#me that i am terrified of feeling [survivors guilt hits me right in the fucking heart] and im scared. of what? don't know

[soap-is-an-artist]

Hooray... it's 7 in the morning and I stayed up all night listening to the imperium... I feel so happy and satisfied with my life choices...

I am feeling very much not cowabunga, dude

[SEVERE rambling in tags]

[winter-soldier-vibes]

avenger!reader who suffers from depression and is really hard on herself/themself and blames themself after a mission went wrong and locks themselves out, bucky is worried abt them and comforts them

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count:3102 (wow I went off the rails a bit huh 😅)

Warnings: self-blame, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks, breakdown, lots of tears, this one’s really angsty, flashbacks, some fluff/comfort but so much angst

A/N: I loved this request and had a great time writing it. This one’s a lil more angsty than I usually do and deals with some heavier themes than some of my other ones, so please take care of yourself and heed the warnings. I love you guys so much!

There was nothing you could have done.

You were the first off the quinjet, anxious to get out of the unbearable silence.

You kept your head down as you walked quickly to your room, trying to make as little noise as possible, stumbling to get into your room as fast as possible, locking the door behind you as you let the tears fall.

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stave off your breakdown as you tried to keep taking even breaths.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you said in a small voice.

“Yes?” the AI responded.

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice even. “Turn on soundproofing, please.”

“As you wish. I am picking up on signs of distress, would you like me to call Sergeant Barnes?”

You shook your head violently at the thought of anyone, especially your boyfriend seeing you like this. “No.”

“Are you sure? Would you like me to call -”

“Don’t let anyone in this room.”

“As you wish, Y/n.”

You heard a noise indicating that the room had been soundproofed.

And you lost it.

You brought a hand to your face and sank back against the wall, shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You pushed yourself back against the wall, trying to ground yourself. Your mind flashed back to the mission you had just returned from and you let out an agonizing scream.

You’ll never forget the looks on their faces.

“Y/n, come on we have to go!”

“Wait - no I almost have them!”

“Help us - please - no don’t go!”

Blood curdling screams that didn’t belong to you, followed by your own.

A building had collapsed on an innocent family in the aftermath of the fight. You tried to get them out, but you were too late, Steve pulling you away at the last second before you were taken out too.

You were so angry, you had been so close - if you had seen them sooner, if you had just a few more seconds, maybe you could’ve gotten them out.

The last thing that they saw was their only hope being pulled away from them before being suffocated.

You were the last thing they saw, you had promised to get them out.

And you had lied to them.

The last thing they felt was hope that they’d see another day. No - the last thing they felt was betrayal and fear when they realized that one of the world’s greatest heroes couldn’t be their hero too.

The moments that had followed were a blur, your eyes frozen on where their eyes had been, shock coursing through your veins. You had seen someone die before but...not like that. Not when you could’ve maybe saved them.

The shock quickly bubbled into anger as you turned to Steve.

“Why the FUCK would you do that? I could’ve saved them!”

“You would’ve died Y/n!”

“If you hadn’t been distracting me then maybe I would’ve gotten them out in time!”

You had angry tears in your eyes, hitting Steve’s chest and doing exactly nothing to his broad form while he tried to console you.

“Get the fuck away from me! I could’ve saved them, this is YOUR fault.”

The ride back was silent. No one dared to talk to you about what had happened. You felt bad after a while but you couldn’t apologize without completely crumbling. If you opened your mouth you were certain that sobs would come rather than words.

You did feel horrible for what you said, because it wasn’t true. It wasn’t Steve’s fault.

It was yours.

So you waited until you returned to the privacy of your room, screaming bloody murder over the guilt you felt. Replaying what had happened, telling yourself everywhere you had gone wrong, every hesitation that could’ve given you an extra few seconds.

You felt like you’d never stop seeing their eyes, paralyzed by fear.

You were the last thing they saw, and now you would remember their last moment for the rest of yours.

You couldn’t imagine the amount of pain and fear they had felt when they realized they weren’t getting out of the rubble alive. That they would die as a part of a warzone they didn’t intend to be a part of. The feeling of hope draining from their bodies, blood running cold as they realized they had mere seconds left.

“No!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, body curling in on itself as you drew your knees in and wrapped your arms around your torso, sick to your stomach.

This was your fault, and you would never forget it.

---

The rest of the team had sighed as they watched you get off the quinjet, walking a bit too fast to be alright. They shared concerned looks with each other, watching your form disappear into the compound.

You weren’t okay, but after what had happened when Steve tried to approach you, they thought it best to give you some space.

The rest of them entered the compound, going their separate ways as Steve sat to down and ran a hand down his face, trying to get his mind off of what had happened. He was shaken up too, but he couldn’t lose you like that. You would die protecting strangers, and while he thought that was noble, he wondered when there wouldn’t be someone to pull you out in time.

Bucky had come down to check on you, knowing that the team had gotten back from a mission. But before he could knock on the door, F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke. “Sergeant Barnes, Y/n has requested that she not be disturbed.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, both in concern and confusion. Usually when a mission hit you hard, you would talk to him about what had happened. So either you were just tired, or this was worse than it had ever been.

He clenched his jaw and stood there for another few moments before he walked away, heading towards anyone who may be able to tell him what happened on the mission.

He came into the common room, seeing Steve doing a mission report. Well - the mission report was in front of him and he was staring blankly at it.

“Steve?” Bucky said softly, trying not to startle him.

Steve didn’t look up.

“Steve,” Bucky said a little louder.

Steve looked up from the papers, shaking his head slightly. “Hey, Buck. What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, taking in Steve’s tired appearance and how his mind seemed elsewhere.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve said, barely looking at Bucky.

“You know, I’ve taken care of enough black eyes from mister back-alley hero to know when you’re not really fine.” Bucky said with a small smirk.

Steve’s eyes flicked up to Bucky’s as he sighed. “It’s not me you should be worried about,” he muttered.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

Steve recounted the mission to his friend, Bucky getting increasingly concerned about you. He knew you had a tendency to blame yourself for different things, and he knew what blaming yourself for someone’s death was like, even if you couldn’t control the situation.

Bucky was brainwashed. You were too late. Two different things, but the survivor's guilt was excruciating.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asked nervously.

“She didn’t get hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Steve started, “but she seemed pretty shaken up. You haven’t talked to her?”

“She doesn’t want to be bothered,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded. “Just give her some time,” he said, worriedly.

Bucky nodded, though unconvinced. He bottled up his emotions until the two of you met. Ever since the two of you never kept anything from each other. And he knew that seeing someone die and feeling at fault for it could destroy you. He wasn’t sure if time and space was what you needed.

But it was what you wanted right now. So he wouldn’t get in the way.

----

Back in your room you were curled in a ball on the floor, sobs wracking your body as you lost all sense of time and space and all you knew was it hurt and if you closed your eyes they were right there and you couldn’t do anything about it. You had a hand pressed to your chest as you tried to breathe but eventually gave way to a new surge of agony when your mind went back to how people died and you couldn’t help them.

You tried to calm down but then your mind would remind you that they had a family and they would never see them again and it was your fault.

“Stop, please just stop,” you put your hands over your ears as you tugged slightly on your hair.

They died terrified.

“Please make it stop,” you sobbed.

You were supposed to help them and you failed.

“No, God, please stop…”

They died because of you

----

You had fallen asleep on the floor at some point, when, you weren’t sure, but you woke up to your own screams. You were drenched in a cold sweat, dried tears on your face and chest heaving as you tried to breathe. You brought your hands to your mouth when you realized it was just a dream, sobbing once again.

You didn’t know why these people’s death was hitting you harder than any other death you had seen. This wasn’t the first time you had seen people die - far from it. You’d killed your fair share of agents without a hint at remorse. Because they deserved it.

You’d seen buildings burn down, fall apart, innocent people die - but you’d never felt as responsible as you did this time. Because they were right there. And you were so close.

But they still died and you saw their last moments. And you were theirs.

And it was destroying you.

----

You didn’t leave your room the following day. Or the day after that.

Needless to say, the team was extremely worried about you. Especially Bucky.

He knew what survivor’s guilt could do to a person, and he knew being alone with your thoughts wasn’t helping. He also knew that pushing the topic could do much more harm than good, causing you to retreat further into yourself.

He tried texting you, wanting to let you know that he was there for you, that he was worried about you, and that he loved you.

None of them went though because your phone was off, you having not even looked at it since coming back from the mission.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was still telling everyone that you did not want to be disturbed, as you had requested. Obviously Tony had the power to override the locks, but again, no one wanted to push you.

When it had been 3 days since you had seen any sunlight, Bucky had had enough. He knew you couldn’t be taking proper care of yourself and he couldn’t let you do that to yourself. He had Tony override your locks and he came to your door, knocking gently.

“Y/n?”

Silence.

He knocked again, a little louder. “Y/n? I’m coming in, alright?”

Silence.

Bucky took a deep breath before he opened your door slowly, peeking his head in. it was the middle of the afternoon and your room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway and from the cracks between the shades, which were drawn shut.

Bucky let himself in and turned on a lamp, shutting the door behind him. He looked at you with worried eyes as he took in your appearance.

You were pressed up against the headboard of your bed, knees drawn to your chest as you stared blankly, your eyes fixated on your bedsheets. Your eyes were red, face blotchy, your hair was a mess and you were still wearing your uniform from the mission.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly, voice raspy from yelling these past few days.

“Y/n -”

“Get out,” you said quietly, though not angrily.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, y/n.”

“Please,” you said, cursing yourself as your voice cracked. You didn’t want to breakdown in front of Bucky.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.”

You pushed yourself off of the bed, shaking your head. “I’m not doing this right now, Bucky.”

“You’re going to have to talk about it at some point, y/n.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“This kind of thing isn’t going to go away, okay? Time heals but not by itself.” You weren’t listening as you ran a hand over your face, overwhelmed.

“Please, talk to me y/n. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“This isn’t fine. Not taking care of yourself and living in the dark staring at the wall isn’t fine, y/n. Please, don’t hide from me. It’s just me, y/n.”

You shook your head, eyes glazed over like glass. “I could’ve saved them.” you said simply.

“Y/n, there was nothing -”

“BULLSHIT!” You yelled. “There had to have been something I could do, if I had gotten there earlier or - or if I had moved faster or been stronger then I could’ve gotten them out! It’s my fault they’re dead okay? I couldn’t save them and that’s my fault!”

Bucky walked over to you slowly, asking you to look at him. “It isn’t your fault, y/n. The building collapsed, no one could’ve gotten them out.”

“I could have saved them.” you said again, tears falling down your face. “I could have gotten them out. I was the last thing they saw and you know what I was doing? Being carried away like some coward. They died afraid because a superhero couldn’t save them. And that’s on me.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “You can’t save everyone, y/n.”

“So what, am I supposed to choose? I’m supposed to choose whether I save people or move on because they aren’t part of the mission? Am I supposed to let them die?” you asked incredulously.

“You can’t risk your own life like that, y/n.”

“What? And pretend like my life is any more important than theirs?!” you exclaimed.

“Y/n -”

“No, why do I have the right to walk away from people because I’m afraid of getting hurt when they’re about to die? What gives me that right?”

“Because I can’t lose you!” Bucky exclaimed. “Yes, those people matter, but goddamn it y/n, you have helped so many people and you will keep saving so many people, but you can’t do that if you’re dead. We help who we can and mourn the rest. It’s not your fault that those people died. There was nothing that you could have done.”

“But if I had a few more seconds -”

“The building still would have fallen and you’d be asking yourself for a few more seconds. There is nothing you or anyone else could’ve done.”

You stayed silent, more tears falling from your eyes. Bucky pulled you in for a hug as your shoulders started to shake with more sobs. “I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it’s not your fault.”

“I can’t stop seeing the look they had on their faces,” you shook your head. “Everytime I try to sleep I see them and I can’t make it go away. And I want to forget but I don’t deserve to and it hurts but I don’t deserve to forget.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky said, knowing all too well what being haunted by the fear on someone’s face was like. “But it’s not your fault. You didn’t let them die, y/n. You would’ve given anything to save them, if Steve hadn’t pulled you away you would’ve died with them. You didn’t run away even though you knew you would die if you stayed. You do know that right?”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” Bucky said softly. You felt new tears fall from your eyes as you hid your face into Bucky’s chest.

“You can’t tell me that nothing could be done. You can’t tell me that innocent people were going to die and that’s the way it has to be. That isn’t fair,” you spoke through your tears.

Bucky pulled back to wipe the tears from your face and look you in the eyes. “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you did everything in your power to save them. It’s not your fault that you got there too late. Those HYDRA agents who destroyed the city - it’s their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect people,” you said as you shrugged and shook your head slightly. “If I can’t do that then what am I?”

“A person who is trying their best. You don’t always have to be everyone’s hero. You don’t have to take responsibility for everyone, that’s too much to expect of anyone. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone because you can’t. But you’ve saved so many people that would’ve died if you weren’t there. You are so important, but you have to stay alive to help more people.”

You took a shaky breath. “Those people were going to die no matter what,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Bucky. Your chest tightened again and you felt sick. “Oh my God,” you said, the acceptance of the fact brought on a new wave of emotions as your knees felt weak.

Bucky pulled you back into his chest again, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “It’s not your fault, y/n.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” you sobbed against his chest.

“Because you have a good heart.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I don’t want one if it means it’s going to hurt this much.”

“It’s okay, y/n. It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

“Please make it stop. I don’t want it to hurt anymore.”

Bucky felt tears sting his own eyes at your pain, holding you tighter against him. He cleared his throat before saying “I can’t make it go away. But I’m here to hold you and do everything I can to make it better. I’m not going anywhere y/n.”

He held you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

--------

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[orenjikaraka]

I Just Can’t Take It Anymore…

The trickster (Ji woon hak) x reader angst

Author note: I barely know Korean so please understand that some words are google translate and I know google sometimes doesn't work ;(, Also I feel like if Ji woon was in that realm for a while, he would start learning English more better, because many survivors are from around the world. Also I made it realistic, so if someone dies they die :).

Part 2

Warnings: cursing, gore, vomiting, murder, angst

Word count: 2027

Ji Woon woke up, he sit up and looked around his surroundings, “못쓰게 만들다 (fuck)”, his hands were squeezed tight, his knuckles were turning white, “why am I still here…” his body was shaking, “I… don’t want hurt anyone anymore… why can’t I leave from this nightmare”, dirt was digging into his nails, his vision was getting fuzzy and his ears were ringing, but until he heard the entity, he snapped out of his thoughts, and heard voices, telling him if he doesn’t move, he’ll be punished. So he stood up quivering and picked up his bat from the dirty floor, when he got situated and try to calm himself, because the entity was watching him, whispering to murder the people around him, but the entity was disappointed by how’s he’s acting, so one of it’s claws were on his throat, whispering ‘murder, murder, murder’ like a broken record, Ji woon had a idea, he grabbed his hair with his free and faked chaotic laughed, to make the entity think he’s still the attendantic murder from the very beginning, the entity slowly disappears into the mist, leaving Ji woon alone, then he ended his acting, and continued to shake, “ok… ok… let’s get this over, and… and maybe I can finally leave this place…” he chuckled with slight relief.

—-

When ji Woon found his first survivor, he was running away from him, he gave fake chaotic laughs and was chasing after him, he wanted to show the entity, that he was insane, he threw his kunais at his legs, so he won’t walk, the man pleads were making his ears ring, ‘how did I get aroused by this…’ it wanted to make him puke, that he even think it like that way, hearing there pleads in his music and screams, was like something was calling inside for him, but now, murdering people over and over and over again, slowly didn’t aroused him anymore and all the attention before was slowly departing too, he just wanted run away just like these survivors, Ji Woon slowly walk up to the poor man, and slowly lifted his bat up and ready to strike his neck, “죄송 해요… (I’m sorry)”

Snap

Was all he heard, by the hit of the bat to the bone, he was shaking and he pulled his bat out of the nape, he tried to slow his breathing and went to the next person, while he was walking he could see a woman fixing a Generator, it sounds like it was almost done, so he put his bat on his back, and grab one of his kunais, he aimed it at her throat and it successfully slit her throat, she stopped her hands from fixing her generator, and put her hands on her throat, she was gagging, Ji woon dropped his kunais, and started to cover his ears, his quivering was worsening, and he dunk his head low, so he wouldn’t see, what was happening in front of him, he “tried” to calm himself down, but got it significantly worse, “please… make it stop… please…”, the entity was appearing behind him, ready to punish him again, its claws we’re getting close to his neck again, telling him lies, whispering ‘if you murder the rest, you’ll be free…’ ‘you’ll get rewarded, after this trial’ ‘you can see your father again… don’t you want that…’ “나의 아버지… (my father)”

Ji woon’s laughter got ragged, and everytime he laughed it sounded forced, he got his baseball bat from his back and his tears were still spilling out, that made his eyeliner smear, but he made sure that he looked like a psychopath, the entity disappears again, into the mist it goes…

When he walking away from the corpse, he felt like someone else was watching him, instead of the entity, he felt a woman’s presence, from behind him, he looked back, but all he saw was the corpse from before, he gulped and kept walking forward and found the next survivor, he was cleansing a totem, the man turned around terrified, “let’s makes this quick…” his lips quivered, he raised his bat shakily, but before he raised his shaky bat, the man kicked him in the shin and scattered, “nnnnghhh, 못쓰게 만들다… (fuck)”, the man ran into a dead end, and Ji Woon was behind him, he kneeled down, begging for mercy, “please… don’t make this hard as it is…”, Ji Woon said, he clenched his hands on his baseball bat, the guy in front of him, at this point was sobbing and pleading for his forgiveness, Ji Woon closed his eyes “shut up… shut up… SHUT UP…”, he strike his baseball bat, at his head, and smashed it, the man was screaming for mercy, “shut up!” And smashed it again… again… and… again… until his face was not even noticeable anymore. Ji Woon opened his eyes and was terrified on what the results were, he felt like vomiting, he drop his baseball bat, and put hands on his mouth, for him to stop his vomiting, he swallowed the gross liquid down his throat, he was hyperventilating, “Make it stop… make it stop…” his voice sound so hoarse, he fell back and he put his hands threw his hair, he was digging threw his scalp, “please… I just can’t take it anymore… I just want to go home…” his body was shaking really badly, his hyperventilating was worsening, it was dead silent and all he could hear was his wipering, until he heard some footsteps, right when he felt a hand touch his shoulder, he freaked out, “LEAVE ME ALONE!” He turned back and got a better look at the person in front of him, his shaking was slowly calming down, when he noticed it was a woman, and not the entity, “hey… shhh… hey… everything is going to be ok…” “stay away from me… I… I don’t want to hurt you…” (Y/N) slowly got closer, but he flinched, “please, please, please… I don’t want to hurt you…” (Y/N) felt guilt in her chest, why is she feeling this way, he is a murder, but in past trials, he wasn’t like this, but why now, he’s like lost pup, running away from a pack of wolfs, “hey, trickster, everything going to be ok” her calming voice sound so angelic, he gulped, “can I help you…” he slowly nodded his head, he look so scared, she slowly walked up to him and put her hands in front of him, he look at her like she was mad, she nodded and had the smallest smile, his lips were quivering, but he tried to force a smile, he slowly put his hands on hers, and she slowly lifted him up.

She got a better look at him, his weight looks slightly skinnier than he was before, he had scars around his abandon, around his body was also bruises, ‘is he hurting himself or is the entity doing this to him…’, she looked at his face and his eyeliner was smearing, “hey… everything going to be ok…”, she started to put her fingers in his hair to rub his sore scalp, his body finally stopped quivering, he leaned into her touch, it was quite gentle, he missed this feeling, how his father would help him sleep, when he was a small child, “thanks…” he gave another smile, but it wasn’t forced, she smiled back, “can… I hug you…” Ji Woon said in a shaky breath, she was hesitant, but, “sure…” he felt some guilt railing up to his heart, she sounded so scared, he slowly hugged her, she hugged him back, she was rubbing small circles on his back for more comfort, he slowly let go of her, he looked at her, she was gorgeous, she like a angel that fell out of heaven, how is someone so beautiful like you here. In this dreadful place, “hey… let’s leave…” that shook him, “I can’t…” “let’s try��” his lips were quivering, “I- I can’t” “I know but I want to help you… so let’s just try” she was so calm and clear to understand, “but-“, “let’s at least try” Ji Woon wanted to push her away and then just get punished by the entity, but maybe he can try again, he never walked out with someone else, “ok…” it was barely a whisper, she then offered her hand and he hesitantly grab onto hers, and she walked to the gate, “wait, don’t you need to finish all the generators” “I… I finished every generator, while you were killing the… others…”

When they got to the door, she let go of his hand, and pulled down the lever, it was charging up, but right when it hit 99 percent, he lifted her hand, “it’s not gonna work… just open the gate, and leave me here so I can get punished-“ “NO, we’re getting out of this together” she snatched her hand back and pulled the lever down, the bells were ringing, telling everyone to leave this place, she grab his hand and dragged him along, while she walked, she got out from the other side, but when she was walking, she halted, she couldn’t move any further, she looked back and saw entity fences, that made Ji Woon couldn’t move any further, “see… I- I can’t move any further…” his voice was cracking, he was quivering again, so she tried pulling on his arm, but he couldn’t move from that damn line, “trickster, try pushing I can’t do this all by my-“ “IM TELLING YOU, I CAN'T GO ANY FURTHER, JUST LEAVE” “but-“ “JUST LEAVE” she was sobbing, Ji woon felt horrible, he shouldn’t yell at her, she is just trying to help, and why is someone that he just meet making him feel like this, “NO, I'M NOT LEAVING YOU” (Y/N) ran back into the line, and Ji Woon turned around “what are you doing!” “I’m trying to save you!” He had a slight blush, “but-“ she hugged him and tried pushing him through the line, the entity was clawing through the door, he started to panic, “let… go…” his voice was hoarse, ''no”, ''please… let go…” his tears were dropping on her head, “no…”, “let go, please, you're gonna die…” “I don’t care, I- I feel your pain and I want to help you…” she was sobbing, and it hurts to see someone he just meet, care about him so freaking much, the only person that actually cared so much of him was his father, so, he did the unexpected, and lifted her up, “what- what are you-“ he threw her back into the safe route, he turned around and faced the entity, “NO” she said, he looked back with a small and present smile, “oh, my name is Ji Woon, and thanks for being here for me, maybe we can see each other again, in are next trial” his smile was so pure, despite all fuck up shit, that’s been happening in this cursed realm, “no…” she stood back up and ran to him, and hugged him, “I… just can’t leave you…” Ji Woon saw the entity stopped, the second to final bell ring, telling them, they only had a couple seconds left, “why… are you… so nice to me…”, “because I want to help people that been through so much pain, and relieve them, to not be in that pain anymore”, his heart just flutter, he turned around to pick her up again, she felt how fast his heart was pumping on her chest, she liked how warm he is, he felt so good to touch, it makes her fear go away, Ji Woon was at the line again, ‘let’s try this again’, and right when he stepped on the line, the entity fences didn’t appear, he can pass through, he was relieved that he can pass through, there was tears of joy in his eyes, so he ran…

While holding the most beautiful woman in his arms, he can finally be human again…

[auroracalisto]

lotus flower

summary: escaping an abusive relationship was difficult.  rushing to a camp in the middle of nowhere to escape your husband shouldn’t have been as terrifying as it turned out to be.

pairing: xavier plympton x reader x chet clancy, reader x abusive husband named roger

word count: 1.5k words

warnings: abuse, physical abuse and mental abuse, mentions of abuse and physical depictions of what happened, ahs 1984, canon typical situations 

a/n: idk if i’ll actually continue this bc idk if it will do well.  however, i wanted to see the response i would get and i really liked writing this in general soooo.  also, for the title, just look up the meaning of a lotus flower :) you’ll understand if you don’t already.  

