#ive done nothing but sit at home all day crying and painting

[lazypanartist]

So you're telling me that I have to keep doing 'this shit' (wake up, feel like shit, do the most mind-numbing bullshit tasks for 7-9 hours, get home feeling even worse, sleep restlessly) for the rest of my life? With chronic pain, (still undiagnosed!) breathing issues that may kill me before 30? And y'all still want me to think about my future plans when I've never once had an aspiration in my life?

Please.

[yeahimaloser]

Wingless

Hello! So this was the fic I've been working on, and I just wanted to quickly say this is an AU-based fic (Kinda).

WARNING MANGA SPOILERS

So I understand what's going on in the manga, but I started this fic when Keigo was injured. so I wrote a fic about how Keigo and you would deal with him losing both his wings and a part of himself.

this story contains manga spoilers, as well as warnings of mental and physical abuse (kind of), hurt to comfort, mentions of Depression, blood, someone gets glass stuck in their hand, and therapy.

no pronouns are given to the reader. Word count: 7k

. . .

You practically ran through the hospital, not listening to the nurses and doctors as they told you to slow your pace. Your mind only screamed out for him, screaming for him to be alive, for him to just be okay. You could hear your heart thumping hard against your chest, tears spilling down your cheeks.

As you ran near his room, a doctor finally managed to stop you.

“Please, calm down! He’s in this room but I can not allow you in if you act like this. You will only stress my patient out more, and we have just managed to sedate him.” the doctor held out his hands as he spoke, trying to calm you.

Although, it clearly wasn’t working. Your eyes only shone more with brimming tears, your hands shook as the doctor spoke.

After a few minutes of you catching your breath and calming yourself down, the doctor told you that you were able to see him.

You felt as if your whole body was on fire as you walked through the doors to his hospital room.

The window that overlooked the city gave an impressive view (if it wasn’t in a hospital, you probably would have stopped and looked down at the city below). The bathroom, you could see, was on your left. There was even a vanity and a television in the room as well.

But you really didn’t have time to look around, your eyes were already focused on the man that lay on the hospital bed.

Machines were hooked up to him, tubes ran out of his skin every witch way. He was flipped on his stomach to accommodate his wings or lack thereof. Bandages covered almost every area you could see, the blood on them was minimal, yet they looked new, meaning they had been changed.

You rushed to his side, stopping only when the line of his IV almost collide with your foot.

“Keigo,” you said it so lightly you were afraid only you could even hear it.

But Keigo’s eyes shot open, looking up at you, “...Y/N?”

God, his voice was a raspy mess, it sounded as though it wasn’t even his.

If you could, you would break down right then and there. Crying over him, telling him you were there for him, that you would always be there for him, no matter the hardships he was sure to overcome. You wanted desperately to hold him, to whisper love-filled words to him, to wipe away the pain you knew he was feeling.

But you didn’t, you couldn’t.

You knew you had to be strong for him in that moment, and for all the moments yet to come. You knew that what was going to happen to you two would not be easy.

So you couldn’t cry, no matter how much you wanted to.

You lightly stroked his cheek, “I’m here Kei, I’m right here. I won't leave you.”

Silent tears ran down his face as he spoke, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry.”

----

After what happened with Dabi Toya, the commission tried their best to cover everything up, telling the public that Dabi had to be wrong. But the public eye was persistent.

The truth was out, there was nothing you or Keigo could do to stop it. Everyone knew about his name, his father, and what he had done to Twice, as well as the fact that he had lost to Dabi. You knew it would be hard for him to come back to that.

The media had always been a bit ruthless when it came to Keigo, but now, it was up by tenfold. They talked about how they believed that Keigo was not worthy of his hero title. A false hero they called him.

And Keigo?

Luckily, he didn’t hear very much of it. You made sure of that. You wanted him to rest, to let what had happened wash over him little by little, and you knew if he heard what the news had been saying about him, that he might never recover.

When Keigo was a bit more stable, he still rarely talked.

His eyes didn’t shine like they used to, his face, once so uplifting and beautiful, was marred with a long scar that he had on his face.

But no matter what, you stayed with him, no matter what, you would be by his side.

But seeing Keigo like this? It was unbearable.

He would only eat if you were there to persuade him, he would only look at you if you practically begged him to.

You knew it was a selfish want, you knew it was, but you wanted your Keigo back. You wanted the man who held you in his arms, telling you he would fly to the moon and back if it meant you would give him your love. You wanted the man that stopped at nothing to protect others, you wanted the man that smiled when the going got tough, you wanted Keigo.

But you had to accept that this was Keigo.

And you wouldn’t leave him, you couldn’t. He was always there for you when you needed him most, and you weren’t going to do the same.

After what had happened with Keigo, the commission thought it would be best to send him away, let the media storm die down, letting him also take time to heal his wings.

You had to fight them in order to come as well. At first, they told you that Hawks should just be concerned with getting his wings back and becoming “hero ready”.

You should have known. You knew, of course, that the HPSC was corrupted, but you didn’t think they were heartless. Yet, you were proven wrong.

You wished they could understand, you wished everyone could understand. Keigo was so loving and kind, you just wished people would understand that about him. What Keigo had to do to Twice… you knew he didn’t want to kill him, Keigo wasn’t like that. He didn’t take pleaser in violence, all he wanted was to see others happy.

And it made your blood boil that the higher up’s couldn’t understand.

You told them how Keigo needed someone to be his caretaker, and you would be the best candidate. You knew he wouldn’t object, you told them that you would work for free, seeing as he and you had been dating, as well as living together for the last few years.

Finally, with a lot of persuading, they agreed.

They sent you and Keigo to a remote location near the shores of Japan, seeing as they wanted Keigo to not remember the effects of the fight, and thought the best course of action was to send him so far out that he would have nothing to remind him of, “The Incident”.

The house was a small little thing, a lot smaller than what you and Keigo were used to at least.

It was close to the ocean, giving it a more country feeling rather than the city vibe you and Keigo used to live in. The smell of the ocean hit you full force when you two arrived, the salty, yet homie smell was a nice difference to the fullness of the air of the city.

The home had a total of seven rooms, all on the same floor.

The master bedroom had enough space, it fit a bed, a vanity, and a closet as well as a connection to the master bathroom. The walls were painted a low white, you wouldn’t call it cream however that was the closest rendition. The floors were all wood, you could feel the sand beneath your feet, you had a feeling the stuff would get everywhere.

There were three bathrooms, a guest room, a living room, and a kitchen.

The whole house honestly just felt...nice.

The floors felt grainy against your feet, but it felt weirdly cozy, kind of like how a beach house should feel. The carpeting was a bit musty for your taste, you had a feeling that would be your first project to do with the house. The couch was a bit too firm, you expected that, but still, it just needed to be worn in. The kitchen wasn’t big, but for two people, it would do.

You spent the first week moving in, all by yourself.

Keigo would only stay in bed, looking out the window, in some far-off world he was in.

You wanted to cry when you would walk into the master bedroom and see him upright on the mattress, not doing or saying anything, just staring, a shell of the man you once knew.

It made your heart clench though, normally, Keigo would always be the first to lend a helping hand, that was just his nature, to want to help. But this, this was something that broke you even more.

-----

The first few weeks were rough.

Not hard, just rough.

The only way you could even describe Keigo was just numb.

His eyes were sunken, his hair a tattered mess. His face was droopy, the once perfect-looking man now sat alone in bed, looking as though he was almost near death.

And his scar.

It served as a perfect reminder of what had happened, a symbol of the pain Keigo had gone through. You knew what he felt when he saw it, you knew what he was probably thinking when he looked in the mirror to have the long stripe of red and pink looking back at him.

Yet, you pretended not to notice.

He would barely say anything to you, choosing instead, to be silent.

For the first few days, it was hard to get him out of bed, hard for him to even eat anything.

On most days you found yourself sitting alone when you ate, going on walks by yourself on the sandy beach, watching TV all alone.

You missed him, it was hard not to. But you knew that this was hardest on Keigo, so of course, you let him have all the time he needed. Letting him sulk and wallow in his self-pity, letting his feelings shroud him. You felt as though you had to, he had every right to feel this way.

But it was hard.

It was hard having Keigo sleep in the master bedroom while you slept all alone in the guest, it was hard to be so silent in the house, it was hard living with someone who was basically a ghost.

One day though, you found him crying.

You quickly ran over to him, scared that he had somehow hurt himself. But he didn’t, nothing had happened to him.

But he sat straight up in his bed, shaking like he was cold, his hands wrapped around something you couldn’t see.

“Keigo, honey?” you asked carefully as you stepped into the room, “Is everything ok hun?”

But it was like he couldn’t even hear you, whatever he was holding, it certainly had his attention.

You walked slowly over to him, reaching out to him, like he was a wounded animal, “Keigo? What is it?”

Finally, you managed to see what it was.

It was a picture of him, of him with his beautiful red wings, smiling at the camera in his hero outfit, with one hand giving a thumbs up and the other around your waist.

In comparison to the picture, you could barely tell it was Keigo anymore. With his sunken eyes and hollow cheekbones, the scar is a stripe of change.

“Keigo I-” you took a deep breath, what were you supposed to even say? How could you even console him? How could you help ease his pain?

You couldn’t.

So you just held him, held him in your arms, trying to hide your tears from him, so he wouldn’t see you hurting as well.

. . .

But one day, when you were sitting on the porch of your borrowed home, watching the waves hit the sandy beach below, watching the sun as it hit the horizon.

It was bitter-sweet, you were all alone, watching the beautiful sight without anyone to share it with.

You sighed, contemplating whether or not to go back inside, but then... Keigo came.

It startled you, you weren’t expecting him to come off his bed, much less to see you.

He sat down in the nice little chair that was right next to you.

He didn’t say anything for a good few moments, but then, all of a sudden he spoke.

“The ocean looks really pretty, I like...I like being here with you.”

You were shocked, to say the least. Keigo had barely acknowledged your presence during this time, he hadn’t spoken to you at all during these few weeks. So to hear him say that...

You damn near cried.

You had been holding in your anxiousness and, overall, depression of not having Keigo back to his regular self. It was hard, that much was certain, but still, he was going through such a difficult time, you had to be there for him.

You quickly brushed the tear that had feel from your eye, “I-I like being here with you too.”

----

After that, things were...different.

Keigo was a bit more clingy, although, maybe you should say protective.

You would go out on your walks and would come home to him being upset, asking where you were, and fussing about you going out.

“Well, what if something happened? Just stay here.”

You asked the doctors about that, they told you how some patients latched on to certain things or people after a traumatic event, most of the time clinging desperately to what they felt was the only thing they had left.

They told you his newfound desire to be near you could be a sign of him getting worse, or it could be a sign he was getting better.

The doctor told you it was much more likely that Keigo needed something to hang on to, a sort of attachment. And again, they told you Keigo needed to see a therapist, he had so much trauma after the battle that you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

You knew that you should listen and that you probably couldn’t deal with Keigo all on your own. But still, you wanted to move at Keigo's pace, and you knew he needed time.

. . .

The first night you and Keigo spent in the same bed after what had happened was...strange.

Although you two lived in the same little beach house for a month now, you two haven't slept next to one another, you weren’t sure Keigo was ready just yet.

And yet, he was the one who asked you.

It happened on a normal day, while you were making dinner when Keigo spoke.

“Hey...Y/N..” you turned back to him, giving him your full attention, “Could we….could we try sleeping together? I know...I know it’s been some time but-”

“Yes!” you hastily accepted, “I mean...only if you want to.”

And so, you found yourself curled up next to Keigo, feeling him cuddled up to you, which was nice of course, but his body felt stiff like it didn’t want to be close to you.

The whole experience was… different. Normally, Keigo would wrap his arms around you, holding you against him, holding you securely and tightly, like you knew he wouldn’t let you go.

But this, this was different, but you should have expected that by now. You should have known that, now, it was so unlikely that you would ever see the old version of Keigo again.

And then it was there again, that slap of guilt, that pang of hurt at your own thought. How could you think that? Keigo was hurting, and you were upset that he was in pain?

You bit your lip, quietly willing yourself not to cry.

------

Keigo’s mood swings would happen randomly, with no merit at all.

One moment, he was blindly looking at the TV, the next he would be offering to help with dinner, then the next he was screaming at you to add more pepper to the onions.

When his first outburst happened, you blamed yourself.

You had left Keigo for what only seemed like a moment, going outside to feel the air on your face, wanting to just get out of the stuffy little cottage.

You were just watching from the porch when you heard it.

The sound of glass shattering.

You whipped your head to the sound, to find it coming from inside.

You rushed inside, running towards the kitchen.

“Keigo!” you cried out.

You stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, looking down at Keigo on the floor.

A glass of some sort had broken in Keigo’s hand, from what you could tell. It seemed like he had gotten some of it stuck in his hand, blood dripped onto the floor, sticking to the hardwood floor.

Keigo just stared, his eyes the most lively you’ve seen them in weeks. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge your presence, just staring at his hand, looking at the blood as it dripped...dripped...dripped.

And then, he screamed.

It was so loud and so unexpected you quickly covered your ears, trying to block out the head-splitting sound.

When you finally regained your composure, you rushed down to Keigo's side, trying your best to help him.

But Keigo shoved you away.

“No! Stop! Go away! I-I don’t wanna hurt anymore! Stop it, leave me alone!” he scooted away from you, holding out his palms, trying to make you leave.

But you wouldn’t.

Slowly, you spoke, “Keigo, I need to help you, ok? I’m not here to hurt you, baby, I’m Y/N, I love you.”

You inched closer and closer as Keigo hiccuped and sniffed.

“Stop it! Don’t c-come any closer!”

You stilled, only for a moment. Then, you moved forward again.

“Honey, I have to clean your wound, please baby.”

Keigo’s breath still raged, but he let you come closer.

Before you even looked at the wound on his hand, you gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Keigo was shocked, flinching a bit at first.

You carefully picked up his hand, observing it lightly. The glass pricked his hand, but the overall damage wasn’t all that bad, it might have been worse if you hadn’t rushed to him.

You took a deep breath, “Keigo, I’m gonna need to remove the glass-”

But Keigo cut you off, “No no no no no, please. Please, I don’t wanna get hurt again. Please.”

“Keigo,” you stroked your cheek lightly, “it’s ok, it’s me, it’s Y/N.”

You purse your lips, thinking for a moment, “Remember when I got that splinter from the hardwood at that crummy hot spring? And remember how you had to pull it out? And remember how scared I was?”

He thought for a moment as if the memory was buried deep inside him, a lifetime ago. He nodded, tears still running down his face.

“It’s gonna be like that, ok? Quick, and I’ll be right there with you, just like you were for me.”

After a moment, Keigo nodded.

You made quick work of the glass, helping Keigo through the little whimpers and hiccups he let out.

Keigo was never like this before, never fighting over glass in his hand, he was a hero, he dealt with pain daily. But this Keigo was beyond damaged. He was ripped in half, put through more pain than you would ever understand, the mental strain of that had to be so much, it had to weigh on him.

The thought only made your resolve stronger, only made your need to see Keigo get better that much more secure.

After you had bandaged his hand, kissing his knuckles and wrist softly in order to calm him down, you noticed how exhausted he was.

“Do you wanna go and take a nap, Kei?”

He nodded.

You walked him to the room, helping him to bed.

You planted a small kiss on his lips before moving away to leave.

But Keigo caught the fabric of your shirt, pulling on it lightly, “Wait.”

You turned back to face him, “Yeah. what's up Kei?”

“Um, could you...join me?”

Your body perked up. This was one of the first times he had seemed...needy for contact with you. Sure, he still slept next to you, but you figured that was mainly due to some comfortability. But the way Keigo was looking at you right now? His eyes softened with desperation, his body, while still heavy with drowsiness, had enough strength to pull you to him. He seemed to genuinely want you to stay.

You smiled, a real, genuine smile, “Of course I can Keigo.”

You slid into the spot next to him, and Keigo had his arms immediately around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His face nuzzled softly into your neck, his whole body trapping you in a needed embrace.

You played with his hair, giving yourself a mental note that you needed to wash it and brush it out later.

That's when you heard the sniffling in your neck.

“Kei,” you said gently, “what’s wrong?”

It took a few labored breaths for Keigo to respond, “I’m sorry.”

At first, you were confused. What did Keigo have to be sorry about? He had done nothing wrong to you, he hadn’t said anything bad to you, the most he had really done was worry you. But he continued.

“I’m sorry for being so weak, for letting myself get like this, it’s all my fault. And I’m sorry I’m a burden for you, I know how much you loved me, how much you loved being with a strong hero,” he took another shaky breath before continuing, “But I can't. I can’t do it anymore. It hurts so bad. And now, no one wants me. I’m a failure, they’re right,” Keigo squeezed you tighter as if you would leave him too, “I’m a false hero. I failed everyone, the commission, my friends, Tokoyami. And you,” he looked back up at you, “why are you even here? I’m useless now, why can’t you see that? Why won’t you just leave? It would be better for you.”

You hadn’t even realized you had been crying before you felt how shaky your voice was, “No. Keigo that’s not true, I love-”

But he cut you off, “No!” he bolted upright, “Stop it! Stop it Y/N! I’m not who you love, that Keigo is dead and gone, look at me! I’m a shell of who he was, I’m the failure he left behind! Christ Y/N, I fucking broke down because I had fucking glass in my hand!”

He cupped his ears, seemingly trying to block out some sort of noise that you couldn’t even hear. Rocking back and forth lightly, his bandaged hand squeezing hard on his left ear.

“Keigo stop it,” you tried to get his hand away, “you're going to hurt yourself!”

After fighting him for a moment, you finally got him to put his hands down. You pulled him to you, placing his head on your chest as you calmed him down.

“Kei,” you said after a long stretch of silence, “I love you, and I’m not leaving you.”

Keigo hiccuped, “B-but.”

You shushed him, “No but’s. I’m here to stay, it’ll be hard, I know that, but I can’t leave you.”

For the first time in God now’s how long, Keigo reached up and kissed you.

It wasn’t a light, small little peck either, it was a sloppy, desired-filled kiss. You were shocked at first, seeing as how he was yelling at you a second ago, but you let yourself indulge a bit. You craved Keigo, missed his lips, his strong, protective hands that run up your body, you just missed him really.

Your hand moved down to his chest, pulling him deeper. His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you more in.

His teeth clashed against yours, and maybe it was because you two haven't done this in so long, or it was because neither of you cared.

You couldn’t help but let out a small moan as Keigo pushed more against you, pushing you near the head of the bed.

After a few moments of the kiss, you pulled away.

“Please,” Keigo whispered lightly, “Please don’t leave me.”

------

After that, the situation with you and Keigo became so much more complicated.

Keigo would become so irritable, that you had to stand outside for hours just for him to calm down.

But the worst was when he acted so apologetic afterward, saying his, “I’m sorry”’s over and over again, sputtering about how he would, “do better.”

Of course, you felt like absolute shit, wanting to scream, to cry, to leave even. But you couldn’t. Keigo was in so much pain, you had to be strong now, you had to be there for him like he had been for you. You shoved down your tears, fighting the urge to scream and cry, waiting out your feelings.

Was it a bad coping mechanism? Yes. But you already felt so useless, you didn’t want to be a burden too.

For a while, you had hoped that he would help himself get better, you had hoped that he really was trying to get better and understand how to help himself more, but as time went on, you saw how naive you were.

You realized that Keigo was almost beyond repair, some days he would be silently upset, not talking or saying anything. While others you could hear it in his voice.

While some days you came into your shared room to see him curled up on the bed, crying and whimpering. And then there was you, unable to help, unable to tell him how, “it would be ok,” how, “I’m here for you, Kei.”

Because you knew he wouldn’t listen.

And yet, he would never yell at you, never scream or degrade you, he would only seem to be mad at...himself.

Yet, it was strange, because he seemed to grow more and more protective of you.

If you were to leave the house, he would become upset, saying how; “You could have gotten hurt, next time either take me with you or stay...please.”

It was strange how he always asked, how he never demanded.

But today, today was different.

You had noticed that Keigo was especially irritable, so you decided to just stay out of his way. Deciding to work on meal prep, because of Keigo’s accident the doctors told you to watch his meals carefully, making sure he eats a well-balanced meal each and every day.

Maybe Keigo would calm down, maybe today could still be ok, maybe you could salvage the day and make it a good one.

But that was before the broadcast.

. . .

You were outside that day, watching as the sun showned on the ocean.

You wished silently that Keigo could have enough strength to come out and see it with you. Yet, you didn’t push him.

Keigo, on the other hand, was watching some TV. Well, "watch" was a strong word. Keigo’s eyes were far off again, You never asked him what he was thinking about, but you knew it had to be something but what happened.

As you watch the waves crash against the shore, and the sun slowly sets, that's when it happened.

The broadcast.

At first, the broadcast was only just a news reporter talking about how; “us as a society must look forward, through these dark times.” Talking about the loss of certain Hero’s and civilians alike.

but the segment right after that, that's what sent Hawks into his spiral.

“And now, what has happened to the pro hero known as Hawks? And I posed a question to all of our viewers out there, should he be forgiven? Can a man who ruthlessly killed someone, even a villain, be considered a hero?”

You weren't there when the news reporter posed the question, you were only there for the aftermath.

At first, Keigo was in shock, and then, his outburst happened.

It was the worst outburst since the accident. He was screaming, yelling, hitting anything, he just needed some way to get his anger out.

When you heard the commotion, you immediately ran inside, worried that something may have hurt him. But as you went inside, you realized that there was nothing wrong, at least not from what you could see. But to Keigo, everything was wrong.

When you came in, all you could hear was yelling, “What was it all for?! I just...I just wanted to help!”

You were stunted into silence, only being able to watch from afar.

It was like you couldn’t move, your body glued down to the floor, unable to help Keigo.

And then, he hit the TV, hard.

And that's when you finally spoke.

“Keigo stop!”

You rushed forward, grabbing his arm from hitting the wall.

You latched on to him, “Keigo please, please honey just calm-”

But it was too late, and before you knew what was happening, Keigo had thrown you on the ground.

You landed on your hands, cushioning your fall, but that didn’t mean it hurt.

For a moment, everything was still, everything was silent. Keigo wasn’t yelling, he wasn't screaming, and when you looked back up, the only thing you saw was true horror and guilt.

You panted lightly, your eyes blown wide as you stared back up at Keigo.

“...Y/N-”

What was he to say?

He didn’t know.

“K-Keigo,” you were at a complete loss for words.

