and they’re nearly out of light now, but soon enough, Nicole’s head pops up over the ledge and Wynonna kneels down to take Ashley from her and get her back on solid ground.

“Can you tell us what happened, Ashley?” Nicole asks as she takes off her jacket and drapes it around Ashley’s shoulders. Wynonna is immediately reminded of the photo she’d recently seen of a young Nicole wearing Nedley’s coat on the morning he’d found her downstream from the massacre.

“We were playing in the park with Mama and Matthew,” Ashley starts, sniffling again. “Matthew kept tryin’a run away, and Mama had to chase after him. But then Hugo saw a squirrel and tried to catch it and we just kept runnin’ and then we were in the woods and there were so many trees and we got lost and then I fell and… and…” Anything else she wanted to say gets lost in the heaving sob that wracks her entire body.

“Shhh… It’s okay,” Nicole soothes, wrapping her arms around the little girl. She tucks her face securely into Nicole’s shoulder, and Nicole strokes her hair gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“What about Hugo,” Ashley eventually hiccups, once she’s caught her breath again. “You can’t just leave him down there!”

Wynonna and Nicole peer over the ledge, watching Hugo prance and pace along the edge of the rock face, whining and searching for his human.

“Okay,” Nicole says after a brief moment of deliberation. “You stay here with Wynonna, and I’ll go and get Hugo.”

“How in the fu– …the f–” Wynonna’s eyes slide over toward Ashley. “The eff are you gonna do that?”

“Ummm…” Nicole thinks for a moment, looking at everything that’s spread out in front of her. “I think I have an idea.” She dumps everything out of her pack, until it’s completely empty, and holds it up. She eyes it for a minute, and then shrugs at Wynonna. “Hopefully this will work…”

“Oh, my god,” Wynonna groans, resting her head in her hand. She knows exactly what Nicole is going to do.

Nicole slings the empty pack back over her shoulders and starts toward the ledge again, but pauses when Ashley reaches out and takes her face in her little hands.

“Officer Nicole,” she says very seriously. “You have to be very careful with him. Mama says he’s an old man now.”

“I’ll be very careful with him,” Nicole answers, her voice cracking a little. “I promise.”

Wynonna definitely doesn’t have a lump in her throat. Nope. Absolutely not.

They begin the process all over again, and Nicole sits with Hugo for a few minutes at the bottom so that he’ll calm down and hopefully trust her enough for what needs to happen next. After a bit of coaxing and a couple of false starts, she finally manages to get the aging German shepherd into her giant backpack, with just his head sticking out so that he can watch over her shoulder. He doesn’t seem particularly pleased about this development, but he lets her secure the zipper and lock it in place so he can’t fall out on the way back up. It will have to do.

She hoists the pack back up onto her shoulders and starts climbing the wall again, Wynonna dutifully working her end of the rope. It doesn’t take quite as long as it did when Nicole was bringing Ashley up since she has the use of both arms, but Wynonna can tell she’s feeling pretty exhausted by the time she reaches the top.

Thankfully, Charlie and the boys have arrived by then, already tending to Ashley while Nicole frees Hugo from his port-a-puppy status. He barks a few times and then runs in an impressive amount of circles before finally jumping up on the back of the ATV and settling in next to Ashley, refusing to leave her side again.

They all set out back toward the trailhead where Ashley’s family is waiting for them, leaving Wynonna and Nicole standing alone in the silence of the dusk-covered woods.

“That was some Haught shit back there, Officer Nicole,” Wynonna says after a few minutes. She pats Nicole on the back when she gets no response.

Nicole says nothing, merely swaying on her feet until she has to reach out and lean against one of the nearby trees for support.

Then she promptly doubles over and vomits all over her boots.

“Okay, even I didn’t see that coming…” Wynonna says, unsure of how to react.

Nicole still doesn’t say anything, heaving three more times before she’s apparently emptied her entire stomach out into the muddy snow. When she finally stands back up, Wynonna takes her by the elbow and starts leading her back the way they came.

“Alright, Red. Let’s get you back to the land of the living.”

“Maybe try talking to her.”

Waverly’s voice is still bouncing around in Wynonna’s head as she watches Nicole stare out into the darkness, shivering slightly despite having her jacket back after Charlie had replaced it with a proper blanket. She reaches out and places a hand on Nicole’s knee.

“I shouldn’t have called you ‘Deputy Dipshit’ the other day.” Nicole immediately stiffens beside Wynonna. That definitely touched a nerve. She curses herself and starts to change the subject, but she sees Waverly glaring at her with her arms crossed, telling her to talk to her about it, so instead, she pushes on. “I was only fucking with you,” she hastens to justify, “but I still shouldn’t have gonethere. It was a shitty thing to say, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Maybe I did,” Nicole sighs, visibly deflating. “Seems like everyone has that opinion these days.”

“I don’t,” Wynonna says immediately. “Nedley doesn’t.”

“Right,” Nicole scoffs. “You drag my ass about my job every chance you get. And Bunny Loblaw…” Nicole swallows had and looks away again.

“Bunny Nut Cheerios can choke on her pearls, for all I care,” Wynonna seethes. “And me…” Wynonna starts, a little more sheepishly. “Well, since when do you listen to a word I say, anyway?”

Nicole just raises an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, look. You know I don’t have the best track record with cops. Even Nedley, from before I came back. But you’re…” Wynonna waves her hand around awkwardly. “…Different.”

“Different,” Nicole repeats in a deadpan voice.

“Yes. Different, okay?” Wynonna kicks her foot on the bumper of the cruiser while she tries to figure out what to say next. “Like. Even before you kneweverything, you still tried to look out for me and my sister. And then you took a bullet for her. And you believe me when I tell you something’s important, even if I can’t always explain it right then. And… and you didn’t just automatically assume I was crazy and needed to be locked up again.”

That last part comes out much quieter than the rest of it. Nicole turns to fully face Wynonna and opens her mouth to respond, but Wynonna holds up a hand to stop her.

“I’m not very good at this shit, but I’m trying to say something important here. Let me get it out.” Nicole just nods silently, and Wynonna continues. “And then my sister fell for you, and that scared me. Because I thought you were just going to take her away from me. But you didn’t, and you stayed, and she stayed, and… You tell me you love her, and then you told me you love me, too, and… and…” Wynonna sighs and buries her head in her hands. “Look, I’m just sayin’,” she says, popping her head back up again. “I know we made up and called a truce the other night back at the station, but I still shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t deserve it, okay?”

“Okay…”

There’s a lot to unpack there, but Nicole is apparently willing to just let it go for now. Thankfully.

“What if I can’t do this, Wynonna?” Nicole asks instead after a few moments of silence. “What if I’m not cut out to be the Sheriff?”

“No way,” Wynonna snorts. “That’s not possible.” Nicole shrugs a little helplessly at her. “Listen, Haughtdog. Nedley has been talking about you non-stop since you started working for him a year and a half ago. That man believes in you more than he believes in Willie Nelson. And I told him a month ago – before any of this other shit started happening – that you were ready to take his place whenever he was ready to let you. That you had the kind of fight in you that this town needs right now.”

“You… you did?” Nicole seems genuinely surprised by this.

“I did,” Wynonna nods. “And I know for a fact that you heard every word I said to ol’ Bun Bun after we finished saving her ass. Naughty Haughty and your eavesdropping.” Wynonna gives an approving waggle of her eyebrows and Nicole shoves her playfully in the shoulder. “But the truth is, Nicole… You’re the best goddamn cop this town has ever seen. Nedley is a good man, and he’s done the best he can with trying to balance the protection and the cover-up for the past thirty years. But you’re… Well, like I said. You’re different. You’ve got your eyes wide open going into this, and you’re everything this godforsaken town needs right now.”