You were running.  From him.  From your past.  From the nakedness that now adorned your ring finger.  And that’s how you ended up at Camp Redwood, as a counselor.  It was a job, far away from Roger.  As much as you had wished you could have stayed and not uproot your entire life, you knew that staying there was dangerous.

The fading bruises on your stomach were proof of that.

You had heard about the position through the newspaper—the only survivor of the 70′s massacre wanted to open it up to try and create some good memories there.

Miles away and deep in the forest was your best bet of avoiding your abusive husband.

So you called and inquired about the job—you weren’t even interviewed hardly.  The woman asked your name and said you were accepted.  All you had to do was show up the day before the kids were supposed to be there.  It would be you and a couple other counselors, but there weren’t that many kids—you wouldn’t be bombarded by everything.

You had hardly been out of your car for five minutes when Margaret led you over to Bertie.

“While we wait for the others to arrive, maybe you can help Bertie,” she said, giving you a smile.  “I’ll be back.”

She didn’t wait long before she rushed off, leaving you alone with the chef.  You gave her an awkward smile.

“Hi...”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, balancing her cigarette between her teeth as she talked.  “Here,” she moved to grab a crate full of bread.  “Take this inside for me?”

You immediately did as you were asked, taking the crate as soon as she handed it to you.  She took notice of your shakiness, but she didn’t comment on it, much like she didn’t comment on the multiple scars you had lining your bare arms.

Bertie took in a couple more things with you, only taking a break to light another cigarette.

"And this is Chef Bertie," Margaret said, walking up alongside of quite a few other people. You stood by her truck, looking at the people as they all came around. "A Camp Redwood veteran."

"Dibs," a man with blonde hair and a blue shirt quickly spoke. He smiled over at his friends, clearly joking.

"You wouldn't know what to do with it if you got it, handsome," Bertie spoke, smirking over at the man.

You couldn't help but laugh at Bertie, quickly placing a hand over your mouth.

"And who are you?" the blonde quickly asked, raising an eyebrow.

You averted your gaze.

"She's another counselor. She got here earlier in the day. [Your name]'s car was the one you parked beside of," Margaret said.

"Oh, so the one Xavier here almost hit with his door?" a blonde girl grinned, crossed her arms over her chest.

Xavier's eyes widened and he looked back at her. "I did not!"

Bertie rolled her eyes, holding up a crate of eggs. "Put those scrawny arms to work and help a lady fill her pantry. All of you, grab a crate. This heat is a killer," she spoke, sighing softly as she removed her cigarette. "You don't have to carry anymore, [Your name]—"

"—I can," you smiled over at the woman. You moved to take a crate which looked as though it had been filled with bottles of spices, sugars, and flour.

The man beside of Xavier had taken the crate of eggs.

A guy with brown hair came up beside of you, his arm brushing against yours as he grabbed a crate himself. He blushed but couldn't help himself from smiling at you.

"Sorry," he said.

You gave a hesitant smile, moving to walk back into the dining hall when Margaret began to speak again.

"Chef Bertie here worked here when I was a counselor. We are so blessed to have her with us."

Bertie continued to talk while everyone else carried in crates. You stayed inside, putting things where they needed to go—it wasn't that hard to figure out things. Of course, you avoided putting up things like spices. You didn't know if she liked them organized a certain way. As you walked back out, you couldn't help but overhear Bertie.

"I'm sorry that one bad apple ruined it for everyone. Minute I heard Margaret was reopening this place," she said, waving her hand, "I was the first to volunteer."

Margaret looked at everyone and breathed through her nose. "Alright. Let's continue with our tour. [Your name], come along with us. You haven't seen everything yet."

You gave a small nod and hesitantly followed along, looking at the group of people. They all seemed pretty friendly with each other.

The lot of you walked along towards the showers. Margaret was set on showing you all everything.

"Girls shower in the AM, boys in the PM. Same goes for counselors, too."

Eventually, your walk lead you to the cabins.

Margaret eventually left you all alone, and you stayed in the girls cabin.  The boys ended up sticking around, talking with the girls that they clearly knew.  You sat on your claimed bed, looking through your suitcase.  You purse your lips, half-listening to their conversation, half-not even paying attention to what you were looking for.  

“Hey,” the same boy who bumped into you earlier spoke.  “[Your name], right?”

You looked up, seeing him standing right in front of you.  Your eyes widened but you nodded.  

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m Chet,” he grinned.  “Mind if I?” he pointed to the spot beside of you.  

You nodded in response.  Chet sat down beside of you on your bed, handing you an unopened can of beer.  

“Uh, no thank you,” you said, shaking your head.  “I’ve... seen enough alcohol to last me a lifetime.”

“Seen—“ he stopped himself, nodding slightly as he watched you.  “Alright.  Well, why don’t you come join us?  I promise, we don’t bite,” he chuckled softly.  “We’re gonna turn on the TV.  Don’t be a loner,” he said.  “We’ll be here all summer anyway.  Might as well get to know each other now.”

You nodded, knowing he was right.  “Uh, okay,” you said, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.  

Chet continued to smile in your direction.  He stood up, holding his hand out to you.  “Come on,” he said.  

A feeling in your gut was screaming at you to just stay put.  But you reached out to take his hand, knowing that for the first time in several years, you could do so without someone waiting to ridicule you for it.  

Chet smiled even more once you took his hand and he lead you over to the couch.  

Everyone introduced themselves to you, making sure they knew your name correctly as well.  

The flirtatious blonde looked over at you, his eyes set in a glare.  

“You better not think about stealing Bertie from me.”

Your eyes widened and you felt your cheeks burn.  “I would never—”

“Mhm,” Xavier rolled his eyes.  “I saw how you looked at her.  If I were her, I would have looked at you the same way.”

“Wow, Xavier,” scoffed Ray.  “Give it a rest, will you?”

“What?” Xavier laughed, keeping his eyes on you.  “I mean it, though.  You’re like super fucking hot,” he said.

You averted your gaze, guilt swelling in your chest.  This was wrong.  You were married.  To a piece of shit asshole, after all.  Your marriage to him didn’t matter.  Especially now that you were so far away.  You didn’t have to feel guilty.  You didn’t have to feel like you were going to get in trouble.  No one here knew of your past, and they would never know as long as you never said anything.  

After a moment of thinking of what to say, you looked back up at Xavier with a smile.  

“You’re not too bad, yourself,” you said.  

Xavier let out a triumphant laugh, grinning.  “Sweet,” he breathed out, looking you up and down.  Montana slapped his arm and he leaned back where he sat, rolling his eyes at her.  “Can you not hit me again?  Please?  That kind of hurt.”

Chet cleared his throat as he looked at you.  You quickly turned to face him, hoping that he didn’t think it was wrong of you to say so.

“He’s definitely not lying,” Chet spoke.  “You’re super fucking pretty.  I, uh, don’t want you to settle on him just yet,” he grinned, leaning against his hand as his elbow rested against the couch.  

You couldn’t help from your own laugh escaping you.  “Don’t worry, Chet.  He’s not the only cute guy here,” you said, locking eyes with his.  You noticed his blush right off the bat, but you didn’t say anything about it.  

You were glad you were here.  This was good.  It would be good.  It had to be good.  But what you didn’t know was that your hopeful thoughts were far too good to be true.  

[lesetoilesfous]

For DWC: "These chains never leave me, I keep dragging them around" from the Florence prompt list for Anders/Fenris?

Ah I had so much fun with this, thank you! I hope I did it justice!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical graphic depictions of violence, Anders was right, anti-chantry, graphic reference to infanticide, Tevinter is awful, graphic reference to abortion, oblique reference to sexual assault, self-hatred, mention of self-harm, suicidal ideation. Basically post-Danarius, and all that entails. Characters dealing with trauma, PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Rating: Mature

It’s been one week, two days and three hours since Fenris killed Danarius. He is sitting with Hawke and her friends in her mansion, because he had not been able to conceal his discomfort when they’d visited The Hanged Man, unable to remove from his recent memory the stain of blood on the floorboards and the sting of his sister’s betrayal. Corff had, at least, worked a miracle with the former. As far as the latter was concerned - Fenris did not think that Isabela was the only one who’d noticed him startling in the Lowtown crowd at the sight of every redheaded elf. The trait was, blessedly, a rare one. There was that, at least.

In the beautiful marble fireplace, Hawke’s fire roars loud and red, crackling with heat that licks gold light over the sandy, muscular back of her mabari, half asleep on the wine purple rug laid over the stone. Sandal is humming somewhere in one of the rooms nearby, and occasionally, under the loud sound of Hawke’s voice and her companions’ laughter, Fenris can make out the soft sound of Bodahn talking to his son. Orana, of course, is inaudible. She knows better. 

Fenris bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and drinks deeply from his cup. The wine in it is thick and rich and velvet. Fenris can feel Marian’s eyes on him, but he can also see, from the corner of his eye, the way that her muscular arm is looped casually around Isabela’s shoulders. As he lowers his cup, he catches the way that Isabela tilts her head back, thick black hair falling over Marian’s tunic as she brushes her lips against her ear. He can see the way Marian flushes. 

Fenris gets to his feet, and by the fireplace Dog raises her great sandy head. He gives her a small, calming gesture, and next to the low table onto which they’ve scattered their cards, Marian frowns at him. “Fenris?”

Fenris motions vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “I need some water.” He tries to ignore the eyes of his companions on him as he goes. Instead, he leaves the warm, firelit parlour and walks into the cold, empty rooms not baked gold by fireplaces. Fenris feels his shoulders lower as soon as he gets to the second room, standing in the grey and black dusty shadow of an utterly deserted music room. Through the narrow stone windows of the Amell Estate, he can see the deep black sky of Kirkwall, scattered with stars. Houses fall like broken marble down towards the sea, which crashes with a distant roar against the cliffs. At the edge of the horizon, moonlight races silver across the waves. Fenris stares at it, and thinks about being a younger man, on an island, thinking that it would be the last thing he ever saw.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

Fenris whirls on instinct, limbs moving with muscle memory as the lyrium sewn into his skin sets his nerve endings on fire and he plunges his hand into the intruder’s chest. In the dark, Anders’ blonde hair is grey and silver. If he’s bothered by the pain about which Fenris’ victims had so often complained to him before their grisly demise, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he raises his eyebrows at Fenris over the wrist plunged into his chest. Fenris squeezes his fingers, and feels the frantic, shuddering jerk of Anders’ heart in his palm, the warm, wet sensation of it dulled by the distance of the Fade.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Anders breathes out, a long, shuddering breath that belies his calm demeanour. Fenris had not previously thought him capable of such a poker face. His heart beats in Fenris’ hand like a bird, struggling. “I don’t know.” Anders meets his eyes, and in the dark his are almost black, but his blonde eyelashes are gilded silver by the moon. “I guess I trust you.”

Fenris’ fingers uncurl around Anders’ heart, and the mage’s shoulders lower from where they’d been scraping his ears. Fenris’ gaze falls to his long, crooked fingers, but there’s no telltale spark of magic there. Slowly, Fenris withdraws his hand, watching it fade through the frayed fabric of Anders’ coat as he tries to ignore the burn of a hot, embarrassed flush pushing up into his cheeks. 

Outside the mansion, on the streets of Kirkwall, a pair of mabari start barking, great bellowing things that echo against the stone buildings. A cat yowls, and far off there’s the sound of people shouting. Fenris stares at his bare feet on the stone floor of Hawke’s mansion and hates the fact that his eyes are burning as he tries to untangle his tongue, and dispel the impression that Anders will do something awful to him for his trespass. (Hadriana’s smile flickers behind his eyelids every time he blinks. Her fingers curl, wreathed in green light. His own screams echo in his ears long before the pain hits.)

“Are you alright?”

Anders’ voice is rough and soft, and Fenris jerks his head up, falling back on the easy confidence of anger and letting it buoy him up out of his despair.

“What do you care, mage?”

As Fenris speaks he surges forward, feeling his lips curl back from his teeth in a sneer. Anders doesn’t back away, and it leaves their faces mere inches apart. Anders is looking at him oddly, and abruptly Fenris wishes for more light: knowing the man well enough by now after almost a decade to be able to read the spiderweb cracks of wrinkles in his face as the giveaway they tended to be. 

“You haven’t been yourself since -” Anders hesitates, and Fenris hates him for it, and abruptly cannot look at him. So instead he turns away, throwing his hands into the empty air as if that will satisfy his urge to hit something.

“Since what? Since I killed him. Tell me, mage, what is my ‘self’? What am I?” Fenris means it as a challenge, but his voice cracks, and when he turns back to Anders, chest heaving, he’s horrified to realise that tears are running down his cheeks. He glances at the open door, leading into the dark and deeper into the mansion. He takes a step in the direction of the doorframe.

“Brave.” Anders says the word quickly, and Fenris stops, unable to force himself to turn around but unable to leave either as some stupid, childish part of him that he had long since thought irreparably ruined rises in delight. “Funny. And you know it, though you pretend you don’t.” It’s getting hard to breathe. Fenris stares into the thick shadows of the next room, where Orana’s drawn the curtains across the window. Elsewhere in the mansion, there’s a cheer and a crow of triumph from Isabela as the rest of their friends laugh.

“Smartest man I’ve ever met, probably.” Anders goes on, but doesn’t move. “Fucking stubborn. Annoying. Terrifying, with a greatsword. And without one.” Anders hesitates, and Fenris hears the catch of his breath as clear as a bell struck at daybreak. “My friend.”

Fenris clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt, and shuts his eyes. More tears fall down his cheeks, tickling his chin  as they go. 

“A good man. That’s what you are, Fenris.” Anders delivers the proclamation with the same certainty with which he insists on his desperate, hopeless, flawed revolution.

Fenris whirls on him. “And what do you know of good men?” Fenris means it cruelly, and he tries to take satisfaction in the way that Anders flinches. But then the stupid, stubborn, ridiculous man lifts his chin.

“Enough to know one when I see one. And know when he’s being an ass.”

“You know nothing of me!” Fenris almost bellows, and cowers when the words echo. For a moment, both he and Anders hold their breath as they wait for one of Hawke’s servants - or worse - their friends, to come and investigate. But a minute passes, tense as a knife edge, and no one does. Fenris goes on, and tries to ignore the prickling in his sweating hands. “You don’t know what I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Dust motes dance silver in the starlight as they fall onto the piano. Anders purses his lips. “Alright, I don’t. But I know that you dress up as Fen’harel for the kids in the alienage every Wintersend. I know you win more often at cards than you say you do, and that you let Merrill win. I know you’re a little bit in love with Isabela, and a little bit in love with Hawke, and it kills you that they chose each other because it kills me too. I know that you have more reason than any bastard I’ve ever met to hurt me until I forget how to breathe and you’re one of very few people who never has. I know that I’ve known you for a decade and you haven’t killed me yet.”

“I might.” It’s not a threat. Fenris doesn’t look at Anders when he says it, staring dully instead at the painting on the wall: some rainy Fereldan landscape, the details of which he can’t make out in the dark. 

“But you haven’t.” Anders steps forward, and Fenris steps back, and feels dizzily as if they’re dancing. The moonlight catches on Anders’ chin, and Fenris can make out the faint tooth of a scar just below his bottom lip, hair thin in his stubble. Anders swallows, and breaks Fenris’ gaze, eyes tracing over a lute hanging on the wall. “You know mages don’t get to keep their kids.”

The subject change is so abrupt that Fenris feels as if he’s been physically thrown off kilter. “What?” He’s been standing here long enough to feel the cold, now, and taste the wood polish in the air. Anders goes on, still not looking at him, massaging one hand with the other as his fingers flex. 

“They take them away. Can’t abort them, not under Chantry law. I’m a Spirit Healer.” 

Fenris’ frown deepens, the back of his head already aching with the dull constant stress of the last fortnight and the sleeplessness that came with it. “I know.” He tries not to make his frustration obvious. Judging by the small grin Anders gives him, he doesn’t succeed.

“I started working with the Circle Healer when I was 17. Day after I was Harrowed. First day wasn’t so bad. A couple lashings. Attempted suicide. Self-harmer. Some kid who said he walked into a wall.” Anders rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh as his hands move to massage his wrists. Fenris watches him carefully. “Second day. There was this girl. Fifteen, Templar father, obviously. I helped deliver that baby.” Anders’ expression shutters. “She wasn’t allowed to see it. I did. I got to hold it, give it to some lieutenant who held it like it was contagious. I don’t even know if it made out of Kinloch. But she begged me to let her hold it and all I could say was that it was already gone.”

“That -” Fenris picks his words as carefully as he would navigate a floor covered in broken glass. “I do not think that you were the one at fault, there.”

“I know.” Anders says the words simply, and reaches up into his hair to pull the tie loose, scratching the tangled waves that fall around his head as he does so. “My point is, when you’re a prisoner, most of the time, the burden is on your gaolor. And you aren’t Danarius’ crimes.”

“It is not the same.” Fenris grinds the words between his teeth as his fingers tighten into fists hard enough to hurt. “I was - the things I did - I did not take babies. I killed them. I broke their skulls on his altars. I aborted them from their mothers before I killed them, too. I cannot - there are not words for the marks that what I have done, what I did, has left on my soul, and I do not know if I will do them again, and I fear them and I fear him, and I fear myself, and I hate them and I hate him and I hate myself, and every hour of every day I live with these cursed chains on my body that I cannot shake no matter how far I run and I do not know how to make it stop.” Once Fenris starts speaking, he can’t slow down, the words falling from his tongue with the tears that run thick and fast down his cheeks as he tears at his arms hard enough to make them bleed. Anders startles forward, and Fenris jerks backward, thrusting his burning hands into the air between them. “I would tear it from my skin. I would rip myself apart piece by piece if I did not know that killing myself would only be a mercy that I have never deserved.” Fenris breathes, and it splinters in his chest. He finishes in a hoarse whisper. “You know nothing of what I am, or what I have been, or what I have suffered, or what I have done. You never have.”

Behind Fenris, through the window, the sound of the ocean beats incessantly against the land. Elsewhere in the mansion, their companions are quiet, and the sound of Sandal’s singing has ceased. Fenris can feel his blood roaring in his ears, and doesn’t bother to brush the tears from his cheeks. Standing in the middle of the room, Anders stares at him, his tall thin figure swaying like a sapling in a breeze. 

Then he says, “You’re right. There’s a lot about you that I don’t know or understand and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m kind of an asshole sometimes. But, Fenris? I need you to know this.” Anders steps forward and gets, stiffly, to his knees, one leg bending more slowly than the other. Fenris stares at him, bewildered, and steps backward until his head bumps softly against the wall. “Forgive the melodrama but uh, I don’t get on my knees for just anyone.” Fenris doesn’t think he has ever seen Anders on his knees, and he realises abruptly that he had never wanted to. Anders gives him a small, nervous smile, and takes a deep breath, swallowing before he speaks. “Fenris. From a mage, on his knees, asking you to listen to him. You deserve to live.”

The sob that works its way out of Fenris’ chest is a living thing, and Fenris chokes on it, sliding down the wall as he begins to cry in earnest. Anders, mercifully, doesn’t move. Fenris doesn’t know how long he cries, only that at the end of it his throat aches and his eyes burn and his head is pounding. But when he opens his eyes, Anders is still there, silver in the dark on his knees next to the piano. Fenris stares at him, and tries to clear his throat.

“You’re a very strange man.”

Anders shrugs, and moves with a visible wince to take the weight off his left knee, leaning against the piano stool as he gingerly unfolds his leg. “I’ve been called worse.”

Slowly, he reaches out into the space between them, scarred, crooked, calloused hand palm upwards, fingers outstretched. Anders looks at him, and his brown eyes are almost black in the dark. Slowly, fighting the sensation that this must be some kind of trap, Fenris reaches out and takes it. Anders’ fingers are cool against his, and his knuckles are bumpy and uneven. But he squeezes Fenris’ hand so hard it’s almost painful, and Fenris feels more tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

For a moment, they sit like that, peaceful in the quiet. Then there’s a soft knock on the doorframe, and Bodahn ducks his head in, face lit by a candle in a brass dish. “Sorry to interrupt messeres, but Mistress Hawke wanted to know if you’d like some libation to keep you company?”