After a few more minutes, you stood back up. You took one, shaky breath, before you spoke.

“Keigo, I’m sorry. I-I...I can’t do this right now. It’s just… this is all too much for me right now. I think I need to clear my head.”

You moved past him, not even looking him in the eye. How could you? Your mind was a mess, a thousand thoughts jumbled through your brain.

You opened the door quickly, taking your car keys before you left, refusing to look back.

----

The ocean waves looked stunning in the sunlight, it might have been the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

At least, you would have if the tears in your eyes weren’t blocking out your vision.

And your head wouldn’t stop spinning. Was Keigo ok? Should you go back? Could you even go back? What would you even say to him?

No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that leaving Keigo behind was for the best, that you two just needed to be away from each other, you felt like your heart was being slowly stabbed through with needles, one for every second away.

You sniffed, wiping away your tears with the back of your palm.

There had to be a way Keigo could get better, some way you could help. But every thought eluded you, how could you help someone so far gone?

You thought back to the doctor's suggestion of getting a therapist, maybe it was time. Keigo was getting too out of hand for you, and as much as you loved him, you knew that this was hurting him as much as you.

A sigh escaped your lips, why did this have to be so difficult?

And that thought came to you again.

Why couldn’t he just be himself again?

You shivered at your own selfish, hurtful thoughts. Keigo was still him, he just needed help, and thinking about how much you wanted the old him back wasn’t going to help him or you. And it wasn’t fair either, to expect that after what happened he would just be fine.

You knew you would always be there for him, but you supposed you didn’t think it would be this hard.

You placed your face in your hands.

How the hell could you help him? You felt as though Keigo was on the edge of a mountain, and you were the only thing he could grab onto, but now, he was pulling you down with him.

A small, shaky sigh escaped you.

Crunch, crunch.

Footsteps. Fast approaching, almost running.

You cocked your head up, preparing to be kicked off whoever's land that you were on (considering how you just decided to drive to the middle of nowhere).

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that this was public-”

But you stopped mid-sentence.

There stood Keigo, tears streamed down his cheeks, his panting breaths and sweat glistening from his body must have meant he came all the way out here on foot.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could get a word in, Keigo had bent down to you.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, still in shock, “N-no.”

He sighed, but his face concentrated like he was thinking too hard, “I’m sorry.” and then, a long, silent pause, “I don’t...I don’t know what else to say.”

“...I don’t either,” you looked back up at him again. “You could have really hurt me, and I just don’t know how to deal with all this. I don’t know how to deal with...you.”

Keigo flinched, the implications of your words stung.

“It’s just...I want to be there for you, I really do, but it’s so hard,” you looked down tears threatening to escape, “I love you s-so much, b-but,” a silent hiccup went through you, “I don’t know how to help anymore.”

Keigo stayed silent, his words trapped under his tongue. He also didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to help himself too, but he knew deep down he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. But he hated what he was doing to you, he hated what he was making you go through.

“Keigo,” he looked back up at you, “Do you still love me?”

Keigo stared wide-eyed back to you, his words at a loss. “I- of course, I do Y/N-”

“Then why don’t you say it?”

He paused, “...What do you mean?”

You sighed, “Have you noticed that ever since what happened, you’ve not been able to say ‘I love you,' to me? Because I have. Each morning I wake up, and I always say, ‘good morning Kei, I love you,’ and you never say it back. It feels like I’m just invisible to you. I don’t want to look at you as something to fix, or as something to make me feel miserable, but I can’t live with someone who just sees me like a ghost.”

It took a while before Keigo finally responded.

“I don’t see you as a ghost,” he said, his voice as low as a whisper, “it’s that I see me as the ghost. I lost...I lost a big part of me in that fight.”

Subconsciously, he reaches back to his used-to-be wings, his fingers flinching when nothing is there.

“Keigo, you are not your wings.”

“How can you say that when everything I was...was built off of them?”

You leaned forward, a hand placed lightly on his cheek, “Your wings did not build our relationship, we did. And we still have each other. Your wings were never the reason I loved you, your wings were always just a part of you, they were never you.”

Keigo looked back at you, placing a hand on top of yours. After a few, dragged-out moments, Keigo leaned into you. But not before whispering lightly on your lips, “I do love you, Y/N.”

. . .

Things were hard, but they were better.

It had been three weeks since the accident that happened with you and Keigo. He agreed to go to a therapist, after what happened with you two, he wanted to get help.

What neither you nor he expected though, was for his therapist to also recommend you get help as well.

In his words; “After understanding the stress that Mr. Takami has gone through, as well the details that he has shared with me, I believe that it is necessary for you to also have some sort of mental treatment. Keigo was not in the right state of mind for a very long time, and you were the only person here to look after him. I believe you first need to talk about your problems separately and then move on to couples therapy. Some of the actions Mr. Takami has put you through may have had negative effects on your psyche.”

Although that was a shock to you, Keigo visibly became more saddened after that.

After the conversation with the therapist, Keigo even offered to move out of your shared room.

“If- if you’re uncomfortable with me being here, I can take the spare room.”

You only shook your head no, saying, “I’m not uncomfortable sleeping next to you, Kei, we’re in this together.”

And you were.

Keigo went to his therapist, as did you. At first, you weren’t sure, seeing as Keigo and you would see the same person and how that may make a conflict of interest, but he assured you that Keigo dealt with trauma relating to his fight, as did you of course, but your trauma and anxiety was more based upon him.

So, you made it work.

After a while of one-on-one counseling, you moved to couples therapy.

It was hard, mostly for Keigo, because he didn’t want to admit to himself, or you, that he had hurt you as much as he did.

So, you opened first.

You talked about how scared you were of losing Keigo, not just physically but mentally, how it hurt you that some days he wouldn’t talk to you. You even opened up about missing the old him.

It seemed like when you first opened your mouth, everything just came pouring out.

And so, after you explained your side, slowly, Keigo started to explain his.

He explained how he didn’t want to hurt you, but how he just couldn’t help himself in that moment. He felt like everyone was turning on him, abandoning him, he thought it was only a matter of time before you. And he couldn’t handle how that thought chased him, his mind just became so jumbled and uncertain.

But he wanted to get better, to show you the man you deserved.

Soon, you came to realize how your relationship would never be the same since that day, how you had lost a part of Keigo, and how Keigo had lost a part of himself. And that part, that part split you two, like a deep cut, and now you two had to sew it back together, and you both knew it would be hard.

Losing that part of your life took time, it took practice and understanding, it took watching Keigo wake up in a nightmare, watching as he screamed and all you could do was hush him and stroke his cheek softly as you told him how you were there, even as tears slipped down your cheeks as well.

But you let them, you let yourself show him that you were sharing the pain, that you were together in this.

Keigo was hurting, you knew that, but as your therapist told you; “You are grieving, grieving for that Keigo that died in that battle, and not only are you grieving, you are also trying your best to take care of someone who was already so broken that now they might as well be shards of the vase they once were.”

But that didn’t stop you from explaining how you felt selfish and terrible, how you felt like you were a bad person for feeling upset, for wanting Keigo to go back to you.

After each therapy session, you two would go out and sit on the porch, not doing or saying anything, because you both realized you had said plenty before.

. . .

After a year since then, things had gotten significantly better.

Keigo and you understood the inner workings of your relationship, not only that, you both understand each other a lot better. Understanding how you both needed one another, how you two could only grow to help each other.

Almost a year has passed since the incident with Dabi, a year since Keigo “lost” his wings.

But his wings were back, and he was back.

Although, maybe not fully.

Keigo was almost like a different vision of himself, a more, down to earth, real version of who he was.

Maybe, it was the person he always was, but just never could show it.

With you, he was the most caring he’s ever been.

Watching as you fell asleep in his arms, creasing your body oh-so-perfectly as he kissed you deeply, his sing-song praises in your ear. He loved you so much.

And you, you helped him grow as well. Being there for him, watching him, helping him.

You never left him, you carried out your promise to yourself, keeping him with you no matter what. You loved him so much, and you were so happy to see how he healed.

And here you both were, Watching as the sunset, as the ocean waves tied down, the sun Illuminating the water passing over.

You watched as Keigo’s eyes lit up in the bright light, his scar’s still reflecting the hard past that he's been through, and yet, reminding you how lucky you are.

At that moment you leaned in, giving him a light peck on his cheek.

Keigo turned to you, before laughing, “Why did you do that?"

"Because... I just realized how lucky I am to have you. Thank you, Keigo.”

"There's no need to thank me, dove," he said, kissing you as well "I'll always love you, and I always will be thankful that I have you as well."

[noritoshiikamo]

this is how you fall in love

pairing: kuroo tetsuroo + fem!oc genre: friends into lovers fluff with slight suggestive end tags//warning: nothing major // slight suggestive at the end if you squint enough note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. o wow look ive been posting back to back, ive been writing nonstop lately watch me ghost my stories in few weeks guys my brain = rotting, plus lately ive been feeling emotionally abuseddrained so i need something fluffy

listen to this is how you fall in love by jeremy zucker + chelsea cutler for maximum feels

“you’re a lifesaver.”

kuroo huffed, eyes rolling back with a small laugh as he unlaced his sneakers and slipped the room slipper on. it was odd to see the gymnasium without any nets or balls sprawled around. the gym has been closed for a week now in preparation for the upcoming open school event and currently under the art club’s jurisdiction. under her jurisdiction with her canvases and paints and it pained him to see her ruining his sacred place. he carried two plastic bags and holding two boba teas in the same hand. he wasn’t sure which one she was more excited for; the boba, the paints she made him ran to an art supply shop or him. she reached out, the bobas in his hand exchanged as she settled it on the floor, and she squealed at the sight of the plastic bag. he frowned.

yup, not him.

tins of different colors of paint that she ran out mid painting that she forgot to buy had her dialing his number and now it’s all here. all thanks to kuroo tetsuro. she grimaced at the price tags; it was costly than her usual one. usually, she would’ve gotten her supplies online, but desperate measure calls for desperate solution. she could always claim her expenses with the club. typical kuroo, she huffed. he always preached about getting the best, not minding the price tags but she’ll be the victim of his nonstop complaining that he’s getting broke every single day. she tucked a stray hair back and mentally counted how much she owed the man as she arranged the tins on the table.

kuroo noticed that look; same look she had when they are in the math class and he clicked his tongue, “tch, you’re not paying.”

“i’m reimbursing you with the club money,” she shook her head and reached for her bag, “please kuroo, it’s so expensive.”

he reached for her wrist and she dropped the tote bag as he invaded her space. kuroo rested the palm of her hand right above his heart, his own around the waist and another under her chin as he tilted her chin up. his heartbeat was erratic, and she flushed. “it’s okay,” he said, softly. her lips formed into a small pout and he fought the urge to just kiss her.

their dynamic is something even kenma couldn’t figure it out.

they weren’t exactly dating. they are friends, close friends, and classmates. it has always been him, her and occasionally yaku; creating the chaotic duo/trio of class 5. they both played volleyballs, both captains while he’s the middle blocker, she’s their female team’s setter. they knew a lot of each other’s friends from other schools; he was the reason why she dated akaashi keiji from the first place. it was selfish of kuroo to admit to bokuto a month after they started dating that he disliked the idea of them together. typical kuroo is no longer snarky, he felt lost, felt like he was losing his other half. so, he confided to his close friend, the simpleton ace.

“you didn’t make any moves, kuroo, you can’t blame them.”

bokuto noted as them both stared at the two setters, playing around the fallen cherry blossoms. bokuto never seen akaashi smiled that much and kuroo could only wished that she smiled the same way to him. kuroo stared at the half bitten onigiri he’d been holding, suddenly every bite he took tasted bitter. every trace of akaashi on her gave him bitter taste. she liked wearing akaashi’s jersey; kuroo longed to see her in his own numbered jersey; she’s his number one after all. her own jersey number is as same as akaashi. it’s not like kuroo could hate anything he did; he treated her well. akaashi was a perfect boyfriend and everyone knew. that’s why kuroo hates him; he gave him no reason to hate the dude. it didn’t last long however, they drifted apart 6 months later, sending her to kuroo’s doorstep soaked in rain.

he stared at her soaked figure with no thoughts in mind.

“he dumped me,” she said, voice hoarse and shivering.

he was alone and was about to leave for kenma’s, but he couldn’t leave her alone. dropping his keys on the small table by the door, he threw his jacket back in the closet. “come in,” he whispered, pulling her figure in. dropping her bag on the floor, she clutched on his sleeves as she kicked off her soaking shoes. “i’m sorry, my mom isn’t home and i can’t find my keys,” she was a blabbering mess and he hushed her. he left her for a few minutes, coming back with a steaming towel and a clean shirt and pants. “it’s from the dryer. you can borrow my sister’s clothes,” grabbing her hands, they ran upstairs where he took her to the bathroom. she was too quiet, so he called her name. when she looked up to him, her eyes were red. she was no longer crying, more confused and upset. her cheeks flushed and he could see her teeth chattering. he wished nothing but to throw his fist at the man. finally, he got a reason to square up the stoic man; he always hates the way nothing could riled up akaashi.

“he’s stupid for doing you like this.”

she shook her head, “it’s nobody’s fault.”

“then stop blaming yourself,” he ruffled her hair, a small smile appeared from the corner of her lips as she watched him disappeared closing the door behind him. he left her with the hot water running, urgently grabbing the mop and bucket from the kitchen, and wiping the trail of her soaked feet has left before it could ruin the wooden floor.

cant come over, busy, ill tell u later

kuroo texted kenma. the pudding head left him on read.

they spend the night together, sitting on the floor with pillows pilling against the end of the bed as they sat in arms. he had his tv opened to one of the late-night game show. they sat in silence, her head rested on his shoulder and her lips pressed into a tiny line. at the corner of his eyes, he could see her phone’s notifications blaring despite being on mute. the number isn’t saved but it was familiar. she deleted his number already, probably out of rage, but it’s a good step.

tell me where you want me to drop your stuff im sorry i hope youre okay y/n? i heard it was storming did you make it back home? give me a call im calling you okay?

just as like what the message stated, the unknown number called her. it startled her which startled him too. she stared down on the screen, he noticed the grip on the phone and wondered how the phone did not break yet. “can you answer it for me?” she said, holding the phone out to the black-haired man. shocked, he took the phone and pressed the green button. he pressed the phone to his ear and heard her name being called.

“hey man,” kuroo cleared his throat, “listen-”

“she’s with you?” the voice- akaashi asked.

looking down on the girl who was pretending to not have any interest in the call at all, eyes focused on the gameshow, kuroo sighed.

“she is. listen, i think you should leave her alone.”

“kuroo, i know about your feelings. for her. bokuto-san told me about it. if you think that this is the proper way to get her when she’s vulne-”

kuroo bit the inside of his cheeks. he was offended that akaashi dared to call him out like that. “so, what? she made her pick,” the girl turned to face him, brows up wondering what they are talking about.

“that’s low, even for you, kuroo-san.”

their eyes met. he didn’t even realize how deep the cut on his palm where he had balled his fingers into a fist until she touched it. he calmed down. “you hurt her. you have no right to say what’s low or not. be a bigger man, leave her alone,” he muttered flatly, before ending the call. they didn’t break eye contact until he realized what he had done.

“i-i shouldn’t have done that.”

she shook her head, “stop blaming yourself,” a small smile on her face.

that was 3 months ago.

kuroo had made moving on easy for her. akaashi and her remained friendly, although kuroo noticed that she tended to avoid him when possible. the breakup was indeed mutual, but merely on the fact that he lost feelings. akaashi had fallen out of love with her and in love with some other girl but who was she to judge when she was falling in love with the rooster head in silence. they still hang out with bokuto and akaashi but rarely with the latter.

she made him apologized to the fukurodani’s setter too and they remained on friendly term, still practiced together whenever they have training camps together where akaashi had admitted one training night that kuroo and her looks better together. kuroo didn’t say anything, not that he knew what to reply to that (his mind scream fuck yeah we do) but shrugged at his statement. “i guess dating her made you less pain in the ass, kuroo-san,” akaashi joked as they resumed the game.

kuroo was pulled back to reality when he felt his lips brushed against something. his eyes widened when he realized what it was. a quick kiss from her. he blinked frantically, trying to comprehend what had just happened which caused the girl to laugh. “did you just?” he asked confused by what had just happened which she nodded. she bit her bottom lip to hold herself from bursting into a laugh. “god, you should see your face. it’s so stupid. and every girl called you the playboy captain huh?”

he huffed and rolled his eyes, “i am not. i’ve been loyal to one girl for many years now, she is the one who hasn’t notice me at all,” he faked his pout, refused to look her directly in the eyes, praying that she wouldn’t notice his reddening cheeks.

“she must’ve been so stupid,” she teased, her nose rubbing gently against his jawline as she rested her figure against his closer. his chin rested against her head.

“she is,” he looked down on her, his arms around her waist tighter, “i don’t think she knows this but if she leaves me, i think i’ll be so broken inside. is it selfish to say that?” a small frown appeared on her face.

“i don’t think she ever talked about leaving you.”

a grin grew on his face, “so you know who i’m talking about huh?” she fell into his trap. she rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out, calling him stupid. he studied her face, his grin softened into what yaku and his volleyball team called the kuroo is stupidly in love with y/n but refused to admit face. his fingers ran into her hair which she had been growing out in few months down to her shoulder because she thinks that he likes her better that way. the way she tried to subtly put on make up to look better that the other girls who’s shamelessly flirting with him. she was too stupid to realize that he had loved her beyond that.

he loves the rough pads on her hands from holding her paintbrushes and volleyball. he loves that she works hard for everything she’s doing be it studying, volleyball or arts, she would put her blood, sweat and tears into it. he loves that she would wait for him to buy lunch so they can eat together in class. he would buy her a box of milk which she insisted that she doesn’t need too; but he convinced it would be good for her. he wants the best for her.

he loves that all the missing clothes he’s complaining about is in the back of her closet or on her. his cream hoodie hanging behind her closet door, his random pile of t-shirts in a basket on the floor of her closet that he liked to left beside the mix pile of her shoes and his one big ass nike shoes. her room isn’t messy, it is because she kept the messiness in her closet. she also like to keep random stuff of him too. the one medal he won from a science fair hung on the headboard of her bed, the misshapen looking hand wax sculpture of their hands intertwined from a funfair where she rested a purikura of them on it and a lucky bamboo plant he gave on her birthday to compromise on the no gift rule.

“for luck,” he grinned.

unlike hers, he kept her item neatly in his drawer. your spare shirts that he borrowed and refused to return, extra towel and her toiletries, some of her drawing blocks and a small cat shaped pouch where she kept her allergies medication. mostly hidden because his annoying friends come over often and would accidentally talk about it in front of his grandparents. but, on his bedside table, he has a cup of pencils by the bed where he collected the art supplies she left behind, random markers and paintbrushes, a clay sculpture of a trinket plate she made from art club (she carved a tiny letter k in the corner beside the obvious looking genitalia drawing) and a fake plant which she was sure he will not be able to kill it.

he loves it when she wore his jersey. he lost his mind when he found out that her current season number is the same as his. he’s in love. the first time he saw her in his jersey, the number one jersey on her body was during their training. he lost concentration; mouth hung a bit. he got so flustered that he let lev served the ball straight to his head. usually, lev would be dead by now, but he doesn’t mind. his nose bled but to see her kneel beside him, clutching on his own shirt screaming how stupid he is, wiping the blood away with towel, he could only say how pretty she looked. all his teammates were startled, her included. she clutched on his collar angrily; her knees stung from when she leaped down to his side, but this idiot could only smile at her with a bloody nose. “you are fucking idiot,” she cried out angrily, pushing him away before throwing the towel on his face leaving the pleased third year laying on the floor.

he loves the way she would find a way to impress him, be it as ridiculous as the halloween costume idea she had where they’ll go as the front and end of a horse or as serious as the submitted college application to the same university he had gotten into. “you are not getting rid of me that easily, tetsu,” the evil look on her face as she clicked the submit button send shivers down his spine.

“if you leave, i think i’ll cry,” he confessed, his smile slowly died.

“kuroo tetsuro is going to cry after me?” she teased. he nodded eagerly. “does kuroo tetsuro realized that we are literally moving into the same university? i couldn’t catch a break from him,” she faked her annoyance which he playfully avenged by sending her on the floor laughing as he tickled her. tears trickled down her cheeks as she begged him to stop, screaming to get away from his grip. “please, kuroo, i’m going to pee if you don’t stop!” he obliged, tears prickled the corner of his own eyes from laughing too much. straddling her waist, he gathered her wrists in one hand over her head. “apologize and said that kuroo tetsuro is the best man in your life or i swear i’ll make you pee,” he threatened her playfully, wiggling the fingers of his free hand close to her waist. her eyes widened in fears.

“that’s not fair!”

“apologize first.”

“fine!” she pouted, “i’m sorry, i won’t make fun of you again. now get off me!”

he raised his eyebrow, “andddd?”

“annddd-” a teasing smile appeared on her face as she said the next 5 words that send him to mars and back; “i love you kuroo tetsuro.”

he froze in shock. he heard the words before but never in this way; never for him.

finally, i think i got the calculation, love you yaku! lev you’re adorable but so stupid, i love it! thank you for letting me borrow your game, kenma. you’re the best, love ya!

the grip on her wrists loosened. taking advantage of his shock state, she pushed him back, straddling him by the waist, pinning his own hands above his head, giving him the taste of his own medicine. “i’m not going to leave your sorry ass, tetsu. i hope you don’t regret it,” she leaned down, capturing his lips with a longer kiss. letting go of his wrist, her hand went immediately into his rooster hair while another cupped his cheek, deepening their kiss. she could feel his cold palm resting against her bare waist and she shuddered. between the kisses, he heard her whispering his name. “kuroo, do you love me too?” she asked so innocently with kisses between the words but the way she grabbed a handful of his hand in a fist felt so dirty, eliciting a strangled moan from the back of his throat. she pulled back, staring down on his eyes as his lips moved.

“i love you too.”

nothing in his hazel eye but sincerity. he groaned when she pulled herself out of his reach, missing her warm body as she laughed. straightening her sweater back, pulling her hair back up into a tighter ponytail before she picked up the paintbrush she dropped. the paintbrush left a white stain on the court. as if kuroo wasn’t here, whimpering underneath her a minute ago, she continued her work. “i need to finish the mural by this week and you’re not exactly helping me,” she warned him, pointing the wet brush his direction. through the corner of her eyes, he was propped on his elbows, still staring at her, causing her to blush profusely. it annoyed him that she would tease him, then leaving him high and dry. before she could crack open the new paint tin, he ignored her warning as he tackled her back into his arms.

breathless against her lips, he told her to continue later. the urgency and rawness of his voice made her putty immediately. looking up the man, she pouted her lips.