Nicole stares down at her hands, suddenly very interested in the stitching on her gloves.

“I mean, look at how much of a difference you’ve already made just with something as simple as your handle-jiggling thingy. The people trust you. They’re glad to see you coming, and that’s important in a town like this.”

“Maybe so…” Nicole glances back up at Wynonna. “Thanks, Earp.”

“For what?” Wynonna asks pointedly. “If you ever tell a living soul I said any ofthat, I’ll deny it to my grave.”

Nicole snorts and shakes her head.

“Fair enough.”

“Now, uh…” Wynonna wipes the palms of her hands nervously on her jeans. Her head is screaming at her to just leave it at that, counting this conversation as a win. But her heart remembers the way Nicole had looked in the woods, and how haunted she’d been when they’d gotten back to the parking lot of theTrailhead. She feels Waverly coaxing her to continue. “Do you, uh… want to talk about what’s really bothering you?”

Nicole instantly shrinks back into herself, looking back up at the darkened sky. Wynonna could kick herself for being such a bull in the china closet, but she’s really trying here. That’s got to count for something.

“How much do you remember from that night?” she asks tentatively.

“Not a lot,” Nicole mumbles. “Just flashes. That asshole in black leather. Screams. Blood. Floating in the canoe. Freezing so badly I thought I was turning to ice.”

“That… sounds like a lot to me,” Wynonna says. “And the little girl today?”

“I knew how scared she would be. Alone. In the dark. In these woods…” A tear trickles down Nicole’s cheek. “It put me right back there again.” She wipes discreetly at her face, and Wynonna chooses not to say anything about it.

“Waverly said you’ve been having nightmares about it?”

“She told you about that?” Nicole tries to sound mad, but Wynonna recognizes the truth in her voice: embarrassment and shame.

“She tells me a lot of things,” Wynonna says gently. “Do you… want to talk about them?”

“What would you know about it?” Nicole huffs angrily, instantly starting to throw up a wall between them. Wynonna isn’t having any of it. Not this time.

“About what, Nicole?” She cuts in firmly. “About something so traumatic from your childhood that it still haunts you twenty years later? About darkness and death that twists you up so badly you end up in the loony bin for it? About closing your eyes and seeing every person that’s ever died because you failed them etched across your eyelids until you can’t tell what’s real in the moment and what’s only a memory in a dream?”

Nicole stares at Wynonna, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open. Wynonna just sits patiently, waiting for Nicole to process everything she just said.

It takes a minute.

“S-sorry…” Nicole eventually stutters. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t… I… S-sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize, Nicole.” Wynonna reaches out and takes one of Nicole’s hands. “I was just trying to point out that maybe I get it a little more than you might think. If you ever… you know…” She lets go of Nicole’s hand and waves it awkwardly in the air. “…Needed someone. To talk to, I mean.”

“Waverly’s so good. She’s always there for me through the nightmares.” Nicole sighs, looking back down at her hands. “But sometimes I feel like I’mdrowning in it. Like I’m going to drown both of us, and I can’t even see what it is that’s dragging me under.” She wipes at her face again, more openly this time.

“Yeah, I get that,” Wynonna admits. “Why do you think I left for so long?”

“I’m not going to leave her, Wynonna!” Nicole says sharply, sitting up straight again with her brow furrowed.

“I know,” Wynonna defends, throwing her hands up between them. “I know. That’s not what I meant. It’s… I just… You’re a lot stronger than me, Haught. I was too weak. I had to leave because I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle it myself, and I sure as fuck couldn’t hand dragging Waverly down with me.”

“Am I?” Nicole asks quietly.

“Are you what?” Wynonna frowns, confused.

“Dragging her down? Would she be better off without my baggage?” Wynonna doesn’t think she’s ever seen Nicole look so broken before.

“No,” she says firmly. “God, no. You’re the one that’s given that girl wings,Nicole.”

“I don’t know about that,” Nicole sniffles, smiling slightly despite herself. “Seems like this Julian dude probably had more to do with that than me.”

Wynonna can’t help but snort.

“Can’t believe Mama bagged herself a fucking angel.” She barks out a laugh, but then her tone turns darker. “You deserve your angel far more than she ever did.”

This time it’s Nicole that reaches out and takes Wynonna’s hand.

“Hey.” She squeezes gently until Wynonna meets her eye. “We’ll figure this out together, okay? All of us.”

Wynonna searches Nicole’s eyes and finds nothing but genuine compassion there. She wants to say something – feels like she should – but she can’t seem to find the right words, so she just nods her acknowledgement.

Then, as if someone else is controlling her body, she reaches out and wraps her arms around Nicole, pulling her in close. Nicole feels stiff at first, like she’s notsure what’s happening, but then she relaxes into the embrace, reaching aroundto close her own arms around Wynonna’s shoulders.

They stay like that for several long moments, losing track of the number of heartbeats, before Wynonna pulls back again, looking a little flustered with herself.

“What, uh… What was that for?” Nicole asks through a lopsided smile.

Wynonna shrugs as casually as she can manage.

“You just looked like you really needed a hug.”

Just then, a pair of headlights comes sweeping into the parking lot, eventually coming to rest on the trunk of Nicole’s squad car, lighting both of them up in the sudden brightness. The engine cuts out and they’re left with visions of a red jeep swimming behind the sunspots now floating in their eyes.

“Speak of the devil…” Wynonna says, wiping the salty tracks from her own face now. “Or angel, I suppose,” she adds, nudging Nicole in her ribs with her elbow.

They both share a laugh as they hop down from the trunk, wiping their hands on their pants and feeling all of the joints in their body crack as they stretch out their weary limbs. Waverly approaches them slowly, eyebrow raised.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, her tone suspicious.

“Nope,” Wynonna hurries to say. “Not a thing, Babygirl. We’ve just been waiting on you.”

Waverly eyes Nicole, who just nods along innocently.

“Riiiight…”

Before she can say anymore, Nicole has closed the distance between them, sweeping Waverly into her arms. She kisses her deeply, far more than just a quick peck on the lips, before finally pulling back to nuzzle their noses together and eventually letting her forehead rest against Waverly’s.

Wynonna would normally clear her throat or make gagging noises or harass them in some other way, but instead, this time she quietly watches. Really watches.

Watches the way Nicole seems to draw strength from the simple fact that Waverly is near. Watches the way Waverly clutches at Nicole’s jacket, keeping her close and present in the moment and steady. Watches them whisper softly to each other and the way Nicole’s body instinctively relaxes at Waverly’s touch. Watches the way they both seem to be trying to protect each other at the same time.

She’d meant it before when she admitted to Nicole that she was scared when Waverly fell in love with her. Scared that Nicole would take her away. That Waverly would leave her. But as she watches them now, she doesn’t feel scared anymore. They were made for each other. They deserve each other. And there’s no way she can be jealous of that. She couldn’t ask for anyone betterto be taking care of her baby sister, and for all of the blustery sarcasm shethrows Nicole’s way, she’s also glad that she has someone like Waverly to takecare of her, too.

There’s been a lot of reevaluating lately. About what family truly means. Is it just about blood? Are they destined to be bound to those who are related to them simply because they share some common DNA? All Wynonna’s blood brings is a curse of failure and leaving and death. Generations of Earps had fallen to forces outside their control. Daddy and Willa had betrayed their family. Mama had bailed… twice. Is that really what Wynonna wants her family to be?

And what about the family you choose for yourself? She’s not doing much better in that department, either. She had to kill Shorty with her own two hands. Dollsleft her to all of this alone, even though it wasn’t the same way Mama had left. And Doc… Doc had chosen to betray her, to become the very thing they hunted, all because he couldn’t deal with a little manpain.