Fenris glances at Anders, half moving to pull his hand back. But Anders’ hand tightens on his, and instead, feeling strangely childish, he nods at Bodahn. “Yes, please. That would be appreciated.”

Bodahn gives him a small, kind smile and ducks his head. “Very good, messere.” He turns, and leaves, and Fenris watches Anders as he shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the barstool, hair fanning out around him like some Orlesian princess.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” It’s not an accusation, motivated more by curiosity than anything.

Anders’ lips curl, and he opens one eye to look at Fenris, fingers tightening in his. “For you? I’ll make an exception. It’s been a long week.”

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 9 of 16

ahhhhhhhhh

~~~~~~~~~~

( not my gif :) )

Teresa tried to keep a blank face as she heard you screaming in agony, your face twisting and contorting in absolute fear as you were being pumped full of chemicals that made you see and live through horrible things in your mind.

Being put back in the Maze, being eaten alive by Grievers, crushed to death by the changing Maze walls.

All for a cure... 

Though Teresa never told the doctors the one thing that would absolutely break you, shatter your mind into a million pieces, never to be sane again. She couldn’t. Even if she wanted the cure, and the terrifying fear that you went through could be the thing that makes a cure, she couldn’t do it. She loved you as if you were her own sister. It was easier with Minho, not being a relative of his, but it was still hard to watch.

With Ava Paige and Jensen looming over her shoulder, Teresa had to look strong, even if she never felt that way. 

She watched as the enzyme was drained from your body, the possible key to end all the suffering in the world.

You slowly came to consciousness, seeing the same darkness you always saw whenever you were delivered back to your cell after being tortured. Of course, the people at W.C.K.D. never called it torture. It was all for a cure. It was a great privilege doing something so honorable to save the world. Yeah, right...you never had a choice in the first place.

“You look like shit.”

You sat up with a groan. “You should see how you look after your tests, Minho.”

“Oh, I don’t have to, I can feel how bad I must look.” He huffed.

The good people at W.C.K.D. were so kind enough to place you in a cell with your fellow captured friend. So fucking kind...

“To think being Teresa’s cousin they’d give me special treatment...no offense.” 

Minho rolled his eyes, laying back down against his small bed. “None taken. I’d die for just an unsupervised bathroom break so I could take a klunk in peace.” 

“Nice image, Minho...” You sighed, trying to keep your hands from shaking from the repeated trauma you had to endure. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Minho knew he was going to be taken to get those same tests run on him soon. It had been that way ever since you two arrived at the tower. They’d test you first, then him right after. For evil people, they were always on time. “Yeah,” Minho finally answered, “I always am.”

“We’re gonna get out of here, Minho. I promise. We just have to come up with some sort of feasible plan.”

Minho laughed bitterly. “Feasible? What about escaping from here would be feasible?”

You huffed, leaning up against the cold wall. “We have to get out of here...”

And just like clockwork, a few soldiers and doctors came into the cell to grab Minho, and like always, they had to sedate him so he wouldn’t fight. But what you didn’t expect, they brought you out of your cell too.

“What’s going on?”

You got no answer, and you couldn’t fight. You were too weak to fight. So, you had no choice but to allow them to bring you to wherever they were taking you. You weren’t walking down the halls that led to the testing room, so that was good at least.

They walked you into a small room, sitting you down and handcuffing you to the table you were sat at. Quickly, they left you in the room by yourself. You fiddled around with the handcuffs, but you were no locksmith, and you ultimately gave up trying to brute strength your way out of the steel. 

Eventually, you heard the doorknob rattle and you sat up, trying to prepare yourself for whatever was coming through that door.

“Hey, Y/N...” You scowled when you saw Teresa walk through the doorframe, taking a seat across from you. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly.

“Just peachy, no thanks to you, traitor.” You spat.

Teresa sighed. “Please don’t speak to me like that. I’m your family.”

You shook your head. “No, you’re no family of mine. My family was left out in the desert after you betrayed them. No, family wouldn’t betray each other.”

“Y/N...finding a cure is the most important thing right now. No matter the cost. I’m gonna give you something to make you understand that.” 

Teresa approached you with a syringe, and you tried to squirm away, but unable due to your cuffs to the table. “What is that?” You shouted.

“It’ll help you remember. It won’t kill you. It’s the same serum they gave me to remember...although, we made a few changes have been made to make it work faster.”

You thrashed about, not liking the idea of getting poked. “No! No, I don’t need to remember! I don’t want to remember you!” You hissed at her, making her sigh and turn to the door.

She knocked twice, and with that, a couple guards come into the room and forcibly held you down. “No! No!” You fought, but it was no use.

You hissed in pain as you felt the needle entering your skin, the burning of whatever mixed chemicals entering your bloodstream. “It’ll take a minute, you might get a migraine.” She informed.

And just like she said, a migraine hit you. Like a cinder block was just dropped on your head over and over again. Every time a pulse of pain hit, a wave of memories came flooding back like a tsunami.

You remembered.

The Flare taking everyone you loved. Your parents. Your baby sister, who was just born into the world, she didn’t even have a name yet. Having to deal with survivor’s guilt. Your aunt taking you in, her having a daughter of her own. Your cousin. Having to share a room with her due to the small two bedroom apartment they lived in at the time.

All the late night talks about each other. Comforting each other after vicious nightmares. Becoming so close you referred to each other as sister. Helping take care of each other after her mother got sick, and being all each other had left after her mom killed herself, and being taken by W.C.K.D.

Meeting Thomas, and hating him with a fiery passion. You hated that he quickly became Teresa’s best friend. You were jealous. But after seeing the way her eyes lit up every time she talked about him was really why you started to like Thomas, and eventually called him a friend.

You remembered being so lonely after Teresa and Thomas became W.C.K.D. favorites, and you were left alone altogether. Only rarely were you able to see your only kin.

And you remembered being so scared when you were chosen to go into a Maze trial.

“Y/N?” Teresa’s voice snapped you out of your trance.

“I remember now...”

Teresa smiled softly. “Good. Now do you understand why this is so important?”

You teared up. “...yes...”

Teresa grinned hopefully. “I knew you would.”

“We need to find a cure...but this isn’t the way, Teresa.” Her smile quickly turned into a frown. “You can’t keep testing these kids, traumatizing them. It’s not right, you must know that.”

“This is the only way.”

“You haven’t tried other ways!”

“You have no idea how much we tried avoiding testing on kids!” Teresa raised her voice, which she rarely ever did. “We hate hurting these kids! I hate hurting Minho! But we have no other choice. I have no choice. This method is the only way to get what we need to make a cure.”

“Even if it kills all of us? Even if it kills Minho...kills me?”

Teresa stayed silent. “I thought you’d understand...you were so smart, Y/N. They almost chose you to be with Thomas and I. But they thought you could be more useful in the Maze.” Teresa chuckled tearfully. “You weren’t even supposed to go into that Maze, you were scheduled to go to the all girl Maze. But since I knew I was going there, I made it so that you went into the Maze before Thomas.”

“...you did?”

“Yes...I knew you’d be in good hands with Thomas, even if he couldn’t remember who you were.” She paused. “I never wanted you to get hurt. I pulled some strings...you won’t have to share a cell with Minho anymore. You’ll be staying with me.”

Your heart felt like it dropped. “But...what about Minho?”

“It’s different with you since you’re my cousin. I can’t do anything for him, I’m sorry.”

You chuckled bitterly. “No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be torturing him.”

“It’s not-” She sighed. “Please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. I’m getting you out of that cell, you should be thanking me.”

“Am I still going to be tested?” Teresa didn’t give you an answer, that alone told you all you needed to know. “Wow...so the only difference is that I get to suffer in luxury...thanks a lot...”

“Just don’t fight, okay?”

“Whatever...”

Upon entering Teresa’s apartment, instead of being in awe of how nice and fancy everything was to accommodate you two, your anger just intensified more. Minho was trapped in a cold dark cell while you were here...you definitely didn’t deserve to get special treatment, even though you were still going to be tested on everyday...

You walked to the large window in the living room and gasped softly, you had never seen the city before. You didn’t know how incredible the whole place looked...

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Teresa smiled.

You quickly wiped the look of awe and shock off your face. “It’s alright...”

“Are you really going to keep acting this way? To me?”

“I already told you, just because I have my memories back doesn’t mean I automatically agree with everything you do.” You looked back out to the city. “It would look a lot nicer without the wall...”

Teresa sighed, taking a seat on her couch. “We can’t let the infected inside.”

“And all the people deemed unworthy...right?”

Teresa scowled. “If you went down there, see all the innocent people that are down there, children, you’d agree with having the walls.”

“Oh really? Well, I haven’t been around the city. And I probably won’t. I’ll probably die here before I even step foot outside this place.”

Teresa got up and stormed back over to you. “You’re not going to die, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

“But what happens if that’s the only way to make a cure? For one of your little lab rats to suffer a painful death to create the enzyme you need for a cure.”

“Then I’ll make sure it’s not you.” Teresa said, turning back around. “Your room’s this way.”

You sighed, following after her down a small hallway of her home. “A bit different from our previous house, eh?” You said when you saw your own queen sized bed.

“We had to share a twin back then.”

“The things we take for granted...”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but...we’re gonna start testing all day from now on.” You snapped your head to look at her with wide eyes. “I’m sorry...just get some rest.”

And unfortunately, Teresa was right. 

W.C.K.D. started to test you all day, and it was excruciating. Days starting blurring together again, the pain and exhaustion you felt was unexplainable. But the worse part of it was how little you could differentiate what was real and what was a simulation. Even the nights that you went back to Teresa’s apartment was hard to tell for sure if it was real life.

It was frightening.

Even if you hated Teresa for what she did to the Right Arm, she was one of the only reasons why you weren’t completely insane. When the days got particularly bad, she’d order you to have breaks. She’d have you repeat a set of five numbers, didn’t matter which numbers, forwards and backwards. It helped keep you grounded when things got tough.

Like the situation you were in now. 

You screamed for it all to stop, for all the pain and fear to stop. It was too much to handle.

“Okay, okay, stop!” Teresa shouted, entering through the door. “She needs a break.”

Ava sighed. “Teresa...if you need to remove yourself from here, you should. You can’t let her being your family get in the way of progress.”

Thankfully, Teresa was quick on her toes. “It’s not getting in the way. I’m saying she needs a break because she might run out of the strength that’s keeping her alive. We won’t find a cure if she’s dead.”

Dr. Paige looked to your exhausted and almost dead looking face and sighed. “Alright...let’s wrap it up, give her the day off.”

Teresa nodded gratefully, soon helping the rest of the doctors unhook all the wires and machines attached to you. She noticed how dead inside you looked, and it worried her. You didn’t just need a break, you needed for the experiments to stop, but that wasn’t possible.

Teresa had an idea, most likely the worst idea she’s had and will ever have, but she truly thought it would be somewhat beneficial to your mental state and overall health. Maybe a walk around the city would reignite that strength she saw in you in the beginning of the trials.

Yeah...maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.

~~~~~~~~~~

[thedreammweaver]

With Drooping Wings Ye Cupids Come (Burton-Schumacherverse Riddlebird, Victorian AU, angst, Doctor!Ed, Patient!Oswald)

(A/N: Fuck historical/medical accuracy, this is a vehicle for angst and mutual yearning only)

Warnings: emetophobia tw, respiratory issues, sick pengu, talk of plague, talk of death, survivor’s guilt

“Mr. Cobblepot, please.” The exasperation was apparent in Ed’s voice. That morning Oswald had suffered an intense spell of vomiting up the greenish black bile that seemed to never stop spawning from the recesses of his being. Fortunately after some trial and error Ed had managed to mix up a solution that at least calmed Oswald’s insides enough so that he wouldn’t spend the rest of the day vomiting. The only issue was Oswald absolutely despised the taste.

 “I feel fine now..”

“Last time you said that you were ill for hours. I doubt the taste is so terrible you’d prefer that again.”

“It’s disgusting!”

“Sir, I find the prospect that you love the taste of raw fish yet cringe at citrus, peppermint, and ginger amusing.”

Oswald folded his arms stubbornly “That isn’t all that’s in there..”

Edward rolled his eyes “Ah, yes, there’s also valerian and juice from an apple. Flowers and fruit, how very terrifying. Now are you going to open your mouth or continue acting like a stubborn infant.”

Oswald glared at his live-in physician and finally relented. Ed felt a great deal of satisfaction at winning this battle as he maneuvered the spoonful of solution into the other man’s mouth. Oswald, as expected, recoiled at the taste “It isn’t that bad, sir.” Ed teased as he began clearing his medical things from Oswald’s night table so they could start their day, which usually started with Ed helping his employer dress. Before Ed had moved in this job was left to one of Oswald’s maids but after one occasion where Ed had done it to save time Oswald found he was much more comfortable with the man. It wasn’t that Oswald didn’t enjoy the sight of a woman between his legs lacing up his boots, but rather that he enjoyed the sight of Ed and the feel of his hands quite a bit more. It was more due to Oswald’s impatience at the difficulty his fused fingers caused than the deformed appendages themselves that rendered him unable to dress without his growing frustration interfering with his progress. After he’d procured enough wealth to always have someone there to do up all the buttons and intricate bits for him he definitely took advantage of it. Ed didn’t mind doing it, though he did have to control his blushing as he did up the buttons of Oswald’s trousers, hands brushing against his corpulent form. He struggled to focus as he moved to fastening the buttons of Oswald’s coat. Oswald himself was getting distracted at how the light coming in from the window practically lit up Ed’s ginger locks. He blushed as he caught himself imagining running his hands through them.

Oswald had been reluctant to go on a walk with Ed around the grounds after the heavy breakfast he’d had. As a doctor Ed knew he should probably be making a million changes to Oswald’s diet but as someone who had become completely bewitched by the man he had a conflicting want to see him happy. He supplemented putting a stop to Oswald’s tendency to indulge with making sure the man got exercise. “You know, I think I’d much rather have the plague than whatever this is.” Oswald joked hoarsely, as he stuffed handkerchief he’d just had a coughing fit into back into his pocket. He’d only really started going for walks when Ed showed up and being unused to it was putting strain on his delicate respiratory system. “You shouldn’t joke about that, sir.” Ed scolded as they continued walking, arms linked together, though they’d both insist it was only to keep Oswald steady if his enervated lungs acted up or in general with how unbalanced his walking could be.

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll summon it?” Oswald laughed. “Oh, of course. you had quite the run in with it I imagine, being a doctor and all.”

The plague had made it’s way into Gotham quite late, for a time there was a running joke among citizens that the city was so vile the plague was avoiding it. If only that had been the case. “You don’t want to hear that stor-“

“Who are you to tell me what I do and do not want to hear, Edward?”

“Of course, sir, forgive me.” Ed adjusted his spectacles as he began his tale. “I had just joined the practice when it hit. I couldn’t have been more than nineteen, practically still a child. That was such a hellish time...so much death, especially in a hospital.”

“How did you manage to avoid falling ill yourself?” Oswald inquired curiously, despite being so close with the man, he knew nearly nothing about his life before they’d met.

Ed found a chuckle escaping him despite himself “Oh, I didn’t. Manage to avoid it, I mean.”

That definitely captured Oswald’s attention fully, whether he meant to or not he’d wrapped his arm tighter around Edward’s “My god, however did you survive?”

Ed shrugged “I’m quite certain I have no idea.. The doctor that was meant to be telling me what to do dropped dead  himself, most of the nurses too. Soon it was just me, two other inexperienced doctors, and the one nurse who could still stand so I just..kept working.”

“What was it like...having it?”

“You want a review, do you?” Ed quipped.

Oswald rolled his eyes “Don’t be smart, I’m only curious.”

“..It was hell. For a time even after I recovered I was quite afraid I’d actually died and somehow was unaware.” Ed said grimly before clearing his throat “I still get those worries every now and then, sometimes I even feel as though I should’ve perished with my patients.. Luckily tending to you keeps me sane.” Ed said fondly. Oswald sighed “That’s one good thing to come out of me being ill at least.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Ed smiled “Tending to patients kept me sane then too. I was moved to the children’s ward after one patient complained that my ‘incessant rambling’ would kill her quicker than the plague could. Anyways, I recall everytime I felt the temptation to find some hole or corner to die in I’d force myself to look at those children and know that if I stopped breathing they most certainly would as well. That made me carry on, they were the only ones who appreciated my riddles anyways I supposed I owed them for that.” He chuckled, a sad note to the noise “There were about twenty or thirty children in that ward, perhaps even forty. I-I’m not certain, it was hard to keep count, it was as many as we could fit I do know that. Only two ever walked out...you’d think that’d be devastating but it was still worth it, even just for those two....” He trailed off, absently fiddling with the buttons on Oswald’s sleeve.

“Hmm..” Oswald hummed thoughtfully “I never figured you for the type to be good with little ones.”

“Neither did I!” Ed laughed “I found them to be great fun actual-“

He was interrupted by Oswald going into another coughing fit, making both of them stop as he once again pressed the handkerchief to his mouth. This time when he withdrew it the all too familiar greenish black was splattered across the white surface of the cloth “Oh dear,” Ed muttered as he looked it over “I’d say it’d be best if you had another dose when we get back, sir.” Oswald whined but before he could protest Ed spoke again “I didn’t survive the plague only to argue with you about taking your medicine.” He joked. Oswald relented “Fine. You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“Yes, I do, sir.” Ed said cheekily as he and the shorter man began walking back to Cobblepot manor.

   Though Oswald was still dreading his medication, he was much more relaxed this time. When they’d reached the house Oswald felt quite like having a warm milk bath to nurse the pain in his overworked ankles. There were rose petals in the bath as well, Oswald’s fanciful tastes permeating every aspect of his life. Ed came over to the tub, spoonful of medicine in hand once again. Oswald didn’t put up a fuss this time though he still cringed at the taste. Before Ed could finish putting away his medical things Oswald interrupted “Edward?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I have such a terrible ache in my shoulders, I don’t suppose you’d be any good at massaging?”

Ed could feel the blush spreading across his face “I-I could give it a go, I suppose.”

Ed walked back over and knelt at the head of the tub and gingerly placed his hands on Oswald’s shoulders. “Get on with it then.” The shorter man instructed. Ed began slowly massaging Oswald’s shoulders, trying not to think about how soft the man’s bare skin felt, he could feel Oswald almost immediately relax under him. Desperate to distract himself from his own yearning Ed turned to a riddle “I am alive without breath and cold as death. I am never thirsty but always drinking. What am I?”

Oswald scoffed before answering “A fish.”

“Right as always, sir.” Ed didn’t mean to let the disappointment seep into his voice but it must have. “If you don’t want me to solve them you’ll have to stop catering them to me.” Oswald huffed. Ed blushed, he hadn’t realized he’d been choosing ones with answers of things Oswald was fond of. “It’s almost always spirits, birds, or something else you know I love. You really must bring me a stimulating one next time.” Oswald sighed. Ed nodded “I will certainly try.”

     “Edward?” Oswald called out when he heard the floorboards in the hallway creaking. Ed stepped into the doorway and for a moment all Oswald could focus on was how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. “Yes, sir?”

“Why are you stalking about my house in the dead of night like a specter?”

“It’s cold, I was only going to sleep in the sitting room if that’s alright. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, sir.” Ed’s drafty attic room was currently to frigid to sleep in due to the early spring weather. “Oh...alright, carry on then.” Oswald said. Ed was about to do just that when something occurred to Oswald and he found words tumbling from his mouth despite himself “Actually, Edward?” the taller man turned around and tilted his head, waiting for Oswald to continue speaking. Oswald hoped Ed couldn’t see him blushing “It..it’s quite warm over here.” He patted the bed sincerely hoping his boldness wouldn’t put Ed off. Ed looked down at the floor “Would-wouldn’t that be improper?”

Oswald fumbled for an excuse “There’s nothing improper about self preservation. My health depends on you preforming your job well and your performance depends on you getting an adequate amount of rest.” Ed, satisfied with the excuse, walked over to crawl into bed next to Oswald while trying very hard to not appear as giddy as he felt. A few moments passed before Oswald spoke again “You- erm...I figure you would warm up quicker if you were closer to me.” Ed tried to slow his breathing as he shuffled closer to Oswald, pressing his thin lanky frame to his employer’s weighty soft one. “It’s the damndest thing,” Ed whispered “My lips are still quite freezing-“ he was interrupted by a frustrated groan from Oswald.

“To hell with these circumlocutions, you wish for me to kiss you, yes?”

“Uh-..y-yes, sir, I do.” With that confirmation Oswald closed the small distance between them, pressing his lips to Ed’s and finally letting himself bring one of his flippers up to stroke those ginger locks he’d admired for so long. Ed found himself wrapping his arms around Oswald’s ample waist. He was afraid he’d offended the other man as he broke their kiss but his fears were almost immediately put to rest. “If we’re going to be so intimate you really must stop calling me ‘sir’ all the time.” Oswald said, pulling Ed even closer. “Of course, s- I-I mean Oswald.” Ed fumbled. Oswald chuckled at the other man’s stuttering before meeting lips with him once more.

[another-kakashi-blog]

Reclamation

Title: Reclamation

Rating:M

Pairing: Kakairu

WC: 10k+

Summary:

Survivor’s guilt was an inevitable part of being a shinobi, they’d been taught this early on. 

They just hadn’t been taught how to deal with it, and as Kakashi got older, he was starting to realize that was because no one knew how.

Every day was a lesson in living.

Notes:

After many, many years of reading Kakashi fanfics, I’ve decided to finally give in and have a try at it myself. It was a lot of fun and a great challenge to write this. I am very excited to continue writing kakairu, kakagai, and kakayama in the future (for those of you who know me as that BNHA writer ( @fucking-zawa-sensei) don’t worry I’ll still write EM).

As with most of my fics, this is very sad, but I promise there will be happiness by the end. Hang in there. 

Below is a portion of fic, read all of it on AO3 here

Reclamation

To anyone else, they might call this silence.  