“kuroo-san,” she whined as he captured her bottom lips.

he elicited a soft moan from the girl. he grinned against her lips. a hand rested firmly beside her head while another snaked under the sweater. there will be bruise tomorrow, she was sure of it, he will make sure of it.

“it will be quick, baby. i promise.”

she has no objection.

[harryhandstan]

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry​ and @bopbopstyles​ for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha 

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :) 

final word count: 7.1k

//

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

//

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.  

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

//

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

//

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

//

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them,  "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

//

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

//

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

[whump-town]

Been Having A Hard Time Adjusting

Summary: Alternative to the peaceful homecoming of Emily Prentiss - Aaron Hotchner never truly comes home with her.

Warnings: medical trauma, amputation, scarring, blindness, mental health, hallucinations, sexual assault, self harm, and just sad stuff

Part One, Part Two

They find the sweet spot where nothing exists past the tip of his nose. Where his mind slips and he dissociates, gets caught in the old wall just a few feet away. In the spackled off-white paint. His eyes unfocused and unmoving. A nestled warmth where he finds himself outside his mind and body and bathed in entire numbness. Compliant to their overwhelmingly constant touches and questions. Without the heavy thrum of sedatives in his veins, he’ll kill himself. Tears stitches back open with his searching fingers to find where to dig and rip into the skin to feel the warmth of his blood.

“Is there someone we can call?” he’s given up. His fight depleted to leave him bareboned and dying. “You didn’t list anyone in your files but if you give us a name…” He hadn’t listed anyone for a reason. He’d wanted his death to be as nonexistent, as unpleasant as his life. So that the others might be given the chance to move on. So that his son will not think of him. He’ll slip through the cracks and they’ll just forget. It could go unnoticed. Now, he’ll be left to go slowly. They can place feeding tubes and restrain his mobile limbs but that will not breathe life back into him. He’s not active by any means but he’s reserved and he’s lost. He doesn't want to stay. He’s done.

He’s been fighting his whole life but he’s never been good at knowing when to give up.

There had been life in him, initially. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped for this eventual returning to his life. His old life. It’s a complicated, convoluted thought that he carries for a week. His presence of mind comes back slowly and the drugs can not hide what he knows intuitively. He finds the wounds on his face, holds his fingers near his right eye and the sight is… The doctors tell him it was shrapnel and that he’s lucky he has some sight in it at all and that there is no perceived brain damage. He looks at himself in the mirror. Looks at this man that he can not recognize.

There is a mass of bruises and wounds on his face. His eye isn’t easy to notice the pupil blown wide and a well-meaning doctor tells him that the scarring he’s typically used to seeing will happen over time. Just as many of the wounds on his face, they just need time to scar.

They sit with him, run their fingers along the wounds as they guess at which ones will heal and which ones he’ll never get rid of. “This one looks like lightning,” a nurse tells him like he’s supposed to appreciate finally understanding what Harry Potter looked like. Does she think Jack will appreciate that? That he’ll look at his father’s face and see a hero and not a horrible mess of these warped scars?

It’s sick, he knows. He’d never think these things about anyone else. But he looks in the mirror and he sees someone that he hates.

And it all goes to hell when Dave shows up.

It’s… He doesn’t know what day it is anymore but he’s turned away from the door of the room. Propped up on pillows and looking out the small window in his room. The physical therapist had come in to move him, forced him to practice moving from the bed to the wheelchair, and then from the wheelchair to the recliner, a nurse had kindly pushed in. He’s left alone because he’s content like this, turned like a flower to the sun. Eyes closed and nearly forgiving, compliant.

“Hotch...”

He jerks at the sudden intrusion. Panicking at the sight of the man before him. It’s a little too much. “D--Dave?” he hasn't spoken in so long that his voice grates and cracks. Tears sting his eyes and he chokes, crying as Dave steps towards him. Sobbing as Dave bends down and shakes his head, his own eyes filling with tears. “You came,” he whispers, leaning into the palm that Dave presses to his cheek. Warm and rough and here and he hadn’t realized how lonely he was. How tired of his own mind…

Dave looks like he always does, carefully suspended between two ages. His hair greying near the temples but his eyes betraying him and his age. He’s tanned, dressed softly in a way that makes Hotch feel like a young cadet all over again. As if he’s marching into the bullpen to meet his hero. But here he is. Dave is right here.

“You’re too thin,” Dave whispers, stroking his cheekbone. “Being a pain in their ass, huh?” He smiles, fondly and softly and Hotch feels its warmth in his chest, in his face. He nods and smiles even harder when Dave brings their heads together. Rustling Hotch’s hair playfully. “It’s good to see you, Hotch.”

He nods, unable to trust his voice. He closes his eyes, leans entirely into the touch.

“Aaron?”

He hums.

“I brought you lunch, sweetheart.”

Eyebrows furrowing at the sudden change, he opens his eyes. The room is empty. He’s still in the recliner. He looks for Dave, going frantic as he realizes there is no proof of Dave ever having been here. But he must have just fallen asleep. “I’m not hungry,” he whispers and lays limply, bites down against his tears as they hook up to the supplements they pump into him. The only way they can think to keep him alive for just a little longer.

Dave keeps coming.

He shows up as Hotch’s falling asleep, whispers through the exhaustion about the next morning. Smiles and assures Hotch he’ll be here when he wakes up. He never is. Emily comes. She brushes her fingers through his hair and he asks her to tell him one more time the names of the countries that she visited as a child. The ones she loved best. He needs her to do the accents to squeeze his hand and throw her head back with laughter but she squints her eyes. She shakes her head and never answers. Never tells him.

“Who are you talking to?”

Hotch blinks, confused but not nearly enough. Some part of him knows what this is but he needs them so desperately that it keeps him from falling apart. He’ll lean into this delusion because it is all he has. “No one,” he whispers but they know. The nurses, the doctors, the therapist. They've noticed.

He doesn’t know why (he knows exactly why).

There are no thoughts leading up to it (it’s everything, it’s all too much).

No ideations (he just wants to sleep…).

It hurts. He rips the IV from his hand with his teeth, grunting at the pain as the needle comes free. He means to run away but he looks down at his leg - to where his leg should be - and he sees red. He feels red. Digs his fingers into the gauze, crying out when he finds the stitches. The hole of mangled flesh and the warmth of his blood coating his fingers. He doesn’t get very far. Isn’t capable of enough damage - not to him, at least. He wants to do worse. To hit and scream and throw himself somewhere dark and cold to die.

He passes out in a puddle of his own blood. Wakes enough when the nurses come in, dragging in crash carts behind them. The head of the bed falling and his hands being moved away. He’s floating. Not really there. He feels the odd little dance of his heart in his chest like it’s stomping quickly to a rhythm not quite right.

He wakes… alive, unfortunately. They restrain him - his two mobile limbs. His left arm still pinned with crap he doesn’t care enough to look at. It’s not as humiliating as it would have been just a year ago. He’s too drugged, too laden to care about the strap they have to put over his thighs to keep him from moving the stump of his right leg. His right hand is held to the bed by the wrist. He looks at it, occasionally, tests the flection of the fingers, and sleeps.

He’s restrained for three weeks but he doesn’t try anything. Doesn’t move or speak. Just looks at the wall. For three weeks they watch him - it’s suicide watch but unbothered. He’s more of a pacifist, anyhow, maybe it would be helpful to know that’s a return of character for him - to just wither away instead. For a week they have this grey area where he’s never left alone during the day and the restraints go back on during the night. They turn on the TV and try to get him to eat but he can’t or maybe he just won’t. He ignores them.

Dave doesn’t come back.

He’s just too tired to care anymore.

He’s there for a month and makes no progress.

“Agent Hotchner.” His physical therapist lets himself into the room. There’s no use in asking to come in, he won’t answer. “I was thinking we work on transfers today,” the other man informs him. He pushes the wheelchair into the room. There’s no point in working with prosthetics, he fluctuates in weight too dangerously to keep them to size. Besides, he is too weak. Too weathered and caved to hold himself up. His left leg is cramped in that bed. He isn’t’ strong enough.

Hotch doesn’t do what they ask but he goes numbly into their directions. Spurring to life like a machine before sputtering back out. He’ll sit up but his movement is mechanical.

He goes elsewhere because they can’t come here.

To Derek. Falling asleep after long cases in the backseat of whatever beat-up car Gideon rented, their shoulders rocking back and forth. Waking for just a moment either leaning, if not held, in Morgan's lap or to find the other man sleeping on him. The unspoken nature of the two of them. Laughing in the bullpen and the time that he carried Morgan across a field because they fell down from some rafters of a barn that Gideon warned them about. They made it to the driveway and laid atop one another called Gideon to come get them. He remembers cracking his eyes open when Gideon had stood over him, shaking his head. “The two of you are nothing but trouble.”

It distracts him from the pain and the way that he can still feel his right leg. They tell him it’s phantom pain but he feels it. He wakes in the middle of the night certain he can wrap his fingers around where an ankle or a calf would be. Is certain his toes hit the end of the bed. He moves to transfer from the bed to the wheelchair and he still tries to put either on a leg that isn’t there.

He’s stationary and that’s how they find him.

Penelope finds him on Tuesday and it feels far too much like the morning she spent frantically calling hospitals to find him. His name isn’t given - not public because he’s American and he’s in a veterans hospital because the federal government won’t fork over the money it’s going to take to airlift him home. Besides, he’s got no family listed. No one to call and raise hell to get him home. No one to care. It’s hard to say they did until just a week ago… Hotch was always good at hiding in the emotional sense but he’s never been good at hiding himself. It made his childhood miserable for reasons with much higher stakes than just children’s hide and go seek.

Dave goes because the plane ticket is nothing and his absence will be fine. Emily tries to come but he tells her to stay, makes her stay. Hotchs’ done all this for a reason and he fears the state he’s going to find him in. Never mind, Emily’s still dead to Hotch - still someone who is dying and needs protection. It’s too much.

Dave drives an hour to Washington D.C. and takes a one stop flight straight to Pakistan. It’s nearly eighteen hours and with too little sleep he arrives at the hospital at 3 p.m.

David had taken to Hotch effortlessly. He’s just that sort of person-- the sort that draws you in with their mystery, with the kindness they couldn’t be bothered to pretend it’s so challengingly genuine. That’s just how Hotch’s always been. Honest but somehow so intuitive, knew things you could never remember telling him but right still. Always says the right things without ever telling you a thing. Until you’re a decade into a friendship with him and you can’t remember if he’s from the east coast or if he’s from the south or maybe if he’s ever had a pet or even what his favorite color is. Not because you didn’t pay attention but because he’s careful. Never tells more than necessary and he’s got that perfected.

And it’s how Dave knows something isn’t right.

Because Hotch could be dying and he’d never bother you. He’d never put you off by asking for a thing.

“At the two week mark he got an infection, his right leg was severely damaged in the accident. The wound and the leg started to necrotize. His organs started to shut down. Sepsis set in--”

Dave’s eyes snap to the doctor’s, sepsis. He looks back to the man in question. Hotch had this way about him, the way he moved and breathed and lived like those old stop motion pictures. Every moment so carefully constructed to create this flowing motion, entirely soundless. Dave has always thought he looked like the grasshopper from James and the Giant Peach with his too long limbs. Thin and pliable. Now, he rests heavily. That grace and flow stolen from him.

“Agent Rossi?” Dave tears his eyes away from Hotch, forces himself to concentrate once again on the doctor. “He’s… He’s been experiencing some rather unpleasant signs of post-traumatic stress. He won’t speak to the therapists on staff--” The doctor looks hopelessly to the man so oblivious to them. “We had to perform a unilateral bk-- we-- I amputated his right leg just below the knee.” By that time, Hotch had lost his abilities to make these decisions himself. Mind ravished by fevers, he was hallucinating. Seeing people that weren’t there.

Dave feels a knot form in his throat as his eyes wander. Slowly over those thin shoulders, down the curve of his back and the bones betray, the bones that protrude through his thin t-shirt. Down to… to see where one foot sits in the rest and the other stops. Where they’ve tied the access material of his sweatpants off.

“He has a prosthetic,” the doctor sighs. “We’ve had to resize it twice. We can’t-- We can’t do it again.” The doctor looks so impossibly exhausted. “They have to be... the prosthetics are advanced but fluctuations in weight ten pounds, even, that throws them off. He can’t keep weight on him and so we size them and then he loses more weight and he’s not getting stronger.” And it’s pointless. He won’t walk on the damn things. Refuses aids and he could walk, by now he could likely run and leap and move but he refuses much else aside that damned wheelchair. “He’s damaged the nerves, the bone, that I don’t know if he’ll be able to use a prosthetic.”

Dave doesn’t need any of that explained to him.

He understands it all too well.

Dave shakes his head. Clearing his throat rouses through his trousers, pulls out his wallet, “if money is the issue--” He hands the man the cards Dave thinks he might need. “Size them,” he asks. “Size them one more time and let me take him home.”

The doctor shakes his head, “Agent, maybe… maybe I’ve betrayed your confidence here.” He sighs, “sir, he’s not well. He doesn’t speak. Not to a soul except in his sleep and he screams. In-- In agony, in fear. He wakes and he has no memory of this happening. Denies our therapy. He doesn’t eat. He sustains on intravenous fluids and a feeding tube which he once fought but now doesn’t even… He’s prone to chronic infections.” The doctor frowns sympathetically to Dave and he is truly upset with this prognosis. Of his patients' negligence to himself and it might be good to finally have someone here for the man but he can not be released. Not without imminent danger. It couldn’t even be recommended he make the trip to another hospital.

“Do what you can?” Dave pleads.

And the doctor wants to break down, to confirm that they have. Everything they can think of. From tough love to entirely too understanding. Everything they have ever been trained to do. He isn’t responding. But Dave isn’t hearing it.

Dave crouches down in front of Hotch, placing himself directly in his line of sight. “Hotch?” He reaches, slowly, up towards him because Dave knows to expect a flinch. No matter how many miles Hotch puts between himself and his childhood, it still comes back in the little moments like these. But Dave’s fingers ghost across cold, pale flesh and there is nothing. No flinch or recoil or even an in-take of startled breath. Only empty eyes.

He’s still so foolishly hopeful. There has to be something, an ember to send to life. He’s just in need of a little poking, the right words and the right commands and he’ll come back. “Hotch,” Dave calls once more. He smiles, cupping Hotch’s cold cheek in the palm of his hand. “Aaron,” he amends because, of course, Hotch won’t answer to his first name. It’s impersonal. Everyone knows it. Hotch is sacred. It’s something entirely their own.

Dave had assumed the doctor was a fool. What could this stranger know about his Aaron? But… this isn’t even his Hotch. This isn’t Hotch at all.

David Rossi has no idea who this man is but he’s not Hotch.

The physical therapist makes his way over, wheelchair pushed out in front of him as he edges closer. Looking between Dave and Hotch, trying to make sure the doctor’s okay for him to come is genuinely welcomed. Dave stands up out of the way, taking a short step back as he watches, numbly, the way the therapist talks to Hotch. The gentle way he kneels down and makes sure that Hotch’s eyes find him before he speaks again. “How are you doing, big guy? Up for the trip back?” he gets no answer, which Dave is growing to find less and less surprising.

“Alright,” the therapist answers as if Hotch has said something, like he’s even acknowledged the other man’s presence. “I think that pretty nurse--” the therapist locks the wheelchair and sets it up for ease transfer. “You remember?” the therapist asks all without breaking stride, like he’s having an active conversation with Hotch. “Well, I”m sure you remember, don’t you? You know, the pretty nurse Amy? Tall? Brunette? Damn, man, I swear I’m in love.” The therapist taps Hotch’s right knee and it spurs Hotch to life. He sits up and the therapist keeps talking as Hotch makes slow, lazy movements to push himself to the edge of the chair. “She asked me out for drinks tonight.” The therapist puts his arms under Hotch's, ready to step in and guide if Hotch can't do it himself. “I’m getting drinks with the hot nurse, isn’t that great?”

Dave watches silently.

Hotch maneuvers himself easily enough, his left hand is still covered in bandages, but he places his weight on one arm and one leg. The movement isn’t entirely sophisticated but it gets him where he needs to be - seated in the wheelchair without help from either of them men standing close.

The physical therapist kicks the breaks down. His smile startles Dave, mostly because of its brightness despite the dreary mood of everything else around them. The physical therapist grins at both of them - his spit and shine nearly a bit too much. “So,” the therapist hums. “Do I need to worry about this guy taking my spot as your best friend? I mean, we’re friends, right, but do we have to compete for the throne of best friend?”

Hotch’s head raises, glancing up at the therapist and Dave feels himself choke, as if punched at the look in his eyes. They stop, the therapist shooting Dave a glance before he kneels down. He places a hand on Hotch’s leg, the two of them eye-level with one another. The therapist clears his throat, solemnly offering, “he’s real, Aaron.” He glances up at Dave, motioning him closer.

Dave takes a stiff step closer - biting down to prevent himself from huffing an agitated breath at the younger man when he’s only beckoned closer. Until he’s kneeling down beside Hotch as well, his chest tight at the way Hotch’s eyes dart to him but seek comfort in the therapist.

“Who is this, Aaron?”

Hotch’s eyes dart to Dave, his dry lips parting but falling closed without an answer. He looks away, flushing with embarrassment at his inadequacy. Dave feels his throat tighten like a vice, begging someone to explain what’s happening here. He’d been told Hotch didn’t have any brain damage and that while nightmares and hallucinations had plagued his waking state, he was fine. Those were symptoms of PTSD and the hallucinations had abated and likely, the nightmares would too once his physical body is able to start to heal.

“You know,” the therapist prods. “Introduce me, Hotch.”

Dave moves, shifting as if to speak to beat Hotch to the chase and the therapist cuts him a look. He doesn’t say a word.

“Aaron,” the physical therapist takes his unharmed hand, trying to solidify Hotch’s attention. “Please? He’s real. Just like you and I, okay? You can tell me.”

Hotch turns his attention to his knees and Dave feels his conviction, feels the way Hotch has solidified his final opinion - Dave isn’t here. He looks at his lap, pulling his hand back to pick at his nails. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. He can’t bring himself to say it. Doesn't want to look at Dave and have him disappear again. Doesn’t want to feel his heart get broken again when Dave disappears.

Dave is stopped, he means to move forward to maybe grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Hotch does know. Of course he knows. Dave has known him since he was a twenty-something punk-ass kid with untailored suits and a shitty Windsor knot. He’s his best friend…

“Okay,” the therapist caves and shoots Dave a look that conveys all that it needs to: he’s to fall back. “That’s okay,” the therapist assures him. It’s pointless, Hotch has worked himself to the point of tears over what Dave had thought was a simple question and Dave feels like he’s been kicked in the head.

They go on without another word. None of them speaking. Dave watches Hotch cry, a few soft tears that trail down his face while he glares down at his lap. He wants to say something. To reassure Hotch or to remind him. Hell, anything is better than this silence that they’ve fallen into.

[neokids]

Fortune's Fool: Act IV

Introduction

Cast

Act I

Act II

Act III

Act V

Act IV

Tw: Lots of blood, character death, violence, murder, guns, knives, weapons, foul language, self-inflicted wounds, suicide, overall graphic content

“I don’t see anything.”

Jeno decided to further poke at whatever he was looking at. They were currently on the boardwalk near Han river, where the very first gruesome incident had occurred.

“Shut up and keep looking.”

They had yet to find anything suspicious, or anything “monster” related, the dock just seemed normal to them. No signs of tragedy even. They had been wandering around the docks for hours now, and the two were getting bored. Jeno, however, persisted.

“Ya Jeno. Jeno-ya. Jeno Lee–”

“For fuck’s sake what?! What is it Jaemin? If you don’t stop, I will not hesitate to throw you in this river right now.”

Jeno turned around to see a crouching Jaemin, obviously wanting to go home. If they weren’t at the docks right now going on a search, Jaemin would sure be enjoying painting whatever it was on his mind. Jeno couldn’t go home without anything to present his father, he could already imagine the look on his face, disappointed yet again. Earlier this morning, Lord Lee had met Jeno just before he left. He gripped Jeno’s shoulder while muttering the words: “Don’t let me down, son.”

To a passerby, the scene was normal, just a father and son having a conversation, but Lord Lee had actually gripped Jeno’s shoulder a little bit too hard, causing a red and almost bruised grip mark to form. Thinking about it made him touch his shoulder again. The word son actually felt more like a threat to him, rather than a word of affection.

He was too lost in thought only to be brought back by the sound of Jaemin groaning,

“You know you volunteered to go with us, right? You were even so excited to go on what you call a ‘mystery hunt’” Jeno said, causing Jaemin to look up at him.

“That was because I thought this case would be interesting, we’ve been here for hours looking for nothing! This is starting to feel like a game of hide-and-seek where everyone was already inside while the person was still counting to a 100,” Jaemin huffed as he stood up, now maintaining eye contact with Jeno.

“All too familiar with that situation, are we?” Haechan decided to butt in their conversation after hearing what Jaemin had said causing Jeno to barely hold back his laughter.

Back when they were kids, all the Lee children decided to play hide and seek, with Jaemin being the person to find them. They agreed upon this since he wasn’t a Lee, so he should be it. Jaemin started to count to ten, only to hear Haechan scream that he should repeat it and count to 100, and so he did. What Jaemin didn’t know was that Haechan had silently told everyone to go back inside to their respective rooms, and only show up until it was time for dinner. Let’s just say that Jaemin spent the whole night crying because he was so stupid, he even refused to eat dinner, he was so sure that he would be met with Haechan’s teasing nonstop. That is until a very thoughtful Jeno had brought food up to his room, and apologized on Haechan’s behalf.

“Shut up before I throw you into this river.” Jaemin said, challenging Haechan only for the latter to just shrug and continue his search.

“Christ it reeks in here.” Jaemin further complained, “At least it smells like rotten fish, not like rotten bodies.” Jeno countered. Jaemin stopped in his tracks to look at his best friend, “Is there a difference?”

“Jeno,” Haechan called and waved for him to come closer,

“What? Did you find something?” Jeno immediately went to his cousin’s direction.

“Of course not.” With that, Jeno smacked his cousin right on the head.