She has Alice, and will always love her. But god knows when the next time she’ll get to see her will be. If she ever gets to see her again at all. Just another piece of family that’s been ripped away from her.

Maybe some things just aren’t in the cards for the heir to a curse that she never asked for.

But then she looks over at Waverly and Nicole again. Remembers Waverly telling her that she loves her. Remembers Nicole telling her that she kind of loves her, too. Remembers Nicole telling her ‘I got you, Earp,’ and actually meaning it. Remembers Waverly telling her ‘I’m here for you, now and forever,’ and staying with her even though she could have run so many times.

Something clenches in Wynonna’s chest, and she nearly forgets how to breathe. She does have a family. And it’s right here in front of her. Just the three of them against the world. Her sister, and… her sister’s girlfriend? Her… Nicole? Her… best friend. The words feel foreign in her mind. She’s never had a best friend before. Not really. But she looks back over everything she and Nicole have been through, and she thinks maybe… maybe this is what that is supposed to feel like.

Besides. Something tells her that at some point, she’ll eventually have to start calling Nicole her sister, too.

She doesn’t think that would be such a bad thing.

“You okay?” she hears Waverly asking, and she realizes that both Waverly and Nicole staring at her with raised eyebrows.

Fuck. Get your shit together, Earp.

“Uh, yeah…” She clears her throat a couple of times and gives her patented thumbs up. “All good. You guys ready to get out of here?” she asks, hoping to distract them.

“Please,” Nicole answers wearily.

“Grab your bag and toss me your keys, Babygirl. I’ll drive your Jeep home so you can ride with Haughtstuff.”

“You sure?” Waverly asks, her eyes lighting up.

“Of course. Go take care of your girl,” she says, walking over to kiss the side of Waverly’s head as she takes the keys out of her hand.

“Nicole said she’s starving. We were gonna stop by Mama Lou’s.” Waverly’s voice is muffled as she digs through the cab of the Jeep for her bag and her purse. “You wanna join us before you head home?” she asks when her head pops back out again.

Wynonna glances over at Nicole, not wanting to intrude on their time together, but Nicole nods at her with a warm smile.

“Sounds good,” she admits. “I could murder a stack of pancakes.”

“We’ll follow you there,” Nicole says as she watches Waverly settle into the passenger seat of her squad car.

Wynonna nods and turns to climb into the Jeep, but stops when she feels a hand on her arm.

“Wynonna…” Nicole’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times like a fish out of water as she tries to find the words to say. “Thanks,” she finally settles on. “I, uh… I don’t think I could have made it through today without you.”

Wynonna smiles genuinely, no trace of sarcasm or teasing. Then she shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.

“You’re family, Nicole.”

#prompt fill #my fiction #wayhaught #wynaught brotp #wynonna earp #ask and answer #darienplays6688 #anon #writer asks #writing #mine

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sabraeal · 5 years

Text

Wide Florida Bay | Next

The first post in the 600 Followers Holiday Gift-a-thon! This was technically supposed to be the last chapter of Sensitive Negotiations, BUT....that is taking longer than expected, so the schedule is a little out of order. But here is a nice slice of WFB to start off the month!

Kiki may be a New Englander through and through, but she will admit: there is something deliciously perverse about sitting poolside in March, barely wearing anything more than a bikini.

“So, now that the lightweights have gone home--” a lethally green cocktail plops down next to her, stuffed to the brim with tiny umbrellas-- “shall we go for another round, Ms Kiki?”

Obi’s three drinks relaxed, his vowels stretched long to a more musical miz. She’s heard of this phenomenon before; his first year in the frat, Obi had spent Halloween getting entirely wasted on craft pumpkin beer, and Mitsuhide had told her somewhere around three in the morning he’d slurred out a drawled ‘suh’ as he rolled him into bed. Charming, he’d called it.

“Just one more,” she agrees, shifting her knees so he can slide in next to her. “But only if we follow it up with water. I refuse to spend my first night in paradise holding your hair over a toilet.”

“Aww.” He wiggles in his chair, pleased. “You’d do that for me?”

“I just said I wouldn’t.”

His teeth flash white in the night, as quick as a meteor. “If you say so, Ms. Kiki.”

He sprawls out, long legs stretching out across the brick, letting loose a sigh so heavy he might as well be Atlas.

“So.” She arches a brow, settling back to match his slouch. “You’re dressed nice.”

If she had blinked, she would have missed how his shoulders tense, how for a brief moment his grin becomes a grimace.

“Oh, princess,” he drawls, recovered, “had I known you’d be down here I would have dressed to the nines.”

“But you didn’t and you’re not.” She sips at her cocktail, enjoying the sour citrus burn as she swallows it down. “So who did you take out?”

“Ahh-hah.” He squirms in his chair, shoulders hunched. “I can’t believe you guessed.”

“Obi, you’re wearing aftershave.” The coconut is a nice touch, but she’ll die before she tells him it mixes nicely with the sandalwood. “I can smell it from over here.”

His jaw drops, and she can see the moment he tries to smell it himself, where he wonders if it’s too strong or just enough -- and then he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s not going to be a second date.”

Oh, curiouser and curiouser. “Is that so?”

“There’s not really much of a point.” His eyes dart to her, a flash of gold in the moonlight, before tilting up. “Not when I’m in love with Shirayuki.”

Kiki stares. It’s all she can manage for a handful of seconds, just staring at him as he stares at the moon.

“Oh,” she manages, “are you drunk?”

He flicks a flat look at her. “No. I just thought it was fair because, you know, Big Guy aired all your dirty laundry tonight. With the whole...”

Obi make a spiral-type gesture with his hand as he lifts his own glass, a clear invitation to fill in the blank he can’t bear to.

“Break up?” She shrugs. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

He nearly chokes on his Hurricane. “Miz Kiki.”

“He has a lot on his plate right now.” Kiki hesitates. It’s-- it’s hard to talk about this. There’s no one who knows Mitsuhide like her, not a soul, and she’s confident she knows what all this taking a break talk is about, but --

She’s Kiki Seiran. Cold. Unemotional. Reasonable. And out of any other mouth, this would sound like...denial.

But Obi leans in, attentive, not a hint of doubt or judgement on his face, and she just...lets go of all of it.

“It’s not about me,” she tells him, never feeling more like a high school girl in this moment.

“Of course not.” There’s not a hint of mocking in his voice, just simple earnestness. “Just look at you.”

Her mouth slants into a smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I mean...” She heaves a sigh. “This is about what happened with...”

She doesn’t have the words to explain it; this is about business and duty and a whole bunch of people Mitsuhide feels like he’s letting down, starting and ending with Zen, and--

“Touka Bergatt,” Obi supplies with a nod. “That whole shitshow.”

“Yes,” she sighs. “All that. He’s worried he’s failed, and now...”

“Now he’s throwing rocks at you because he loves you, I get it.” Obi presses a hand to his chest with a rueful smile. “I think we all know I get that better than anyone.”

A laugh barks out of her. “At least you’ve had the grace to outgrow it.”

His gaze drops to his drink, mouth stretched to a rictus grin. “I wonder.”

This is the problem with being Kiki Seiran: cold, unemotional, reasonable-- she doesn’t know how to handle things like this, how to grab someone else’s hand while they’re drowning. If money can’t fix a problem, she’s as helpful as a gawker on the beach.

“Besides,” she murmurs into her drink, letting the alcohol numb the sting of her awkwardness, “if he doesn’t come around, Hisame’s got a nice ass.”

Obi gasps, scandalized. “He does not.”

She lifts her eyebrows.

“Absolute not,” he insists, “his booty is distinctly not banging.”