For Kakashi, the rustling of the tree leaves, the rush of wind passing by his face, the constant, endless pounding of his pulse, mimics the sound of waves crashing into breaker rocks. It’s akin to the crackle of thunder as the lightning leaves the ground, returning back to the clouds. 

It’s missions like these that make him feel alive. 

More than that, it’s missions like these that make him feel untethered, haunting, as if he’s floating above his own body, desperately out of control of his own limbs, watching them move without him, soaring from tree branch to tree branch with all his muscles pulling him back to Konoha. 

It’s missions like these that make him feel like there’s nothing holding him down, nothing keeping him here, like one wrong step would send him catapulting into the night sky’s embrace, leaving no remains for hunter nins to burn.

He’d leave no secrets behind. 

These nights bring a heavy burden, bring reminders that life is nothing but a body, too easily taken by another hand, that each breath, each moment is so easily wasted. 

Missions like these make him feel invincible, untouchable. 

Missions like these make him feel terrified.

Petrified. 

Horrified. 

Barely human. 

He’d lie down on a hundred kunai for Konoha, had certainly already taken that many at various times throughout his long life as a shinobi, but lately he was starting to feel like there had to be something else. 

Konoha wasn’t enough to bring him home on nights like this. 

The air he sucks into his lungs feels sharp, stinging with the late night chill that has already settled over his worn muscles. 

Each footfall, the bounce back of the wood beneath his sandals, manages to ground him only slightly. 

Half his mind is focused on the gates he knows he is closing in on, once a beacon, large doors that signified a job well done, a mission complete, but anymore felt like a hiatus, a small pause in a journey elsewhere. 

The other half is still lingering behind him, running through every move, every kill. His sharingan, as usual, had recorded it all, adding to an endless loop of jutsu and gore and blood. 

He tried, here and there, to supplement it with other things. 

Occasionally lifting his headband to take in the sight of the river flowing through Konoha, as he leaned against the side of the bridge, watching as dragonflies landed on the small rocks, little droplets of water falling off their feet as they rose up again, taking flight.

Even this had backfired on more than one occasion, though. 

Happy memories had soured. 

Fallen friends’ smiling faces now passed quickly in his mind’s eye, some more violently than others, replaced with their last moments, gasped out final requests, promises, and pleas for a life already lost. 

Every jounin carried a bingo book, a burden that only seemed to increase in weight with each new entry, and sometimes, even more so when the pages were torn out.

It meant different things for different shinobi, a list of people to avoid, flea on sight, or a list of targets, people to hunt down. Some ninja seemed to use it as a leaderboard, wanting to add page after page to their own entries, while challenging themselves to take down their competition. 

For Kakashi, it was a list of people coming for him, chasing him, always right behind him every hour of every day. It was a reason not to trust a single face he saw on his travels, a reason not to let anyone close. 

Everyone he knew was at risk, all fodder for a fire that sometimes felt far out of his control.

The book had never felt heavier than it did the day it had been slid across the godaime’s desk, his former pupil’s name now prominently featured. 

Team 7 had been one of the few things that disrupted the replay of death after death, but now, Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, their laughter, their pranks, their teasing, all melted away. Replaced with a Konoha headband, deep cut through the middle. Replaced with a small, broken, bloodied blond body limp in his arms as he carried it home. Replaced with a set of green eyes glazed over with tears, and then a fierce determination that Kakashi knew too well. 

He’d been there.

He’d chased those ghosts. 

He’d trained himself raw like they all were now. He’d worked himself to exhaustion, until sleep was something he fell into in more ways than one, just to get the memories to quiet for a moment. 

Except the sharingan didn’t allow that, never had, never will. 

So each step closer to the village is one more fight left behind. 

On nights like these, he feels a trail manifesting leap by leap, miles and miles of bone and muscle and blood and voices all grabbing at his ankles as he does the one thing he’d never been able to train out of him:

Run. 

The bingo book was a burden, but Kakashi sometimes felt like he had something far heftier stored beneath his skin, a catalogue of lives stolen and lost and never returned. 

Survivor’s guilt was an inevitable part of being a shinobi, they’d been taught this early on. 

They just hadn’t been taught how to deal with it, and as Kakashi got older, he was starting to realize that was because no one knew how.

Every day was a lesson in living.

In the distance, something rustles, but Kakashi’s instincts are running at full throttle and even over the post-battle haze of unwanted memories and recordings resurfaced by his childhood friend’s gift, Kakashi can easily attribute that particular kind of twig snapping to a small animal. 

Probably a field mouse, his mind supplies. 

Sometimes, being a ninja felt an awful lot like coming up for air only to find that the surface of the water has been frozen over.

The suspicion, the paranoia, it never really faded away. Kakashi could fall back into a casual, relaxed slouch all he wanted, but there was never a moment where he wasn’t keeping tabs on any movement in his limited peripheral vision. Even more so, his ears were tuned to every sound in the village, always waiting, always expecting something out of place.

Like the unsettling stillness right before the explosive release of summoning smoke that occurred all those years ago, before the blistering sound of shrill screams and the rush of adrenaline reached Kakashi. 

The better your senses were, the warier you were, the higher chance of survival.

The village needed him. 

The sole of his shoe slips just slightly on the next branch and his pulse triples as he glances back at the wood. 

He sees blood, not much, not enough to affect his footing. 

As he hits the next branch, another shock of instability jolts through his leg. He looks down at his body, taking stock, something he really should have done after the battle was over, but he’d been too caught up in ghosts to notice anything out of place. 

He was leaving a small trail of blood behind him. His skin begins to prickle and his eyes narrow at the crimson drop plummeting down from his chest, watching it fall and vanish behind him, gone before it hits the ground, as he continues to race through the forest. 

This was a genin level mistake. 

A tail of breadcrumbs that would get you killed, every time, without fail. 

Survival was imperative. 

Dying meant Konoha lost one of its best protectors. 

More than that, dying meant failure to uphold his responsibilities. 

Naruto could tell everyone he’d bring Sasuke back over and over, and all his classmates could believe him, that’s fine, they were young. 

Kakashi saw the way any lingering jounins’ mouths turned down at the edges when they overhead these words. 

These kids didn’t have the experience Kakashi did, that the other jounin and ANBU did. Their generation hadn’t lived through war, they hadn’t seen the in-fighting among the elders and clans, they only knew the destruction second-hand, as people they never got to meet and things they never got to see, lost before their time. 

They didn’t know how powerful revenge could make a person. 

Kakashi did. 

Sasuke may still be a child himself, but there was always a fierce shadow consuming the boy.

He’d never admit it, not out loud, but after their fight on the hospital rooftop, a chilling wave of reality he’d always dreaded came crashing down over Kakashi’s shoulders that night. With the village decimated by Orochimaru’s attack, he’d hardly had time to have many thoughts beyond  complete the mission, as one after another they piled up. Exhaustion was becoming the norm, both physically and mentally. Still, the alarming chirp of the his jutsu, perhaps foolishly passed down to the surviving Uchiha boy, and the unsettling swirl of chakra just centimeters from his hand as it had wrapped around Naruto’s wrist, were a constant presence in his psyche between accepted mission scrolls. 

He’d never forget it, didn’t need the sharingan to keep the memory sealed tight in his mind. 

The first night after their fight, he’d found cover in a small crevice tucked into a cliffside after completing his mission, taking a small reprieve to regain some strength before returning back to the village, still not fully recovered from Itachi’s attack. A heavy weight settled in his stomach as he accepted the inevitable.  

One day he’d have to kill Sasuke. 

That had become all the more clear after he’d abandoned the village and forsaken Konoha. 

Some part of Kakashi still wanted to believe Naruto, still wanted to see that there was another option for Sasuke, that he hadn’t been wrong to try and steer him back toward team 7, away from Itachi, away from Orochimaru, away from the false solitude of vengeance. 

Kakashi was a realist, though. 

Those fleeting hopes were hard to hold onto.

Instead, he tried to fool himself into thinking he could have the strength to do what the sandaime failed to.

Read the rest on AO3 here

[creamypalazzo]

as to cater to my lack of sleep I ended up becoming very hyper aware of a song that got stuck in my head, and it’s called god is fair, sexy, nasty by Mac Miller, and it’s a song in my jotakak playlist that elicits incredibly h0rny + romantic energy that I wanna believe is also up to par with jotaro and kakyoin’s relationship in my o p i n i o n because I am in love with them and they are in love and babies and in spite of the very hypersexual lyrics here I also wanna be inclusive to the romantic expressions here and there that also perfectly match up to mu headcanons of their relationship lmao,, also do note that I like bottom jotaro and this is also mostly in Kakyoin’s perspective so it’s also what made the song contribute so well and I Am Like This Because God Made It So and it’s ok.

actually what I wanna talk about before the lyrics is the segment of jazz that plays before it delves into mac’s usual r&b/hip hop instrumental, it’s supposed to set the mood smoothly and because of that, all I think about is the thought of jotaro and his love for jazz that is also never really regarded by a lot of fans. It’s an unusual trait considering the Everything that jotaro is but I love to see it as a way that Kakyoin doesn’t Ignore that part of him and knows how he fully is- Jotaro isn’t completely cold and edgy and bitter, he still has a brighter side to him, and his love for him is what makes him so seen.

funny enough, there wasn’t much background to the song aside from the chorus itself from kendrick lamar, though that does save me enough time and I’ve only done the better reading to understand the first chorus, which is this:

apparently for a time, Kendrick suffered immense survivor’s guilt and trauma that happened when he was younger, amidst all his success he still suffered a lot of issues that his partner had continually supported him through the rougher times- all the violence he suffered from has cultivated all into the “bullet” where his partner is represented as a rose, and their love has been the reason he’d been able to get through his issues. It’s also continued to the rest of the chorus, being together and folding into each other’s desires is also a parallel to Kakyoin and Jotaro’s relationship, where the hardest come down they’d know each other so well, so intimately, to be able to find each other in ways that they’d only ever know.

tbh probably one of my favorite things about Jotaro’s relationships is that they’d always always always emphasize his beauty- he isn’t all his beauty, but the fact his personality is practically worn on his face is what makes it. To me, Jotaro is forced to be fully aware of his features from the attention he’s gotten, but with his intimidating demeanor it also gets pointed out too because, 1) fear is an aphrodisiac, 2) it makes him so much more powerful that way, to be beautiful and feared is probably a feeling that he doesn’t get to understand would be so good, honestly, but to think that Kakyoin would take the sight of him in, would make him feel like he’s been looking at a god. Ironically, a god that would definitely make him commit sins and defilings of desires he didn’t even think he’d have on Jotaro, but here they are. Kakyoin would be mesmerized, especially with being an artist, he could paint him, paint on him, his body and his face is a work of art that subjects him into a place of some kind of worship because it definitely deserves it, but Kakyoin’s got desires that even makes the devil shiver.

This is probably one of the verses that struck me the most, and I say one of because there’s actually more to it. There isn’t any background as to, say, if this song was about anybody in particular, the only song in the album that was actually mentioned to be about someone entirely was Cinderella (and that shit got wild real fast lmao). But to know that this was probably about someone who was cold, who definitely had issues too? God. Jotaro is cold, when it comes to his feelings he honestly will probably not keep up with them. It makes him turn away from people who he should have been vulnerable around, who he’s allowed to be weak around, but he wants to hide it and shows it constantly, sex or not he’s probably always into the rougher things as to compensate. I like to think Kakyoin is there to test it- aside from the actual connotation, relationships always test people to how they become better than they used to be, it’s not just a test for each other but it is a test for themselves, in the name of love and the loves of their life, it’s a matter of asking, what do you want to do? Is it for them, or yourself? And in this case, ‘take my time, hit that slow’ shows off the contrast to what Jotaro normally ventures off to. Jotaro would have to adjust for that and also be made to understand what Kakyoin would feel, think, in the pace that he, for once, would want them in. Jotaro can finally learn, in and out of sex how he should consider the most out of Kakyoin- I know events of SDC would say that he does consider a lot because of Holly, but he doesn’t exactly have easier times reading his friends or family and most of the time does stay in a self-indulgent bubble where he doesn’t really know how to treat people’s feelings other than the ways he knows how. Kakyoin is a test to it, and Jotaro follows because he has the need to understand it, to know him.

You’re the only thing for me in this fucked up world is also a really painful statement, to me at least. It hits hard with the fact that Mac and Ariana later broke up because of their relationship turning toxic, I know he didn’t make this song for her but to know this statement was written out of his heart is what makes the genuity. Kakyoin, as we know has mostly been alone his whole life. He never really got to be vulnerable around other kids and his only friend was his stand that way, only being able to cope with his excess time with the fact that Hierophant could help him play video games better and that was probably just how he spent it. Alone, definitely unused to company that felt like he knew him. Enter Jotaro, new to stands, just as socially inept, same liking to sumo, gorgeous as hell and checking every box that Tenmei Kakyoin didn’t even know he had. He saved him from a lifetime of pain and suffering, saw a part of him that also made him understand that they weren’t alone. They’re the only two kids in a world of war and other dangerous things, the fact that they both don’t know how to interact with each other like normal people do is both hilarious and endearing, but it’s made better by the fact that it makes them understand and like each other. It’s almost like a matter of fate that way, because honestly, how long would have Kakyoin gone if he hadn’t met the Crusaders? He fell into Dio’s hands so quick because Dio could understand him, see right through him with his desperations and loneliness, but later fell for Jotaro because it’s all genuine, and a person that Kakyoin has learned to love because they didn’t know how to get to each other until they had to learn how.

And do you believe in love? Is another part of them. I never thought that Jotaro nor Kakyoin would honestly think of it, they had other shit to think about and it was definitely not girls, Kakyoin probably had a thing for h3ntai (I had a running joke somewhere that he was ripped because he kept jerking off lmao) but I doubt he ever indulged in the romantic areas, he never cared about it in particular until Jotaro came around to make him realize, oh, this was a crush. I always headcanoned that Jotaro was gay: he wasn’t exactly growing up in the best time to think about it, nor did he really like girls, his next best big brain moment was to probably ignore the feeling and just believed that girls were a whole no. Well, yes, the annoying stalkers mostly were at fault, but it made him not like the appeal of them, where he didn’t understand how boys would look at girls and drool over their thighs, where girls would fight about whose chests were smaller, because girls were just so boring and annoying to look at. It’s boys on the other hand that always had his attention. Many of the guys in his school probably would have been excited/terrified that the cool, smart Jotaro Kujo would approach them, and probably take him in as his friend or probably pick a fight, but in reality, he just didn’t know how to approach someone attractive, let alone someone of the same gender when his relationship with his father continually strained. So then he thought over it, a lot. Holding hands with a boy, kissing a boy. Hooking his arm around one, holding onto him no matter what. For a time he thought he just couldn’t be in love, it was just that he didn’t like the idea of it being with a girl, that was all.

Hold on tight when demons come / It’ll be alright, no need to run / Stay with me tonight, we’ll see the sun / And when we wake up we’ll still be drunk Ah yes, this verse analysis is going to be very long as I Analyse this until I pass out from sleep deprivation. These two lines are a combination of what I’ve said in both the previous paragraph and fourth one, reiterating my statements again, but I think this is the dawning of their trust with each other when they finally get to like each other. They both need someone they can trust and understand, but it’s Jotaro who has to be the one to not run away from it while Kakyoin is the one who holds on tightly because he’s never had this at all before. Someone like him has definitely developed attachment issues that way, and he’s not letting Jotaro get away from something that he knows they both need. Hence the cuddliness in the last three: Never felt this free before / I need you more than keys and doors / I need you sleepin’ next to me

You know by this point in their journey you wonder how deprived of touch everybody is, but especially with Kakyoin and Jotaro being together now this seems to end up as a way to deal with touch starvation with each other. I doubt both would be used to any of the contact, but it’s Kakyoin who’s trying to be more enthusiastic with it while Jotaro is also trying to adjust himself even though he doesn’t quite have any idea of what to do. But they try, try a lot, and Kakyoin finds that he enjoys holding Jotaro and Jotaro’s learned to love feeling and being held, being loved by this boy, no less. It makes them miss each other more every time they stay apart, the fact that Kakyoin got his ass handed to him back in the desert is also what makes it difficult, every time Jotaro visits him in the hospital Kakyoin would probably take his hand and hold it close to his face before kissing it, always so impatient and probably a bit horny and inappropriate than he needs to be and most of all lonely— and jotaro in turn would direct him to his lips where they’d always kiss softly, slowly turning desperate, both just progressively careless in the predicament with Kakyoin only being able to navigate Jotaro’s neck and jaw with kisses, Jotaro trying so much as to not lift the hospital gown and instead holding his scalp while he presses kisses all over his face, and sure it’s only been probably a week or so but they missed each other so god damn much, Kakyoin missing cupping Jotaro’s cheek and taking in the absolute sight of how beautiful he always is, but while he’s recovering he’s just glad he could still be able to touch him.

(You shy,) you don’t reveal too much / (No lies,) don’t hide your self at all / (Where’s your—) I just can’t help but fall / (It’s true,) and I’ve tried everything / My sexy, nasty thing / is actually the set of lines that hits the most here tbh. They carry the same sentiments that I’ve said in my fourth paragraph and supposedly should have been my previous one if it weren’t for the fact that that shit got deleted and all but I guess my WiFi just wouldn’t work yknow,,, anyway by this point I don’t believe that this is because of any clothing related reveal situation whatsoever, I like associating this with the idea that Jotaro’s so used to shutting his feelings out that it’s so difficult to express them, but anytime he sees Kakyoin he’s just so . unused to feeling free and allowed to be able to see him in this light while Kakyoin is made to be so aware of it. It makes Jotaro feel naked, even if they have their clothes on, he may not be that expressive but Kakyoin’s found himself starting to recognize the building looks that Jotaro’s giving him, hooded eyes or widened ones where he looks so curious and stunned. If Jotaro would be made too aware of it his pride makes him swallow and look away, but a lot of the time Kakyoin, even so overwhelmed and flustered, would encourage him not to be ashamed of it, to be vulnerable to him because he loves the feeling that the way he looks at him is actually being returned. They love each other, even if they were young they knew it was love. It was so perfectly destined that God had to be the one to cut it short. 

There’s a line from a JotaKak doujinshi in particular that somehow manages to hurt me to read every time called Let’s Meet at The Usual place; it’s a doujinshi presenting memories of Kakyoin and Jotaro’s relationship where they realize they like each other (yes there is a lot of sex but yeah), and the very last line is Kakyoin’s final message when looking back to them:

I don’t like being lonely, so please talk to me from time to time. There’s a story that I don’t know, so let’s meet at the usual place. 

Now, I bring this up, while also crying, because at a point, Kakyoin’s childhood problems have definitely affected him badly growing up. It’s considered that he has a lot of obvious signs of clinical depression, which is a topic that can be discussed here, but I wonder how frequent he could go into these episodes? Did he ever take meds? I know I’ve had a fair share to this kinda shit but god damn, it’s mentioned in the link above that it probably ranges in a severity, and it makes sense! How many episodes has he gone through it alone? How long did he have to believe that he was alone, considering he decided outright he could never be friends with someone who can’t see his stand? It’s emphasized a lot that if it weren’t for the stands, Jotaro and Kakyoin wouldn’t have been friends at all. I just think: With the presence of the Crusaders, he definitely developed a peace of mind. 

Why do I say this? It’s mostly taking into consideration with the way Mac handles his feelings: he gets really emotional when he’s high- in this case, even if Kakyoin hadn’t been using his meds, how emotional can he get in episodes or developing episodes in particular? How far do these go, and how much does it trouble Jotaro that he doesn’t even know what to do? I wanna believe that for the most part, he’d feel better, definitely a lot better, even in his episodes he could look at Jotaro and realize that he’s waited far too long for somebody who could understand him, who could see him, taking him to a place where he feels warmer, happier, and he would hold Jotaro close to him and realize he has more than just thanking him for literally saving his life. Jotaro would be everything to him. 

Honestly, I don’t think Jotaro has carried similar feelings of loneliness, but he had a feeling of want to this. He knows his desires, he knows what he likes, who he loves, most importantly, but he realized that without Kakyoin’s presence it’s suddenly so boring and sad without him. In a way he feels scared, even though he knows Kakyoin is strong enough to handle himself, his worry manifests in a way that he knows that it’s how his mother could worry but it just can’t be helped.  

Will you come home with me? Hits HARDEST, especially, I know a lot of this is sexual undertones but as I’ve repeatedly stated, god damn does the change in context make it hurt, like there’s definitely been a lot of talk and a lot of promises that were made for when they come back home, Jotaro would have wanted to bring him home to Holly where she’d be safe and sound, and he knew for a fact that seeing her again, with the idea that she’d be overjoyed with them being together has given him something so pleasant. 

But Jotaro could never have that. He never got to say goodbye, or save him in time. For the longest time, Jotaro has realized that there was nobody that was going to make him this happy. 

And, really. Nobody could do it like Kakyoin, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be happy again. 

[hellektr0]

Man, I am on a ROLL. I posted a new fallout fic: As You Were.

It’s my first story over on AO3 and I’ve been working on it for over a year and, now, I’m finally posting it.

*taps on the mic* Please clap.

I’ll include a little chunk of the recent chapter here for y’all, but please pop on over and give it a quick review. A kudos. Anything to show me that I’m at least writing something worthwhile for you guys.

As You Were:

Pairing: F!Sole Survivor x Paladin Danse Rating: M Warning: Canon-typical violence.

The wind nipped at her face as she hurried towards the center of town. The map in her pip-boy indicated the source of the distress signal was only a couple hundred yards away. She flinched as another explosion of gunfire erupted. The closer she got, the louder and more frequent it became. Her boots thudded against the asphalt as she picked up the pace, breaking into a sprint. She rounded a cluster of buildings and skidded to a halt.

There, in the distance, was a towering police station surrounded by cement half-walls and sandbags. It wasn’t the structure itself was intimidating, rather, it was the fact that it was swarming with ghouls. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever seen that many ghouls all at once—ever. It was the most fantastic (and terrifying) sight she’d ever witnessed.