“Look, I don’t think there are any more places we could search. I mean we searched this place top to bottom already, I don’t think we missed anything.” Haechan said, looking up at his cousin.

Well technically, even if they did manage to find something, what would they do with it? There was no one to question, no one to blame, no suspects to interrogate, this was a tragedy caused by the victims themselves. The people who had died were the only suspects.

“People say that there was another attack here last night.” Haechan added as he stood up, Jeno tearing his gaze away from the waters of Han river and back to his cousin.

“Well then that’s great!” Jaemin exclaimed quite too enthusiastically. This only caused the Lee cousins to look at him as if he was the craziest man alive. Jaemin on the other hand, had just realized what he had said, he didn’t mean it that way.

“I mean– the new location, not the attack… Sorry ‘bout that. Let’s move along to the new crime scene shall we?” Jaemin finally exclaimed, fully ready to get going. He was already making his way towards the alleged crime scene when he was pulled back by Jeno.

“We can’t, it happened in Viper territory.” This only caused Jaemin and Haechan to look at each other then back at Jeno.

“And how did you know exactly where it had happened?” Jaemin asked, crossing his arms, Haechan just eyed him suspiciously, “My father had sent me to obtain any information they had regarding the very first attack. The second attack happened in the Poculum, a man suddenly collapsed and… well you know what happens next.”

“Well? Was any information obtained?” Haechan asked, his turn to cross his arms. Jeno only shook his head no. “She said they knew nothing.” A moment had passed in confused silence,

“She? She knew nothing?” Haechan echoed, Jaemin tilting his head rather very confused. “Who’s this ‘she’ we’re talking about?” Jaemin decided to also question Jeno. Jeno looked at the two of them, only to turn his gaze towards the murky waters of Han river. “Yeji Hwang,” He answered rather quietly. The two could only blink at Jeno, then suddenly a loud bang could be heard all throughout the dock, Haechan had accidentally knocked over the crates he was leaning on.

“Yeji?!” Haechan exclaimed,

“Yeji is back?!” Jaemin decided to add as well.

Jeno could only keep his gaze on the water. A sudden sharpness towards his chest, made its way to his head. The feeling did not go away no matter how hard he tried, hearing her name out loud definitely did not help. It hurt to even say her name.

Actually, not too far from here is where he had first met her. They were both still just kids, hoping to get away from their respective households. Jeno had decided to take a break from riding his bike to stop and sit by the Han river. Back then, it was much more clean and much more fresh. A very shocking contrast to the polluted and dirty water now. It was funny how the water, just like them, turned darker and darker over time. It was a symbol of how unclean and impure the water was, just like them. As time went on, the more bad things they had done. Causing their souls to get tainted. If people were all born with pure white souls, theirs would have been pitch black by now. Dark as the water in Han river.

Yeji just so happened to lose her balance right in front of him, cliche they know. Thankfully, a very sweet Jeno had helped her get back up. Ever since that day, they would meet everyday to just play and bike around. They were not Lees nor Hwangs, but simply just kids who played.

“Yeah, she is.” Jeno confirmed as his fists were balled against his sides. He let out a shaky breath as he stood up.

He had heard rumors of what Yeji had done, all the lives she took, crimes committed causing the people of Seoul to become terrified of the heiress. He had hoped that maybe those were just rumors, nothing but lies to scare enemies away, but when they confronted each other last night and had looked each other in the eyes, he knew that they were all true.

She was a killer, a criminal, violent, callous, and ruthless– that is what she was now.

He felt sorry for her, he didn’t want to, but he did. He couldn’t help the fact that the Yeji he knew way back was slowly disappearing now. If not, had completely disappeared. It didn’t settle nicely to him knowing that he was the cause of the sudden change of heart in her. In those 4 years she was gone, Jeno had still dreamed about her. In those 4 years, who couldn’t help but miss her. Her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her everything.

But he does not regret what he has done.

“What in the animal planet is this?” Haechan said as he crouched down to pick up the crates he had previously knocked over, only to find mysterious looking objects scattered on the floor.

At first glance, the mysterious objects looked like scattered peppercorns on the ground, maybe a merchant had unfortunately dropped their spices and refused to clean the mess up. But at further inspection, the so-called “peppercorns” had tiny legs and with dysmorphic bodies the size of an infant’s fingernail. It was pitch black and shiny as well. Haechan, realizing what he was holding were in fact, dead insects, had instantly dropped the insects on the floor with a loud yelp. The insects fell on the floor similar to how grains of rice were if they had been dropped.

Hearing Haechan suddenly yelp in disgust immediately alerted Jeno and Jaemin to head toward his way. When they reached the sight, all three were silent. The mysterious insects scattered on the ground were nothing like what they had seen before.

“Are those… dead flies?” Jaemin asked, unsure of himself.

“How are those dead flies when they can’t even fly? They don’t have wings,” Jeno said while he pointed to the closest insect near him. “Jaem check the other crates and Haechan give me your bag.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Jeno only glared at him as he extended his arm out in order for Haechan to give him his bag. “But I just got this and it’s limited edition and I had to search–”

“Haechan,” Jeno warned, “Give me your bag.”

With a disgusted look on Haechan’s face, he gave Jeno his bag. He watched as his cousin scooped a handful of the insects and put them all in his bag. “Why couldn’t you just put them in your pockets for Christ’s sake.” Haechan complained as he was given his bag full of unidentified insects, “They would get squished obviously. Plus my pants are new.” Jeno said, giving Haechan a playful wink,this only caused Haechan’s eye to twitch.

“There’s nothing here,” Jaemin said as he was carefully putting the crates back in place, the two Lees were already making their way towards Jaemin when they heard voices of merchants coming their way. There was no sight of any Neo-owned fishing boat, that only meant they were in the vicinity of the Vipers.

“Perfect timing, might I add.” Haechan said as he looked at a panicking Jeno and Jaemin, and before the two could react, Haechan already gave them both a rough push. Soon enough, all three of them were quickly submerged in the polluted water of the Han river. They swam underneath the boardwalk in hopes of not getting seen by the incoming merchants. They heard distant voices quickly fading out in the background. As soon as the coast was clear, Jaemin grabbed a fistful of Haechan’s hair and submerged his head in the water.

“Ya! You didn’t have to push me! We could have just opted to hide behind the boats stupid-ass.” Jaemin said, as he released Haechan. “They were walking towards the boats smart-ass.” Haechan retorted as he splashed water towards Jaemin’s direction. While the two were arguing back and forth on what they should and should not have done, Jeno was busy scanning the whole area. Suddenly, a floating shoe had caught his attention. Leaving the two behind, Jeno swiftly swam to the said object. Upon further inspection, the shoe was what he thought it was.

“Oy!” He quickly called out, causing the two to stop and turn their attention to him. “Do you know who this belonged to?” The other two tilted their heads. “A stingy man who decided to take a swim here in Han river who managed to forget his shoe?” Jaemin asked sarcastically.

Haechan could no longer stand any more of their current situation so he started to swim towards the land while the two were quick to follow suit. As soon as they were back on their feet, Jeno called for the attention of the two.

“This belonged to the man who clawed himself to death last night, the man who died in the Poculum.” He grabbed Haechan’s bag as he started to walk away fast. “This means that the man was here too. Let’s go, we need to take this to Doyoung and Kun.”

“Can’t we at least change into some dry clothes?” Haechan said as he squeezed his polo shirt. Jeno only turned back and rolled his eyes, “You’ll be dry by the time you get–”

“Oy,” Jaemin suddenly interrupted, he suddenly narrowed his eyes at the water they were previously submerged in. “Did.. did you see that?”

When the two looked at the water, all they saw were their silly reflections staring back at them. They looked at Jaemin as if he was a mad man, but when they saw the look of confusion and disbelief on his face, something told them that Jaemin wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Are you trying to be funny right now, Jaem?” Haechan asked, quite annoyed causing Jaemin to look back at them. There was something on his dead-serious face that caused an uneasy feeling to settle in their guts. “Never..never mind. I thought I saw eyes in the water, holy shit I need to lay off drinking too much espressos.” He said, scrubbing his eyes.

“Where?” Jeno asked as he scooted towards Jaemin. “In the water, but it could have been just my imagination,” Jaemin said as he looked at Jeno.

“But why would you imagine eyes in the water?” Jeno asked as he grabbed Jaemin, a sign to get going.

“You’ve heard the whispers right?” Haechan asked, only causing the three of them to halt, yet again.

“A monster.”

Only then, when said out loud, did Jeno realize how unbelievable it was. A monster? Running loose in the city? Only for it to jump in the river? In broad daylight? Jasmine was right, it did remind him of all the scary stories he would tell her when they were younger. Jeno then beckoned his friends to start moving.

“You can’t seriously believe that, can you?” Jeno asked Haechan, picking up his pace.

“Hey you never know, you know? For all I care this madness could have been from the river or something like that.” Haechan said as he tried to match Jeno’s awfully fast pace. “Whatever, let’s just keep moving.”

By the time they arrived back near the Neo mansion, they had already been completely dried. Jeno had stopped abruptly in front of their lab, panting trying to catch his breath. This caused Haechan to accidentally topple and collide with Jeno. Jaemin in the meanwhile, lost his balance and was now holding on to Jeno’s arm like a lost child.

“Sorry, tripped on this.” Jaemin said as he regained his balance. It was a flyer from the rovers, aka the people who didn’t side with neither the Vipers nor the Neos. It had this written in big bold red letters: SAVE YOURSELVES FROM THE MADNESS, GET VACCINATED!

“Give me that,” Jeno demanded as he snatched the flyer from Jaemin, he quickly folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. “Come on, they should be closing up by now.”

As they entered the building, no Neo employee bothered to tell them off. No one should be entering the lab at this hour, especially now since they were all excited to head home. But of course, Jeno Lee was above all laws, he was the Neo heir after all. The only reason these employees were even getting some sort of pay was because of him.

“Doyoung? Kun? Are you still here?” Jeno asked as they reached the second floor of the lab. The second floor was for the more trusted scientists such as Doyoung and Kun. They were the ones responsible for making powerful weapons that could bomb a whole house down.

“Up here!” A voice had exclaimed, Jeno immediately following the said voice in a quick motion. Jaemin and Haechan were already on the verge of collapsing, but they still followed him.

Upon their arrival, Kun could only furrow his brows. It was usually only just Jasmine or Jeno, he didn’t expect for other people to arrive. Nonetheless, guessing they were with Jeno, they were of high ranks as well.

“What brings you here today hmm?” Kun asked as he set down the tablecloth he had just used to wipe his counter. His part of the lab was much more organized and clean than what was presented downstairs. He and Doyoung would always fight on who had a cleaner workspace, only for Jasmine to mess both up. “If you’re here for the cartel, we’re not yet quite finished with that.”

Jeno could only wince. Of course Kun had assumed that Jeno was there to follow up on the drugs, what else could he be there for? Just before Kun could answer, his attention was already on Haechan and Jaemin, but more of the latter.

“Ah, Jaemin Na, at your service.” Jaemin said as he extended a hand, Kun had paused since he wasn’t used to none-Lees visiting, but he still accepted. He then turned his attention to Haechan.

“What?” Haechan asked, did he expect him to introduce himself? But he was a Lee, was he not? Surely he knew me, Haechan thought. Jaemin nudged Haechan by the rib causing him to extend his hand as well. “Lee. Haechan Lee.” Kun only stared at him for a second before bursting into a fit of laughter. The three boys looked at each other, then looked at Kun. “I know.”

Haechan’s brow never twitched higher, causing Jaemin to laugh as well.

“We’re not here to nag you about the cartel, we need your opinion.” Jeno said as he set down his cousin’s bag, causing Haechan to grimace since he remembered what Jeno had placed inside. Jaemin also had a look of disgust on his face since they could hear the dead insects rattle inside.

“My opinion? Opinion on what?” Kun asked, a tad bit perplexed. “On this.”

Jeno dumped out all the contents inside the bag causing the insects to scatter all over Kun’s table. With no hesitation, Kun started poking and touching the insects, no sanitary measures whatsoever. This caused Jaemin to silently gag, and for Haechan to step back. “What is this exactly?” He asked, picking an insect up causing Haechan to further step back.

“We found them at the crime scene, where the first attack had happened.” Kun only looked at the insect closer. “So is this what you think may have caused the madness?”

Jeno, Jaemin, and Haechan could only look at each other.

You never know, you know? The words from his cousin suddenly echoed in Jeno’s head.

“I don’t know, I was hoping you could tell us.” Jeno admitted, “It was the only evidence present anyways,”

“Or maybe a monster from the Han river had resurrected and decided to start this contagion.” Kun looked at Jaemin in a very, very, bored way. “Stop talking.” Haechan whispered to Jaemin, making him immediately shut up.

“That’s...interesting.” Kun suddenly said. The three thought that he was referring to Jaemin’s suggestion, turns out, he was referring to the insects.

“What’s interesting?” Jeno asked coming closer, beckoning Jaemin and Haechan to do so as well. Haechan had to shove Jaemin since he did not want anything to do with those mysterious looking peppercorns.

“I’ll show you.” Kun grabbed a lighter and lit one on fire. When the insect he had lit on fire started moving, so did the others left on the table. For a mere moment there, they thought that the insects were still alive. But when Kun put out the fire, the insect had stopped, and so did the ones on the table. “Whatever this thing is, it’s definitely not acting alone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeno had asked, hoping that he had not.

“It follows something. Whatever that something commands.”

Oh this was definitely not a work of nature.

[missmonsters2]

About You || Part VIII

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Okay two more chapters and you finna be shook.

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII

PART VIII of X

Count: 1520

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, you're dating now?"

Wanda smiles as Steve asks the question again, but this time, she won't lie.

"Yes," she tells him and watches him smile widely.

"Exclusivity is beautiful, isn't it?" Steve laughs while Wanda tries to not roll her eyes at his veiled words of 'I told you so.'

"She is beautiful, and she's mine," Wanda softly smiles.

"Are you scared?" He asked.

"Absolutely petrified," she admits, "but I want her more."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"How was your day?"

The days have been coming to a quiet end, and the evenings after dinner are becoming Wanda's favorite. 

There's something about being full of a warm homecooked meal, and settling on the couch with a fuzzy blanket that excites Wanda.

There's cuddling, hands sneaking under their shirts, and quiet kisses.

"I've got a commission for a painting," Wanda shares the good news which has you smiling.

"That's amazing considering you've been inactive for a year," you rub her back.

"I am amazing," she nods.

"And so humble," you laugh, pressing a kiss to her brow.

Wanda hums, sighing against the gesture of affections.

It's quiet, nothing but the TV playing mindlessly in the background as you enjoy each other's company.

"Do you ever miss your brother? Or the other guy?" Wanda asks, playing with the ends of your shirt.

"I think about them often, but I don't always miss them," you explain to her. 

It was something Wanda feared. All she had left of Pietro were memories, and if she didn't miss him all the time, then what becomes of the memories?

You trace a line down Wanda's back, eliciting a shiver.

"We are not always grieving, and we are not forgetting. Growing means we can appreciate the past in the new light."

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"Where is she?" Natasha asks, digging into her salad while Wanda is painting.

"She's back at work," Wanda replies as she dips her brush into more water.

"And you're painting again," Natasha notes.

"Inspiration hits at the oddest times," Wanda smiles.

Natasha had seen Wanda shift many times. The hardest was seeing the girl grieve. There was nothing that could describe how she felt watching the life fade from her friend's eyes, the weight she has lost, and the trashed canvases. 

But she had seen Wanda shift again when you came. It was slow, and Natasha is sure Wanda was barely tolerating your presence at first. But it was small and steady. The eating, the curiosity, and the waiting Natasha saw were wonderous. 

"Do you still think about Pietro?" Natasha asks softly.

"Yes," Wanda admits, "All the time."

"Does it still hurt?"

"No," Wanda slowly answers.

She doesn't say much else, but Wanda can tell that Natasha wants to ask her why. 

It was only something that Wanda had discovered over the last few days. 

Wanda dips her brush in more water.

"Have you ever read the Children's Book, 'The Invisible String'?" Wanda asks, hearing Natasha hum in return.

"Pietro read to me all the time as a kid, especially after our parents died," Wanda dipped her brush in some blue paint. "I thought my string with Pietro was cut because I kept tugging on it, and I didn't know if Pietro could feel it."

"And?" Natasha asked.

"I think the string got so tangled with me constantly pulling on it that I forgot that the string still exists because I still feel the tug of it," Wanda stares at her painting. "You know what I think?"

"What?" Natasha asks with a smile.

"I think the string exists as long as I exist."

Natasha is happy with Wanda's answer. She finishes her salad before she watches her friend finish painting.

"You like watercolor?"

Wanda dipped her brush in water, looking at the lines that she drew underneath the paint.

"Yeah, it's truly a work of art."

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The sheets shuffled around as you felt Wanda get out of bed. 

It turns out, Wanda gets the best hit of motivation and inspiration just as the sun comes up. She leaves to go to her studio to start painting but always makes sure to come back to wake you up with a kiss and tea.

You feel a tug on your left hand, and something cool being pressed across, before a rush of cool air being blow. But for the sake of Wanda, you keep your eyes closed.

When you wake up, you see a thin, red, squabbly circle painted around your wrist.

Then across your forearm, there was a scribbled message.

Your string leads to mine, should I show you?

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"How do you know mine leads to yours?" 

You're sitting together at the counter with Wanda, tea, and coffee in hand before going to work.

"Because when you miss me, I feel it tugging on my heart," Wanda smiles sleepily.

"And when you miss me?" You ask with a tilt of your head and a grin.

"Then, I'm vigorously sending my love through the string until it tugs on your heart."

You can't help but smile wider because Wanda has such a way with words, and she's so honest and endearing. 

Wanda sets her cup down, opening her arms until you come to settle into her arms, leaning on her.

You kiss the crown of her head, running your fingers through her unruly hair, laughing when it doesn't quite make a difference.

"I love the mornings with you," Wanda mumbles.

"You didn't before?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about how it was all temporary before, that eventually, you would leave and I would be alone."

"We're not always together, though," you remind her, brushing her hair slightly to the side.

"Even when we're apart, I think about how you'll come home to me," Wanda licks her lip.

You swallow, your heart feeling a little too full, and the only way to manage it is to press your lips to Wanda's. 

They're in the privacy of their own home, but it felt scandalous to feel your hand underneath Wanda's shirt, your warm palm pressing between her bare shoulder blades.

You watch as Wanda's eyes flutter.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask against Wanda's lips.

"I'm thinking about how I'm in love with you."

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Days off were rare, but Wanda loved every time she got to laze around with you at 2PM on a Thursday.

You were currently on the couch, hoarding her right hand, grinning as you saw the same painted thin, red, squabbly circle. 

There have been talks about tattooing it, but for now, Wanda diligently draws them on every day.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't move," you whine.

Wanda watches you with a slow smile as she feels scribbling on her arm.

When you finish, you give her a kiss right smack on her lips before going to grab late lunch. Or early dinner.

Wanda looks to see what you've written.

наша любовь это произведение искусства.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Steve watched with happiness as Wanda chopped the vegetables. 

"How's the painting going?"

"It's going," Wanda shrugs. Inspiration comes and goes, but she's close to finishing it.

"You should open your own gallery," Steve says. "I'll threaten people to come to opening night."

Wanda lets out a laugh knowing Steve would actually be politely handing out flyers. Steve closes his eyes, a joy from being about to hear such a sound from his friend again.

"How are things with her?" Steve asks, watching the way Wanda's eyes light up ever so subtly.

"She wants to find a new place with me," Wanda smiles.

"Why doesn't she move here?" Steve asks.

Wanda tilts her head, looking down at her vegetables.

"It takes her forever to get work. I want to be able to give her something too for all that she's done."

Steve settles into a soft smile, his eye catching something on Wanda's forearm. 

"Is that Russian?" He asks.

Wanda catches him staring at her arm and flushes slightly.

"Yes," she tells him.

"What's it mean?"

"It means our love is a work of art."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Wanda...Wanda..."

Wanda wakes up groggily to see you hovering over her with a frown.

"What's wrong?" She asks as you lie your head back down on the pillow facing her.

"What if...what if our string gets tangled or breaks?"

Wanda can tell you've had a bad dream. 

And for once, she's the courageous one, ready to offer you reassurances.

She rolls over, pushing you on your back, hovering over you with her body pressed to yours as her fingers slide against your jaw.

"Our string can get tangled, it can be pulled on, it can even get lost," Wanda says, her breath on your lips. "But it will never break because as long as we exist, we will always find a way to each other."

Tears spill over your eyes as Wanda kisses you deep and slow.

That morning when you wake up, surprised to have slept through Wanda waking up. 

You see the diligently painted red thin circle around your wrist, and the words this morning makes you cry.

If anyone could show me life is worth living, it is you.

PART IX

[hopelikethemoon]

Going Home (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Going Home Rating: PG-13 Length: 2400 Warnings: Angst and discussion of pregnancy complications, allusions to post-partum depression. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set June 1997. I call this chapter, Javier finally having an emotional breakdown. Summary: Reader gets discharged from the hospital and Javier finally snaps.

Taglist:  @grapemama​  @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @rogrsnbarnes​ @thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​ @livasaurasrex​ @ham4arrow​ @hiscyarika​ @plexflexico​ @readsalot73​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​ @randomness501​ @fioccodineveautunnale​  @roxypeanut​ @just-add-butter​ @snivellusim​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited​​ @ah-callie​​ @swhiskeys​​ @lady-tano​​ @beskar-droids​​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​​ @longitud-de-onda​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​ @himbopoes​​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps​​ @frietiemeloen​​ @arrowswithwifi​​ @random066​​

“Bruno says he was a little scared.” Josie explained as she pretended to walk the dog up the blanket between them.

“He was scared?” You questioned as you ran your hand down her back, tilting your head to look down at her. “There’s nothing to be scared of, babydoll.”

Javier had been wise to keep Josie out of the hospital with you until after they’d taken you off oxygen and no longer had sensors attached to your head. She didn’t need to see any of that shit. She was still too young to fully understand the situation.

All she knew was that she had a new baby sister.

“Uh-hu.” Josie nodded her little head. “But then he remembered that daddy was big and strong and he didn’t need to be scared.”

Javier was across the room, passing Sofía off to her grandfather. “What was that about daddy?” He questioned, hands on his hips as he approached your bed.

“Bruno was scared, but you’re strong daddy!”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Your mommy is much stronger than I am. If Bruno had something to be afraid of, she’s the one who comforted him.”