“Mm.” She takes another sip. “This rating sounds biased.”

He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “Miz Kiki, my taste is unimpeachable.”

“Your taste is adorable red heads who throw themselves into bodies of water,” she reminds him. “Which I suppose only proves your point.”

“Exactly,” he sniffs waspishly. “And don’t forget it.”

She giggles, smothering it with her drink, and in the pause she watches Obi’s face go on a journey. It lasts less than a second, but it’s clear: content to tense to concern to resignation, all culminating in the too-earnest gaze he turns on her.

“I meant to thank you,” he blurts out, fingers white around the stem of his glass. “For being a good friend. I mean, I’m glad we’re friends.”

She blinks. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

He sends her a half-hearted glare. “Kiki.”

“I’m just...” At a loss. Obi doesn’t really do emotions. It’s why she likes him so much. “Did you kill someone? Do I need to make it disappear?”

“Kiki.”

“Is that why we’re talking about--” she waves her hand-- “feelings?”

“No.” His whole body is shaking, and it takes her a mull moment to realize-- he’s laughing. “I just wanted to say you’re a good friend. Not just to me, but...” He hesitates, considering. “But you know, to Doc too.”

Ah, yes. That would be what mattered to him. “Obi, you know that Shirayuki is the single easiest person to love.”

He shakes his head with a huff of a laugh. “Don’t I. But I meant...” His mouth pulls into a grimace, like his words are a briar patch he needs to pick through. “She thinks a lot of you. Some people would be...weird about it. But you’re not. So...thanks.”

This is singularly the most confusing conversation she has ever been a part of, and considering how her close acquaintance involves Izana Wisteria, she feels like that says something. “It’s not a problem. I think a lot of her, too.”

“No, that’s not--” he sighs, running a hand through his hair-- “I mean, she really thinks a lot of you.”

Oh. Oh. That. “Huh.”

“And even though you don’t think of her quite as much,” Obi continues, as if somehow this was a less awkward way of discussing this, “you don’t-- get weird about it. Or take advantage. And lots of people would. Lots of people have.”

Kiki can only stare. She’d like to know some of those names. For reasons. “It’s a compliment that someone like Shirayuki likes me. After all,” she smirks, “it’s not like she’s Hisame.”

They share a grimace. She may not be wrong about his ass, but she still remembers what Obi had said after he’d met him again, after he’d heard how helpful he had rendered himself--

Oh, well. Obi’s grin is still bright in her memory. Since he’s decided to drink his Respect Women juice today, I guess we should all trust him forever.

“I know that,” he says. She wonders how it doesn’t kill him, watching her have so easily what he only wishes he could have.

Or well, what he thinks he could only wish to have. She’d seen how Shirayuki had looked that summer, waiting for Obi to take her to Boston for their date, an how she’d looked at him tonight when he’d offered to walk her to her room. Unlike Obi, Kiki isn’t blind.

“I mean...it’s good that you’re nice, even though you don’t like girls.” His face crumples, thoughtful. “Unless you do? You know, we’ve never really talk about this, so I guess you could, but then--”

“Oh my god, don’t hurt yourself, Obi,” she laughs. “Yes, I like men. Just men.”

He leans over the table, huffing out a relieved sigh. “Oh, good. Yeah, me too.”

It takes him a full second to realize what he’s said, to jolt upright and frantically clarify, “I mean, not just men. I mean that’s I’m, um--” oh god, he’s clearly torturing himself-- “you know--”

“Into both?” she offers as he blurts out, “BISEXUAL.”

She blinks. “You used your words. That’s unprecedented.” She casts a dubious glance at his drink. “Are you sure you aren’t drunk?”

“Kiki,” he whines, pained.

Oh, of course he’d torture himself about this too. “I know you are, Obi.”

“What?” he squeaks. “Since when?”

“I didn’t mark it in my calendar.” He makes a sad puppy whimper, and she sighs. “I don’t know...probably not the first time I met you, but not too much after.”

Obi glances down at his lap, wide-eyed, like he’s never seen himself before. “But how?”

She gives him the flattest look she can summon with such short notice. “No one cares about Mitsuhide missing leg day so much unless they want to fuck him.”

“You did!”

“Then I guess the theory holds,” she deadpans. “If I knew that you were hiding it, I would have said something sooner.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” he insists, defensive. “I just didn’t think-- why didn’t you--?”

She shrugs. “I just thought it was so obvious that you assumed everyone knew. I mean, you talked about everyone’s asses.”

He lets out a honk that wouldn’t be out of place on a dying swan. “Do the Chief and Big Guy know?”

“Please,” she scoffs. “They can’t even find their own dicks, let alone yours. Besides,” she continues, mouth twitching into a smirk, “if Zen had known, he would have done more than eyefuck you for an entire year.”

Obi’s jaw drops. “W-what?”

She raises a skeptical brow. “What, did you miss it while you were busy flirting wildly with him?”

It’s not the first time she’s seen Obi blush, but this is definitely the most satisfying. “I did not!”

“I think I could count on one hand the number of times you did not walk around half the house with just a towel on after you showered when he was home.” She grins. “Flirting.”

He frowns. “Yeah, well, I could count on one hand the number of times you didn’t bend down in that field hockey skirt right in front of Mistuhide.”

Kiki gives him a pitying look. “That must have seemed like a much sicker burn in your head.”

“Yeah, that really would have worked better if you hadn’t, you know, ended up fucking him.” He cradles his head in his hands with a moan. “But Mitsuhide...”

“Obi,” she sighs. “I literally had to have his dick in me for him to realize I liked him, that is where Mitsuhide’s personal powers of observation are at.” She lets out a laugh, “He thought I walked into the shower with him by mistake.”

He stares at her, mouth twitching. “I really don’t know who I feel sorrier for.”

“It’s me,” she informs him. “Listen, if you don’t tell him something, he doesn’t know. So you don’t need to worry about that.”

Obi tips back his head, letting out a relieved sigh. “Right, good.”

“But you should.” He glances at her, brow furrowed. “Tell him, I mean.”

He tenses, shoulders hunching, his whole body retreating in on itself. “I don’t know...”

“Obi.” She presses her lips together, gathering her courage, and puts her hand over his. He jolts, fixing it with a wide-eyed gaze. “I know we don’t do...feelings. But--” she squeezes his hand-- “we’re here for you. Especially Mitsuhide. You’ve always been who you’ve been, and telling us who you are won’t change any of that.”

“Right.” he nods, quick, terse. “I...I know that. I do. It’s just...a hard habit to break, you know.”

“Yeah,” she says with a bitter laugh. “I know.”

He hesitates. “Chief will freak out, though.”

“Oh, almost definitely,” she agrees, settling back. “But he’s got...baggage. After the initial shock, he’ll come around. He’s just got to get over himself first.”

Obi rolls his eyes, a faint grin lifting his lips. “Yeah, and--” he peers over the edge of the banister-- “did Chief just throw Big Guy in the ocean?”

“What?” She peers over, watching Mitsuhide resurface before Zen begins to lay into him. “Oh, Jesus. Let’s go get them before they kill each other.”

“Aw, Miz Kiki,” Obi drawls, following behind her, “but Jolly Green wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

Kiki grunts. “Not who I’m worried about.”

#akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #The Wide Florida Bay #modern AU #the screenshot above brought to you by me #screwing up and posting instead of saving to drafts #DEEP SIGH #anyway this is set after bergatt arc obv!#and obviously i couldn't take this prompt straight when sarah gave me such a good opportunity #to absolutely dodge #(don't worry you'll get THAT too)#i already have a prompt for it

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prorevenge · 6 years

Text

Revenge with a cherry on top.