She snapped back to reality and jumped into action, finding cover behind the shell of a rusted car. She pulled her rifle towards her, balancing it on the hood of the car as she crouched, and looked down the scope. If she was lucky, she could find some errant ghouls to pick off from afar before heading it. Thin the heard.

A ghoul entered the cross in her site and she turned the safety off, exhaling as she squeezed the trigger. The ghoul’s head exploded into a shower of crimson, pallid lumps of flesh spattering against the cement wall behind it.

A few more were picked off, one right after the other. It wouldn’t be long before they started to notice where exactly this line of fire was coming from.

A sheen of cold sweat coated her forehead and slicked her palms. The distance helped her to feel safe but she wasn’t, she was never truly safe. Each time she pulled the trigger she would look around, sweeping her immediate perimeter. The cover of darkness helped to keep her hidden, but it was only a matter of time. She focused down the site once more, lining it up with a ghoul that was attempting to climb over the cement border around the station. With the pull of the trigger the ghoul’s head snapped back, its body going rigid for a moment before tumbling backwards.

The remaining ghouls started to disappear as they charged the building. Olivia stood up and moved towards them, trying to keep her steps light and her movements swift. A ghoul charged at her from her flank and she swung around, firing a rapid burst. It went down and she continued on, picking up pace. She took a moment to wipe her palms on the fabric of her uniform, hissing as she pushed an errant strand of blonde hair away from her face.

The adrenaline was getting to her.

Within a few beats she was at the station. It was chaotic and loud. Beyond the swarm of undead she glimpsed a small group of people. At the front was a looming figure in military-grade power armor, brandishing a laser rifle. The barrel glowed an ominous red in between its agitated firing. Olivia raised her gun and began to fire as she approached the swarm. She swept her gun back and forth methodically, watching them drop left and right.

A pang of dread pulsed through her when she pulled the trigger once more only to realize she was out of bullets. She frantically fumbled with her pouch, trying to retrieve her full magazine. She ejected the empty mag and popped the other one in. Just as she started to fire again she saw a blur of grays and blues in her peripheral vision. She swung around just in time to see a ghoul charging at her. It lunged for her midsection and she tried to hop back, but it was too late.

She hit the crumbled road-top with a thud, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her. The ghoul had been flung a few feet from the sheer force of her take down and she tried to stand, only to be pinned back down by a different one. Its arm had been shot off but it straddled her chest, its one hand flailing frantically as it attempted to reach for her neck. Her heart leapt into her throat as she pressed the upper receiver of her rifle into its chest, summoning all of her strength to try and push it off. If she tried to pull her rifle back to shoot, it’d surely leave her open.

Fuck.

There wasn’t a good way to be trapped in a herd of feral ghouls, but being trapped on your back was undoubtedly the worst position to be in. She’d witnessed many people be taken out this way—pulled apart by gnashing teeth and rotting flesh. It was a slow, miserable way to die.

Her limbs began to tremble as she parried and blocked its blows, trying to find an opening so she could knock it off of her. Just as she was beginning to lose hope, she heard a loud bang above her. Blood sprayed against her face and she yelped, feeling the ghoul go limp, slumping against her rifle. She shoved it away from her with a curse, letting her rifle fall to her side. With trembling arms, she went to push herself up, when a gloved hand was thrust into her face. Olivia looked up, squinting through the blood to see who her savior was.

It was the person in the power armor she’d seen before.

She apprehensively accepted the gesture and placed her hand into theirs, letting out another unflattering yelp as they yanked her to her feet. So rough.

Olivia grumbled and bent down to pick up her rifle, dragging a dirtied hand over her face in a vain attempt to clear the blood. When she stood back up, she noticed the armored person had removed their helmet and she paused. It was a man, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair peeking out from a hood. He gazed at her sternly from beneath a strong brow, his square jaw gritting as he gave her a once over. He had a dusting of stubble along his cheeks and intense, dark eyes, with a jagged scar dragging across his right eyebrow.

“We appreciate the assistance, civilian. But what’s your business here?” He asked.

She threw him a questioning glance. Were they not the ones projecting a distress signal? Maybe that signal wasn’t meant for her to hear. She frowned.

“Elaborate on what you mean by ‘here’?” She queried, aloof. “Because if you’re implying the wastelands in general, then I’m just trying to survive out here… like everyone else.”

His brows furrowed slightly but he remained impassive. “You don’t appear to be a common wastelander just trying to survive with the way you charged in and engaged those ferals.” He hesitated, holstering his rifle, his gaze never leaving her face. “Are you from a local settlement?”

Olivia regarded him warily. She had no idea who this man was or what his intentions were. All she had done was respond to some fellow humans in desperate need of aid, but the reality was she knew nothing about them. Who they were or what their purpose was here was a complete mystery to her. It seemed he mirrored her apprehension.

She crossed her arms and shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t really have a home.”

“An answer that I hear often,” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “If I appear suspicious, it’s because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire. You seem adequate on the field. Usually, I wouldn’t ask this of a stranger, but,” he paused, licking his lips. “If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”

She weighed her options. On one hand, she had a prior mission with the Minutemen to clear a feral infestation. On the other hand, she had just about seen enough ghoul fighting for one day. She felt guilt tug at the back of her mind but she pushed it away. The opportunity this man was giving her might turn out to be more fruitful. Besides, she’d hate to think what would happen to them if she decided not to aide them. Strangers they may be, but their deaths would weigh heavy on her conscience. Especially if she didn’t even try to help.

“I’ll continue to help, but,” she paused, taking a step closer to him. He loomed over her in his power armor and she had to crane her neck back to meet his gaze, “you owe me an explanation first.”

He stared down at her, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers for a moment, before relenting. He let out a sigh.

“Very well. I’m Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there,” he gestured to a small statured woman in a wide brimmed hat and a churlish looking man with a shaved head, “is Scribe Haylen. Next to her is Knight Rhys. We’re on recon duty, but I’m down a few men and our supplies are low.”

Her gaze wandered to the pair near the entrance. Haylen was hunched over Rhys. The front of his orange jumpsuit was spotted with blood and there was a large tear in the front panel of the material. She was pressing bandages to the wound with one hand and reaching back into a first aid box for a bottle antiseptic with the other. After cleaning it, she covered the wound in a dry bandage and taped it firmly in place. Her gloved hand ghosted over the bandage, almost soothingly, before taking a step back to admire her handiwork. Rhys didn’t look pleased but he was alive.

Haylen walked over to where she and Danse were talking and extended a hand. “Really saved our butts back there. Thank you for your help…?”

Olivia was waiting for her to continue talking before she realized Haylen was expectantly waiting for her name. “Oh!” She grabbed hold of Haylen’s hand. “Olivia Becker. And no problem. I heard gunfire and then stumbled upon your distress signal and decided to check it out.”

Haylen gave her a genuine smile, her freckle-specked face lighting up with curiosity. “And do you usually run to the aid of complete strangers?”

“I try not to make a habit of it, no,” she said lightly, trying to keep an air of humor. Danse and Haylen just stared at her blankly. Yeesh, tough crowd. “Actually, it’s kind of my job… I guess. I was on my way to help a couple of farmers with their own ghoul problem and got sidetracked by yours.”

“A mercenary?” Danse asked, his voice rough.

Olivia eyed him, gauging whether or not to be insulted. “No, actually. I’m not a hired gun. I…”

Part of her wondered how much information to relay to these two. After all, Danse said they were a part of the Brotherhood of Steel. She had no idea what kind of intentions they had. For all she knew, they would try to confront the Minutemen the moment they caught wind of them. Or, at the very least, where the remnants of them were currently located.

They looked at her expectantly.

“I just like to help people. Is it not our jobs, as humans, to help one another when we can?” She turned her gaze from Danse’s back to Haylen’s. It wasn’t technically a lie. “Any time I catch wind of people in need, I try to go and assist.”

“That’s… noble,” Haylen gave her a quizzical look. “It’s not often we meet someone so willing to dive right into danger just for the sake of helping others. Usually people want something in return.”

“Not me,” she tried to give a convincing smile but it faltered. “So, what is it that your squad needs help with?”

“I’ve been trying to send a distress signal to my superiors, but the signal’s too weak to reach them.” Danse thumbed in the general direction of building.

“Sir, if I may?” Haylen interjected before he could elaborate.

Danse nodded brusquely. “Proceed, Haylen.”

“I’ve modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I’m afraid it just isn’t enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal.”

“That’s where I come in?” Olivia queried, eyeing the radio tower looming at the top of the building.

“Correct.” Danse looked back at Olivia with a terse smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Our target is ArcJet Systems, and it contains the technology we need.”

“I’m assuming you’ll need some sort of deep range transmitter to boost something like that,” she said pointedly, her gaze still skyward. “Its old military technology but it’ll do the job—especially since towers like that don’t do much for distance. I didn’t pick up your distress signal until I was already in Cambridge.”

Seemed listening to Espinoza prattle on about military tech was worth it. He’d be so proud.

“Uh,” Haylen fumbled for a moment, taken aback. She seemed impressed. “That’s right. It seems like you know your stuff there, Olivia. What we need to do is infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here.”

She bobbed her head in thought, bringing a slender finger to tap her chin.

“So… what do you say? You willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?” Danse asked, his expression softening a bit as he awaited her response.

She studied him for a moment. His armor was intricate and well-kept, the emblem of what she believed to be his brotherhood plastered in shiny white paint across his chest. They must be in some deep shit for them to ask her, a random traveler, for assistance. She was sure to get an earful from Preston for not making a b-line to the settlers in need but… well, what did she really have to lose?

“There’s no time to waste. Let’s get moving.”

Danse flashed her a large, toothy grin and took her hand in his. “Outstanding.”

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Drunk Punch Love: Chapter 10

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 10: Goodbye

It all started with Joker making a toast. "You may have a serious justice boner going on, and sometimes I think you need to get that stick outta your ass, but I'm still gonna miss you, Garrus. The Normandy won't be the same without the dynamic duo annoying us all to hell."

Garrus laughed, but seemed perplexed. "Dynamic duo?"

"Yeah, you and Shep, shooting shit and making us watch, or dragging us across the galaxy on crusades, or ditching us all to go be broody leader types or whatever. She's going to be irritating without you around to distract her."

Anya wasn't sure she could take anymore of Joker's ramblings, especially when every two sentences he kept on throwing her winks. Joker on a buzz was not nearly as funny or clever as he thought he was. Standing up, she stopped the circus act. "Okay, let's take the glass away from our pilot and sit him the hell down."

Kaidan took said glass and stood next to Joker. "Aye, aye, ma'am."

With a glare, Anya sat back down and crossed her arms. "Oh god dammit, don't ma'am me."

Speaking up like the unhelpful asshole he was, Garrus just smirked at her. "I don't know, Shepard, you could pass for a ma'am."

"That's it, everyone's kicked off the ship."

Instead of feeling threatened, the three men around her just started laughing. Okay, Anya had definitely gotten too lax the past few weeks. Her subordinates didn't even take her seriously.

Before she could get snarkier, Kaidan gave her a friendly smile. "I'll get the pilot and I some water, and you two can enjoy some more time together. We don't need to have him flying drunk if the Geth show up, do we?"

As they walked out of the mess, Joker said, "I could if I had to."

Anya watched them go and couldn't kick the grin on her face. And she also watched them go because she knew if she looked back to Garrus, the pit in her stomach would form and she'd have to deal with those feelings again.

For days, ever since Liara left, she'd been sitting with a wad of uncertainty and guilt in her gut. Because the compassionate, almost infuriatingly psychic asari said as parting advice: "If you really don't want people to go, you have to tell them".

Safe to say, that wasn't very helpful with her current situation.

Sure, she wanted Garrus to stay. That was the only personal, selfish thing she'd wanted in a long time. But how she could stop him? The galaxy was in danger, and he'd... Well, she said it before. Damn turian would make a great Spectre. He wanted to make things better, which was exactly what she was fighting for. How could she stop him just because she wanted to stay that "dynamic duo"?

So, despite Liara's ominous and unhelpful advice, she looked back at Garrus and smiled like a friend. Because a friend was ready to support his aspirations wherever they took him and that's what he deserved.

Running a hand through her hair, she broke it out of the very loose and limp ponytail it was in. Anya just kept her gaze trained on his blue eyes, trying to memorize the pleasant way he was looking at her right now, with all his hopes and dreams ahead of him. She needed to remember that. "So how does it feel, being on your last mission on the Normandy?"

After Anya asked, Garrus started drumming his fingers against the table, this far off look in his eyes. "Surreal. When I first joined up with you, I thought I was crazy for trading C-Sec for an Alliance ship. I wanted to stop Saren, but I still didn't know much about humans. But now that I'm leaving..." He shook his head and downed his drink. "My world won't be the same without you- all of you."

"I know how you feel. I thought the Normandy never could feel like home without Anderson, but we made it our home again. I'm sure you'll fit in great with the Spectre program. Give me some tips they never gave me, will ya? I didn't exactly get the formal training."

He laughed, the sad kind that when it ended, it felt like an end to something greater. "Definitely. I can't wait to be able to teach you a thing or two."

"You already have. Needed some of those sniper lessons you gave me. Saved us from those damned geth turrets on The Citadel."

"You were a fine enough sniper already. Anyway, all the things you can do with a pistol terrify me."

"Yeah, but I was better because of you." Shepard sucked in a breath, knew she was getting a little too close to her own wayward feelings. "We're going to miss you, Garrus."

"Me, too." After a moment, he gave her a serious look and said, "Shepard, I-"

Anya reached across the table and touched his hand, shaking her head. She needed him to be sure and confident, because she wasn't. "Don't doubt yourself. It's about time you got out of my overinflated shadow. You're the best shot I know, the best soldier I know. You deserve more than that."

"I wasn't going to say that." Garrus turned his talons under her hand, held it like it was liable to break. Anya didn't know what that meant, but she didn't want him to let go. "I was going to say that being in your shadow has been an honor. And I loved every minute of it."

Feeling her whole heart collapse, turn into a concave hole in her chest, Anya pulled her hands away from his and held it in her lap. They started to shake; she wished they wouldn't. All that resolve she'd been proud of was crumbling into dust on her fingertips. "Don't say things like that when I have to say goodbye to you."

Garrus walked around the table and sat down in the chair next to her. It was like the air filled with lightning, and from it she could tell the slow, steady pace of his breathing. She'd been keeping up her composure the past 10 days, all she needed was to get through this simple scouting mission, send him off where he belonged, and-

But then he took her hand out from under the table and held it. "Everyone's been leaving on their own missions, and you still have Joker and Kaidan. I'm no different."

When he said that, her head jolted up and she was staring into his eyes. Anya wanted to always see his eyes. He was trying to mend her, she could tell, but she didn't want to be mended. She was a broken human and that was okay; she could live with it.

With each passing second, though, she wasn't sure she anymore if she was a broken human who could live without him. Anya tried to sound as in control as possible, and said, "Don't say that, Garrus. You know you've always been different." His eyes filled with this far off mix of concern and friendship and maybe even pity, but she didn't want to see it. She couldn't stand it anymore. "I didn't want anyone to go, but of course you're the hardest one to lose. I can't picture my world where you're not always interrupting it and reminding me to be human." Anya's mouth just kept going, and she couldn't stop it. She was leaning in close to him and it was like a drug; she was just as intoxicated as that first, fateful night. "Until that bar on Noveria with you, I think I stopped knowing if I was human at all. I can still be Commander Shepard alone, but until you I hadn't been Anya in years. I'm so afraid of losing who I am again. Garrus, I-"

And just as his forehead dipped to press against hers, and she was finally feeling some sort of strength in the out-of-control emotions she'd been spewing, the ship quaked and threw her and Garrus out of their chairs.

And then Joker was yelling over the intercom that they were under attack, the room shook, electronics exploded, and everything was on fire.

Garrus helped pull her up and the moment was gone; they were soldiers again, and they had a ship to save.

By instinct alone, she and Garrus put on their helmets and started ushering people to the escape pods. Shepard was talking to Joker and trying to assess the damage. Apparently it was an unknown vessel, shooting a giant, ship-destroying laser. They'd been hit once, and all they needed was one more hit to have the Normandy collapse in on them. Joker was doing everything he could at the helm to keep them running.

But Shepard was acutely aware this could finally be it; they could all die.

And looking at Garrus, brave and full of promise, she couldn't fucking bear it.

Walking over to him as he got the last nearby crewman onto the ship, a sleepy and frazzled Dr. Chakwas, she grabbed his suit. "Do one more quick look for other survivors, and then you get my people out of here."

"Shepard, I'm not leaving you."

Kaidan suddenly was next to them, holding a wounded helmsman. "We've gotten a lot of people out, but there's one problem: Joker's refusing to leave the ship."

"Idiot." Anya cursed and made up her mind. "Alenko, Vakarian, get these people out. I'll find Joker and send anyone else I might find toward escape pods."

As she tried to pull away, Garrus grabbed her arm. He held on like he was holding her life in her hands, but right now she didn't have time for the sentimentality of that. "And what about you? I won't let you go alone."

Her heart was racing and there was this foreign, deep-seeded, ominous fear taking hold of her. But she grabbed the edge of his helmet, pulled it forward to touch hers, and then shoved his hand off her. No matter how much she wanted to keep that voice by her side, now was not the time to ask him to stay.

To make sure he stayed alive, she had to let him go. "I'll find you. Now, that was an order. Go."

Though Garrus stood there for a moment, watching her run off towards the stairs, she eventually saw him grab two more crew members, toss them into the shuttle and, just as she was losing sight of them, hit eject.

If this really was the end, at least she'd made sure he made it out.

Now, she had a shitty younger cousin of a pilot to save.

When she made it to the command deck, the central hub was completely spaced. The ceiling hull was ripped open and all that was left was the floor walking up to the cockpit. Good thing she already had her helmet on. Making sure her boots were good to \keep her attached to the dck, she started walking across the open space.

In the darkness, she could see loose debris and pieces of her Normandy flying away. Worse, she could even see a few people. Anya kept down the vomit, watching Pressley's body float away.

Old man was a difficult officer, but he was a good one. And despite his prejudices, he was willing to learn to be better.

And now he was gone.

Walking forward to Joker, she had to assume he was there. She couldn't stand the thought of losing her ship, her crew, and him, too. Not after all they'd been through.

Finally, after what felt like eons, she stepped into the air pocket of what was left of the helm. Joker was there, slapping so many buttons and yelling into the comms like a madman. Anya couldn't even get her head straight enough to identify what he was saying.

Instead, she just grabbed a spare helmet and slapped it on his head. He said, "I'm not leaving her!"

Grabbing his shoulder and pulling him from the pilot's seat, she didn't care if she broke a bone. She wasn't losing him like this. "We're going. Now."

But just as she turned towards the last escape hatch, to the right of Joker's seat, she felt the ship beneath them crack. No. Dragging him along, she ran towards the door and opened it, throwing his ass in.

And before he could yell more, or she could get in, the ship broke underneath her. Anya knew her choices here: eject the pod and save Joker, or kill them both trying to get herself in.

So, watching the anguish in her friend's eyes, she slammed her fist on the eject button. And after his pod flew off and away from the ship, the Normandy buckled and shattered, a broken vessel that she used to call home.

Another jolt, and Shepard was thrown from the panel, hurtling through space. She could see them, though, the pods flying out in the other direction. At least a good chunk of her crew should make it, including Joker, Kaidan, Chakwas, and Garrus.

That was what mattered.

Anya could feel tears running down her face, with that final piece of solace. Finally her time came, where she was the one left behind and everyone else survived. She'd made it out alive so many missions, it was about time it happened. And if it meant they all lived, that was okay. It had to be okay. They could save the galaxy without her.

It would've been a slow death, if just then her helmet hadn't knocked into some heavy duty debris. She could suddenly feel the oxygen in her suit rushing out at a breakneck pace. Her hands were grasping, trying to cover the hole, even though it didn't matter. Her chest felt like it was getting vacuum suctioned out and the faster the air went, the faster her thoughts did, too.

At least she saved Joker. At least she told Garrus how she felt. At least she inspired all of them to save the galaxy, to become better heroes than she could ever be. At least...

And then everything faded to black.

///

This is the end of Part 1! (AKA Mass Effect 1). We will take a little detour for a few chapters into INTERMISSION: Archangel, but then we'll be back with part 2 shortly :)

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[waywardxson]

Rotting in Vain

Who: Rory, Derek ( @derek-ghoulie ), Darius ( @sshardassanderson )

What: Rory fails a test, is punished, and gets help in an unexpected place

When: Nov 6, Evening

Where: At House of the Dead, Trailer Park, Dare’s place, Hospital

Notes: TW for a lot of violence, arson, fire, murder, kidnapping

Derek

Derek sent the message to Rory with a sharp snap of his burner and stuck it back into his pocket. He was going to put the ghoulie through the ringer tonight, and solely to see just how dedicated he was to the task. To being loyal. Derek had been doubting his loyalties from the beginning, only now he knew exactly where his daughter was, knew that he could easily gain access to her, and knew he’d have nowhere to turn to but Derek for mercy. He sat down with his dog and waited for the man to show up. If things went well then it was just icing on the cake.

Rory

Rory felt a growing sense of dread with every step he took. Hands dug deep in his pockets, he slouched all the way to his truck and took a cigarette out of his emergency pack. He didn't smoke around Grace but sometimes after a fight it helped calm him down on the ride home. Rory had been hesitant and worried about what Derek would do from the moment he'd showed up and sent everything in a whirlwind. Aaron was gone, and the girls fawned over their 'daddy' like he hadn't just leveled their normal with his new normal. Rory parked, his face a shaggy mess now that he didn't have his little girl yelling at him to trim his beard. Flicking away the cigarette, Rory walked in, doing his best not to look like he was terrified of what Derek was going to say. When he found the new boss, Rory simply nodded at him. "Hey, man. You wanted to see me?"