“Oh.” Josie said, whispering to Bruno. “Did mommy help too?” She pretended to bark his answer and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Javier reached out and brushed his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb brushing over the rise of your cheekbone. “You look better today.”

“Yeah?” You leaned into his touch, sighing heavily. “I feel better today.”

“You’ve got color in your cheeks.” Javier tilted his head as he studied your face. “And your eyes… still glad to see them.”

Your heart clenched at his words and you lowered your gaze to Josie who was currently walking Bruno up your arm. There was a part of you that was dreading the fact that you were going home. Going home meant having conversations you weren’t ready to have.

Life in the hospital sucked. Monitors beeping, nurses walking in — no one could rest in a hospital. No matter how many times they told you to get some sleep. Javier wasn’t sleeping. The recliner that Chucho was sitting in, feeding Sofía from a bottle, had been left untouched.

It was June third and you were fairly certain Javier had only gotten five hours of sleep since you went into labor. And it showed. There were dark bags under his eyes, his scruff had transformed into a patchy beard, and he looked like the experience had aged him five years. But it wasn’t just this experience weighing on him, you knew the heaviest weight was the guilt he tried to shield you from.

“This is my fault.”

You had heard him.

But the hospital wasn’t the place to confront him about his guilt. Hell, you doubted he’d even humor the conversation once you got home. He looked at you like a man who feared sending the woman he loved to an early grave.

Tomorrow you would be going home. The doctor was pleased with the results of your MRI and the PET scan. The seizure didn’t seem to have caused any lesions or long term issues for you to be worried about. Your blood pressure had stabilized nicely and you had a whole bag full of medicines that would be going home with you.

The doctor had even assured you that you’d likely be able to breastfeed by the end of next week. You just had to keep pumping to keep yourself from drying up. That was one of the many things that was keeping you going. You had breastfed Josie for almost two years and you had been looking forward to having that experience with Sofía too. If she didn’t decide she prefered her father feeding her from a bottle over you.

Not that you could blame her. You hadn’t been there for her.

You clenched your eyes closed, trying to will yourself not to cry. It was stupid. So fucking stupid. What were you supposed to do? You had had a seizure, they had sedated you… It wasn’t something you could just choose to ignore. But still, you felt like you’d failed her.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Javier questioned, taking your hand into his. “Are you hurting?”

You blinked, hastily wiping at your eyes. “I’m fine.” You lied and you knew that he knew that you were lying. You exhaled shakily, glancing around the room. “Where’s the go-bag? You remembered to pack the camera, right?”

Javier frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

“We didn’t take any pictures after Sofía was born.” You reminded him. “Get the camera and my hairbrush out. I’m sure this,” You gestured to your head. “Looks like a rat’s nest.”

“A bit.” He chuckled, reluctantly moving from your bedside to grab the go-bag. It was meant to be everything the two of you would need after Sofía was born, but it had gone largely unused given how things turned out.

“You are very pretty mommy.” Josie told you, reaching up to pat your cheeks with both hands.

“I’ll take your word for it, sweetpea.” You tapped her nose, making her giggle. “I’m going to need you to get up for just a few minutes, okay? You can go help your abuelito feed your sister.”

Javier picked Josie up off the bed. “You sure you don’t want to wait until we get home?” He questioned, brows furrowed as he looked back to you.

“No. I want to do it here.” You insisted as you pulled your covers off and pressed the button to make the bed sit upright. You inhaled and exhaled slowly, before you moved to get out of the bed. You were a little unsteady on your feet at first, but you focused on your center of gravity just like they’d practiced with you in PT.

“Do you need—“

“Nope.” You helped your hand to stop Javier from trying to help. “I’ve got it.” You assured him, reaching for your IV pole and rolling it with you towards the wheelchair. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but you still weren’t completely stable on your feet.

You looked towards him then, offering him a small smile. “You can brush my hair, if you want to.” You offered, pushing your fingers through the mess on top of your head.

“You sure?”

“It’s just like doing Josie’s hair.” You rolled the wheelchair forward, giving him space to wheel the rolling stool over to you.

Javier was gentle as he went to work brushing your hair, and he carefully picked out knots he encountered. It was nice — relaxing. Strangely intimate. But he was still treating you like you were breakable… which you hated, even if it was true.

“How does that feel?” He questioned, curling his hands around your shoulders. He squeezed gently, three little squeezes that reminded you of his love for you.

“Like I’m going to make you do that when we get home.” You quipped, turning your head to look back at him. “But do you know what the first thing I’m going to do when I get home?”

“Take a bath?”

“Very tempting.” You smiled a little. “But no. I’m going to make you go to bed.”

Javier leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “There’s so much to do when we get home.” He whispered as you played your fingers through his dark hair.

“Your dad’s staying with us to help with Sofía.” You reminded him, tracing your fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. “We’ve got Monica to help with Josie.” Your brows drew together as he tilted his head to look at you. “You look rough.”

“I feel rough.” He admitted with a sigh, pulling back then. “Right. We were going to take a picture.” Javier didn’t look back at you as he got up and went back to the go-bag to dig out the camera. “Do you want to hold Sofía?”

“You can hold her. Josie can sit in my lap.”

“The lighting is good by the window,” Chucho supplied as he got up from the recliner to put Sofía back in her bassinet. Your eyes followed him across the room, until you caught Javier staring at you.

There was a lot that needed to be discussed.

Tracking down narcos was easy. Going after Pablo Escobar. Grappling with sexism in the workplace. Getting fucking shot. All of that was easy. Telling your partner that you felt like you had failed your daughter before she was even a day old? That wasn’t something that was easily confessed.

You didn’t even want to hold her, even when you did. You were afraid she’d somehow know, innately, that you had done something wrong. That you had failed her. And it sucked that you couldn’t get it out of your head. That your self doubt was overshadowing something that should’ve been good.

It didn’t help knowing that Javier felt guilty. You had wanted this to go right this time. To have an experience that wasn’t marred with stress and pain. But somehow the DEA had managed to overshadow everything again. And they’d keep overshadowing your life until you put the spotlight on them.

——

Monica and Connie had made a ‘WELCOME HOME’ banner for you. They had it strung across the front door of the house and inside they’d decorated with pink and green balloons — matching the colors you and Javier had painted Sofía’s room.

You put on a happy smile about the pseudo-celebration, but you knew Javier could see straight through it. Not that he seemed particularly thrilled about the surprise either.

He’d torn the banner down the second Connie and Monica left for the night.

“I missed this the most.” You remarked as you sank back onto the bed, sprawled out in the center. The hospital bed had been a fucking nightmare on your back and hips.

Javier was just standing there. Staring at you. Hands on his hips and his expression entirely unreadable.

You sat up on your elbows, brows furrowed as you met his gaze. “Babe, what’s wrong?” You questioned, swallowing thickly around the lump of emotion in your throat. “Javi.”

Something snapped.

His expression crumpled and his knees gave out on him. The weight of it all was too much for him to carry now that you were both together behind a closed door.

The sound of a sob rising up from somewhere deep within his chest made your stomach turn. It was raw, primal… true pain.

Javier had buried his emotions for so many years. Emotions left to fester, grief allowed to bore its hooks into him. Sure, he’d let out little bursts of what he felt, but it was never all of it.

It was never all of the anguish he’d held onto.

You forced yourself off the bed, despite how heavy your limbs felt. You sank down onto the floor beside him, taking him into your arms.

There was nothing to be said. Not yet. Not while his hot tears fell against the skin that the crook of your neck. His hands gripped at you, hard enough to leave bruise — bruises you’d relish over the tapestry of bruises on your hands and arms from IVs and drawn blood.

You had never seen Javier sob like this before. You had seen tears, you had seen him cry, you had seen the aftermath of nightmares… but you had never seen him like this. Inconsolable was the only word for it.

“It’s okay, Javi.” You whispered, running your fingers through his hair as you tried to soothe him. “I love you.” You pressed your lips to his shoulder, fingers balling up the fabric of his shirt at his back. “I have you.”

“I almost… I almost…”

“I know.” You ran your hand down the length of his back, “But you didn’t. And it isn’t your fault, Javi.”

Javier stiffened in your arms. “Baby—“

“No, Javier.” You pulled back, shaking his shoulders. “You have to fucking stop. You can’t keep doing this.” Your hands cupped his cheeks then, your eyes pleading with him. “This guilt is going to fucking kill you.”

“You almost died!”

“But I didn’t.” You snapped. “I didn’t die, Javier. And it wasn’t your fault! This could’ve happened to me, stress or not. My physical therapist had two healthy pregnancies and had preeclampsia with her third. It happens and it’s not your fault.”

Javier took your hands off his face, pulling away from you. “But it is my fault. If I hadn’t stirred up this shit with the DEA—“

“We have a four-year-old. I work for the police department.” You reminded him. “My life is already stressful.” You dragged your hands over your face. “But I can’t keep doing this Javier. I can’t handle knowing that you think you’re responsible for everything that goes wrong in my life.”

Javier stared at you.

You swallowed thickly, wringing your hands together. “I can’t handle it, okay?”

“Okay.” Javier nodded slowly.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You questioned, reaching out to brush your fingers over his forehead. “None of this is your fault.”

“I feel guilty.”

“I know.” You grimaced a little as you shifted how you were sitting. “The floor is not kind to a body that just gave birth.” You explained with a strained laugh. “We both need to sleep, Javi. It’s been a long fucking week.”

“Longest week of my life.” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, before he hauled himself onto his feet.

Javier held his hands out to help you up, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Javi.” You shook your head as you looked up at him. “We’re both tired.” You brought his hands up to kiss his them, lips pressing to each knuckle. “No one is at fault for any of this. But I am tired and barely holding it together right now.”

“I know.” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “It’s just hard to accept it…” Javier sat down at the foot of the bed, sinking backwards. “That someone isn’t at fault. If it’s me�� I can blame myself.”

“That’s not good for your health.” You reminded him, laying down beside him. You shifted close, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “We aren’t as young as we used to be, Javi.”

“No fucking shit.” He huffed, curling his arm around you. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” You whispered.

There was so much you wanted to discuss. So many emotions you wanted to process but you didn’t know how. There was no amount of research you could do to handle this.

All you could do was sleep and hope that tomorrow would be one more better day.

[rebellconquerer]

Another random rogue one ficlet in my head. One day I'll write connecting scenes. Blah!

 By the time they come to a stop on Yavin IV ( she is hard pressed to call what happened a ‘landing’) Cassian is all but unconscious. He stops responding to her directly sometime around their third hour in space, and he spends the rest of the trip breathing shallowly while whispering in a language she thinks might be Alderaani, or staring rather blankly around the ship. 

For her part, she doesn't move the entire trip. Cassian seems comfortable enough laying mostly in her lap and she makes the decision that nothing short of her death will make her leave him, not when he didn’t leave her. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, allowing his constant, though thready, pulse to calm her. That is exactly how the medics find them when they are finally, mercifully on the ground. Him laying on her. Her wrapped around him. 

The process of disentangling herself, and getting him onto the stretcher isn’t hard per se, but when she pulls away and they move him, he lets out a short, sharp sound, too quiet to really be called a scream, that breaks her nonetheless. She bats away the helping hands that come to her next, telling them that she is fine. 

It’s true in any case. She has strained a muscle in her right hip that makes it easier to limp than to walk. Apart from that, however, she is tired and sore and feels like one big bruise, but there is nothing deadly about her injuries. Not like Bodhi. Not like Cassian. 

She watches as her crew (her team?) gets carried off the ship and trails close behind them. She’s not sure what to expect when she leaves the ship. The battle overhead on the beach told her that the Alliance did come for them, that they decided to fight, but she isn’t sure how they will react to having their hands forced. 

That Draven is the one to meet her isn’t a surprise. She thinks there will be shouting and recriminations and maybe even a new prison in her future. She tilts her chin up, squaring her shoulders and lets her hardest glare paint her features. She won’t take a lashing for this man’s follies. She won’t go quietly to whatever corner they have prepared for her. She won’t leave Bodhi and Cassian to wake alone.

What she doesn’t expect however, is the quiet devastation that clouds Draven’s face when he sees Cassian being carried on the stretcher. She doesn’t expect him to touch Cassian’s cheek gently. She doesn’t expect his voice to break with what may very well be his last words to his spy.

When the medics brush them off and carry on towards the medward, Draven turns to her, and there it is. The cold fury behind his eyes that she had been expecting. 

“That was a hell of a risk you took. A suicide mission is the term being used.” He says flatly. 

“We did what needed to be done.” She grits out at him. She wants to know, wants to be told what happened after but refuses to ask this man for anything. Even for information. 

They hold each other's eyes a moment too long to be collegiate. “The plans made it off planet. Vader himself took down a command class vessel under  general reedus to get those plans back.*  An entire battalion was lost.” He pauses, seemingly wants to say something else, before he thinks better of it.

“The plans are now with a trusted ally who is being hunted by the Empire. We are attempting to get them somewhere safe. Until we know more, you are dismissed.” He ends curtly, turning sharply on his heel and marching back towards command. 

Jyn stands stock still and allows the quiet of the hallway to leach into her. She glances around. The bright white of the overhead lights wash the colour out of the vaguely orange walls, which seem to run into perpetuity on either side of her. It is hard to miss how empty the place is and how wrong that emptiness feels. All at once it hits her. She has nothing to do. Nowhere to be. For the first time in… she thinks back for a minute, really the first time in longer than she can remember, her life is not governed by a prison schedule or a mission, or the need to find food and shelter. 

She doesn’t know what to do, so she does the only thing she can. She follows her crew into the med bay. 

They see her as a patient as much as a visitor when she enters. She doesn’t object as they fuss around her, stripping her of her filthy clothes. They push her into the sonic, slather her in bacta, from head to toe, and give her very basic, vaguely humanoid new clothes to wear. 

After that, she waits. She waits for them to tell her that Bodhi will need a few Bacta immersions for his burns and a new left hand, but will live. She waits for them to tell her Cassian ruptured his spleen, lacerated his kidney and fractured 3 of his vertebrae so completely, they don’t believe he walked after the fall, much less climbed, and aren’t sure he’ll ever walk again. She waits for them to tell her Cassian died. 

For 12 minutes, alone on a table. 

She waits for them to tell her he’s alive, and will need bacta immersions and implants and…

Well she doesn’t hear too much after that, because Cassian died, but he came back. Again. 

She wanders out of the medward much later, cold and numb and stands just outside of the doors for a full 5 minutes trying to decide where to go. What to do next? She was assigned a bunk in the common dorm on her initial trip here, but the thought of open space and other people make her hackles rise. She should be hungry but the thought of food unsettles her stomach. She starts walking eventually, as much for something to do, as to try and get away from the jagged pieces of her psyche that her mind keeps timidly circling. 

When she looks up again, she realises she recognises where she is. A quieter section of the base that has the officers quarters, or that’s what she had assumed anyway, because it was where Cassian’s quarters were. She had followed him there to grab supplies before they stole the ship. 

She glances around the hallway, somehow expecting someone, maybe even Draven, to appear and yell that she is in defiance of some Alliance ordinance and shouldn’t be there. No one materializes, so she walks slowly towards the door and tilts her head. She shouldn’t invade his space. She knows this on some level, thinks that if it was her, she’d go batshit on anyone who made themselves at home in her quarters. But suddenly she can feel every hit and scrape that she has taken over the past 2 weeks, hell over the past 2 years. And she is so very tired. 

It takes her longer than she would have expected to slice through his locks, but eventually it gives and the door slides open with a sigh. 

She walks quietly around the small space,  not questioning how or why she feels safe for the first time in days. There isn't much here. A datapad tossed casually on a small desk, a well worn jacket hung over the edge of the bed, seemingly forgotten in a hurry, three small plants along the sill of a dusty window that seem to be well taken care of. 

She runs her fingertips along the cool leaves, wondering if Cassian did this. If he is capable of nurturing life as well as taking it. She wonders what that is like.

Soon enough she crawls into his bed, expecting sleep to claim her quickly. She's never had trouble falling asleep. On the floor in some dirt bunker, outside under the trash of derelict buildings and broken dreams. Even in Wobani. Habits built from a lifetime of catching kip wherever she can. It doesn't happen like that tonight though. She spends an eternity staring at the bland ceiling above, trying to will her mind clear. Then the tears come.

She hasn't cried since she was a child sitting on the floor by Saw's feet, mourning deaths she didn't fully understand. She can still hear his voice.

“This is it” He had said, as kindly as he could manage. “The last time you will lose precious water over something you cannot change. The future is ahead of us. the past is dead.”

She wipes angrily at her eyes. This is stupid. The plans are out and she's survived. It's what she always does. She barely knows the lives that were lost. She never truly knew the guardians. Doesn't even really know Bodhi or Cassian. And she stopped caring about both the men that called themselves her father when they abandoned her. 

She's alive and that's all that matters. That's all that ever mattered.

But the tears don't stop. Her face flushes and her nose runs. A fine tremor starts in her hands. She begins to wring the sheet on the bed, over and over, becoming tighter each time, trying to calm her shaking.

Nothing works. Soon her whole body is shaking with mighty sobs. She sees Saw in his cave, old and frail and broken like she never realised when she was with him. She sees her father staring at her with joy and peace as the light goes out of his eyes. She buries her face into the pillow, allowing the soft, cool fabric to sooth her and hide the broken, hideous sounds she is making. 

She gives up and let's herself cry. Let's herself mourn for all that she has lost, let's out the fear and anger that she can no longer carry. She is safe for tonight. The future can wait.

[jaskiersvalley]

Art From Ashes

So @dirtydancyart and I were talking about the world they created in which Eskel is a biker, Geralt got involved with Emhyr in some underground shady stuff. Then I came along with this in which Cahir is technically Emhyr’s enforcer but keeps getting mistaken for Ciri’s nanny. Long story short, we wanted some hurt/comfort, some Cahir getting kidnapped and hurt, some Eskel coming to the rescue like a badass. Thus, here we are.

CW: Torture, blood, injuries.

Things had been going surprisingly well after that initial meeting. Eskel had apologised profusely for mistaking Cahir for a decorator. And then for putting his foot even more in it by thinking he was Ciri’s babysitter. For not such an auspicious start, he and Cahir actually got along alarmingly well. Not that they had ever told anyone, officially Nilfgaard and the Wolves were still not openly allies so they had to toe the line. That didn’t stop them from seeing each other or from quietly falling in love. They didn’t need grand declarations or even tokens of affection. For them, it was enough that if Cahir came home late and with blood in his hair, Eskel would wash it out for him with tender touches. By the same token, if Eskel had a run to do, he often found himself with a packed lunch on the passenger seat and a little post it with a smiley face on it. It was more than enough for them, knowing without ever saying anything. After all, if they didn’t say it, they had plausible deniability.

It did however mean trying to be a little more secretive. The nights they spent together were marred by the fact they couldn’t leave at the same time so there were no goodbye kisses on the porch or standing by bikes. That had been another flustering moment in Eskel’s life, discovering that Cahir had a bike in his garage. It was sleek, black and as quiet as a bike could come. Plus terrifyingly fast. Cahir had taken him out to a track just the once and Eskel almost had a heart attack - which was rich coming from someone who would happily rev his way down any stretch of road as soon as it was clear.

Another morning meant Eskel had to leave before the rest of the neighbourhood was up. The sun was already shining through the window and he’d kissed Cahir goodbye. Stepping out into the hallway, Eskel sighed and turned to get going. However, he couldn’t resist one final peek through the half open door. A smile twitched his lips as he watched Cahir rummaging for a t-shirt, bare skin on display. It was quite the sight and Eskel sighed, eyes tracing over the phoenix that spread over Cahir’s back, tail and flames dipping down below the waistband of his slacks. Eskel’s breath hitched when, rather than the shirt being pulled on, Cahir’s hands dropped to his flies and his trousers were slowly pushed down to reveal the rest of the tattoo that Eskel did so dearly love to trace with fingers and lips. Confused, eyes flitted up and Eskel’s gaze met Cahir’s in a mirror. A knowing smirk had him blushing which only deepened as Cahir’s finger traced the tattoo along his collarbone before stopping at the flame that licked at his throat, dipping to run over the Nilfgaardian sun that usually lay just about hidden under the top button of his shirts. A wink and a kiss blown at him had Eskel leaving with a smile and a spring in his step.

They weren’t due to see each other for a couple of days. However, the messages Eskel sent Cahir remained unanswered even though they were sporadically marked as read. Worry began to creep into Eskel’s days as the silence stretched on. It was only through Geralt that he learned something was amiss. Emhyr’s daughter had been attacked. While she had been whisked away to safety, someone else had been snatched.

[Who are you and what have you done with him?]

The message he sent to Cahir’s phone was read and, magically, three dots appeared as a reply was typed out.

[Seems the wolf is involved after all. Lies cannot go unpunished.]

Rage flushed through Eskel. Usually he was so good at keeping his emotions in check but his rash actions had caused Cahir problems. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of punishment his captors would deliver. Throat tight, Eskel’s phone went sailing through the air and bounced off the wall. Searching the news brought nothing up. Of course Nilfgaard wouldn’t go public if one of theirs went missing. Those lower on the totem pole weren’t worth the effort while those higher didn’t want the authorities searching for them. Eskel’s own contacts didn’t bring in much information over the course of the next day. Time was of the essence and he was no closer to finding Cahir. So he did the unimaginable.

“Geralt. We have to talk.”

Thankfully, there wasn’t much need for words. Geralt sighed and shook his head.

“Should have known.” That was all the acknowledgement that there was. “Filavandrel’s men have him.”

That was serious. Worse than expected. Eskel had heard of what those who ran with Filavandrel could do so he began packing heavily for his rescue attempt. What he didn’t expect was for Lambert to silently step into the room and begin arming up. When Geralt did the same too, Eskel gave them incredulous looks.

“You’re not going in alone. We hunt in packs, remember?”

Armed to the teeth, they were on their way. For a change they took Roach, Geralt’s trusty SUV that had seen more blood than most cars. However, they didn’t know what condition Cahir would be in, probably not well enough to hold on for a bike ride. He’d been in Filavandrel’s not so tender care for three days, they were going to be lucky if he survived.

Storming the house Cahir had been kept in was oddly anticlimactic. It was in a quiet suburb and the house naturally had a basement. Well, it wasn’t so quiet as they walked in through the broken down door and shot anyone on sight. Eskel gave thanks for the invention of silencers as he indiscriminately disposed of another scumbag.