It's a looong read. TL;DR at the end.

I used to be a therapist. I trained hard not only in my masters degree, which I managed to get at one of the best programs available in the States after working my ass off in undergrad, but also afterwards in seeking out opportunities to get EVIDENCED-BASED training. I emphasize that point because in the world of mental health there is an internal struggle between people like myself who believe you should have proof that what you are doing for that specific person's issue actually works, and those who want to stick to "theoretical" models that sound good, but don't necessarily have any research to back them up. The town where I live is like a ground zero for this problem. I regularly saw unlicensed therapists who had failed the licensure exam multiple times get promoted to supervisor positions, just because they were good at making their companies money. I eventually got out because I couldn't stand the focus on profit over people, which is literally impossible to avoid unless you say fuck everyone and go into business by yourself. By the time I got to a point where I could have made that move financially, I didn't want to be a therapist anymore and moved on. But before that happened, I managed to slam dunk one of the unprofessional people I had to deal with in a very satisfying way.

This case was about a year before I got out. I was doing trauma therapy with several children from one family, meeting with each of them individually and sometimes together per their request. It was easily one of the most fucked up cases I ever dealt with in my career, and that is saying something. You see, I worked for an agency that contracted with Juvenile Justice and Child Protective Services. All of my clients were mandated offenders or kids who had been removed from abusive homes. In this particular case, the abuse was beyond egregious and I remember after the first session where the kids really opened up and told me what happened, I had nightmares all night. It was so bad. But the CPS case manager (referred to from now on as CM) had specifically requested me because of my success with difficult cases. I had a reputation in my county for being good with kids and someone who could handle tough parents. Even though I knew it was going to be rough, I stuck with it.

My first clue this wasn't going to go well was at the initial family team meeting. These happen monthly with the family, CPS, and all their service providers to discuss goals and progress, etc. You're ultimately working towards closing their case when they have done all their treatment and, most importantly, the kids are safe; have received all the care they need; and the caregivers have demonstrated their ability to provide an appropriate home and parenting. The caregivers, let's call them A and B, were selfish, unhinged fuckers. They denied the abuse, lied for one another, and regularly said horrible things about these kids, insisting they were little liars who deserved punishment for causing all this trouble (by speaking up). The thing that was even worse was this team of fifteen or so providers would not fucking stand up to A or B. I got into this work because I had trauma as a kid and wanted to pay forward what my therapist had done for me when I recovered. I also knew what it was like to not be protected by adults in your life who should have been there for you. So, I did not give one shit what A or B thought of me and stood up to their crap when no one else would, saying it was the responsibility of every adult in that room to put the well-being of these children first since they are the children and we are the grown-ups. A and B were pissed as hell, and everyone else who had thus far allowed their ranting without so much as a squeak actually applauded. But that support for sanity did not last.

Months went by and these poor kids couldn't make headway because their insane parents were not only not compliant, they were actively causing trouble for everyone on the case. You can't do trauma work if you don't feel safe, and for these children they were personally living weekly drama that reminds me of Americans enduring Trump now. It was that chaotic. A and B made wild accusations against most of the people on the case (they were a secret drug dealer, they were trying to molest their kids in visits, they spat at them during a visit). One of the other clinicians got into a car wreck one day during work hours and when A and B found out they demanded she take a drug test. Until she did, they refused to comply further with services. Thankfully, her agency stood with her and defended her (she DEFINITELY was not on drugs, I can assure you, it was absurd). But the CM allowed all of this crap to go unchallenged. She was afraid of both A and B, and one by one she fired the people they targeted or made them so disgusted with her lack of spine that they left, until I was the only original team member left. Up until this point, these assholes wouldn't come near me because my reputation was impeccable. I knew a lot of people in the county and their kids loved me. I was the only adult in their life refusing to back down against A and B and, try as she might, CM couldn't get the kids to say what she wanted: that everything was "much better" and she could close the case. This is where the revenge comes in.

So, months have gone by, almost a year, and I am getting burned the fuck out but I am hanging on until I can successfully close this case and one other. Around this time, CM brings on a new therapist for B (the primary offender), who we'll call SmugFace. SmugFace was unexpectedly announced and introduced at one of our monthly meetings and immediately made it clear she did not like me. Not by being rude in an aggressive way, but by being condescending. For the next three months, CM would try every meeting to close the case and, because NOTHING was better, I fought her every time. Before, I had at least one or two people agree with me, but was now met with silence. It soon became clear CM and SmugFace were friends and SmugFace had been brought on to squish me out. She tried every meeting to imply I wasn't qualified, that I was stupid and had clearly misunderstood the children's wishes, that I was taking on a personal crusade against the parents. And she'd do it with a shit-eating grin on her face each time. I was tired and it did make me mad, but I tried not to lose my cool and give her what she wanted. Because of the shitshows caused by A, B and CM's spinelessness, no one stood with me at all anymore. I was on my own.

For cases mandated by the court, you usually have to attend court dates to testify to progress and make recommendations on whether it should remain open or close. The tension was building before our next court date, and CM was laying groundwork through team meetings, emails, and her reports to discredit me and close the case. In private, I felt like I was losing my mind, but I stayed in touch with everyone I had known on the case; kept my documentation like it was going to be examined by the FBI, and bit my tongue. I did everything I could to reassure the children I would fight for them to stay in their safer placement with relatives, and waited for court day. When it came, SmugFace was there with A and B, looking fat with satisfaction (and, well, just fat). She smirked at me every few seconds, tossing her hair over one shoulder and chuckling. I pretended she didn't exist and waited patiently to be admitted to the court room. When our case number was called, I filed in with her, A, B and CM. Service providers sit in the back at this court house, with members of the family, their lawyers and CPS in front. As we a took our seats, the doors behind me opened and every service provider who had ever been on the case came strolling in. One after the other, until there were no seats left and people were standing. SmugFace's eyes just kept getting wider and wider, until she was not so smug anymore.

After the judge called everyone to order, the lawyers spoke for the family and then CPS got to give a report and their recommendations. Then the judge asked service providers if they have anything to say. CM, of course, recommended we close the case (weak, selfish wretch). Then the judge called on me and I deferred to SmugFace, saying that since the case hinged on B's progress, we should hear her thoughts first. SmugFace stammered and sweated under the collective gaze of all these other professionals glaring at her (it was dead silent but had the tension of many buzzing bees) and said B was doing well and the case should close. She tried to throw in some more professional-sounding jargon at the end, jutting out her chin and collecting herself a bit after seeing my deadpan stare. Then the judge turned to me. I stuck to my guns and expressed all my doubts in full, then reported on the kids and my recommendations. The judge, who was one of the toughest in juvenile court, actually stated to the room that she had respect for my views because of the good work she knew I had done with other children. I was really surprised by this, but the best part came next. The judge asked if anyone else wanted to speak and every. Single. Other. Person agreed with my recommendations. They called out all of A and B's bullshit, one after the other, giving so many documented examples it was dizzying. All the while, SmugFace is getting stonier and CM is just shrinking in her chair. The final blow came from the children's court-appointed advocate, who had never once betrayed any agreement with me in meetings. She said she completely agreed with my and others' assessment and could not see how CPS could justify closing the case. The judge calmly declared the case would remain open, told off CM for her being out of touch with the case, and sent us on our way. On the way out, I looked at SmugFace and she refused to acknowledge me.