Derek

Staring down Rory as he entered as if he could smell the fear on him, Derek gave a curt nod and then scratched his Shepard’s head again before urging the dog to go. The dog sniffed Rory once before bounding out of the room. Derek stood up and moved into Rory’s personal space, leaving only a foot or so of distance between them. “Smoking’s gonna kill you.” He commented. “Tonight. You’re going to head over to Sunnyside trailer park. Two serpent twins are going to be coming home after a fun night, and they’re going to come to an even more fun conclusion. I want to send a very clear message to the Andersons. Go to the trailer. Seal it up with them inside, doors, windows, everything. Use this,” He kicked a canister at his side. “All around the trailer. And burn it down.”

Rory

Rory clenched his jaw, watching the dog as it moved past him. He had no doubt in his mind that it would probably attack him if Derek told it to. He had been against dogs for a reason - he hated them after he'd been attacked when he was a kid. Once it was gone, he looked up and found himself close enough to Derek to make him want to step away. Of course he couldn't. He wasn't supposed to show that kind of fear so he forced himself to stand still. "If life doesn't kill me first," he said simply. But then the instructions came and Rory looked down at the canister, knowing exactly what was in it. It played out in his head in an instant. Sealing the trailer. Setting it on fire. Hearing them scream. He couldn't do that-- he wouldn't do that. "You.. want me to set two people on fire?" He asked, perking an eyebrow. "Don't you think that's a little dramatic? I'm more of a fighter than an arsonist. I could just beat them up." It would be preferable.

Derek

For a moment, Derek leaned back, arms folded across his broad chest as he stared Rory down. It was all written across his body. Uncertainty. Fear. Resistance. It was why he targeted the daughter. She’d be safe, he wasn’t a complete monster. What he’d want in the end was Rory to suffer for what Derek was positive he’d fail at. The dog curled up into a corner, watching the scenario unfold with a protective, watchful eye. “It’s not up for you to decide if it’s dramatic or not. If I wanted them beat up, I’d send someone else. This is what I want you to do. Nobody else. And this is how I want it done.” He extended a folded up piece of paper. “I’ve marked the trailer for you. They’ll be home at 7:30 for family dinner. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the parents won’t be there too but...collateral damage happens sometimes. No survivors. No trace evidence. Am I clear?”

Rory

There wasn't much of Rory that trusted he could change Derek's mind but that didn't mean he couldn't try. However, he was quickly rebuffed and his throat went tight though he tried to train his expression not to give off the look of hopelessness. Looking down at the paper, he studiod the layout, the trailer, then he crinkled it in the palm of his hand. Holding it back out to Derek to take, he said, "No evidence." Both in agreement of his plan, and not to leave even the shred of paper behind. He looked down at the canister and tried to swallow the knot in his throat but it was a huge, arson-slash-murder sized knot. His phone buzzed and Rory took a quick glance at it. Seeing Riley's name, he declined the call. He couldn't talk right now. He needed to think. He needed to plan and process. When the call came from a second time, he switched his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. "Who are they?" he asked but immediately knew it wouldn't matter.

Derek

The paper returned to his hand and Derek nodded, tucking it away. He’d dispose of it later but he sincerely doubted this evening would play out with four dead bodies. Stone-faces, he handed the canister to Rory and watched as he switched his phone off, expectantly raising a brow as if Rory were going to explain who the hell was calling. But Derek knew. A little blonde girl was missing after all. Behind Derek was a large closet door where little Grace was napping quietly. “Serpents.” Derek answered flatly. “Why? Do you think if I said ones a pedophile you’ll have a guilt-free conscience? We all have to make bold moves in this war and that’s just what this is. Better to let that little teen bitch die than to birth another Snake-to-be.” He had no evidence that the serpent girl was pregnant but he laid on the implication thick. “No survivors. I’ll expect you back here when it’s done. Now go.”

Rory

Rory knew better than to question him. Derek wasn't the kind of man you could question. He told you what to do and you did it. That simple and that complicated. He knew when he was excused so Rory simply turned and walked outside. He held his composure climbing in the truck, kept a straight face as he started it and drove down the block, and fought back any signs of fear until he drove out of the neighborhood. Once he'd made it far enough away, he pulled over on the side of the road, balled his hands into fists, and punched the steering wheel over and over, almost wishing he could break it right off. But that wouldn't be enough of a reason to keep him from doing this, not to Derek. 

 He raked his hands through his hair and leaned forward, spying the canister in the floorboard. This was what he was afraid of. Aaron had never ordered him to kill someone in cold blood, and Rory was sure that he couldn't have done it even if the previous leader had. Rory knew that he was a general piece of shit human but he wasn't capable of murder. He didn't care if they were Serpents, or just Southsiders. Or Northsiders. Or anyone - he couldn't. 

 But what choice did he have?

Still trying to figure something out, Rory checked the time on the clock of his truck, not even venturing to turn his cell phone back on. He couldn't talk to Riley right now. What would he tell her? *Hey, sorry I missed your call but I was just given orders to filet some snakes. Catch you later?* - No. He needed to do something and he needed to do it fast. He checked traffic and pulled back onto the road, making his way to the trailer park. 

 Every second he came closer made the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach grow until it was an all-consuming ache that he couldn't breathe through. He couldn't kill anyone. He couldn't kill a pregnant girl. He couldn't kill. Period.  Rory parked at the end of the street and sat in the truck, waiting until the time turned, all the while playing out different scenarios in his head until it hit 7:30 and he didn't have a single one that worked. No matter what he did, he was fucked. That was the thought he carried as he grabbed the canister in the darkness and tossed his third cigarette out the window. If he'd had Weston money, Rory would have just paid the family to disappear. He'd burn the place down and act surprised that no one had been there - but he didn't have that kind of money. Even with his win from the last fight, Rory had dumped it all in paying for Grace's school and buy her new things. She’d loved her new backpack and pencil case. She never had new things and he’d been so proud to buy those folders with the glossy shine. After paying his rent for the month, he was broke again.

Gripping the canister, Rory looked up at the trailer that he was supposed to hit and even though he didn’t know what he was going to do, he had to start working. The longer it took, the longer it would be before he got back to the House of the Dead. The longer he took the get back, the less Derek would trust him and no matter what, he needed to keep that trust if he was going to survive this -- if the people he loved were going to survive it. Twisting off the top, Rory hated himself as he started to splash the gasoline around the bottom of the trailer. Night had fallen enough to keep his body in shadows, especially thanks to a streetlamp that was going out on the corner. He’d actually wished it hadn’t been going out. If he was in light, someone could call the cops. Maybe that was it. If he could make enough noise, someone would hear and call the police and then he could run off without doing any of this. That wouldn’t be his fault, right? Derek wouldn’t blame him for that. But that didn’t mean Derek wouldn’t make him try again. 

Still, Rory started making more noise as he walked around the house, boots crunching dead leaves as he splashed the gasoline with enough gusto that he hoped someone inside would notice. But as he made it to the back of the trailer where he’d started, it was all too obvious that no one had heard a single thing. He cursed under his breath, dropping the empty canister back on the ground at his feet. He needed to do something and he had to do it now, before it was too late. 

Nervous tick alone had him playing with the lighter, flashing it for a moment before extinguishing it, and then again, over and over.

“Knew you couldn’t do it,” a voice said, stealing Rory’s attention and making him jump. He felt stupid that he’d been that distracted he hadn’t heard someone come up behind him. Or had he always been there? 

Rory recognized the Ghoulie that stood there, a look in his eyes that was pure apathy. It wasn’t hate. It wasn’t happiness. He just existed and Rory knew instantly that someone like Junk wouldn’t have had a single hesitation setting the trailer on fire. 

 “What are you talking about?” He asked Junk, trying to act like he hadn’t been hesitating. Rory turned to face him but all his eyes could focus on was the zippo in his hand, the flame at the end. Then it all happened like it was slow motion. 

The lighter was tossed, he watched it curl through the air. He hand shot out like he could stop it but it slipped by, igniting the gasoline the moment it bounced against the side of the trailer. The siding caught instantly and Rory jumped back, shielding his eyes from the heat while Junk stood admiring the chaos as the trailer went up in flames. Rory didn’t think. He charged the man and took him to the ground, punching him in the face. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth, a cut pierced over his eye. He would have kept punching if he didn’t hear screaming from inside the trailer. The first scream erupted and drew his attention. Just as he’d attacked Junk, Rory threw himself on his feet. He couldn’t let people die..

Grabbing a trashcan, he threw it through the window and then climbed in, glass piercing his arms and legs as he did. The smoke had erupted inside, billowing along the ceiling but he didn’t think. He followed the sounds of screaming and was shocked to see the younger woman standing there, cowering with.. two children. Young. Frightened. 

 Fuck. You. Derek. 

 “Come on,” Rory growled, grabbing her arm. She held the two year old that was clinging towards him and Rory scooped up the baby from the crib, hiding her inside his jacket. Covering his mouth with the other hand, Rory asked her where everyone else was when they made it to the window. She pointed down the hall and he quickly helped her out, carefully but swiftly giving her the baby that was now screaming at the top of her lungs.The heat was intense, flames catching on the couch, the walls, pictures and toys. Rory ran through it, kicked open the door and yelled at the two others that were cowering by the bed. When they didn’t move, he grabbed them, yanking roughly and shoving them towards the hallway.

“The living room,” he yelled, coughing through the smoke, pointing. One of them shook her head and ran back to him, throwing her arms around his waist, and Rory tried to push her off. There was a cracking sound and the ceiling in the hallway collapsed, blocking their exit. She screamed and Rory cursed. 

 Bringing his shirt up to cover his mouth, Rory tried to breathe but the smoke was making it exceedingly difficult. There was a small window near the ceiling but he doubted they could get out it without burning so he only had one choice. He had to force his way through the hallway. Grabbing a blanket from the bed, he threw it over the woman’s head and pointed. 

“Count of three.” She shook her head rapidly but Rory had no patience for it. He counted down quickly and then yanked her, forcing her to go with it. The broken wood and flames cut into his legs, knocking him to the ground with her but he didn’t stop.

Shoving her to her feet, Rory practically pushed her out the window. Then he jumped out himself, finding the little group of people and children rushing to their friend. Rory coughed, face down in the grass as he shoved his hands into the ground, already knowing that he was absolutely, and completely fucked. Looking up, he asked if that was everyone, trying to make sure they were all safe. He didn’t even breathe a sigh of relief until they assured him that was everyone. Even as they thanked him and hugged him, Rory felt like a piece of shit. One of the ladies called the fire department and Rory took that as his leave. He’d even forgotten about Junk until he walked around the back of the house to grab the canister and found the grass empty. 

 “Fuck...” 

He needed to get back to the House of the Dead before Junk did. Jumping into his truck, he backed out as fast as he could and slammed his foot on the gas, not sure what excuse he would use but certain he needed to talk to Derek first.

Derek

By the time the report came in that Rory had rescued the family, Derek had already moved Grace to a different location. She’d be safe, provided that Rory was able to follow through on one last simple task since it was quite clear that he couldn’t listen. He excused the ghoulie who was only known as Junk and focused his attention on the arrival of his soon to be former ghoulie friend. It wasn’t that he’d rescued the family. His intention was never for the fire to even happen. But Rory didn’t listen, didn’t intend to listen. And that’s where Derek had to draw a line. He was lovingly stroking Pamela’s head when the door opened and Rory entered the room. He lifted a brow and stroked the dog’s head one last time before standing up. “So. It seems that you really can’t follow instruction.”

Rory

How long had it been since Junk took off? Was Rory too late? The other guy didn't have a car that he knew of so maybe Rory got the jump on him. What would he say? Piecing together a quick story about--what? He could say that he fought Junk because he was trying to take his job from him. It would mean Derek would give him another task, maybe another fire, but he could deal with that then. Right now, all he could think about was fucking up too much that the man went after one of the people that Rory cared so deeply for. He didn't turn off the truck when he parked in front of the House of the Dead, running inside as he called out after Derek. But it seemed he was already waiting for him. Rory looked around quickly and at first glance, he didn't see Junk. Maybe he did make it here first. But Derek's words told him he didn't. "Dude, there were kids in there, a baby. I have a kid myself."

Derek

“I’m aware.” Derek replied coldly, approaching Rory from his spot across the room and getting into Rory’s face again. “But you see I wasn’t asking you to think about it. I wasn’t even asking you to come back here and justify your heroics. I asked you to burn the trailer down with everyone inside. And you disobeyed me.” He got closer, the front of his shoes lightly scuffing they top of Rory‘s. “I’m well aware of your daughter. In fact, I knew that you’d never follow through. Had you just admitted that from the get go, this might’ve turned out differently.” He grabbed the front of Rory’s shirt and violently headbutted him, with enough force to make the ghoulies nose spurt with blood as it collided sharply with Derek’s forehead. 

He seized him again and threw him violently to the floor, kicking him in the head, then between the ribs, and then again. “Now, you get to play for your daughter’s life.” Derek crouched down by Rory on the floor and held him upright by the front of his shirt. “I had a friend grab little Grace when this all started. And now you have to earn her back. If you succeed, you’ll get grace back, and you will never return to the Ghoulies again.” He slammed Rory to the floor, then punched him hard across the face. “Fail me, and you will never see her again.” He stood, dragging Rory up with him by his neck. “Bring me Darius Anderson. Do that, and you and your daughter can walk away.”

Rory

Rory wanted to slink away but he stood his ground, almost hoping the little show of strength would earn him some points. He looked down at their shoes and then back at Derek, clenching his hand into a fist at his side. "You want me to fight, I can fight but you--" Then the blow came and Rory's vision went white for a minute. He'd been in enough fights to know that it would fade but the world was upending when he was tossed to the ground, hitting his head on the hard floor. "De--" His hand went up to his nose, capturing blood in the palm of his hand as his eyes started to adjust. All they saw was Derek's food, the momentum of his kick rolling him onto his back before the next kick came, and another. It wasn't the smart decision when he heard Grace's name. 

Rory let out a grunt and threw his arm out to get a quick jab against Derek's jaw. The next punch made him dizzy. Rory had fought plenty of times in his life, usually for money, and he'd fought some real sons of bitches but Derek was different. Worse. More wild. And he groaned in back, spitting blood as he was dragged to his feet, head floating and face pounding with pain. "Where the hell is my daughter?" He spewed, suddenly remembering the calls he'd ignored from Riley. Now he knew why she must have been calling. "You son of a bitch, where is she?" he choked out.

Derek

Derek was acutely aware that Rory had some skill as a fighter, which is why it’d been critical to incapacitate him as quickly as possible. Blows to the head to disorient, to the sides to injure. He wasn’t about the petty little hand to hand sparring, and he needed to make himself very clear. The resonating blow to his face stung, and he knew beyond a doubt his jaw would be sporting a nice bruise for a few days. Rory would have to pay for that one too. With his neck tightly seized in a tight fist, he clenched hard, enough to certainly make catching a shallow breath a challenge. 

“I don’t think you heard me,” Derek practically growled, clenching Rory’s throat tighter. “You’re done asking questions. You’re done as a Ghoulie. The only shred of hope you have at finding your precious daughter is to get me what I asked for. I’ll forgive you for not hearing me clearly the first time since your ears must be ringing.” He wrapped a second hand around Rory’s neck, the pressure of both his thumbs against his trachea with enough force to nearly crush it. 

 “If you’re fortunate enough to regain consciousness after this,” He slammed them both back down onto the floor again, putting all of his body mass on top of Rory as he continued to choke the life out of him. “You’ll bring me Anderson within 24hrs. Do that, and Grace will be returned. And if you don’t...” He finally released Rory, standing upright and this time stomping with the entire force of his leg down onto Rory‘s rib cage. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Rory

Rory knew he could fight. At least, he thought he knew he could fight. But this was different because he'd never once had the intention of killing someone. There was a cold, dark place inside of him that knew that wasn't true of Derek. His hands gripped, trying to release the hold on his throat but growing both increasingly weaker and more frantic the longer he went without a breath. Stars flashed in front of his eyes when he hit the ground, the loud rushing sound of blood in his ears as he fought with the only strength he had left. But it wasn't enough. He should have known, it would never be enough. 

Then suddenly his throat was free and he could gasp in a breath that made the whole world spin on its side, but the stomp to his chest sent a sharp pain that stole the only breath he'd gotten, and like a lamp, everything went dark. His whole body was in pain, worse than any fight he'd been in because at least in those fights he'd been able to fight back. When he had adrenaline bursting through his veins, it was hard to feel the extent of your damage. 

Grace.. he thought. He needed to get up. He needed to find Grace. Derek had her and if anything happened to her..

A low groan came from a busted lip and while he tried to open his eyes, one of them was swollen shut. Dried blood clung to his face and every time he tried to take a breath, a sharp explosion erupted in his chest. He wasn't sure what the fuck happened in his chest but now wasn't the time to figure it out. "Grace," he mumbled, voice cracking from the pressure that had been on his throat. It barely came out a whisper. Get up, he thought. Get Grace. He put his hands on the floor and tried to push himself up but the pain turned him into a shaking ball of blood and broken bones. 

Fighting through the pain, he called his daughter's name again and when he finally got up, he expected to be in the House of the Dead but he wasn't. He was in the back of his shitty pick up out in a field in the middle of nowhere. Rory didn't remember passing out, or being moved, but none of that mattered right now. The man jumped out of the trunk, landed on his feet - and realized what an awful mistake he'd made as the pain shot through his chest. Wrapping his arm around himself, Rory was thankful the keys were still in his jeans pocket. Maybe Derek hadn't realized they were there. Rory doubted the man wouldn't make him go on foot if he'd known.

The last place the man wanted to end up was back in the trailer park but he drove like his life depended on it. No. Like his daughter's life did. Finding the correct trailer, Rory climbed out and had to steady himself on the back end of the truck to cough and spit a mouthful of blood. He made it to the door, slammed an open hand against it constantly until it finally opened. Without shame or hesitation, he said, "I need help."

Darius

It’d gotten to the point that Bruce was no longer coming home, and Dare figured if he’d found a ditch to sleep in, he might as well change the locks and keep him out for good. As much as he wanted to live with Charlie, he had responsibilities to take care of on the Serpent side of things. He needed to be close by and give instruction while Bruce continued to drink himself into oblivion. All the while, fucking Derek Gilbert had functionally declared war after his bullshit stunt that night that left a Serpent family homeless. Dare helped them find a place to stay for the night with a promise he’d give them a hand in the morning. It felt like his head had only just hit his pillow when there was loud pounding on his door. “Go away.” He pleaded under his breath, glancing at his phone. 9:14pm. He groaned and tried to ignore it, but whoever was at the door was hitting it like his life depended on it. 

Dare finally got up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt and finally headed to the door. It swung open inward and the man in the doorway was nearly unrecognizable. Had he not just recently met him in person, Dare wouldn’t have even known who he was. He sighed. “Listen dude, whatever shit Derek wants to fight about now can wait until tomorrow. You look like shit. Go home.”

Rory

Rory's heart was thrumming and he felt too much; too much pain, too much fear. His mind was a cruel bitch playing images of his daughter, scared and alone, with people she didn't know - people he didn't trust to hurt her. In his head, he imagined her screaming for him to save her and all he wanted to do was go to her. He had no idea where Derek could have taken her, where she was hidden, and he knew going to the cops wouldn't do shit. This was his only option.

Clutching his arm around his ribs, Rory felt thankful that Dare was even there but now what? He didn't expect the Serpent to just walk freely into Ghoulie territory to offer himself up. And Rory knew he was in no position to fight Dare in the hopes that he could knock him out and drag him there. This was his only play. "He has my daughter," Rory hissed. "He wanted me to kill that family where the fire was and I couldn't. I didn't set the fire but he wanted me to. I got them out," he said, hoping it would earn him.. something. "He's punishing me so he.. took her." But Rory didn't come here to tell Dare a sob story so he cut to it. "He wants you. He-- gave me 24 hours but.. He has her."

Darius

There was hardly a thing that Rory was going to be able to say that would make Dare continue this conversation. But the second he mentioned a kid was involved, Dare stopped and the frustration visibly drained from him. Of course Derek would leverage with a kid. He couldn’t be surprised and yet he was. He sighed and stepped out of the doorway, leaving enough space for Rory to come inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. He locked the bolt and gestured for Rory to take a seat on the couch. “I should kill you for what you did to the Hendrickson’s.” He muttered as he went around the house and finally found his cigarettes, lighting one up quickly and taking a long drag as he rubbed his forehead. “When did he grab your kid?”

Rory

Honestly, Rory would have understood if Dare attacked him for what he'd done. If he hadn't spilled the gasoline, it wouldn't have gone up the way it did but he wasn't going to fight semantics. Either way, he'd done it. He didn't refuse Derek. Maybe the fact he'd gone in the house and got them out would earn him some pity points. He walked into Dare's place and was thankful to take a seat, until he actually did. His chest hurt and he slouched to hold pressure. "You can. I don't care. I just need to make sure she's safe," he said, looking up and watching Dare as he moved around. "Some time after the fire. Or probably before knowing him. Riley-" He hesitated and knew he would need to call her. She was probably freaking out but he couldn't think about her right now. Rory rubbed his face. "Look, she's seven.. I-- I don't know.. I didn't know what to do."

Darius

Rarely was he ever in a position of such immense power. Darius was holding all the cards. He could kill Rory, he could demand his unyielding loyalty, he could demand that the ghoulie banish from the town and never return. But...he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his time with Charlie and the ordeal with Aidan and the kids hadn’t softened him. Made him take a good, hard look at the kind of man he was capable of being. Like Derek. He didn’t want to go down that route. He looked over Rory and his injuries. He’d never convince him to go to the hospital while his daughter was missing. 

Pulling out his phone, Darius sent out a mass text. Kid missing, seven years old, blonde. She’s being held captive someone secure and possibly ghoulie guarded. I want this kid found ASAP. Bring her back to the Wyrm. You have two hours. Confirm back to me once she’s safe. He put his phone back in his pocket and straightened up, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Alright. I’ve got everyone and their mother looking for your kid. We’ll find her. In the meantime, we need to keep Derek distracted. He wants me? You’re gonna bring me to him.” He approached the couch and carefully helped Rory onto his feet. Squaring his shoulders, he put his hands down at his sides. “Hit me.”