Going down the stairs was difficult. It was undoubtedly where Cahir was but Eskel dreaded that they would find. The smell of burned flesh hit them before they saw anything and Lambert swore. There were a few more people in the basement but the wolves were quick to dispatch them. Well, Lambert and Geralt did, Eskel was rooted to the spot as he caught sight of Cahir.

Strung up by his wrists and hoisted so his toes barely touched the ground, his shoulders were strained each time his legs gave out or slipped in the blood on the floor. There was no way to relax in the position and if Cahir’s head fell forward, his breathing turned to a strained rasp. He had his back to the entrance and Eskel could have cried at the sight, the beautiful phoenix tattoo was all but shredded as a whip had torn the skin to strips. Seeing Cahir struggle to get back on his toes, Eskel jerked into motion. Rounding Cahir, he wrapped an arm around his narrow waist and lifted as gently as he could. That earned him a soft, hoarse cry and apologies dripped from Eskel’s lips.

With Cahir in his arms, it was easier to assess the damage. Geralt was next to Eskel while Lambert guarded the door. Their first look didn’t paint a pretty picture. Aside from the oozing lashes on his back, most of Cahir’s tattoos had been destroyed. Deep cuts ran along his collarbones, slicing up the patterns in a mockery of symmetry. There were strips of skin peeled from his ribs where Eskel had liked to trace his fingers over patterns and dates. Worst was probably the Nilfgaardian star. It had been doused in something and probably set on fire judging by the deep, openly weeping patch and the blisters along Cahir’s neck and chin.

“Nenneke. Now.” Geralt barked and wasted no time in helping Eskel pick Cahir up. As Lambert led the way out, Geralt brought up the rear. They’d run extractions all too often so had this kind of thing down to a tee. In the car, Eskel was in the back, holding Cahir and trying to keep pressure off his multiple injuries. With nothing else to do, he could catalogue all the injuries they had missed before - the dark bruising around Cahir’s throat, scrapes to his knuckles from where he undoubtedly fought back, a puncture mark to the crook of his elbow. Who knew what his captors had shot him up with.

Arriving at Nenneke’s, Cahir was taken from Eskel’s arms and whisked away. He wasn’t allowed to see him for almost a whole day but at least he wasn’t chased from the building. Geralt disappeared, probably to talk to Emhyr but Lambert stayed, made sure they ate and drank while they waited. At long last Eskel was allowed to sit with Cahir in his room. For now, he was sedated to help keep him pain free, There were pillows either side of him to stop him from rolling onto his front or his back and an IV dripped steady from a stand.

It was another day before Cahir stirred, eyes opening and struggling to focus. His first words almost broke Eskel’s heart.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was so strained, no doubt the hand shaped bruises on his throat did some damage deeper than the skin. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Cahir slipped back to sleep shortly after that, Eskel’s apologies and promises that he was safe lost as the world span into darkness.

When Geralt returned, it was only to beckon Eskel with him. They had business to sort and Emhyr had a proposition. With backing from Nilfgaard, the wolves went after Filavandrel. They weren’t stupid enough to outright kill him. But they certainly weakened his stance. Viciously indiscriminate, the wolves burned through his network, scorching the earth. Once done, there was just one thing left to do.

By the time Cahir was coherent and out of the danger zone, Eskel was back by his side. His hand was covered in clingfilm and it was something Cahir noted almost immediately.

“Let me show you,” Eskel murmured, all too aware of how quiet the room was. He already felt he filled more than his fair share of it with his bulk, it didn’t need his voice booming through it too. Carefully, he unwrapped his hand to reveal a Nilfgaardian sun. “For the one you lost. It’s a fealty exchange.”

From his pocket, he pulled a wolf medallion and offered it to Cahir. The wolves and Nilfgaard were united now and they were the guarantee of their continued cooperation. Somehow, Eskel didn’t think that was a bad thing by any means. Especially not when it meant he could freely love Cahir exactly as he deserved.

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (IV)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: So, since I’m posting this one quite late on a Sunday night, maybe we’ll call the schedule day Midnight In Sheffield Mondays? I hope you enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

@alexbandguy86​​​​​​ @bettyschwallocksyee​​​​​​ @fookingsummertime​​​​​​ @juicebox-baby​​​​@darksydork7​​​​​ @edgythought​​​​ @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo​ 

Chapter IV - I Want It All

Isn’t this nice?” Mark asked. “I can’t remember the last time we went out for lunch with just the two of us.”

She nodded, feeling a bit calmer since she’d woken up after getting a decent night’s rest, even if it was a bit shorter. She’d gotten back not a minute late last night, for Mark had arrived when she was about to cover herself under the bedsheets, asking what she was still doing up. It ended with her in tears, mostly because of the pure confusion the day had brought her, but also because she’d felt like she needed it.

It was apparent that Mark was feeling a bit concerned, and was doing his best attempt to cheer her up a bit.

“I had an idea, please hear me out for a bit,” he started.

She pulled up her nose, because whenever he said those words, they were usually followed by some notion she wouldn’t like.

“What if we got married at the church back home?”

She paused. Not what she had expected, but certainly not something she favoured. “I thought we were going to get married in France?”

“I know, but… James and Rachel just told me they wouldn’t be able to make it around the time we’d planned to have it. If we just got married at home, I’m sure that would work out better for a lot of people on the guest list.”

“Mark, we’ve discussed this, and the invitations are already printed. If James and Rachel don’t think our wedding is important enough to make time for it, then I suppose they’re not coming.”

“Sweetheart, you know how much they’d want to come. It’s just…”

“What? Spit it out, will you?”

“I’m afraid my parents might get the wrong idea with us getting married in France.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, they think it’s a bit dramatic, for starters. And they know how much you enjoy it there; their guess is that you might want to stay there forever after all is said and done.”

She gave him a look. “So, your parents are afraid I’m going to chain you to a tree in a French vineyard so they can’t ever see you again? Do they think I’m drugging you into agreeing to everything I do?”

He huffed in amusement. “No, sweetheart. But they… they just want to make sure this marriage is going to work. And the first step in their eyes would be to hold a wedding at home. Think of it as nothing more than insurance that you’ll have a pleasant day with your family-in-law.”

“And I wouldn’t have that in France?”

“You’ll most likely be met with the sour faces of both my mother and my sister. And you haven’t even encountered my aunt’s death glare yet. That one’s a real deal-breaker.”

She sighed, fumbling with her hands in her lap. Her engagement ring was starting to feel incredibly heavy, as if the diamond had multiplied its amount of carats.

 She had tea with her mum later that day. Her dad was off to work.

“I… Uh, I don’t think we’ll be holding the wedding in France after all.”

Her mother lifted her chin to meet her eyes, gently setting her teacup back on its saucer. “And why is that?”

“Well, you know. I think it would be a lot easier for people to get to the venue because of work and all that. They wouldn’t have to go through all the traveling business, and it would save me and Mark quite a bit of money.”

Her mother hummed in response, but the look she gave her was critical. “I don’t think I remember ever hearing you talk about other people’s expense when you were little and showed me your wedding plans in your binder. That girl would tell everyone to sod off if they couldn’t make time for her special day, let alone think about saving money.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

“Darling, I love you. I would travel the world and back if it meant seeing you walk down the aisle. Please don’t let anyone ruin the dreams you have. I raised you better than that.”

 It was nearing midnight, and Alex had lit himself a cigarette in front of the old church. It was going to be a quiet one, due to the fact that Monday was the only day of the week the pub was closed. That didn’t mean the lads wouldn’t go out, but the singer just didn’t feel like it for some reason.

A few ladies dressed in shimmery dresses with feathers in their hair walked past him and sent a wink his way, but he barely paid them any mind. His mind was elsewhere, and the empty alleyway he walked through next was illuminated only by the stars and the moon, which shone like fireballs in the dark blue abyss.

He wandered back into a main street, but it was quiet there, too.

Until he heard the muffled noises coming from a figure hunched against one of the streetlights.

It was a girl, obviously, and she was crying. But it didn’t turn out to be just any girl.

His Arabella.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked. He’d crouched down next to her, attempting to move the hair soaked by her tears away from her face. He noticed she was shivering, and shrugged his jacket off, draping it over her shoulders. “I’m afraid the pawnshops are all closed by now. You’re going to have to find another way to get your money’s worth out of that engagement ring if you want to rid of it tonight.”

She sniffled a laugh, which he was pleased to receive from her. “I really don’t mean to show up crying every night. This is so embarrassing.”

Alex recalled Miles telling about the night you’d met. “Not embarrassing at all. Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“Alright. Then let’s get you somewhere warmer. Also, I’m famished. Are you hungry?”

 “Alphonse, how are you this evening?”

The bell had chimed as they’d walked into the small restaurant, and though the lights were dimmed, she could make out the quaint interior quite well. Round tables, probably meant for no more than two, with a small red tablecloth draped over a larger white one on each of them. They were adorned with clean sets of dinnerware, as well as a simple candle as a centrepiece.

There were grapevines hanging across the wooden beams across the ceiling, and the walls had various paintings of landscape upon them.

In the back of the room, sat the head chef, - she supposed, as he wore the biggest hat of them all – playing a game of cards with his employees.

“Not any worse than any other evening, mister Turner. How are you?” The chef called Alphonse replied heartily. She noted a hint of a French accent in his speech.

“Quite alright, as I’m surrounded by good company.”

“I see, and who might your lady friend be?”

She introduced herself politely, to which all of the cooks took their hats off.

“A friend of mister Turner’s is a friend of ours, Cherie.”

“I told you to call me Alex a long time ago,” came his protest. “Say, you wouldn’t have anything left sitting in the kitchen, would you?”

Alphonse chuckled as he stood, tucking his deck of cards in his shirt’s pocket after giving his fellow players a suspicious look. “I’ll see what we have left after your band of misfits came to raid the place.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t be complaining, if I were you. They’re your best customers, after all,” Alex called after him.

The chef grumbled something about empty pantries as he returned with a basket in hand. “And I advise you to take the lady out to dinner here at a more appropriate time instead of sneaking of into the night with a basket full of goodies.”

“Now, you know I never come here that early.”

 It turns out he’d packed them an entire cheese platter, with bread, butter, and a nice bottle of wine to make the basket complete. The singer had been gallant enough to carry it and pour her a glass of wine as they walked, to a location he would not yet disclose.

“It seems like you’re known around these parts as a night owl,” she deducted.

He looked at her for a moment, and hummed as an invitation for her to continue.

“Is that just the way you go about? Or does it have a deeper meaning behind it all?”

“Doesn’t people’s behaviour always have a deeper meaning behind it?”

“I suppose so. Something you’re not willing to talk about, then?”

“Perhaps when you decide to tell me why I found you crying on the curb,” he replied curiously.

She smirked, “Well, I’m not sure what you were doing parading the streets, but you were walking, and then you found me. Coincidence, I suppose.”

He shot her a look. “You know what I mean.”

She sighed, but as she was figuring out the right words to say, it appeared that they had already reached their ‘secret location’.

 It was a small square, tucked into the corner of town, with a big round fountain in the middle. Sculpted fish were spraying water onto the levels below, and the stream was a soothing noise against the silent street. The buildings surrounding it had their shutters closed, and the way they towered over the small space made it seem like they had walked into a private garden.

But the odd thing was, is that she recognized that fountain, very clearly.

“I…”

“Yes?” Alex asked.

“I… I thought they’d tore down that fountain when I was younger. The whole street, in fact.”

The man next to her seemed to tense. “Well, it seems not.”

“…It seems not.” She had kind of wanted to question him further on the matter, but as the pieces were slowly connecting in her head, she decided to wait until the conclusion she was drawing was entirely certain.

Alex set down the basket, and sat on the stone bench facing the sculpture. “So, how’s the wedding planning going?”

Just the thought of it made tears well up in her eyes again, which he quickly took notice of.

“All right, you could’ve just told me to fuck right off when I opened my mouth.”

She snorted, taking a seat next to him and reaching for a piece of bread. “I’m sorry. I just- That’s the exact thing that has gotten me riled up today.”

“How come?”

The genuine interest was refreshing to her, and it made her feel brave enough to continue. “Well, Mark just thought it would be best to change the venue’s location, since a lot of people would be coming and all that. I kind of ended up agreeing with him, taking into consideration that everyone needed to fly out to France for a singular day. But now my mum is disappointed that I’m not going through with my big wedding plans, and I’ve honestly been doubting every decision I’ve been making since the get-go.”

He nodded with his lips pursed in thought. “I think cheese solves a lot of problems.” He handed her a piece of Gouda. “But if I may ask, what do you want?”

She gave him a confused look.

“I’ve only heard you mention what your fiancée wants, and what your mother wants, and that you don’t want to disappoint either of them. But I haven’t heard you talk about your dream wedding yet. It’s like you care about everyone’s opinions except for your own. And it seems like Mark doesn’t care much for it, either.”

She opened her mouth in protest, “Of course Mark cares! He’s only thinking about practicality, and our future.”

Alex took a languid sip of his glass before replying. “Love, if you want to marry someone, practicality shouldn’t matter if it means you get to hold the wedding your sweetheart has always dreamed about.”

“I don’t need your judgement on my love life.”

“No, but you asked for it anyway. I can’t tell you what to do; it’s your life. All I’m going to say is, make it count. You’re not getting a second shot at it. If you want to go through the rigmarole of a big wedding with a guest list that never ends and a dress that blinds people with the amount of diamonds on it, then you should do it. Not because I told you so, but because you want to do it.”

She knew he was right, but was afraid to admit it. “I… I don’t want a big wedding.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want it to be private. Just family and friends. In a vineyard somewhere in France.”

He threw his hands up. “Then there you have it.”

“It’s not that easy, Alex. This isn’t all about me. Relationships call for compromise, not selfishness.”

He suddenly took her hand, and pulled her along the square until they’d reached the fountain. He took a coin out of his pocket, and held it out to her.

“What?”

He thrust his palm into her direction once more, but seemed quite reluctant to do so. “Take it, make a wish, and throw it into the fountain.”

“Alex-“

“Might as well give it a go. What do you have to lose?”

She sighed. Though reluctantly, she did as told, and closed her eyes. The slight ‘plop’ of the penny falling into the water was barely heard over the stream.

“You can thank me later,” Alex said.

But as he turned his back to her, she was feeling impulsive, and grabbed his shoulders and thrust him backwards.

This time, the splash was heard.

She clasped her hands in front of her mouth to keep herself from laughing at the drenched figure of Alex Turner, sitting awkwardly in a fountain. Oh, and how he looked absolutely pissed. Pissed was an understatement. He looked furious.

“You’re going to regret that.”

“Oh, am I-“

She shrieked, as two cold hands pulled her into the water with him.

[crimeronan]

ik youre not a therapist and i dont want like therapy or anything but im 17 and ive known i was bipolar for 3 years now and i dont know how im supposed to live the rest of my life like this. im so fucking tired. how do you stay alive

you sent this a couple days ago & i’m posting at a weird time so i’m not sure if you’ll see it but.  

i’ve been looking at this message trying to decide how to respond

because i don’t know your situation, your symptoms, how you’re feeling, whether you’ve had positive or negative experiences with medication, psychiatrists, therapists, hospitals, all that related shit

the bipolar life advice i give to people is vastly different depending on the individual. it’s not a one size fits all thing.  and there’s never even a guarantee that my advice will be the right choice

so since i don’t know about your situation or experiences or what you want, i’m not gonna tell you what to do.  i’m gonna focus on the “how do you stay alive” question and try to pen down some personal feelings. and if they help then great, and if they don’t then... this is the most honest i can be

(you can always ask another question to get a better answer. my inbox is a coin slot and i am a vending machine of varied-degrees-of-helpfulness replies offered at varied-inconvenient-too-long-intervals)

-

how do i stay alive

it’s a 2-parter, actually.  i pondered how to condense my thoughts/feelings, and it came down to these two things

1. love 2. spite

-

1. love

the spite is easier to write about than the love.  love is hard to reach when i feel like shit.

spite is where i go when i want to die.  love is where i go when i want to want to live.

maybe i don’t want to be alive.  but maybe i wish i did.  spite doesn’t help me much there.  spite keeps me afloat, but it doesn’t make the floating pleasurable.  there’s more to life than outlasting everything that ever hurt me.  i need a reason to continue when there’s no enemy to fight

so. love

i almost wrote about the spite alone because that’s rawer, realer, more visceral.  that’s the shit that CONNECTS when everything feels hopeless.  but it would be a lie of omission.  spite is only one of the major food groups, you’ll waste away from malnutrition if you eat it for every meal. or at least, i will.

“so you’ve got a bunch of people you love,” you say, “and you stick around for them.  cry on them.  support each other.  like each other.  fine.”  you’ve heard this story before

nah.

i mean - yes.  i have people i love.  i live with two partners, i’ve got a third girlfriend, i’ve got a long-distance platonic life partner.  i have a support net, i have a family i’ve forged, i have confidence that i’m not alone.  i have, in a bare-bones checklist sort of way, fulfilled my physiological human need for connection

but i could live without every single one of them.  i’m not dependent upon any of them for my survival.  i’m not dependent upon them for love, given or received.  (this isn’t a callous cruelty, it won’t hurt them if/when they read this.  i’ve told them all this, they know.  they’re glad of it.)

so.  what the fuck does “love” mean, then?

the short explanation is that it’s my love of life, of things in the world.  it’s all the little connections i’ve made.  every time i love something, a hook tethers to the universe.  hook enough tethers, and i no longer feel the need to float away.  no dissolution of self today, sir

the rest of this section is some of the things i love. partially it’s to show how i connect to little things and ascribe magic to the mundane.  partially it’s because i like thinking about things i love, i like typing them out, and i like that i could keep going for thousands and thousands of words.

i am laying in bed at 7:30 AM with the lights off and the shades drawn.  blue  light comes through the slats because it’s the better time of year, the one where i finally get vitamin D, the one where the birds chirp at 4AM, the one where the sky isn’t impenetrably black til 10PM.

there’s a weighted blanket tucked around my legs.  my partner rafi bought it for us to share because it’s soothing and heavy and comforting and helps with my physical pain.  right now it’s soft on my skin and if i get too emotional as i write, i can pull it over me like a cloak until i’m settled.

the apartment’s walls are blank because we’ve spent eight months intending to put art up and keep forgetting.  but there’s a newly-unearthed dining area in the kitchen because i finally shifted around the unpacked boxes that were dominating the space.  it’s new and it surprises me every time i walk out there.  it’s open and inviting and bright and it’s a sign that we’re making this place home.

we’ll put a cheap IKEA table by the window and we’ll probably never eat family dinners there - why would we sit in hard chairs and make stiff conversation when we could all cuddle on the couch - but my partner dev will create a place to do their art and the surface will be constantly littered with drying watercolor experiments.

we’ll hang our art one of these days, too, when our collective adhd offers a miraculous combo of remembering + having time + having motivation + having inspiration.  rafi has the most art because they’ve been collecting it for years.  i have to start smaller.  i’m not used to keeping physical objects.  dev has a few pieces thrifted or bought at local artist events or painted themselves

so we’ll put art up in the living room, my single “you are magic” flower print alongside a naked monster lady that dev fell in love with when we browsed art at a yuletide event months ago, alongside rafi’s monster girls and comic characters and book characters and literature art and quotes and abstract pieces and whatever else they have hiding in boxes.

my head protests that naked monster ladies do not belong in the living room, although the picture isn’t overtly sexual.  but then i remember that they do, actually, because it’s our space and we can do whatever we want with it as long as the lease isn’t broken.  there isn’t anyone in the local social circles who’d be perturbed by the decor, as far as i know.  i don’t have to hide anything from my parents because i live 3600 miles from them, and even though i miss my mom, the distance is good for me

there are two exquisite chairs on the porch.  they fold and recline from thrones to nearly-horizontal beds.  there are pillows and cupholders and trays and specific spaces for both a book and a phone.  i can sit there while the morning sun rises and read or play word games or browse tumblr, cup of coffee beside me, trees shielding my eyes from stabby sunbeams

there are remnants of the last tenant’s garden in one corner of the yard.  we’ve done fuckall for yardwork but plants struggle through anyway.  some seem to have sprouted by accident.  mushroom clusters populate the edges of the fence.  the apartment squirrel (there are probably several, but i like to think it’s a single energetic creature) runs back and forth along the fence & i always lose my train of thought & then laugh my ASS off at the “SQUIRREL! XD” adhd moment.  birds kick up leaf litter and play on the ground looking for insects to eat, they wiggle their tail feathers and flap their wings and sometimes they disappear and then return with friends

a little more than eleven months ago, i packed all of dev’s and my shit into a uhaul and drove and drove and drove to get to this city i’d never been in before to live with a partner i’d never cohabitated with.  we were homeless for more than a month, we weathered some financial disasters, we met some great people and some shitty ones

on the drive i fell in love with the sky.  i didn’t know how big it can get - actually, that’s a lie.  i’d FORGOTTEN how big it can get.  i’ve loved the sky thirty miles out to sea, no land in sight in any direction, just blue water and blue space above.  i’ve loved the vastness and the yawning beneath me and the knowledge that everything is BIGGER than i can fathom.  the depth of the sea doesn’t frighten me, it’s home. i don’t want to die, but if i had to, the ocean makes a soothing grave

in north dakota i discovered that i’ve been partially blind my whole life, which is a different tale that showed me i’ll never stop learning myself.  in montana we struggled up thousands of feet of mountains with the car huffing and puffing at the trailer’s weight, and when we finally coasted downward, it felt like sudden freefall.  we ended up in the pitch darkness of night on sheer winding interstates with midnight construction projects forcing detours.  the mountains felt hungry, they had teeth.  mountain cliffs are much scarier to me than the ocean depths

i bought a red bull and poured a little out the driver’s side door as an offering to hermes, because i’m not particularly religious but i’ll take help where i can get it.  slammed that back in a few gulps and shook to bright-eyed alertness and ended up behind a slow-driving red pickup truck that guided us over about a hundred miles of mountain terrain

i thought, that’s just some construction worker driving between sites.  the roads are empty at this time of night, but it’s an interstate.  of course we’d end up behind someone.  this isn’t divine intervention.  this isn’t the benevolence of a god

i thought, but it can be a little magic.  if i want it to be.  

and it was.  it stays with me.

god help me but i’ve been writing this stream of consciousness for more than 30 minutes and i’ve said nothing.  i haven’t talked about the city, the parks, the people, the conversations, the books, the tv shows, the movies, the communities, the library, the animals, writing, reading, singing, acting, swimming, analyzing, creating, supporting, building.  and i can keep going.  i can come up with hundreds and hundreds of things i love and i can write paragraphs about all of them

so i’ll stop here.  you get the picture.  love is the life i’ve made for myself, the surroundings i’ve built, the quiet moments i can capture, the inspiration i pin, the magic i commit to memory.

i had to work so damn hard for every single bit of this.

i’ll be fucking damned if i let it go because my brain tried to trick me into thinking death is better.