I smiled all the way to my car, but the best was yet to come. The good news is the kids were fine in the end, A got caught in too many lies and finally went to prison, and I was able to move on to a new career. But before it was all over, we had another monthly team meeting to attend. And that's when it got a little cherry on top. I love to listen to music, and since I drove around a lot for my work I had an extensive playlist to keep me occupied all those hours. I have eclectic tastes and will often put it on shuffle. The day of the last meeting, I showed up early, parked and unplugged my AUX cable from my phone to go inside. This automatically shut off the music, but sometimes it would start to play again when I wasn't expecting it. Not thinking of that, I just went inside and signed in with the CPS receptionist. The lobby was deserted, except for one person - you guessed it, SmugFace. When she saw me turn around, she looked furious. Before, she'd make a point of greeting me and acting syrupy and overly polite. Now, she resolutely turned her back and stayed silent. So of course I went over to say hello. Only I didn't get to. Just as I sat down across from her, my music app came to life and the first lines of "Dirt off your shoulder" by Jay-Z reverberated around the room "BOW DOWN TO THE MOTHERFUCKING GREATEST". And then, as though satisfied it had expressed itself, the app paused again. Without missing a beat, I shrugged and said, "Sorry!" Then smirked. Her fury at the implied double meaning (sorry for the noise but really sorry I kicked your ass) was priceless.

(source) (story by hrowaway42422819)

#prorevenge #by hrowaway42422819 #pro #revenge #pro revenge #pro revenge stories #revenge stories #revenge story #last10

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

Text

Mutilated Mannequin (Part 4)

The room has an unpleasant chill, Azula wraps her arms around herself. Dr. Guhira has stepped out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She supposes that it isn’t too late to back out. Everything in her mind and soul screams at her to do so. But she knows that her father is sitting in the waiting room with around three hours worth of paperwork to occupy his time. She knows just as well that he will be pissed to find her exiting the operating room two hours and fifty minutes early.

She clutches the edge of the operating table and tries to keep her breathing in check. It is only one thing, she tells herself, one simple procedure to test the waters. A courtesy move, really; Guhira had sensed her anxiety. How could he not have? It has been and still is radiating from her potently. For it he had offered to take it one procedure at a time rather than two or three at once. Apparently it is routine to do a rhinoplasty and a mentoplasty at the same time.

Azula feels terribly sick, a few more minutes and she won’t need the anesthesia to knock her out. She tires, again, to convince herself that things will be fine. It will all be okay. Afterall, father had made Zuzu get it too and that went perfectly well. It is as if he’d never been scarred at all.

If Zuzu can make it out without issue, then she should be able to manage.

The door opens and Azula goes tense.

“Alright.” Dr. Guhira slips into the room with a small gaggle of his coworkers. “All of the prep work is complete, we are ready to begin the operation if you are.”

Azula takes a deep breath and grips the edge of the surgical table harder still. Regardless, she nods, a reluctant indicator of readiness. Though she isn’t ready at all.

“Please lay back.”

She feels as though she may throw up as she lowers herself onto the surgical bed. Her breathing is subtly ragged. She stares up at the dim lights above the operation table, their electrical hum seems to grow louder in her ears.

“Before we start, I’d like to warn you that you will wake up groggy, so we will keep you for an extra hour after the procedure. Once you become alert again, we will go over the aftercare procedures.”

Azula nods half heartedly.

He gives a final and firm affirmative nod. “Try to relax and don’t fight against the sleepiness.” He instructs as he slips the mask over her nose and mouth. She hears a soft hiss as the gas begins to flow.

“Not that high, Dr. Yuma.” Guhira says. “She’s new.” The man remarks. “For now she will just be observing and helping with simple tasks. Nothing to worry about.”

Still, Azula’s anxiety reaches a new peak. The anesthesia doesn’t leave her the time to dwell on it, which she supposes is a mercy.

.oOo.

“Where’s your sister?” Sokka asks.

Zuko shrugs. “Somewhere where she won’t catch me talking to you and pitch a fit over it, hopefully.” Heaven knows that he doesn’t need a new reason to bicker with her. It is bad enough to have to listen to her brag about her pristine grades and her collection of track medallions. “Please, please, for the sake of my dignity, win the class elections.” He certainly isn’t looking forward to her one-upping him again with a class president title. He can already hear Ozai berating him for being so entirely average.

He thinks of his collection of B’s and C’s and compares them to his sister’s straight A’s.

“I plan on it.” Sokka gives a thumbs up. “You have a date to homecoming.”

Zuko crinkles his nose. “Mai decided to leave me for that exchange student.” He pauses and with a heavy accent mutters, “hello everyone, I’m Kei Lo and I’m not from this country, which makes me utterly irresistible!”

Sokka bursts out laughing, “that does sound like him!”

“Who are you taking?” Zuko asks.

“Suki, of course! I haven’t figured out how to ask her yet and Toph is not making things easy.”

“Sounds like Toph.” Zuko replies. He tries to keep in good spirits, but it is hard knowing that Mai is on a date with Kei Lo at the very moment. He decides that he should really stop eavesdropping on conversations between she and Azula, he always comes out hearing details of the relationship that he doesn’t care to know. “Homecoming is a shitshow anyways.”

.oOo.

Azula wakes up as disoriented as promised. She bites her lip and tries to sit up. Her head spins and she gives the effort up. “Father,” she calls weakly instead.

She hears the rustle of papers and the close of a folder. “Yes?”

“How does it look?”

“Swollen.” He says bluntly.

She swallows.

At her wide-eyed expression he rolls his eyes. “It will go down after the splint is removed.”

“The splint?” She wishes that she would have asked or that someone would have explained prior to the surgery.

“I’ll leave the explanations to your doctor.”

“When is he going to give me them?” Azula asks, her voice sounds strange against the swelling. Her heart flutters; how is she supposed to go through with her first debate sounding like this? She swallows, her eyes beginning to water. She wipes at her eyes, father is too close for her to get all emotional.

Some twenty minutes pass of Ozai ruffling through his paperwork (with an occasional comment on how the magazines were disgustingly misinterpreting his grandfather’s astronomical theories) and Azula counting ceiling tiles. She wishes that her father would have let her bring a book or her phone.

Dr. Guhira enters the room with a cheerful hello and a carton of apple juice.

Azula takes the drink and has a few sips before setting it aside.

“Everything looks good.” Dr. Guhira states. “But we will be having a few follow ups between now and your next procedure to make sure that everything stays that way.”

Azula nods, she decides that it is a little reassuring, the man seems to know what he’s doing. “How long have you been doing this for?”

“Almost thirty years now.” The man replies pridefully. “I’ve done work on various celebrities, you’re in good hands, I promise.”

Azula nods and he continues.

“We’re going to check on you every half an hour, once we think that you are ready, we’ll discharge you. But there are a couple of things I’d like to talk about before that happens.”

“Like the swelling?”

Dr. Guhira nods. “That is one of the things, yes. I suppose that we can start there.” He pauses. “Obviously, like any surgery, there is going to be some bruising and swelling. This can last anywhere between three to four weeks. So it should be clear before homecoming.”

She sighs softly in relief.

“Do to the nature of the surgery, we will be treating this sort of like a broken bone--because that is essentially what this is--you will have to wear a splint and some bandages. This will both protect your nose and retain the new shape of it.”

She nods her understanding.

“One of your follow up appointments will include the removal of these.” He pauses. “We also have something called packing material and nasal drip pads in place. These will reduce bleeding. We will see you on monday before you go to school to remove these.” He pushes his rolling chair back and retrieves a box. “These are more nasal drip pads, I will teach you how to properly change them on monday.”

Azula takes another drink.

“So that there are no surprises, you might also see bruising around your eyes. But that should clear up by monday. Your nose will probably feel numb for a while and you might have some difficulty breathing through it. This is normal. Some pain and discomfort is also normal as feeling returns.

“Can I go back to school? I have class elections.”

