#my mother and stepfather have been hitting me again. screaming quite a bit

[athazagoraphobe]

CW for Drug abuse and parental abuse in tags.

[mypoisonedvine]

ok but what if the whole week y/n’s mom has been hovering over them and tagging along to their car rides. not because she suspects something but she’s just in a good mood and “want to spend time with my family” all the while she’s cockblocking them. reader finally snaps and goes to the bathroom where lee is showering or the garage where he’s working on the car and is like “i need you to fuck me” which he absolutely does, but the fact that this time around the mom can walk in at any moment not only makes them be extra careful, but it also makes it that much hotter

The three Bodeckers all had vastly different ideas on the meaning of ‘family bonding time.’

To you, it meant casual activities surrounding shared interests, like an afternoon spent fishing or a morning preparing breakfast together.  To your mother, it meant long road trips and weekend vacations and dinners without TV, radio, or newspapers to distract from each other; constant togetherness, with barely enough privacy to breathe.  To your stepfather, it meant coming up with some excuse to be alone with you so he could rail you like it was the end of the world.

A week of your mother’s idea of ‘family bonding’ had you warming up to Lee’s interpretation.

See, you’d gotten a bit spoiled by Lee’s sexual appetite, rarely ever having to get yourself off to relieve tension since he was always just around the corner and more than willing to relentlessly pleasure you.  But since Monday you’d been stuck in either the back of the patrol car or the twin bed in a motel room, which meant no time or place for either.  Not only that, but the backseat of the patrol car only brought back memories that made it harder than ever to keep your hands to yourself (or rather, off of yourself); sleeping in a small room with him just a few feet away was so tempting, despite the impossibility of anything happening with your mother sleeping beside him.  Still, you couldn’t help but fantasize about just crawling into bed and riding that thick cock, his hands grabbing your waist and pulling you down, his stubble scratching your face as he whispered all kinds of filthy praise in your ear...

“Hello?  Are you listening to me?” your mother whined, snapping you out of your daydream.

“Huh?” you mumbled, sitting up from where you had been resting your head on the inside of the window.

“I said we’re about to get to our hotel for the night,” she repeated, “and tomorrow we’re going on a hike.”

“Mama, I don’t wanna hike tomorrow,” you groaned.  “I thought this vacation was supposed to be about relaxing, not exercising.”

“Walking is good for your figure,” she defended.

“We didn’t need to drive all the way out here to walk!” you announced, gesturing out as if to evoke the general environment that you were currently riding through.  “There’s plenty of walking to do at home!”

“But now we’re immersed in nature!” 

“Nature...?” you repeated, furrowing your brow in confusion.  “Mama, are you under the impression that Knockemstiff is some kind of urban environment?  We live in the fucking woods!”

Lee laughed, but stopped when his wife shot him a glare.

“I don’t like that tone or that language,” she frowned.  “I hope your attitude has improved by the morning or you might miss out on all the fun I have planned.”

You rolled your eyes but she seemed to relent, and you kicked your legs up onto the seats beside you to rest your eyes for the rest of the drive.  You were jostled from your nap some time later when the car stopped; opening your eyes, you sat up and looked out the window and the hotel in front of you.  It was actually sort of cute, in a dilapidated sort of way, but you’d seen worse so far on this nightmare of a family vacation.

Lee unloaded everyone’s bags (and by everyone’s bags, I mean your one bag, Lee’s one bag, and your mother’s six bags) while you and your mother went to the front desk to get the key.  You would’ve killed even just for those few moments alone with him, but she had a sixth sense for keeping you two apart lately; it didn’t feel so much like she wanted you away from him, though, and more like she was trying to get to know you better herself.  You weren’t sure what was motivating this sudden desire for a fun mother-daughter relationship after a lifetime of her treating you mostly like a nuisance, but the gestures of friendship were wholly unwelcome.

“Did you get all the bags, honey?” she asked Lee as she stepped back him to start unlocking the door.  He just looked exhausted as you began to giggle at the absurdity of her asking him that when he was standing among a comically-large pile of suitcases and travel bags.