-

2. spite

there are people who want me to die.

i don’t mean that i have a giant entourage of personalized enemies who curse my name and plan my individual demise.  although there have been plenty of people who have not liked me much.  probably some of them would enjoy my death.  i don’t give a shit about that

there are people who want me dead because i am a dot on a grid they dislike.  a faceless anonymous enemy who meets too many bad criteria with numbers and percentages and shrinking majorities and shifting public opinion

because i’m gay.  because i’m bipolar.  because i’m autistic.  because i’m a dropout.  because i grew up poor.  because my spine curves and my shoulders ache.  because i squandered my potential, because i didn’t have enough potential, because i didn’t love god enough, because i love the wrong gods, because i don’t worship, because i worship wrong, because i didn’t seek a husband, because i never wanted one, because i talk too much, because i can’t be controlled, because i chose to leave the fold when i realized it was suffocating me, because i’m ugly, because i’m gorgeous, because my body belongs to me

pick your poison.

this bothered me growing up, a lot. i knew i did not deserve to die. but if enough people tell you that you should, a little part of you will wonder if they’re right.  that little part might become bigger the closer they get and the louder they shout and the longer they wear you down

we know the rough shape of this story, i don’t need to tell it.  mine was messy and not triumphant and i survived more by chance than premeditation.

i’m older now.  by and large i’m still young as shit - i’m 24 - but GOD i am LEAGUES away from 15, 16, 17. i know who i am. i know what i want. i know how to get it. and when i don’t know that, i find out. i tell the truth.  i ask for what i want.  i use my time how i want.  i do what i want.

there are days that i can’t access the “love” side of the equation.  no finding poetry in birdsong or sugared coffee for me, thank you, i feel like shit and the world is awful and everything is too big and fast and cruel and everything wants me to die and it wants everything i love to die, too.  everyone i love.  it’s all garbage. the good doesn’t touch me

trauma is difficult to describe.  the difficulty is compounded by the fact that my trauma is influenced by my various neurodivergences, bipolar included.  i never know if i’m feeling what other people do.  i don’t know if i’m voicing unpalatable feelings others are afraid to express - or if i’m just othering myself, admitting i’m not as human as everyone else.

there is something malevolent and monstrous inside me.  i don’t touch it all the time.  but i don’t pretend it isn’t there.  it sits in my chest and molders or radiates or oozes.  it presses at my throat.  it curdles in my stomach.  it hurts what it touches, whether that’s me or someone i love or someone i hate.  it sets things aflame with no regard for the precious or the fragile.  it tears down walls and razes shelters and begs for apocalyptic rain.

i can give this thing names, clinical descriptors.  i know what it is on a diagnostic chart, in a ponderous article, in an academic debate, in a fiction novel, in a war movie, in a memoir.  there are a thousand ways to describe this thing.  the descriptors aren’t important.  what is important is this - i have learned that most people do not walk side-by-side with a tornado-hurricane-hellfire-weaponized-open-nuclear-reactor.  this is not a “normal” expression of human emotion, this is not me trying to ascribe power to “bad bipolar feelings.”  this thing lives in me and i know why it’s there and it is not designed to be held/silenced/muzzled/controlled by my body.

it does not help to pretend this thing does not exist.  it does not help to try to reason it away or ignore it or tell it to stop.  it wants what it wants, it does what it does.  possibly if i was better at therapy or stubbornness then i wouldn’t resign myself to that

but it is fucking EXHAUSTING to try to fight something that’s part of me.  to try to reshape it, rename it, pare it down, make it consumable for the masses.  it’s a war i have never won and it’s a war that i will lose if i keep fighting it.  i cannot fight with myself.  i cannot beat my monster into submission.  if we’re gonna battle like that, head to head, me trying to cut it down, me trying to be the hero, it rearing back like a fire-breathing dragon,

then it’s stronger.  it’s always stronger.

so i surrender.

but that’s not where i stop.

can’t fight it.  can’t kill it.  can’t muzzle it.  can’t reshape it, can’t disarm it, can’t contain it.  

alright.  

so what now.

if the surrender was a full giving-up, this is where i’d passively accept that i’m doomed to hurt and destroy everything precious to me.  can’t fix it.  will lose everything, will never experience or deserve happiness, will make the world worse simply by existing.

that sure does sound like impending-doom rhetoric.  hop skip and a jump from some dire-ass conclusions.  

so fuck that, i say. 

here’s a better question.

if it has to get out, then what happens if i control where it goes?

here’s the thing.

the monster doesn’t care what it kills or destroys or hurts.  

“have a conscience, care about things, remember love, stop yourself, don’t do this don’t do this don’t do this.” 

 losing battle.  lost war.

 it’s not the monster’s fault.  the monster doesn’t have complex motivations or hates or fears.  it exists to protect me through scorched earth.  a remnant of a chemical imbalance, maladaptive coping mechanism, bipolar crazy, traumatized injury.  it doesn’t know that its job is obsolete.

i can’t change the monster.

but my mind is a separate thing.  my mind knows what matters, what my priorities are, what i find precious, what i want to protect.  my mind remembers all the things the monster doesn’t.  

my mind has learned things the monster can’t.

when i fight it head-on, the malevolence is stronger than me.  but as i am, walking with it, sitting in my bed writing this while examining the void and the consciousness, describing it, quantifying it,

that’s when i’m stronger.

and with my mind as the stronger force, i can decide where the monster goes.  what it touches.  what it destroys.  what it burns.  where the ashes land.

i do not want to be a destructive person.  i want to be someone who builds, repairs, changes.  i want to make the world better for kids like me.  i want to stop pouring more gasoline onto a fire that’s been burning since long before i was born.  i want to believe - i do believe - that positive change is better than negative.  i do my best to plant good things and enact that positive change instead of becoming a beacon of wrath.

but there are a lot of kids surrounded by people who want them to die, and not all of them have a protective monster.

so it’s good.

when i’m depressed, my mind loses its battles.  my cognizance slips.  i forget why i care.  i forget what i want.  i forget how happiness feels, how to find pleasure in quiet moments.  

i don’t get depressed as often as i used to since my meds are adjusted correctly now.  but it still happens.  it will keep happening for the rest of my life.

my mind weakens and curls up and stops fighting, and the monster is always there.

it’s a very powerful thing when it wants to be.

it wants to survive.

the thing is, it knows there are people that want me/us/whatever dead.  it’s been fighting them forever.  die like they want?  my mind says, sure, what does it matter.

the monster says, nah.  our work isn’t done.  and fuck them, anyway.

so we get up.

-

so that’s how i stay alive.

i typed this for 90 minutes and after editing i’d spent two hours on this post.  i don’t know if anyone will read it all.  i don’t know if it’ll mean anything.  i don’t know if these thoughts even make sense, much less if i’ve conveyed the feelings i have.

i love being alive.  and when i don’t, i love being a monster.  it’s good.  all of it is good.  i’ve reconciled my uglier pieces.  it’s not one or the other, love or spite.  it’s symbiosis.  i need both, i love both.

no guarantees that this is helpful, but based purely on my own life experience, these are my tips for survival:

you’ll have to find your own roots.  i can’t give them to you.  

but it’s possible to dig them in and spread them far enough that one uprooted peg doesn’t shift your whole equilibrium.  

and when you’re tired, rest, and let yourself be tired, and find the reason why you’re staying in the world. 

 i’m positive there’s at least one.

figure out why you’re losing your battles and then change the game.

if you can’t win one setup, don’t try to beat the system.  adjust your strategy.

you’ll be surprised by what you can love when you stop fighting the disparate pieces of you, and instead figure out how to use them.

[thestarwrites]

All Right, All Might: CH. 5

Word Count: 3,170K

Rating: PG, Language

Painting: Toshinori Yagi X FemOC

The UA Guidance Counselor, a quirk user with Pathokenesis, is shocked to find out her personal hero All Might is coming to be a teacher. Second day of classes turns out to be harder on Patho’s problem student than anyone else.

——————— CHAPTER FIVE: Comfort Food

Keri and Toshinori sat at the table in the little sushi restaurant, she chuckled softly and let out a content sigh. Things were quiet between them for a few minutes, but not uncomfortably so. All Might looked up and smiled, “What’s so funny?”

“Its always funny to me that we can just go out to dinner and no one knows you,” She smiled warmly, “But I love it because I get your undivided attention.” He blushed softly and smiled, “It’s nice. Since I’ve been here in the city away from my agency, I haven’t much spent time with anyone… It’s just been me.”

“I know- that’s why you have that crappy apartment.” Keri laughed softly.

Toshinori blushed harder, “I-its not that crappy! My other apartment was just decorated nicer!!”

She smiled, “Its just funny, I know you, I know you don’t need to live an average lifestyle. But you do. It’s very telling that you are exactly who you claim to be. You’d rather eat comfort food than expensive cuisine.” She paused, “You’re like comfort food.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” She smiled, “Like, I know there are people that say All Might is tacky and a showboat.”

Toshinori choked on his water.

“But I mean its like, eating a warm bowl of chicken soup when you’re sick, the persona is comforting, everyone likes it. It’s familiar, it’s kind — then, you have Endeavor, who I have worked with much more often than I have with you, and he never even gives his support heroes a second glance. He’s like some fancy restaurant that only lets certain people in. You’re a corner ramen shop that everyone loves to go to.” Keri smiled.

“Comfort food,” he smiled, “I like that…”

Keri smiled at him, “So- are you ready for your first big day tomorrow teaching Hero Course?”

He took a deep breath and nodded, “I think so.”

“Tch- that doesn’t sound like my Toshi.”

Looking up at her he took a breath, “What if I overdo it and start coughing up blood.”

“You won’t. You know your limits. You’re going to do great. Remember- these are fifteen year olds that LOVE you. Just be your normal hammy self,” She giggled, “Like you were with me when we met, they’ll just die.”

He smiled a little and set his card down on the bill when it came, waving the waiter off before Keri could put down any cash, “This ones on me.”

Making a face she frowned, “You /always/ say that! I can pay too, you know.”

“I’m not spending it on my crappy apartment,” He smirked, “Come on- let’s go drink that sake back to your place, so I know you’ll be safe and you don’t have to walk home.”

“And because I have an actual sofa and not a futon.”

“And… because you have an actual sofa… and not a futon,” he blushed.

————————

Keri scanned over the paperwork briefly on All Might’s desk, Test Ground Beta - Hero Training lesson. She nodded, thinking about how working in pairs would suit these kids, she was thinking about young Bakugo again when, “What are you doing snooping around in the teachers lounge, Patho.”

The cold voice of Aizawa made her jump and clutch her chest, “Holy shit Shota!” She took a deep breath, “I was just looking at the Hero Course lesson plan for today.”

“Why, don’t feel like going out there and interfering with his class like you did mine?” He spat.

She rolled her eyes, “You know what happened last year.”

“Yeah. My whole freshman class weren’t fit to be pro heroes.”

“Yeah- and you just get to make that decision and be done with those kids — but you know who had to deal with the ramifications? I did.” She huffed out, “I got calls from so many angry, disgusted, sad parents.”

“Why didn’t you just calm them down,” He chuckled.

“Because my quirk doesn’t work over phone lines Shota and you know that.”

“So what, you get paid to deal with this, remember? Nezu /needed/ a guidance counselor. Usually we just counseled the students ourselves, but he had to go on and get some nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field to play nursemaid to future pros. When they’re out there, no ones going to do that for them, you’re just undoing the work we do here by coddling them.” His gaze was ice cold, “Can you go back to your own office? I came in here to rest.” He huffed.

“Yeah. Sure thing.” She turned and left, holding her hand over her mouth once she was in the hallway. Pushing her hair off of her shoulder she swallowed and took a breath.

Some nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field to play nursemaid.

God she knew Aizawa wasn’t fond of her, Midnight must have really had something over on him to help give her that birthday present at the end of last semester. She couldn’t remember him being this cruel though - maybe it was All Might. Maybe her being close with All Might was making him dislike her more than usual.

Hanging her head she walked slowly up the stairs and headed into Recovery Girl’s office.

“Hello dear — Keri, are you alright?”

Shaking her head she went and sat on one of the beds, “After everything I’ve ever been through with bullying, somehow it never stops being hard to hear - even though I’m a fucking doctor.”

She frowned, “What happened, dear?”

“Its Aizawa,” She threw her arms up, “He hates me.”

She took a deep breath and smiled a bit, “Aizawa is a strange man, but one thing you know he doesn’t like is a showboat. He doesn’t think heroes need to be in the spotlight - and now who do we have working here?”

“All Might,” Keri responded numbly.

“And who do you spend almost all of your time with?”

Keri blushed furiously, “… All Might.”

“Exactly,” she nodded, “So however irritating your presence was to him last year, now he’s attached his resentment to Toshinori onto it. Don’t mind him. You do great work here. Nezu knows how good a job you do, and he’s especially thankful to have you as a close ally to All Might, with everything he’s going through.”

She nodded, “Toshinori helps me too, its not just a one way street.”

“I know, dear, he’s very fond of you,” Patho's forehead started to glow and she clapped a hand over it, “And I know you’re very fond of him. It’s sweet, watching you two.”

“Nothing’s going on,” She spat out.

Recovery girl laughed softly, “I’m an old lady, Keri, and I know a man who is smitten when I see one, mark my words.”

“He's the number one hero, the symbol of peace. He’s never had relationships, he’s too busy protecting the world… and if he did it wouldn’t be some…” She closed her eyes, “Some nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field to play nursemaid.” She repeated Aizawa’s words and the room filled with a feeling of pain.

“You are not a nobody support hero! You are a teacher at UA high. Hold your chin up dear, sorrow gives you wrinkles,” She nodded, “Besides, All Might is looking his retirement in the face, and you know that. He needs someone to lean on, and all I’m saying is I’m glad he has you there —“

“You have a patient,” Midnight cooed as she walked in with the stretcher carrying Midoriya.

“Izuku Midoriya? Again?” Recovery Girl shook her head.

Keri jumped up, “Izuku—“ She looked at him and hung her head, thinking of a million things at once, but holding her tongue as long as midnight was there. She helped get him on one of the cots and watched as Recovery Girl performed some basic first aid, attaching an IV.

Midnight left to return downstairs to her next class as Keri grit her teeth, “All Might is going too far with him.”

Recovery girl looked up, “I won’t disagree with you.”

Patho sat beside the boy and pushed his green hair back from his forehead.

“I know you know about this special circumstance, Keri, I’m not going to pretend to think Toshinori hasn’t told you.”

“I was the first to know about Izuku,” She sighed and held his hand, her body glowing pink as she filled Midoriya with a sense of calm, even though he was unconscious, “This is not the first time Toshi and I will disagree about how he is training the boy.”

“Keri?” The older woman looked at her, “I think you should let me handle it this time,’ She smiled kindly, “He no doubt will feel remorse, but coming from an older woman and a healthcare worker might be better suited.”

Nodding Keri sighed again, “I really should get back to my office. Class should almost be over by now. I should see if anyone needs to come and talk.”

“Okay sweetheart, just leave everything to me,” She smiled and nodded.

Nodding again she waved, exiting the nursing area and heading back down the hall to her office. The elevator door opened, and there was a breathless Toshinori in his silver age costume. She looked at him and sighed.

“You’re mad again, I know,” He started softly, walking in front of her.

She shrugged, “You just…” She sighed and just leaned in and hugged him, “It’ll be alright, okay? Just go check on him, hide out for a a bit, rest,” He didn’t need to know what went on between herself and Aizawa, and if he stayed with her too long, he’d realize she was sad.

He nodded and hugged her, pulling away to go into the nurses office.

-------

Keri went into her own office, going to the bathroom she rubbed water on her face when she heard the door almost come off its hinges, jumping she looked over - Katsuki Bakugo. And he was — crying.

Slamming the door back shut he threw his bag down onto the carpet and slammed his fist into the wall.

Coming out of the bathroom she hurried over to him, “Katsuki—! Are you hurt? Whats wrong?”

He didn’t look at her, “I don’t even know what I’m - I’m doing here in your stupid office,” he started, rubbing at his eyes furiously, “I don’t need your help.”

She took a breath and moved to sit down at the kitchenette table, “You don’t have to come in here for help you know, sometimes it’s just needed to blow off some steam with someone you trust.”

“He beat me, /deku/, in the training today,” He stomped over at sat across from her at the kitchenette table, “I’m supposed to be the best. I was number one in the entrance exam.” He was babbling in a wobbled voice, “And this quirkiness freak just - he guessed my every move, he moved so fast he was- he was better than me! And its not just him - that half and half ice bastard — his quirk is so damn powerful! Some of these damn nerds I wouldn’t beat head to head in a damn fight!” He slammed his fist on the table and buried his head in his folded arms.

Keri stood and went to put the kettle on.

Bakugo looked up and sniffled, “Well — pathologic? Aren’t you gonna say something? Try to tell me that I just need to train harder and not let these bastards get me down?” She looked over her shoulder, “You aren’t here for my help, I’m just making us some tea.”

He nodded and took a shaky breath, he wasn’t here for help. Not this stupid guidance counseling bullshit. Counseling. He didn’t need council, he needed to be better.

“I think some ginger tea would do you some good right now,” She smiled kindly, turning back to the cupboards.

He nodded again, “Yeah,” biting his bottom lip he wiped at his eyes again, “How am I going to be a leader for the class if I can’t even beat shitty Deku?”

She smiled a little and took out a couple of mugs, “With some work, is all. Losing stings, no matter who is the one who lost, or who is the one who they lost to. It’s the second day of school, you have to try and be patient.”

“I can’t fall behind!”

“I didn’t say let yourself fall behind,” She turned around and leaned against the counter, “I just said be patient. You couldn’t see what the others did in their entrance exam because you were actively working, and you did incredibly. But now is the time to take stock of the class - not let yourself focus on what you feel you lack. Being a hero is about studying your opponents - and your allies.”

Coming over she set the mugs down, “Yeah, Deku does that. Studies everything.”

“Well with your intelligence I’m sure you’ll have no problem with doing the same.” She let out a soft sigh, letting herself think about Aizawa.

“Hey- “ Bakugo frowned, “You’re not yourself today, nerd.”

She looked up to him blinking, “What do you mean.”

“Tch! Don’t play dumb pathological! I can sense there’s something off, you can you know- like vent too if you want.” He crossed his arms, “Not like I have anything better to do, I can at least listen to your stupid problem so I can forget about those extras in class.”

Keri pushed the long side of her hair back, “Aizawa hates me.” She shrugged.

“He’s a weirdo. So what.”

“He doesn’t think UA needs a guidance counselor and that I am here for no reason. Today he called me a-“ she paused and closed her eyes, “A nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field.”

Bakugo blinked at her, “Is that all?! Who the hell cares what he thinks, no one even knows who he is, so he’s not one to talk. At least you put yourself out there and do what you can. You said you got bullied in stupid high school too, do what you did with them, fucking ignore them.”

That was surprisingly insightful, “You’re right. I didn’t let that stop me then and I won’t now.”

He nodded, “And I won’t let those extras downstairs stop me now.” He huffed.

She nodded, drinking her tea, he did the same. The two of them just looked out the window as the school day was almost over. They stayed that way in a semi-comfortable silence. Keri looked over at the boy, he still looked upset, like if he thought about this more it might trigger another outburst. But she knew he would at least come and see her if he got too upset, he was here now wasn’t he?

“Tch, take a picture it’ll last longer, nerd,” he smirked at her.

She laughed and shook her head, “You’re something, Katsuki.”

Taking a breath he looked up at her, “I think I should head home, do some more thinking.”

Keri nodded and stood, “Sure, it’s getting late. You gotta get some training in if you’re going to be number one.”

“Oh. Theres no if, nerd, I /am/ going to be number one. I’ll even surpass your dumb boyfriend.” He huffed.

“Boyfriend??” She looked at him.

He laughed softly, “All Might, dunce.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she pouted.

“Mm… and Endeavor isn’t a second rate pro.”

Rolling her eyes she walked up to him as he picked up his bag, “Hey.”

“What?”

She gingerly put her hand on his back, her forehead glowing pink as she tried to calm his mind. For a moment he leaned into it. He closed his eyes and when he felt like he might cry again he pulled away, “Thats a weird quirk,” he huffed, “See ya, loser.”

“Try to have a good night Katsuki.”

He left her office and she inspected the hinges - surprisingly they held up to his explosive slamming. She ran her hands in her hair, “Poor kid… he has so much fear.” Moving back to her desk she was greeted by another sound of an opening door — this time it was Toshinori.

“Was that Bakugo again?” He asked, out of breath suddenly.

She knitted her brows together, “Yeah. He’s upset.”

“Upset— he’s so stubborn. That pride is dangerous.”

“Its more than that—“

“I should have a talk with him. He could use one of my empowering speeches I’m sure!”

“Toshinori that’s not a good idea—“

But he was gone. Keri slapped her forehead and moved to the overlook window in her office. Midoriya and Bakugo were already down there, no doubt fighting. Izuku shared the ‘fix it’ quality with Toshinori, for sure. But sometimes things can’t be fixed quick with words, sometimes things have to simmer at a boil before coming down - and if you turn the heat too high it will boil over.

She knew the small progress she had made with Katsuki that afternoon would be all but erased by the time he got home. Gathering her things together she made her way downstairs to the first floor where a few of the first year girls were mumbling to themselves.

“Hey girls, how was your second day?”

They turned around and Ochaco smiled, “Hey! You’re miss Chairo! Right?”

She smiled, “Yes, that’s me. I know you had your first hero training with All Might - how did it go?”

Mina jumped up and down, “It was SO cool!! Getting to see All Might like that! In the flesh! And getting to do some real combat!”

“It certainly was hard though,” Su commented, “And I know Midoriya got hurt again.”

She smiled, briefly looking out the window to see All Might and Izuku talking, “All Might is pretty cool, and Izuku should be just fine by tomorrow, he just needs to be more careful.”

“Whats it like- getting to be co-workers with ALL MIGHT?!” Mina squealed.

Keri laughed softly, “Well, he and I are actually good friends, so seeing him in his stupid yellow suit is just funny to me.”