“Rest as needed. If you need to take a day off, I highly recommend it, but you should be fine as long as you don’t push yourself.” He grabs a sheet of paper. “So a few more do’s and don'ts. Of course no swimming or strenuous activities. We don’t recommend driving either…”

“I can’t drive yet.”

He chuckles. “I suppose that, that makes things easier. But it might be harder to resist blowing your nose, which is also not recommended during recovery. I do recommend that you go for light walks and sleep with your head elevated. I recommend using an ice pack on your nose for about ten minutes every hour until the swelling goes down. And of course, rest, rest, rest. Like any surgery, you’ll need plenty of it.”

Once more Azula nods in understanding.

He hands her the sheet. “This is a list of everything we have just covered. I am going to write you a prescription for painkillers, just in case.”

“Thank you.” Azula replies. She decides that Ozai hadn’t really started small at all, she thinks that she should have gotten the lip injections first. That would have been a simpler start. But it is too late for that now. She guesses that it is better to just get it over with.

She is thankful that she will have the weekend to recover.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ozai asks when they are in the car.

She begs to differ, she feels quite horrible; out of it and stuffy and still dizzy with nerves. She also feels no more attractive than she had prior, she might even feel less so; she can’t imagine that swelling and bandages are at all alluring. More pressingly, one wrong move or miscare can make a mess of her nose. All of these thoughts wreak havoc in her mind. Even so she replies, “you’re right, father.”

#Avatar #Azula #Zuko #Sokka #Katara #Mai #TyLee #Toph #Aang #Fanfiction

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nova-kismet · 6 years

Text

just finished the first chapter of a quick little fic i’m writing (based on a couple of characters from the d&d homebrew campaign i’m putting together). figured i’d drop it here on the offchance that anyone would like to read it. more below the cut.

~1~

“It has come time to serve your family once more.”

Mother’s words still tugged at the corners of my subconscious as I hitched my horse by the Market District gates. With an exhausted sigh, I pulled my plain black cloak closer to my shoulders and made my way from the stables up the darkened flagstone streets. Even for near-midnight on a Sunday, the typically busy center of Starfeld commerce seemed strangely deserted. As nice as it was to be able to make my way up the main path without having to weave through a sea of people, I couldn’t stomach another moment of quiet. At this point I was desperate for anything to distract myself from the thoughts racing through my head.

Just a few feet ahead, a weather worn wooden sign marked my destination; The Crossroads Inn. My home away from home.

A tall, iron-framed wooden door stood before me, flanked by two thick stone columns. I could already hear the soft, lilting tune of a lyre coming from within as I approached, accompanied by clinking dinnerware and muffled voices. Sounds like I had dropped by in the middle of one of Hilda’s weekly performances.

As I stepped inside, the strong scent of heady wine and cooked meats filled my nose. The flames in the gilded lanterns lining the crimson-painted walls were low, bathing the few patrons seated underneath them in a subdued orange glow. The diminutive halfling form of the lyre-wielding bard, Hilda, stood front-and-center of the room, swaying languidly with the tempo of the music that flowed from her fingers. A large stained glass window set into the middle of the ceiling reflected shimmering, multi colored light in an intricate geometric pattern on the floor with the full moon just visible beyond its surface.

I made my way straight to the counter off to the right, which was being tended by a familiar Dragonborn man by the name of Alzax. His scaly brow raised as I approached and sat down on a stool. I could tell I was about to receive an enthusiastic welcome, as I normally did, so I raised a hand to him and smiled. Understanding my intentions, he nodded and grabbed a glass from under the counter. While I normally enjoyed his exuberance, I just wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

“Evening, Zax.” I said as he began pouring a drink. At this point, I didn’t even have to tell him what I wanted.

“Ezra! I wasn’t expecting you here tonight. How’ve you been?” He placed the white wine in front of me and leaned on his elbows as he responded. I pulled a few gold pieces out of my coin purse and laid them down for him.

“Oh, just splendid,” I replied, almost musing to myself. “This past week has been an absolute shitshow.”

Realization dawned on the red-tinged lizardfolk’s face, and he nodded. “I just heard the news today. You’re gonna end up with some Laurelian princess, right?”

“Regrettably, yes.”

“Ah,” Alzax reached across the counter and gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder as I took a long sip of my drink. “Hang in there, big guy. Arranged marriages never last anyway. And besides, I hear Laurelians are big party people. At least there’s a chance she won’t be boring.”

It took an incredible amount of willpower to keep myself focused on the conversation, as the prospect of my future (or lack, thereof) being the topic is nothing short of exhausting. My so-called “Princely Duties” were precisely what I was trying to distract myself from in the first place.

I sighed and held my head up with the heel of my palm, my other hand focused on halfheartedly swirling the glass of pale alcohol in front of me. “As much as I enjoy the notion of living out the rest of my years in eternal party mode, I think I would prefer to do something that actually matters. I couldn’t care less about some King I’ve only ever met twice at political gatherings.”

“Such is the nature of ruling a nation, my friend. If you inherit the throne, dealing with people you don’t give a rat’s ass about is going to be part of the everyday minutiae.”

“I’d rather give that responsibility to my sister. She seems more patient than I am with these things.”

At that moment, Hilda’s final song finally tapered to an end, eliciting a wave of applause from the modest number of patrons across the room. She bowed, left her tip jar and lyre on the table beside her, and sidled up to the counter, taking purchase on a stool at the other end. Alzax regarded me briefly, then moved to attend to her.

With this newfound solitude, I turned to survey the people behind me, searching for any other familiar faces. They were all strangers this time around, but a group stationed in the corner briefly caught my eye-- there were six of them sitting around two tables they had pushed together, carrying on a lively conversation, each with large steins in their hands. As my gaze passed over them, I couldn’t help but notice one of them staring at me.

I was met with ocean-blue eyes. The emerald-skinned man making careful eye contact with me had his studded leather boots propped up on the table, his feet crossed at the ankles. Covering his shoulders was a Sea Captain’s coat, open at the chest--inky black with silver and red trim. He appeared to be Triton, which was a rare sight in Fallreven, much less so far inland. His watchful eyes made me the slightest bit unnerved, but at this point in my life I was used to people gawking. I almost had to double-take when I saw a faint, wry smirk play across his lips. Shaking it off, I turned around and went back to emptily watching my drink swirl in its glass.

About an hour passed without major incident. I was beginning to feel restless, and the alcohol sitting in my stomach didn’t help. I bid Alzax farewell and exited the inn, not sure where I was headed next. As long as it wasn’t home.

Once back out on the city streets, I walked to the nearest fenced-in platform overlooking the Twine District below and leaned on it, trying to gather my thoughts.

I knew this arrangement would happen eventually, but now its inevitability hung over my head like a dark stormcloud. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to pretend to be in love with a perfect stranger, just so we received outside help for the war with Zhilthorn. I didn’t even want to broach the subject of having kids.

But, Laurelia has what we need to turn the tides. As much as the thought irks me, I would do almost anything to put an end to this ridiculous fighting.

A few minutes passed as I stared blankly at the sprawling residential district below, the cool Autumn breeze ruffling my hair and playing at the edges of my cloak. I couldn’t help but wonder what life as a working-class commoner was like--what it would be like to wake up each morning and not have three handmaidens fussing over me, dressing me up like a doll. Perhaps a simpler life would be more fulfilling.

I was about to make my way back to my horse when a shout from a few feet away dragged me from my quiet contemplation.

“Oi! If you were trying to be sneaky, you’re not doing a very good job of it!”