Rory

Rory expected Dare to turn him away. He'd never been particularly nice to the guy, even letting his own prejudices rule his emotions when Sammy had wandered off after Derek scared her. He'd stood by Dare at Pop's, eyeing him the whole time, ready to attack if he'd done anything. But he'd been decent about the whole situation, and now he hadn't just turned his back on this beaten and bloodied guy he had no allegiance to be good to. Rory hung his head in relief when Dare said he'd sent out a text. There were so many Serpents, and they were looking for his little girl. He didn't know how to take that. 

He mumbled a thank you and would have probably said it a million more times if it wasn't for Dare's next comment. Rory's head snapped up and it made the pain in his head wash over him. He fought through it, confusion on his face as Dare helped him up. "Wait-- what? You.." His brows pressed together. Was this a trick? "What?"

Darius

Charlie was most definitely going to have his ass when she found out about this, but if Rory wanted his help, Dare had to go on faith that he’d help him get out of the situation too. It’s not like he’d have Rory’s daughter at the ready, and by the time they got there, she’d hopefully be found. They didn’t Derek to know they were looking. And what better way to hold his attention than to bring him what he wanted? 

“If you’re going to bring me to him, he’s can’t find out I went willingly. So you need to make it look like I put up a fight. I’m still pretty banged up inside from...something else. It wouldn’t take you much. And Derek can’t know we’re looking for your kid. So...” He once again straightened his composure. “I want you to hit me. Then you’re gonna tie up my hands, and take me to him. He’s not gonna give you your kid back until then, but we should have her safe before he knows she’s gone. And hopefully...before he kills me.” He gave Rory a pointed look. “I’m hoping you’ll help me get out of there but...if not, I get it. So come on. Hit me.”

Rory

Rory shoved his fist against his side, already knowing that his body was going to hate him for throwing any kind of punches. He'd barely managed to get one off on Derek but.. maybe if Derek though he'd caught Dare off guard? Like he said, he was still healing. Rory knew all about that. He listened to Dare and in that moment, he realized that he picked the wrong gang to join a long time ago. Maybe he didn't know Dare that well, but he wasn't a raging psychopath like Derek. He nodded, realizing that everything Dare said was right. He just couldn't believe the other male was wiling to help him after everything. Rory let his hands fall to the sides, needing to shake out the feeling in them from his rigid position.

"I'll help you," he said suddenly, sure that he could have said nothing. But Dare could have done nothing too, and now he was willing to walk into the flames for Rory's daughter. That meant more than he'd know. "I swear." Maybe Dare believed him, maybe he didn't, but whatever happened, he would do everything he could. He owed him that much. Making a fist a few times, Rory squared up and for the first time, he didn't enjoy throwing a punch. His chest exploded in pain after he made contact, and he smacked his hand on Dare's back. "Sorry.." he offered.

Darius

Though he’d anticipated it to hurt, Dare wasn’t expecting to see stars when Rory’s fist collided with his face. Even injured he packed a wallop, and Dare muttered a stream of profanities under his breath as he waved Rory’s apology off. “Damn. Wish I had you on my team back when. Fuck me that hurt. Okay.” 

He huffed miserably and straightened up, picking up his fallen cigarette to keep smoking as he brought Rory some thin extension cords from another room. He removed his burner from his pocket and handed it over. “You’ll get the text when Grace is safe. Tap me on the shoulder or pinch me or something to let me know. Then we can try and get the hell out of there alive. But for now, we gotta keep up appearances. So don’t go dying on me until we get your kid safe.” He turned around and put his wrists behind his back. “Go ahead and make it tight.”

Rory

Rory shook his hand, the feeling throbbing through his knuckles. He hadn't wanted to hurt Dare, especially after he was helping him find his daughter, but he did have to make this look legitimate. "Can I get one of those?" he asked, eyeing the cigarette for the tenth time. He needed to keep up the facade that he'd done this, attacked Dare, brought him.. but his nerves were still shot. He nodded, shoving the phone into his pocket. He wasn't exactly sure how they were going to make it out of there alive but after all this, he'd do anything as long as his little girl was safe. "I'll do my best," Rory said, grabbing the cords and pulling them around Dare's wrists. 

Although it may have occurred to any other Ghoulie that he could just hand over Dare and be done with it - that would certainly earn major points with Derek - he had no intention of doing that. He wouldn't support the guy that kidnapped his daughter. All Rory ever wanted to do was keep her safe and this wasn't this. Looking at the ties, he considered them and then tightened them more. Appearances. "My truck's out front."

Darius

Dare offered the pack of cigarettes along with his lighter, biting down a remark about Rory being a firefly tonight as he still needed the man’s help getting out of the situation he was willingly putting himself into. He’d of done the same for anyone’s kids, especially Charlie’s, and although he had no reason to believe Rory would help him escape, he had to believe it. If nothing else, he wanted to be certain there was good in people and the folks with kids seemed to be the most apt for it. With his arms secured tight behind his back, Dare nodded. “I’m ready.” 

He let Rory lead the way out and had to get into the truck with the assistance. Sitting back, he tried to stomach down his nerves. He wasn’t sure what was worse, whatever Derek might to do him before they found the kid, or what Charlie was going to do to him when he came back with injuries again. But it didn’t matter. Rory looked to be at about death’s door and Darius needed to focus. “Let’s go.”

Rory

Rory never expected to be driving back like this, Dare coming willingly, the Serpents looking for the daughter of a no good Ghoulie like him. But whatever happened, he had a new respect for the people he'd thought he hated. They drove in silence, Rory smoking down the cigarette, every minute bringing them closer. Until finally, they stopped. Deciding to leave the keys in the truck - easier for a quick escape - Rory climbed out, groaning as he looked out his one good eye. 

Normally he would have planned on picking Dare up, carrying him around like a sack of potatoes but he knew his body wouldn't get him more than two feet if he tried. Hooking his arm through Dare's, Rory tugged the man, trying to make it look like he didn't give a shit about the person he was pulling into the devil's den. "Derek," Rory called out when they made it inside, doing his best to hold on for Dare to struggle. When he saw the shadow move in the corner of the room, Rory did his best to toss Dare onto the ground, grunting in pain as he did, panting through the aching in his chest. "You wanted him, you fucking got him," he hissed.

Derek/Darius

The minute they were ready to go in, Dare smashed down the remainder of his nerves and steeled himself for what was to come. He tried to keep his weight off Rory as he squirmed and twisted against his hold, cursing him out, dragging a foot without actually throwing weight onto it, and he collapsed on the floor of the House of the Dead with an angry shout as he hit his healing sides. “Fuck you, fucking ghoulie scumbag. Fucking attacking me in my own house. You are DEAD! You think you’re gonna be able to even step outside again after this??” He turned his attention to a bemused looking Derek. 

Derek stood up from his seat and set aside his book, approaching Darius hunched on the ground, visibly favoring one of his sides and a massive bruise forming on the side of his head. Derek quirked a brow at Rory. “I’m gonna be honest. This is not exactly what I was expecting. Especially in your...condition.” 

He kicked Dare over onto his side with his shoe and then approached Rory. “I’m impressed. You actually can follow instruction with the right motivation. Your daughter will be returned to you in the morning. Provided...you do one other thing for me.” Derek’s attention turned back to Dare and he dragged him up off the floor, holding him by his neck in the same way he’d held Rory earlier. “I’ve waited so long for this, Anderson. But your old man needs to be here to see this.” 

“Fat chance.” Dare snarled between gasping breaths. “Fuck you.” Inside Rory’s pocket, Darius’ burner buzzed.

Rory

"One other thing?" Rory growled almost like he knew Derek's dog did on his command. "You said I bring him and I get my kid." Except this time he struggled to hide the disdain in his eyes. "He's fucked up. Didn't take much to knock his ass down. Look at him." He threw a look over at Dare and tried to pretend that hated on his face was for him and not Derek. Watching the man walk over to Darius and lift him up, Rory had to fight not to step in. He'd clearly said that he wanted Dare's father to be there so he wouldn't kill him yet. At least that's what Rory was betting on. 

Feeling the buzzing in his pocket, Rory tried to be slick as he pulled the phone out and looked at the message. Got her. Headed to the Wyrm. It took all of Rory's strength to hold it together. He shoved the phone back down and looked around the floor. They needed to get out of here and Rory knew from experience it wouldn't be easy. Finding a broken beer bottle on the ground, he picked up the piece and shoved it in his sleeve. Dare would have an easier time getting away if he wasn't tied up. 

"What other thing do you want?" He asked Derek, hoping to drag his attention away.

Darius/Derek

Derek and Dare glared at each other, Derek moving across the room and throwing Dare to the floor like he weighed nothing. Darius shifted uncomfortably, lifting up his head and feigning a look of defeat. Derek, blinded by his need for revenge so damn close he could practically feel the rage tingling in his fingertips, went to one of the shelves in his room and grabbed a large meat cleaver. Pamela the Shepard looked up from her spot on the floor and whined, but Derek shushed the dog gently. It was a tone he rarely used but his dog was of great importance to him. 

“If the son was no problem for you, should be just as easy for you to get your hands on the drunk too. I’m sure you can find him stumbling around town somewhere.” Derek muttered, eyes appearing wild, unfocused as he started across the room and pressed a foot against Darius’ chest, waving the cleaver in front of his face. “I’ve waited twenty god damn years to get to this point.” He growled in Darius’ face. “Do you have any idea how your father ruined my life?” 

“Get in line, he ruined a lot of people’s lives.” Dare snapped back. “What the fuck does that have to do with—“ A blow landed to his face with enough force to nearly knock him unconscious. Dare dizzingly stilled for the moment as Derek approached Rory again. 

“Tie him to the pole. I’ll be right back.” And Derek exited the room.

Rory

Rory knew what Derek was going for the moment he opened his mouth. He wasn't going anywhere. Right now he didn't give a fuck about Dare's father but they were getting the hell out of here. Now. Gripping the piece of bottle, the glass cutting into his skin, Rory was about to swipe it out at Derek. He only stilled himself when Derek gave an order and then left the room. This was their chance. 

Falling to Dare's side, he pulled the man up to a sitting position, looking back to make sure Derek hadn't come back around the corner yet. "They got her," he said under his breath, using the glass to sheer across the ties at his wrist. At the moment, Rory mostly distrusted everyone and all he was sure of was that Grace wasn't with Derek's people anymore. That's all that mattered. "He'll be back any second." Tugging Dare up to his feet, he pulled him towards the hallway that led to the exit. "Come on. We have to go now."

Darius/Derek

One minute he was seeing stars and the next his wrists were free and he was being hauled up onto his feet. His old man had hit him into unconsciousness before and yet this still was worse. It was like Derek only  punched him at a fifth of what he was actually capable of. Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Dare focused his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Yep. Okay. We’re going.” Was a double concussion possible? A super concussion? 

His head felt like it had a million gumballs inside of it and had been violently rattled around. But he moved, knowing Rory would need probably most of his help. Just as they cleared the doorway and entered one of the halls, Derek came flying out of nowhere, slamming Darius up against a wall with enough force to rattle the foundation. 

He turned on Rory, grabbing him at his neck before the man could even put up an arm and gripping on with both hands. “I warned you not to fuck with me,” Derek snarled, crushing the life out of him. “I want to see the life leave your fucking eyes! I want you to know that your little girl is going to be my little servant for the rest of her fucking days! You’ve betrayed me for the last god damn time! SUFFOCATE, FUCKER!”

Rory

If Derek came back before they got out of here, it was going to be bad. Very bad. Rory fought through the pain in his chest as he pushed Dare towards the exit. The whole place could be crawling in seconds so there was no time to waste. They barely made it into a hall when a blur of motion hit the man in front of him like a train. "H--" Just as he tried to yell or throw himself at Derek, the man whirled and was on him. He'd thought the first time he had Derek's hands on his neck was bad but there was no warning for this, no attempt to take a breath, nothing but intense pressure that left him gagging, trying to force air through the neck that was being compressed. 

Rory threw his hands out, trying to push Derek away, hit his face, neck, eyes, anything he could try but panic quickly set in as he felt pin pricks of pain along his face. His vision was quickly blacking out. It wasn't like passing out where it started outlining your vision. This came in thick blocks and all he could hear was Derek threatening his daughter. 

The more he struggled, the quickly he lost energy and soon his knees gave out. But even as he fell, the hands weren't letting him go. He was going to die. It was the first time he ever thought and really believed it. Derek was killing him.

Darius/Derek

Dare was seeing stars again, the force of Derek hitting him against the wall left him dazed. The mass on the man was like being hit with a two ton bolder, all of the force going into his torso and knocking the breath from his lungs. Coughing and wheezing, he could hear the scuffle going on around him and tried his damndest to focus. Up, get UP! 

He finally managed to clear his vision in time to see Rory going down, his motions becoming so much less calculated and more flaccid. It was then he realized what was happening, and pushed up off the ground. 

“That’s it...” Derek crooned as Rory started to give out beneath him, the fire in his eyes dimming into a dull, glazed over appearance. “That’s the last fucking time you’ll ever—FUCK!” 

With that same shard of glass Rory had used to free him, Darius stabbed Derek in the shoulder, causing the ghoulie to release his titan grip on Rory’s neck. He grabbed onto his back and iron-barred his forearm around Derek’s neck, hauling him with all his might back off of Rory and struggling to hold on. 

Derek grunted, panted, threw his back into walls to try and force the Snake to let him go, his brain screaming out a mantra of NO NO NO! as pinpricks of darkness sparked in his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, ironically, collapsing on his knees beside Rory as the Snake continued to press his forearm against his trachea. Derek’s arms flew up, clawing at Darius, and finally collapsing into darkness on the floor. 

Straightening up, panting, and sick to his stomach, Dare released Derek before he accidentally killed him, looking at the door, then down at Rory. He cursed under his breath and grabbed him by his underarms, hauling with all his reserve strength and slinging Rory’s arm around his neck. “What did I say? Don’t go dying on me.”

Rory

Rory always thought he would fight harder when it came to this. In his underground fights, he didn't stop until the bell rang. But there was no bell here, and Derek wasn't going to stop. He felt all the strength leaving his body and the only thing that hurt worse was the sudden and complete inhale of breath he took when the hands were no longer on his neck. 

His lungs expanded and the ache in his ribs took over, blinding him for anything else. He didn't even know what was going on or who was picking him up until he was moving. Not sure how his feet shuffled along the floor, Rory's eyes were focused on the ground. He saw it. Then it was in front of him. He hadn't remembered falling, or the pain from hitting the floor. Or how he got back up. All he knew was he was suddenly in the truck and he collapsed against the side door. 

"Ple-- ge her.." The words were raw in his throat and it still felt like he couldn't breathe, like his heart was pounding like a desperate thing looking for air. He still felt the hands around his throat, squeezing, killing. All he could think. Please get her.

Darius/Derek

Getting the fuck out of the house of the dead without being detected was nothing shy of a miracle, and Rory was absolutely dead weight he owed very little to given the circumstances. But he brought the ghoulie down the road and to his truck, carefully getting him into the front passenger seat and resting his head back. He slammed the door shut and climbed in the drivers, using the keys to get the ignition going and peeling away from the house like a bat out of hell. “She’s fine.” Dare reassured as he fished his burner out of Rory’s pocket and called one of his connections. 

“Vic? It’s D. I’ve got one coming in and I need him treated on the DL, you got me?” He glanced over at Rory and snapped his fingers in his face. “Hey. Focus. We’re almost to the hospital.” They still had a bit to go, but he needed Rory as conscious as possible as he made the call to the serpent that’d found Grace. “Put her on. Yeah.” He passed the burner over and stuck it between Rory’s shoulder and head. “It’s your kid.”

Rory

It didn't cross Rory's mind until they were barreling down the road that Dare had every chance to leave without him. He didn't have to help him get out. He didn't have to help him find Grace. He didn't have to do anything but he did, and that was a debt he knew he'd never be able to pay. If he could have said anything without falling into the unconsciousness that wanted to pull him down, he would have told Dare no hospitals. He couldn't afford that and he didn't need it. He just had to rest. Rest and take aspirin, and see his little girl. But even trying to talk was stealing away any breath he had in him. 

Leaning his forehead on the window, Rory felt himself slipping into a sleep, brought back only when he heard that sweet voice say "Daddy?" Rory pushed himself up, tried to say her name but no sound came out. He tried a second time and his voice broke. "Grace.. Yeah, it's me. You okay?" 

She started going on about her adventure but all he heard was that she was alive. She didn't sound hurt or scared. She was safe. The relief that tore through him gave into the pain and while she spoke, Rory slouched forward and allowed himself to let go.

Darius/Derek

Dare focused on the road and knew that they were running out of time. Rory revived himself long enough to talk to Grace for just a moment before he was slumped forward against the dash. At an intersection he stopped to lean him back and grabbed the phone. 

“Hey...Grace. This is Darius. I’m a friend of your dad’s. My friend is gonna keep an eye on you. She’s very nice. And then I’ll bring you to your dad. Talk soon.” And hung up. 

Within ten minutes he pulled up to the side of the hospital where the ambulances unloaded people, where Victor was waiting with a stretcher. He helped unload Rory onto it and paused. “Isn’t this guy a Ghoulie?” 

“Not anymore.” Dare clarified with a glare. “He’s just a guy now. And you’re gonna treat him like he’s one of us.” 

“D, this—“ 

“Derek almost killed him saving me. So do as I ask. You got the papers?” Victor sighed but nodded, holding up a forged chart. 

“Name’s Fred Petersburg. He’s a 24 year old male from the south side. What the fuck happened to him?” 

“He came to me looking like shit but Derek about strangled him to death. Go.” Without another word, Rory was rushed into the hospital and Dare stood outside, cursing the shitty evening.

[writebythenight]

The Silence

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my mediocre ideas!

Summary: Rick asks the Psychologist survivor, Rose(OC) to talk to Negan. 

Chapter Fifteen

This fucking woman never stopped fucking surprising him.

"I can't ask you to do that." Even though he felt his spirits lift higher than they had since he'd been locked up.

"Okay well don't ask." She shrugged. "I'm doing it either way."

"And just how are you plannin' to Shawshank me outta here, sweetheart?" He was leaning on the bars his hands high above his head making him feel very imposing to Rose.

"At night." She began.

"Yeah...?" He dragged the word on wanting her to elaborate.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, big guy." She smirked leaving him shaking his head slowly, smirking right back as he watched her leave.

X X X X

Tonight was the night.

The luke warm water trickled over Rose's body and she cherished every last drop knowing this wouldn't be the norm any longer. She was well aware of everything she was giving up for this man who in the grand scheme she didn't know all that well. Knowing of the Negan before he was locked up didn't help, nobody could have been through what he had for the last two years and stay the same. She just had to figure out if it had been for the better or for the worse.

She was standing by her morals!

She couldn't let somebody die as a warning to the new world, not after everything!

That's what she continued to tell herself. When she tricked Scott into giving her the keys to Negan's cell, when she stole Lucille from the "secret" part of the weapons store that everybody knew about, even when she looked Tara in the eyes and lied about what she would be doing that night.

Feeling fully clean she wrapped herself in her scratchy towel and stared at the clothes she had laid out. Practical, warm, the clothes she had turned up to Alexandria in. Thick black jeans that were fraying but had no holes, a vest, a long sleeved stripy, burgundy and white top, a thick jacket and thick dark green coat. Her boots were new and so were the thick socks. Both of which were hard to come by out there.

Her bag was packed, hidden inside the wardrobe all she had to do was wait. Wait for 3am when in the silence of the night her new life would begin.

X X X X

Two sets of keys clinked together in her hand as she approached one of the only three cars remaining with fuel. This was what she felt most guilty about, she knew it was the very last fuel until they could perfect making it themselves.

She was only going to borrow it. The note she left in her room had told them so with co ordinates of where to find it.

He was sat up on his cot, his knee jittering nervously. He was nervous for different reasons to Rose. This was his last chance whereas she was worried about being caught, about living out on the road again but at least she wouldn't be alone this time. Negan could handle himself, that was a definite.

He didn't say a word as he stood up,  there was nothing to say. The lock clicked loudly and the gate swung open. "You're sure about this?" He was still stood in the shadows.

"Don't make me regret this." She said the seriousness of the situation portrayed in her voice. "Please."

"I won't." He said. No jokes. He needed her to know that he knew the severity of the situation. He walked out of the shadows  of his cell for what he hoped would be the last time and stopped right in front of her.

"We don't exactly have time for staring into each others eyes longingly..." She whispered.

He smirked and motioned towards the door. "You sure you've got this?" She had told him the plan but that didn't mean he was comfortable leaving his only chance in the hands of somebody else, even if it was her. He had no choice though.

Rose started walking to the door and he noticed her entire countenance had changed, she was stood taller, more on edge, aware and he hated that she had to be this way now. It was his turn to look after her, he owed her and he wanted to. He realised it was the first time since Lucille that he wasn't doing it as part of a deal. He just wanted her safe.

"You put this on." She handed him a baggy grey hoody which he pulled on and made sure the hood was covering his face. "If anybody comes, you hide. I'm sorry but the only way we're gonna get out of here is if I take advantage of the fact that they trust me." He nodded and noticed her take a deep breath as she walked out of the building and up the stairs beside him.

She peered over the last step and he found himself unable to stop watching her, this was the first  clue of how she had been before Alexandria. She nodded her head to gesture that they were going to move and they both fell into step, Rose guiding them. They didn't hit any trouble until they turned the last corner before getting to the car.

Negan had been worried that he might have lost his touch having been in that damn cell for so long but when Rose shoulder barged him into a large bush without him so much as being prepared for it, well that confirmed it. His mind caught up quick and he realised there must have been somebody coming.

"...didn't feel too good." He heard Rose lie.

"You want some company?" That was Scott, he always fuckin' hated the big bear looking fuck.