Ochaco gasped and stifled a giggle about the suit, covering her mouth.

“No way!!!! You’re friends with him!?” Mina jumped.

The woman smiled, “Yes, and I’m sure as time goes on he’ll become a friend to each of you as well.” She nodded, “I’m going to head out— but if you girls ever need anything, anything at all, even if you need to vent or hide out? My door is always open.” She waved.

“Thank you Miss Chairo, ribbit.”

“Thank you! Have a good night!” Ochaco called out happily, Mina waved.

Keri walked outside, knowing the girls would still see her. Moving close she gently put her hand on All Might’s lower back. Saying something to him and then to Izuku as she bid them farewell. All Might seemed to protest before she put her hand up and smiled. They parted ways.

“Oh my gosh,” Mina gasped, “Do you think they’re totally dating?!”

[whump-town]

Heart Attack

This one goes out to whoever said “death. this is how i confess love”. 

I will write the other fic as well 

Warning: Major Character Death (rip my favorite big old idiot)

The initial weakness in his left arm is not noteworthy. The deep ache, daggers shooting from the inside of his wrist to the clavicle, are sadly not either. Chronic pain is just a part of his daily life and after the ugly, deep scars Foyet left on his forearms, not even simple movements are free. He’s always assumed Foyet put them, the long slashed scars that look nearly self-inflicted, there just for show, claiming him perhaps but certainly to maim. Doesn’t matter right much now, all he knows for certain is that it hurts and there’s nothing he can do about it.

It happens so frequently that it nearly slips his mind-- as much as pain can but what he really means is that the coffee in his hand slips. He’s standing in the kitchen, contemplating taking an Advil to at least dull the pain enough to better concentrate on the book he’s been trying to finish since Friday. “Fuck.” His left hand just releases the mug. He liked that mug. Advil it is.

His days pass in quiet contemplation. Just him and these beige walls. He misses the days that were filled by Jack’s toddling steps, rampant little footsteps, and happy squeals of delight. Coming home to the sound of some new band Jack’s conjured up and is going to torture him with for the next week until he moves on to the next. He misses Emily and Dave and having drinks on his couch. Being forced to go to Dave’s for family dinners and Emily coming by, uninvited, of course, to eat his ice cream and make fun of his documentaries.

Now he’s alone most of the time. Well, unless Jessica coming by to count to his pills counts. He doesn’t really think it should but she means well. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t just die on them but would they even notice?

Not immediately, not for a while.

Maybe if something strange happens on a case but those calls come less and less frequently. No one needs his specific knowledge. Emily is becoming an assured leader and she doesn’t even call him to fuss about the idiots that he hired and left her to deal with. He and Dave don’t really talk anymore. The best he gets, these days, is a quick update if someone gets hurt just so that he doesn’t worry if it pops up on the news.

Jack is off at college now. Hotch can’t blame him for being fairly radio silent but it does give him something to work with every few weeks when Jack does remember that he exists and sends a thousand-odd texts his way.

So, if he just… died no one would notice until Jessica’s Thursday visit. Even then, she’s just here to look at the pillbox he leaves on the counter for her easy access. She just checks what she has to and leaves. Life goes on.

As he’s crouched on his kitchen floor, mumbling very inappropriate and obscenity-ridden things, he feels that lightheaded fog encroach. Something that he really only knows from other encounters, one that he doesn’t associate with immediate danger. He takes a fist-full of medication each morning and roughly two list lightheadedness as a side-effect. While a dangerous fallout of Foyet’s stabbing is this strange platelet problem that messes with his iron. So while he sits for a moment and breathes through the feeling of his body trying to give out on him he assumes this problem is what it always is: his awful health.

He gets the coffee cleaned up with a towel but leaves the towel over the broken bits of the mug. The cartilage in his knees saw better days roughly twenty-years ago and by the time that the coffee has been contained, he can hardly stand the pain in them. So, guiding himself with a hand on the counter (then leaning on the wall and using a kitchen chair and so on and so forth until he gets to the couch) Hotch limps away from the kitchen.

He’s never been so thankful for his habitual manners as he sinks into the cozy couch and finds his heated blanket already plugged in and sitting on the lowest heat. A fire hazard? Yeah probably but if this damned blanket kills him one day then so be it. He finds some background noise in a nature documentary about penguins and closes his eyes, waiting for the blanket’s heat to soothe his old bones.

Despite how far he’s pushed himself down into the blanket, his body breaks out in a cold sweat. His chest tight and arm throbbing or maybe stabbing-- he can’t tell the difference right now just blinded by the pain. Blind and so stupid and as he sits up, shaking he’s shivering so hard, he knows what’s happening.

Haley used to dismiss his fears with soothing promises. She wouldn’t let something like this happen to him. They’d get old together “so old we start to wish one of us would just die and get it over with but every day I’ll turn over in our bed and find your craggy, old face right beside me and I know I’d still love you so much it hurts”. But Haley died before she even turned forty and he’s spent too many birthdays and anniversaries alone to know she couldn’t have meant that.

Drunk, vulnerable with the recent loss of Haley and the sudden return of Emily he’d admitted to this fear. Not just dying alone but of dying like his father-- a hated bastard on the outside with no family and no loved ones. To paint the wall with the horror in Dave and Emily’s face could stand as a solid reminder that he is loved but those faces mean nothing. The way that Emily had hugged him that night is nothing. Despite their assurances, he can feel his heart skipping beats. Painful kicks, each one.

He is alone. Gasping as he struggles to fight off his anxiety and crying through the agony ripping chest. Alone. Curled down into himself to try and find some comfort.

He manages to call 911. As he’s blinking tears from his eyelashes there’s a moment where the only number he can think of is Garcia. For years her number was his emergency number and now … He’s still thinking about her when the operator picks up but he’s losing his functions so fast. Settling back on the couch, using what’s left of his energy to tuck his feet back under his black he does his best to stay awake and hum in response to questions.

He thinks about Garcia. She’s always there, he finds, in his mind and every accident he’s had. Even during Boston despite the fact that she just joined the BAU. She’s always there and he wonders if she’ll appear this time. Talk his ear off about David Bowe but hold his hand tight enough that he never has to question if she’s really there.

Heart attacks hurt a lot worse than internal bleeding but he’d, personally, still put it under being actually stabbed.

He doesn’t hear the paramedics arrive or even feel the IV being placed in his arm. Though unconscious, he gives the faintest whimper of discontent as he’s lifted and pulled away from the couch. Not given the chance to brace for the cold winter air of March in Virginia just moving and moving fast.

“Agent Hotchner?”

He groans, turning his head from the penlight shining down in his face. Though he moves his face, he can’t escape the tight pressure across his ribs. Constricting tightly. The agent bit catches him by surprise-- he’s been “Mr” now for some time. Very few people still throw the “agent” in there.

“There you are--”

The sirens make it hard to hear. His hearing has been going for some time but if there’s one thing he can take from this encounter it might be that he should invest in the hearing aids he’s been putting off for a while now. He blinks up at the woman talking to him. Gently pumping a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and calling his name when his eyes slide back shut. He does try to stay awake but he’s in a lot of pain and he’s tired. Even retired he doesn’t get much sleep.

He’ll have to remember to tell JJ that. She’s always worried about his sleep schedule (or lack thereof) and thought, or rather hoped, his retirement would bring him the chance to finally catch up on two decades’ worth of lost sleep. She’ll be disappointed but not surprised.

It’ll give him a reason to reach out, to talk with them.

“Stay with me, Agent Hotchner.”

The world rocks and something that taste like plastic is placed over his face, wrapped around the back of his head.

“Deep breathes, you’re doing just fine.”

The cold air hits his sternum and his eye fly open, panicking as hands touch his bare skin. Oh, God. Foyet. I have to stop-- someone much stronger than him grabs his wrist. Two hands push his shoulders down into the gurney and he can’t fight. Can’t move.

“Agent Hotchner,” someone tries to calm him. “We’re trying to help you. I understand you’re in a lot of pain--”

He wants to go home. Away from the cold and the hands that keep touching him. “Dave?” he pants, turning his head and searching through the hazy mess of people. He cries softly, tears stinging his face as they slide down his face. He wants to recognize one person, to know one of the hands belongs to someone he trusts. Dave is okay. He likes it when Dave touches him. It’s calming and reassuring and he wants someone to call Dave. “Please,” he whimpers, curling his legs as he feels someone tear the worn fabric of his jeans. “No. No.”

He’s confused and he’s in pain and he wants all these people to stop touching him.

“Aaron--”

No, no he doesn’t like that. He cries out, failing to dislodge the hands as he kicks out. All his height, all the power he’s spent decades learning to command is useless. “I want to go home,” he rasps desperately. He can’t move, anymore. They’re holding him down and he can feel the drugs pumping into his arm. Too cold and too fast and it all hurts. Why are they hurting him?

“Just stay with us, Agent. We’re almost done and then--”

For the first time in nearly twenty years, all of his pain just is gone. He feels nothing for a blissful second. Around him, there’s a panic. The machines attached to him frantically going off as his heartbeat goes from rampant, wrong to gone. The pain comes back suddenly, sharper than before, and he turns his head with a moan as his lungs contract painfully. He coughs, rasping as his chest heaves.

He slips back under the haze but this time the pain stays.

He chokes as they try to intubate, fighting weekly but he’s too far gone to even move away from the touch anymore. Dave isn’t there. He wishes Dave were here. Dave always cups the side of his head, speaking in soft Italian that he’s never managed to pick up. But it’s soft and gentle and Dave. Garcia doesn’t hold his hand-- she always holds his hand. There’s not the soft scent of lavender that comes in with the hard rain that is Emily Prentiss. No one to jostle him for his carelessness and then crawl up into the bed with him. Reminding him of memories he’s nearly forgotten of when they were just kids.

No Jack.

Jack’s at college.

He comes in at 9:45 a.m.

By 10:15 a.m. there’s a doctor over his chest. A nurse makes quick work of trying to get a hold of a medical proxy. There’s a kid, he has a son, but there’s no contact information listed for him. She gets voicemail twice from the numbers that are listed.

Jessica is in a meeting. Her phone is on silent. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d had her phone. He’s thirty minutes away and his heart gives out only twenty minutes after he arrives at the hospital.

Dave is in Seattle, sitting in a puddle of rainwater and trying to contain his anger as Luke changes a tire on the SUV. His phone is too wet to work. He won’t get the news until nearly two hours later when he and Luke arrive back at the precinct. Emily will not cry for nearly a week after she gets the news. She tells Jack.

The doctors assure them that there was nothing they could have done. It was a freak accident. They always knew this was a possibility, an outcome that was very real with the amount of damage done to Aaron’s heart. It’s been broken so many times… And standing in that hospital, shivering under the intensity of the air conditioning and the white burning paint, they are left with the burden of knowing he protected them tell the very end.

But they never reciprocated that care.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Silent III

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy, Alan Tracy, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy

Part 3 of my response to @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Taste challenge. Part 1 | Part 2

So this was a real struggle to write.  I’m bad with kids and I don’t understand them, but this scene was a necessity.  In theory that’s the two hardest povs out of the way now, though, and I definitely know where part 4′s going, at least...

Virgil was dutifully filling out his homework, both for a sense of normality and because John had Looked at him in a way that expected him to do it quietly and without a fuss, please, when Scott and the little ones came home.

“We home now,” Alan said the moment Scott let go of Gordon’s hand to shut the front door.  Scott sighed, and Virgil noticed how tired their big brother looked when he wasn’t trying to smile for them – for Alan, who was still a baby and didn’t understand.

“That we are, Allie,” Scott said, leaning down and setting him on a chair so he could tug his shoes off of his feet.

“Why Gordy’s teacher say Mommy ill?” Alan asked with all the innocence of a toddler.  Virgil couldn’t help flinching, and Gordon skulked right past him.

Scott cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Shoes, please, Gordon.” The six year old immediately sat on the floor and began tugging them off half-heartedly.  Virgil abandoned his homework to help him, even though Gordon didn’t even acknowledge his help, just like he hadn’t acknowledged anything except basic instructions since they’d come home from their weekend trip with a Mom-shaped hole in their family.

“Scotty you said when we home!” Alan protested, kicking his feet.  Scott let the glancing blows land with a tight face.

“The grown-ups can’t know Mom’s not here, Allie,” he said.  “So when Gordon’s teacher asked why Mom’s not picking him up from school this week, we said she was ill.”

Free of his shoes, Gordon left the room quietly.

“So Mommy no ill?” Alan asked suspiciously.  Scott shook his head and Virgil tried to concentrate on his homework rather than the conversation with minimal success.

“No, Allie,” Scott said. “Mom’s in heaven but it’s a secret, okay?  Remember our pinky promise?”  He held out his little finger and after a moment of frowning concentration, Alan let him link with his own.  “We don’t talk about Mom.”

Alan still didn’t look convinced, but he nodded dubiously.

“Good kid,” Scott smiled weakly.  “Do you think you could sit quietly and do some colouring for me while I have that shower?”

Alan’s face scrunched up again, this time in disgust, and he nodded – although when Scott went to help him from the chair again he recoiled.

“Scotty stinky,” he groused. “Virgey help!”

Virgil’s homework wasn’t getting anywhere, and he scowled at the toddler.

“Why me?”

“Virgey no stinky,” came the flattering answer, and he looked at Scott, who shrugged with another weak smile.  All his smiles were weak at the moment, but it was still better than Virgil could do. Scott was strong like that.

“Sorry, Virgil.  My deodorant exploded all over me after gym,” he explained, and now that he mentioned it, there was a rather strong scent coming from his big brother.  “I promised Alan I’d have a shower to wash it off.”  He reached into his bag and pulled out what Virgil assumed was the can in question, shaking it and scowling.  “Urgh, and I need to get another one.  It’s all empty.”

“Well, unless you intend on making us all entirely nose-blind, go and have that shower, Scott,” John chipped in, heading for Alan and picking him up.  “I’ll watch the tiny terror while you’re gone.”  Closer to Scott than Virgil was, he also scrunched up his nose.  “It might be empty now, but it smells like it was full before it exploded on you.”

“Near enough,” Scott admitted.  “I bought it for-”  He broke off, bending down to remove his own shoes and place them by the door.  “Well, I’ll go have that shower.”

“Scotty owchie!” Alan declared suddenly, and he froze.

“Scott?” John asked, and Virgil squinted at his biggest brother.

“I’m fine,” he waved off. “Nothing to worry about.”

Virgil squinted harder.

“What did you see, Allie?” John asked, and the two year old looked thoughtful.

“Scotty cry,” he decided after a moment.  “After get Gordy.”

“I’m fine,” Scott repeated. “Just something Gordon’s teacher said, that’s all.”

John’s shoulders slumped, and Virgil with him.  Scott took that as permission to leave, vanishing up the stairs.  Virgil scrunched up his nose as his big brother walked past – that deodorant was strong.  Gross.

“Scotty owchie!” Alan insisted, and John shook his head, setting him in the chair next to Virgil and giving him some paper and pencils.

“Not that sort of owchie, Allie,” he said.  “Scott’s sad Mom’s not here, too.”

“Scotty no owchie?”

“No, Scott’s just sad, like us,” John assured him.  “Here, why don’t you do some drawing?”

Successfully distracted, Alan grabbed the pencils and started to make lines on the paper.

Virgil was ten, but Virgil wasn’t stupid.  It was a Wednesday and Scott normally had basketball practice on Wednesdays after school, but he’d said on Monday evening that he’d quit the team.  Family came first, he said.

Virgil would bet his best paints that Scott would rather be playing basketball with his friends than babysitting tonight.  John had even offered to pick up Alan and Gordon after school today, but Scott had refused.

“It’s okay, I’d rather be home with you,” he’d said.  Virgil was fairly sure he’d been lying through his teeth.

The noise of running water started, Scott thankfully wasting no time at all in getting rid of the stink of too much deodorant, and John sighed.

“Can you keep an eye on Alan for a minute?” he asked.  “I should check on Gordon.”

Gordon would be sitting on his bed, cross-legged and staring at the wall.  He wouldn’t move until they announced dinner was ready, but Virgil nodded anyway.  Maybe John would have better luck than he’d had the past two days.

From the look on his face when he came back ten minutes later, the shower water still running, John didn’t have any more luck than him at getting a response from the unnaturally quiet blond.  He didn’t say anything though, not even a comment at Scott being in the shower longer than usual – then again, who knew how long it would take to get rid of all the stink?

Virgil watched him go back into the kitchen, where pots started clanking, before turning his attention back to his own homework.  Maybe he could get it done by dinner and then John and Scott wouldn’t need to worry about him as well.

Next to him, Alan’s paper was gaining stick figures.  From the spikey colours on their heads, and the dots in their faces, it was supposed to be the six of them – five brothers plus Mom.

He looked away quickly, blinking away sudden tears.  Ten was too old to cry in front of his brothers.  Even if it hurt.

Part IV

[200story]

Dread (and Hope)

Part I

She waited.

She checked her phone. No missed calls; no new messages.

She watched the news until she couldn't anymore.  All those faces. All that pain. Strangers who seemed all too familiar but who still couldn't answer the question she really cared about.

She checked her phone. Nothing.

It got dark early. Severe, dense clouds looked down from the sky, ready to burst like the multitudes marching through the city streets. Watching the sky was as bad as watching the news. The dread, she realized, was inside her so it manifested in whatever she looked at: folded newspapers, cracked paint, sun-faded family photos.

She checked her phone. No calls. No messages.

Fear. Rage. Futility.

She hurled the phone across the room, and before it had even struck the wall, she let out one sharp, agonized sob.

She waited.

No one was coming to check on her; no one would help pick her up. Finally, she rose, retrieved her phone, screen now cracked, and turned the news back on.

Smoke. Scattered figures running. A flash from something off screen. Shouts and screams. A stammering newscaster. It was starting to rain.

Her phone rang. Emblazoned in the cracked glass, her son's name.

Part II

"Here they come."

The plaza had been slowly filling for hours, but now a tidal wave of protesters poured in from main street. He reached under the visor of his riot helmet to wipe the sweat gathered on his forehead.

"Hold this line," the captain behind him growled.  There were already reports in of property destruction from some of the fringes of the demonstration and the direct command was to put an end to the hostile presence as soon as possible.

So many faces.  So much anger.

Distant thunder.

"Disperse!"

Fingers on triggers. Clouds of gas billowed. People shrieked, ran, fell.

He never saw the brick coming.

His world spun. The surrounding noise rose and fell like crashing waves. Rough stone rushed toward him from above and he lifted his arms to defend himself, gradually realizing he'd fallen to the ground. He lifted his eyes toward heaven.  All was dark and blurry, but his vision was no longer swimming. Raindrops spattered the visor of his helmet.

A single thought: he wanted to feel the rain. His helmet fell to the ground and he looked up into a concerned face. The black man extended a hand, offering support. He took it.

Part III

“We should go,” he said, speaking so low behind his facemask that she could barely hear him above the surrounding crowds.

“What?”

He leaned closer. “We should go.”

Monica’s face twisted in shock and confusion. “What are you talking about? We’re only halfway to the statehouse”

He jerked his head in the direction of two brash, strutting men nearby, both carrying a brick in either hand. “I don’t want to be around if this is going to get ugly.”

“Hey!”

“Monica, don’t—”

Hey, brickheads,” she shouted, drawing eyes all around them, including those of the nearby men. “Yeah you,” she continued.  “You best drop those before any cops see you. We don’t need nobody starting shit today.”

But the men just laughed. “Shit’s gonna go down anyway once the cops start shooting.  Might as well be ready for it.”

“They’re gonna ruin everything,” he said. “We should go.”

She faced him with a dark scowl. “I’m done with living in fear and letting people with hate in they hearts run my life. We gotta hope, or else they win.”

The crowd surged on, billowing and charged like the dark clouds above, and he moved forward as part of it.

Part IV

“I’m trying to get out of here, but I don’t know how.”

It was chaos. He’d seen people with upraised hands being pepper sprayed, cars burning, rubber bullets striking fleeing protesters.

“I’m trying, mom,” he said. “I’m trying to come home. I love you.”

Hanging up, he peeked out from between the cars that sheltered him. Groups were fleeing down First Street unimpeded. Walls of police blockaded every other road out of the plaza. He started running.

Shouts. Smashing glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a lone police officer crumple after being struck by a brick.

He slowed.

No more fear, he thought. No more hate.

He turned and ran to the injured man’s side. Confused, grateful eyes looked up at him. The man took his hand and rose. “Thank you,” the officer rasped.

Then he was plummeting. The ground slammed into his back, and two helmeted officers stood over him menacingly. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes were burning. With a scream, he turned away from the pepper spray and tried to crawl, but clubs striking his back sent him back to the ground.

Wet asphalt.

Cold handcuffs.

Deep, deep pain.

Part V

A mother waits. Her son has not come home, and there have been no more calls.

A mayor reads the tweets of protesters while the evening news plays in the background. There’s a press conference tomorrow, but how can he possibly justify what’s happening? And what will they say if he backs down now?

An officer sits in his squad car outside the station.  He should go home and recover from the day’s trauma. He should not go to sleep due to his minor concussion. He should say something. He should not rock the boat. He should protect his fellow officers. He should protect the innocent. He should have ignored his orders. He should do something. But what?

A young woman clutches the hands of strangers and tries not to cry. In a darkened room, they wait for the National Guard to move through the neighborhood. The elderly man who opened his home to protesters shuffles among them, handing out water bottles, tissues, encouragement.

The most powerful man in the world rages against what he cannot control.

A young man with cracked ribs and red eyes leans his head against the wall of his jail cell and tries to hope.

Hope: an Epilogue

He was quiet, and she was worried. "You don't have to come today."

"And waste this sign?" he said, shocked. "Are you kidding?"

She studied him, trying to figure out if he was really as confident as he acted. She could see dry scabs on his hands and his chin and knew that there were deep bruises all over his back. He was still moving a bit slowly, a bit stiffly, and he would wince whenever he took a deep breath. The protest was marching to the statehouse again today. The same place the police had given him those injuries.

"I'm just saying, no one would blame you if you were scared about—"

A gentle smile made her pause. Such a warm, unexpected expression. He stepped close, taking her hands in his. "I'm doing what you said. No more fear. No more hate. If I have hope, they can't hurt me in any way that matters."

Together, they walked into bright sunlight, stepping almost immediately into a stream of protesters. There was anger on faces, but also resolve, love, and even joy. He lifted a sign above his head. In large black letters, he'd written, Today is a New Day.