I whipped around to face the source of the voice, then was immediately tackled and pinned down by a brawny, shadowed form--almost taller than myself. As I fell to the ground with it, the sound of quick, distant footsteps pounding across the flagstone towards us met my ears. I hardly had time to recover from the initial shock before the glint of a dagger poised above my throat demanded my immediate attention.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I attempted to free my pinned arms and wriggle out from under the masked man’s crushing weight. The knife came down and I threw my head to the side to dodge it, the sharp steel making hard contact with the stone beside me. Not enjoying being pinned against the cold, hard ground, I reared back and slammed my horns into the assailant’s forehead, eliciting an agonized yell. While he was still recovering from the headbutt, I leveraged my weight against his and threw him off, finally scrambling to my feet.

Before my hand could touch the hilt of the sword sheathed at my side, a lithe figure sped up behind the attacker and pierced a rapier through the back of his throat. The would-be assassin’s hands weakly reached up to the hole in his neck as blood began to trickle down, a wretched gurgle bubbling from his mouth. The blade was pulled from his skin and wiped off with a handkerchief as the man eventually quieted and slumped to the ground, a pool of blood gathering by his head.

I let out the breath I’d been holding in through the entire scuffle, and finally got a good look at my savior--it was the Triton man I had seen at the inn just a few moments ago.

“Shit...What a terrible assassin.” I breathed, mostly to myself. After affixing the thin blade back to a belt under his coat, the Triton let out a soft chuckle.

“I’m sure you had it all handled, I was just feeling generous.” He spoke with a pleasant Northern lilt. If honey was a sound, it would be his voice.

He then reached out and brushed some of the dirt off of my cloak with the same smirk he had given me the first time I saw him. “No way he could’ve taken out a battle-hardened Prince such as yourself, hm?” Before I could open my mouth to respond, he winked at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

Something about his face made it difficult to focus and find the right words. I instead found myself blushing under his gaze. “Th...Thanks.” was all I managed to get out. Clearly amused by my floundering, he clicked his tongue as he looked down to the corpse at our feet. “The guards’ll take care of him, right?” he quipped, an ironically light tone to his voice.

“I should hope so.” I replied as I knelt down by the body and peeled his cape away from his chest. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted a scroll poking out from a pocket on his hip--an illustration of a boar’s head in profile, surrounded by a wreath of thorny vines marked the heading of the parchment. The crest of one of Zhilthorn’s wealthiest families. The letter contained information for a hit and bounty on my head. Not surprising, but not really enjoyable to read with my own eyes, regardless. I sighed and pocketed the note. “I always knew the Vargharods hated me.” I muttered to myself as I straightened back up to my full height. The still unnamed man watched with a curious glint in his eye. Before he could ask any questions, I stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know we were both just in there, but I believe I owe you a drink…Uh,” I trailed off, just then realizing I didn’t know what to call him.

“Arin. And don’t worry about that, friend. We--or you in particular, should probably stay sober if there could be another hitman on the loose.” he said. My hand dropped back to my side and I nodded, the shock finally wearing off, then the reality of the situation starting to set in.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“If you’re so insistent on repaying me, you could give me a ride up to the palace.” Arin continued. I looked at him for a brief moment, bewildered by his request.

Seeing this, he pulled a folded note from his own pocket. It bore my family’s seal and the Queen’s own handwriting. “Your ma wanted to see me.” he explained, flashing the note at me.

I suppose I did remember Mother mentioning that she planned on receiving a guest sometime this week. I just nodded and started back on the road toward the Northern Gate. “This way, then.” He followed behind me without a word.

#two's company #tc: chapter 1 #d&d ocs #d&d homebrew #miss cyanide writes things

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msviolacea · 6 years

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I don’t quite have it in me for a happy Friday post today, so I’m just going to ramble a bit about my terrible week in hopes of lessening the stress at least a smidge.

Monday around noon, I got a call from my dad. He was heading for the hospital again, once again bleeding internally and not eating for days at a time. Which was, of course, the first I’d heard of it despite talking to him daily. He was at the doctor’s office and was so upset he could barely talk, so eventually the doctor took the phone and said “Jaime ... your dad doesn’t listen to me.” To which I was like, yeah, join the club. He emphasized that this was serious, which I understood, because I was there at Christmas last time this happened and even if Dad doesn’t get it, I realize he almost fucking died at that point.

So anyway. I spent the rest of the day freaking out, waiting to hear from him again. It of course felt like I should go down there, but the biggest problem is that thanks to my blown-out eardrum, I can’t fly right now. Driving would be 10 hours each way, which would require two extra days added onto the trip. And then there’s work, which is a giant shitshow right now - one of our newer people up and quit in the most dramatic way possible last week, and another person is heading out on maternity leave after this week. I’m helping train the temp that’s here to help out while she’s gone, and I’ve inherited several studies I wouldn’t normally have thanks to the person who quit.

(Not to mention, on a more selfish note, I had already parceled out my vacation time for the year almost to the hour, thanks to E’s visit in May and our planned trip to GenCon, which I’m still refusing to give up. That may change as this whole situation unfolds, but for now, I’m holding onto it with both hands.)

Anyway, I obsessed over that the rest of Monday. Talked to Dad that night, they were doing some scans on his colon and he promised to call me if they made any decisions. Tuesday morning, I call him back ... “Oh, hey, they’re prepping me for surgery right now.” Okay. That seems like a major decision that should have prompted a phone call, but sure. So I wait, and wait, and wait all day to hear what happened, until he calls around dinnertime. Nope, no surgery, his blood counts were too low. (He’d been transfused twice since getting there on Monday.) Scheduled for Wednesday afternoon instead.

Tuesday night, I woke up around 2:00am and puked my ever-loving guts out. No idea if it was stress, or food poisoning, or a minor bug, or what, but my stomach was still messed up when I got up three and a half hours later, so I swallowed my guilt and called in sick. I used the time in the morning to call the hospital and talk to a nurse, who confirmed that the surgery was on for the afternoon, that they were removing part of his colon and inserting a temporary stoma.

Also talked to my aunt, who told me that a) he’d been bad enough off the last few days before the hospital that there’s ... evidence of his incontinence, let’s say, on the carpet. Ugh. And b) the doctor told her that he’s probably going to have to go to at least a temporary rehab center after he gets out. We talked about the fact that it might be time to get him to move into an assisted living place.

So. Long story made short, surgery happened, apparently slightly more extensive than they’d planned, as he had a hole in his colon that was leaking waste into his stomach. More ugh. But he’s recovering in the ICU now, I talked to him last night finally, and we’ll see how it goes from there. I’m calling around trying to find a local cleaning service that will go to his house and clean it while he’s gone, and once he’s a bit more lucid, I’m going to ask for some information so I can go bug Veteran’s Services about what kind of benefits he may not be getting. And I have to figure out how to have the conversation about assisted living at some point. I wish there was someone else I could fall back on to help me with this, but other than my 77 year old aunt, I’m all there is. So yay, time to be parent to my dad, all by myself.

Oh yeah, and I saw the surgeon yesterday about my ear, and she wants to wait until at least August to schedule surgery, hoping that part of it will start to heal on its own so that the hole is smaller. (Right now, I’m apparently missing approximately 2/3 of my left eardrum. I saw it on a monitor while she was examining me. It’s ugly.) So I have to mostly just pray I don’t get another infection between now and August, and try to keep from dealing with too much pressure. Sigh.

So yeah. That’s been my week. I feel guilty for not deciding to drive down there yet, but I’m currently waiting to see how his surgery recovery shakes out. I’m just glad it’s Friday, and I can faceplant tonight for a while.

#jaime rambles #i don't remember if i have a tag for my dad #but whatever #it's been a long fucking week y'all

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forgetspecifics · 7 years

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Such Sights are Bright - Chapter 4: I Believe in Night, I Believe in Day

Yang's plan to have Blake join her for Christmas gifts her more than she anticipated.