"Oh no..." Rose said a little too quickly before recovering. "I mean, it's late you should get some sleep."

"Yeah I guess I will. See ya tomorrow, Rose."

"Yeah, bye." Negan heard the sadness in her voice and if Scott hadn't then he was a moron.

"Get out here... quick." She whisper shouted. If it had been any other situation she would have laughed seeing big bad Negan crawling out of a bush, holding his back with leaves in his hair. Unfortunately she couldn't enjoy the moment and dragged him the last little way to the car, popping the boot.

"This better fuckin' work." He grumbled, climbing in the boot.

"You're really not in the position to complain here, asshole."

"Yes, sir." He said with a laugh as she closed the boot on the scrunched up six foot something man.

The second she started the car she would have to be quick, the sound of an engine travelled far in what was now such a silent world. What used to be background noise was out of the ordinary these days.                  

The rumbling of the engine sent a flood of adrenaline through Rose and as she drove up to the gate her stomach sank further and further.

"Fuck. Shit. Fucking fuck." She chanted under her breath as she drove, right up until Aaron came up to the drivers window.

"What are you doing?" He looked worried and it made her guilt even worse if possible.

"You need to let me out. Right now." She demanded. "Quickly!"

"What the hell is going on, Rose?"

"I can't tell you. You just... you have to trust me." Her voice broke just like she knew it would no matter how hard she fought it.

"Are you okay?" He asked. There was nothing in his face but concern, no accusation, no anger.

I'm so sorry, Aaron.

"Nobodies gonna get hurt okay." Not anybody in Alexandria anyway, she did have a murderer in her boot after all. What the actual fuck am I doing?! "That's all you need to know okay. Just let me out right now."

"No." He said simply while feeling for his radio, she was afraid of this. "I'm so sorry Aaron." She whispered as she pointed the gun she had been holding by her side at him just as he had lifted the radio to his mouth. "Get them to open the gate."

He stared at her, so confused and the fact that he still wasn't angry almost made her put this plan to bed all together.

"You wouldn't." He said with conviction.

"Don't make me. Please don't make me." She never ever would but she just had to hope, as the tears rolled down her cheeks that he wouldn't call her bluff.

She didn't know if she was relieved or terrified when he gestured for them to open the gate. She heard someone yell, "what the hell" but Aaron just gave them a look. "Do it."

Then the gates opened. Simple as that, Negan was free and Rose was the reason. Her foot hit the gas and she heard the dull thud of Negan probably being thrown back in the boot.

Good. She thought, it served him right for making her feel something for him, for getting her into this situation. Looking into the rear view mirror she saw Aaron talking on his radio, someone would come after her, if not straight away then as soon as they noticed Negan was gone but she just had to hope they wouldn't use one of the cars. That was what she was counting on.

Rose's mind went back and forth as she drove until sun up, not stopping even to let him out of the boot as they needed to get as far as they could before stopping for even a second.

She had nearly turned around a ridiculous amount of times but it was too late, she knew that, there was nothing to go back for but had there ever really been anything for her to go back to?

XXXX

When the boot finally opened Negan sat up slowly.

"I felt like this was all a trick to get me in a smaller, much more fuckin' uncomfortable box to rot away in for a sec there, doll." Rose said nothing to him, just stared at him. "Are you okay?"

"No." She told him. "But I will be." She nodded at him and all he could do was admire this woman who had single handedly gotten him out of that hell hole more effectively than any of those shower of shits he had led for so long could have. "We need to keep moving." She said matter of factly,  walking to the back of the car and opening the door before reaching inside and pulling out a bag. "Here."

"You really thought of everything." He chuckled as he climbed out of the boot and stretched his long limbs.

"You've no idea." She said quietly putting the bag on the floor this feet before reaching back in. When she came back out with his old leather jacket in one hand and Lucille in the other he honest to god nearly broke down crying. She really is a fucking angel.

"I thought...I..." He just shook his head, speechless. She had actually made him speechless. "Well shit, angel..." He approached her slowly and took both items in his hands like greeting an old lover. "I thought... Michonne said she was gone..." It took Rose a second to realise he was talking about the bat.

She remembered reading an article once named the psychology of stuff and things... it talked about how an object can become an extension of ones self, how it can be a way of someone  displaying their status or power. That was what she used to think the bat was to him but now she knew it was so much more than that. It was a physical representation of the loss of somebody he hadn't dealt with losing, a way of tricking his mind into feeling the comfort of still having her by his side.

She didn't know where she stood in all of that and she hated that a bat was making her insecure but the way he so gently caressed the bat was almost uncomfortable to watch.

"Michonne probably said that to hurt you."

"Well she fuckin' hit me right where it hurt like fuck." He rasped.

"Come on." She got his attention back on her and he nodded before pulling his leather jacket on, it was a little baggy but it felt amazing.

"So what's the plan, doll?"

"Get the fuck outta dodge." She slammed the door and started to walk up the street, Negan, his bat on one shoulder and his bag on the other as he caught up to her.

"WOO!" He shouted. "This feels fuckin' good!" He was elated and that was only to be expected, Rose just hoped he wouldn't be so elated that he'd get them both killed.

"What the fuck have I done?" She groaned only for Negan to laugh loudly.

A/N

This took longer to upload than I thought it would because I wasn't too happy with it. I'm still not! If you think the same I promise every single chapter from now onwards will make up for it.

SHITS ABOUT TO GET REAL.

Chapter Sixteen

[toastling]

So some friends of mine and I got to talking about Bee Movie and I wrote some sequels

[1:29:26 AM] lau: she left this man for bee jerry seinfeld [1:30:38 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: that bee couldnt even pleasure her in any way [1:30:47 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: can he kiss her??? rub her back??? [1:30:53 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: no. he cant bc hes a BEE [1:32:46 AM] Sol: http://protectbuckybarnesatallcosts.tumblr.com/post/142880693709/jibblyuniverse-ptsdgriffin-killuav [1:32:48 AM] lau: kri you innocent soul you haven't read the fanfiction [1:33:22 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: IM TALKING ABOUT LIKE, IN ACTUALITY [1:33:28 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: FANFICTION DOESNT COUNT [1:33:52 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: Sol please [1:34:08 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: also id bee terrified of him crawling inside me? what if he suffocates and dies [1:34:12 AM] Sol: You asked [1:34:21 AM] Sol: KRI STOP [1:34:21 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: i dont want to have to excavate a dead body from my vag [1:34:34 AM] Sol: THE UNIVERSE CAN ONLY HANDLE SO MUCH BEE PUNNERY [1:34:49 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: thats a shame dude beecause were talking abt bee movie [1:35:07 AM] lau: fanfiction has this figured out. air tanks, kri, air tanks [1:35:14 AM] Sol: Wut [1:35:53 AM] Toast: Vanessa is actually the reincarnation of Cleopatra and her ex is a reincarnation of her high priest. Barry is not the first bee she's looped into this little scam of hers. She seeks out bees with the right qualities and eventually traps them in a jar so that she can recreate the greatest vibrator the world has ever known and achieve ultimate pleasure as the amassed bees vibrate at just the right frequency due to her clever and specific selection process.

However, in Bee Movie, something new happened, and she fell for one of the bees who was supposed to be just a means to an end. She severed her tie to her reincarnating high priest after realizing how much of a dick he really was and fell more and more for bee Jerry Seinfeld. But in the end, she could not resist the temptation, the pleasure. Barry was the last piece of the vibrator puzzle in this reincarnation cycle. So she trapped him, too, and that was the end of their relationship.

At last, her quest was complete.

And that's how Bee Movie 2 would've ended. [1:36:04 AM] Sol: What [1:36:09 AM] Sol: The [1:36:12 AM] Sol: Fuck [1:36:27 AM] lau: there used to a game in our friend group was to find the weirdest fanfiction and try reading in without laughing. there was a bee movie bee smut fic that involved barry b benson diving inside of vanessa with air tanks [1:36:50 AM] Sol: Now we how Ford came to be [1:36:54 AM] Sol: *know how [1:37:02 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: hey James do you accept criticism on your messages [1:37:06 AM] Toast: No [1:37:18 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: too fucking bad here it is: shooting me wouldve been better [1:37:22 AM] lau: reading weird fan fiction around the lunch table is my origin story [1:37:33 AM] Toast: I hope at least Ford had fun with that one [1:37:34 AM] Sol: Why do you even ask Kri, we know what you're going to say [1:37:42 AM] Toast: I had fun writing it imagining your reactions [1:38:06 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOL [1:38:12 AM] lau: oh yeah it ends with barry discovering a human fetus in her womb before stinging it to abort it and also killing himself out of anger [1:38:21 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: WHAT THE FUCK LAUREN [1:38:28 AM] Sol: THE FUCK [1:38:29 AM] lau: and then it turns out he was on a prank show [1:38:30 AM] Sol: The fuckd [1:38:31 AM] Sol: Fdnrnnf [1:38:37 AM] Sol: THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK [1:38:38 AM] Toast: he ded tho [1:38:49 AM] lau: with ashton Kutcher who implanted the fake fetus to prank barry [1:38:56 AM] Sol: FORD [1:39:07 AM] Sol: IM WITH KRI [1:39:10 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: Sol will you please end my suffering [1:39:13 AM] Sol: SHOOT ME [1:39:15 AM] Toast: Ford has improved my draft of Bee Movie 2 [1:39:23 AM] lau: NO [1:39:23 AM] Sol: SHOOT ME FIRST [1:39:28 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: we can do it together like hold hands and jump off a cliff or like cyanide [1:39:34 AM] Sol: I CANT OWN A GUN ANYWAY [1:39:35 AM] lau: I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS [1:40:10 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: Sol i dont have a gun either [1:40:39 AM] Sol: FORD YOU POSTED [1:40:44 AM] Sol: THAT [1:40:53 AM] Sol: YOU DONT GET TO SAY ANYTHING [1:41:06 AM] Toast: What if Vanessa fell in love with a talking gun after her tryst with Barry ended and as she and the gun were doing it she accidentally pulled the trigger would that be fucked up or what [1:41:24 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: James [1:41:28 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: for the love of god [1:41:30 AM] Toast: I feel like this is something that would happen today in Texas in real life [1:41:38 AM] lau: i mean as a group we've seen worse fanfics [1:41:40 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: can you just for fucking once please think before you hit enter [1:41:44 AM] Toast: No [1:41:44 AM] Sol: THE GUN PREMATURELY FIRES [1:41:51 AM] Sol: FUCK [1:41:54 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: im leaving all of you [1:44:33 AM] Toast: Vanessa didn't finish writing her will before the premature firation, so instead of bequeathing all of her belongings to her secret lover Jerry Seinfeld, who exists in this world independent of Barry B. Benson who had his voice but is now dead, they get bequeathed to a guy named Jerry Sein instead, who now must figure out what to do with this loudly buzzing jar and a talking gun with night terrors and survivor's guilt. [1:45:01 AM] Toast: Bee Movie 3, bam [1:45:24 AM] Toast: "bam" is part of the title, in reference to the talking gun, whose name is Bam Bam. No relation to the Flintstones character of the same name. [1:45:36 AM] Sol: https://youtu.be/tLLKMiVL3O8 [1:45:40 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: James if you make one more post about this im leaving the group [1:45:51 AM] Sol: The ant Man post had me thinking about this short. [1:45:56 AM] Toast: ): [1:46:00 AM] Toast: I'm having fun god damn it [1:47:54 AM] Sol: WAIT TOAST, WHO GHE FUCK DOESNT FINISH WRITING THEIR WILL IN SUCH A MANNER THEY DONT FUCKING FINISB A NAME [1:48:58 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: THEY BLEED OUT YOU FUCK [1:48:58 AM] Toast: I could explain this but Kri is already standing on the edge [1:49:09 AM] Sol: WHAT IS SHE DOINF [1:49:14 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: WHO IS SHE [1:49:19 AM] Sol: WRITING THE WILL DURING BEE SEX [1:49:28 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: IT WAS GUN SEX YOU FUCK [1:49:30 AM] Toast: Yes that's what she's doing except it's a gun [1:49:44 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: James u can explain the stuff uve already wrriten just please [1:49:47 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: no bee movie 4 ideas [1:49:51 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: jesus fucking christ [1:49:54 AM] Sol: WHAT KIND OF FUCKING PROTECTION. IS THAT [1:50:04 AM] Sol: LET ME JUST [1:50:16 AM] Sol: WRITE THE WILL WHEN IM HAVIG SEX WITH A GUN [1:50:21 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: NO SOL [1:50:22 AM] Sol: PERFRCT [1:50:25 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: SHE GOT SHOT [1:50:28 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: THEN WROTE THE WILL [1:50:33 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: AND DIED MID SENTENCE [1:50:53 AM] Sol: WILLS HAVE TO BE FUCKING SIGNED [1:50:53 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: BLEEDING OUT ISNT AN IMMEDIATE THING MY FRIEND [1:51:10 AM] Sol: AND YOURE ON YOUR DEATHBED WITH A TALKING GUN [1:51:20 AM] Toast: It was always going to end with Vanessa's death, this was her suicide plan all along and Bam Bam knew that. She couldn't bear to live anymore after Barry, knowing what she'd done to him and relegated him to. She released him from the jar but he was... broken. His mind was gone. The brilliant bee that she fell for was gone. So she enlisted Bam Bam to have some fun and also ensure her demise. Unfortunately, she didn't account for Bam Bam to fire prematurely. [1:51:24 AM] Sol: AND YOU LEAVE EVERYTHING TO JERRY FUCKING SEINFELD [1:51:46 AM] Toast: Jerry Seinfeld was her secret Real Lover hinted at in Bee Movie 2 and revealed at the end of Bee Movie 3. [1:51:59 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: GOD I HATE THIS [1:52:03 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: WHY WAS THIS BROUGHT UP AGAIN [1:52:12 AM] Sol: TOAST YOURE A SHIT WRITER. [1:52:38 AM] Toast: Bam Bam felt survivor's guilt because he knew what he'd done and he knew how it was going to end no matter what but knowing that it didn't go according to plan coupled with the weight of what he'd done shook him. It's really quite the tragedy. [1:52:49 AM] Toast: Then, in Bee Movie 4, [1:52:55 AM] Sol: IS TOAST CHUCK TINGLE [1:53:07 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: J A M E S [1:53:07 AM] Sol: IS HE USING THIS CHAT TO RUN BY ALL HIS IDEAS [1:53:10 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: NO BEE MOVIE FOUR [1:53:16 AM] Jarl Sex Party™: ENOUGH

[beinguncomfy-blog]

001.

I haven’t figured out a tagging system or anything. And this post isn’t too thought out, so I’m not sure how coherent it will be.  But I figured now was as good a time as any to start this blog.

I am a person with Osteogenesis Imperfecta and I recently got in my first car accident.  

And I’m finding I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted in a way that I can’t quite explain. . . Or maybe I can, but I downplay it.  Or maybe I can, but I just don’t have the right audience for it.  That’s not to say my friends aren’t good allies, but I think it’s something that can only be validated in the disability community ( a part of me feels bad saying that, as if I’m making it us vs. them.  But is that not just a truth?  If you’ve never seen the color green, you could not understand or explain what green is ).  Anyway, I want to write this post to make it real and validate it for myself.

The background: I got to a yellow light, braked just in time for the red.  I gave it a few seconds, then boom, I get swiped on my left bumper.  No airbags deployed, everything was for the most part fine.  But this was my first accident.  Basically, it’s got me thinking about disability for a few reasons.  

I. The Internalized Idea That My State Of Being Is Inconvenient.  

I have a bone disease.  I break things easily.  It’s a genetic condition that, as far as we know, is incurable.  When I break things, I’m often times not doing anything different from what a person without my disability will do.  My body just gets tired, my body is just more fragile, than a person without my disability’s body.

When I first started driving at the age of 19, my mom told me a story about a woman with my disease who died from a neck break.  The accident, she told me, was something that would’ve just given anyone else without my disease whiplash.  

My first instinct wasn’t fear for my own life--I was afraid of traumatizing whoever might hit me.  I even went so far as to put a note in my car that offered condolences to whoever hit me.  “I’m not sure what happened, but if I died, it wasn’t entirely your fault. I have a bone disease.”  My mother obviously made me take the note out of my car because that is just ridiculous.  But that’s the kind of person I am.  That’s the way I regard my condition.  My life, fragile as it is, is worth less than someone else’s peace of mind. 

When I got into this accident, I let my insurance know of my bone disease.  I told them I’d need a check up, because I am prone to breakage and other related injuries.  Then I apologized to the girl who hit me.  I told her I was so sorry I was the one she hit.  

Sure, I did what I logically was supposed to do--collect my dues, get my statements in.  Make sure it was clear this wasn’t my fault.  But I somehow still felt guilty.  I did not once think ‘how unlucky of me, and my bone disease, to get it.’  I just felt sorry that she had to deal with hitting me.  In some ways, that’s empathy.  But in many ways, I can feel this internalized devaluement of myself simply because of my genetic disorder.

Every time I notice I still feel this way, it fucks with me.  This feeling has brought me to such dark places.  Dark places that I’ve normalized maybe too much.

Still, I felt a similar, ugly feeling when my roommates expressed concern if I was okay.  When my family panicked about my otherwise minor accident.  When my roommate spent 6 hours with me in the urgent care.  All I ever wanted was to not feel burdensome, and I have an incredible support system that really tried to make me feel not so.  I want to accept this love.  

Some messages I got growing up and some internalized ideas I have of myself. . . they’re hard to shake. I’m aware of them, though, and I’m trying to use my logic to fight that ugly feeling in my gut.  

II. This Hypervigilance.

I thankfully have not broken anything for thirteen years, have not had any bone-related surgery for ten, and have not had treatment for 7 years, it in some ways makes it harder.  The trouble with invisible disability is it’s hard for people to understand or take it seriously.  Often times, they assume you are more capable than you are. And in some ways, I am.  But in some ways, just by the definitions of my disease as well as the institutions of my society, I am just not.  

I think I have days where I don’t think about having a bone disease.  But I think even this days come with a higher level of anxiety, a higher level of vigilance, than the average person.  I am aware that my body functions differently, more dangerously.  I am aware that others around me do not know, and are often not as careful as they need to be, which makes me twice as careful for myself.  But this is a part of me, so I don’t have to actively think about it.  That doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me.  It just means I’m used to it.  Even my pain tolerance. . . I don’t think the pain is absent.  I think I’m just far too used to pain to care.

But there’s always moments like this that jar me.  Since this accident, I've hyper aware of my disease playing out once more.  I was already imagining every time I broke something and how it compared.  I was keeping track of every movement, every symptom, so as not to aggravate any soreness further.  The whole night before, I couldn’t sleep.  I was terrified that this simple accident left me with compression fractures, hairline fractures, stress fractures, bone bruises. . . That my life would be derailed by xx months by yet another injury.  I still remember the days of tri-yearly breaks, and I am always aware that that is not a distant past, nor is it an unlikely future.

So I emailed my professor to tell him I wouldn’t be coming in, emailed my usual orthopedist for advice. . .  my anxiety was in overdrive. 

Meanwhile the roommate in the car with me at the time felt totally fine.  She was just worried about me.

I ended up getting a full work-up at the urgent care today.  I took 8 x-rays.  All of them came back with no fractures.  I missed class, barely got homework done. . . 

I can’t help but feel silly?  Because we waited six hours and came back with nothing.  But at the same time, I know why it’s so necessary to check. Because the truth is, if I’m used to the day to days of my disease, then I know better than anyone that things that are minuscule to others affect my body some type of way. 

But I guess the best way to sum up how I feel is that sometimes I think . . . I have no idea what it is to have a body that isn’t fragile.  I assume everything, every injury or pain is bone disease related. When really it might not be? It might be a symptom of being any type of person.  But because my disease is so volatile, I can’t afford to not check.  And even now, I am analyzing this entire car accident from the lens of my disability, when car accidents happen to all kinds of people daily.  But it’s all I know.  And I think/fear the day I am not aware of my bone disease, the day I let these thoughts slip away, is the day it will go sour for me.

My friend ended up saying that a person can’t afford to be guarded all the time.  And maybe that’s true.  But it broke my heart to hear that, because I can’t imagine a life where I am not constantly guarded, constantly aware.  But that also means other people have the luxury of not being able to imagine a life where they are constantly guarded, constantly aware.  A life where they can read their body honestly.  A life where they can trust their body and trust the world to be understanding of it.

I know it’s a moot concept, but I honestly wonder what that must feel like.  Because I can’t ever remember having that.  And I don’t know if I can afford to.

III. The Guilt

Why do i feel sorry for making this post?  Is it not honest?  Do I feel obligated to play into the happy-inspirational persona the world wants from me?

I feel guilty, like I shouldn’t be complaining.  That I should just be grateful where I’m not.  I feel guilty, like I’m putting people on blast for privileges they can’t help.  I feel guilty that I feel guilty, like I’m not being a good advocate or ally to myself.  I feel guilty that I might be poisoning my community.

But all of this, I know, is not true.

I’m not not proud of my disability.  I feel guilty, as if I’m not grateful, when I know for certain in my heart that I am so so immensely grateful for where I am.  I see myself not as a victim of circumstance, but as a survivor.  I am proud of the resiliency my disability has given me, the foresight, the resourcefulness.  

Today I even saw on the pamphlet that injuries like mine take an average of 8-12 weeks to heal and I thought bring it on. I’ve gone through worse and I’ll do it again.  It won’t stop me.

So why do I feel guilty for sharing my narrative? For sharing how difficult it can be?  For potentially making others uncomfortable?

Being “uncomfy” has made me into the person I am proud of today.  I think, as hard as this is for me, and for others to see. . . that’s why I made this blog.  Because discomfort has the potential to transform thoughts, ideas, feelings, and understanding.  And I hope, of course, small stories like mine, will change things for the better.

xx Scrump

p.s. I hope these ideas are coherent. If they’re a bit vague, I hope details of my story will fill in as I write my about page, and write future blogs. Thanks for reading~