“Dear god let’s hope so,” Lee grumbled, but she didn’t seem to notice as she became preoccupied with the room in front of her once the door had swung open.

“Oh, this won’t do!” she frowned.  

“It’s got a bed, doesn’t it?” Lee rolled his eyes.  “And a shower, right?  I need a shower.”

“We paid for a lakeview room, but all I can see out this window is trees!  We’re changing rooms,” she announced.

“No no, I can see the lake,” you protested, desperate to not have to do this process all over again.

“I can’t see it,” she maintained, leaning in closer to the window and squinting.

“No, look, Ma, it’s right there!  It’s behind the trees... you just have to look through the trees.”

“I can’t see through trees,” she shook her head.  “I’m going to get us a new room.”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t change her mind.

“Can I at least take my shower first?” Lee requested.

“Sure, you shower while I go sort this out.  Darling,” she turned her attention to you, “would you look on this map and pick out a hiking trail for us to go on tomorrow?”

Your eyes widened a bit at that.  “You mean I’m staying here?”

“Unless you would rather come with me to the front desk—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, “no, I’ll stay here and pick a trail.”

She waved as she stepped out, shutting the door behind her.  You were on Lee like white on rice, throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him aggressively.

“How long do you think she’s gonna be gone?” he mumbled against your lips as his hands roamed over your back and grabbed your ass.

“Long enough for you to fuck me,” you decided.  “Let’s get in the shower.”

“You need to pick a trail—”

You glanced at the map in your hand for a moment, picking out the first one you saw before tossing it aside.  “We’re doing the Yellow Springs trail.”

“But that says it’s expert difficulty,” Lee began to protest before being distracted but your hand reaching down and rubbing his cock through his slacks.  He was already half-hard and growing quickly in your palm.  “Fuck, you’re insatiable,” he growled.  

The two of you stumbled to the bathroom and stripped with lightning speed, hopping into the shower’s stream of water before it was even hot.  It wasn’t quite big enough for two people, but you fit just fine with him pressing you against the cold tiled wall as he fucked you.  

“Daddy,” you whimpered as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “harder, please, I need to come.”

“She could be back any minute,” he reminded you with a gravelly voice.

“Then we’d better make it quick,” you smiled.  He pushed your legs up a little higher and it made his cock push even deeper into you— so deep you nearly screamed.  His hand clamped down over your mouth as he continued, only hitting deeper and harder even as tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the intensity.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?  Is this what you were thinking about all day?” 

You nodded, and he growled approvingly.  

“Me too,” he grinned, “wanted to touch ya so bad I thought I’d die.  But nothin’ can keep me away from you for very long— fuck, ‘m close.”

You were close, too, but you figured he knew that with the way your walls were tightening and rippling as pangs of intense pleasure wracked your body.  The water was hot but it was nothing compared to the heat of him inside you, especially as he came, coating your walls with his thick seed and making your eyes roll back into your head.

“Fuck,” he groaned deeply, “been waitin’ so long to do that.”

He relaxed the grip of his hand on your mouth, giving you a better chance to catch your breath.  He slowly pulled out and allowed you to lower your legs, though he didn’t let you go until you were sure you wouldn’t fall over.  You moaned softly as you felt his come leak out and run down your thighs, instantly washed away by the water.

Slipping out of the shower wordlessly, you dried off and dressed with a few minutes to spare before your mother returned.  When he emerged in a towel while you felt yourself blushing uncontrollably, she explained to both of you that she couldn’t get a new room but was able to get some of her money (also known as Lee’s money) back.

“How was your shower, honey?” she asked him once she’d finished her tangent.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he answered simply.

[hailbop1701]

25Days of FicMas

December 11th Prompt: The song "Please Come Home For Christmas"

Word Count: 1,154

Please Come Home...

Please enjoy the fluff and the love! Be happy and safe out there my friends!

-H❤🖖

Leonard McCoy stared sourly at the lit-up Christmas tree in the corner of the bar he had found himself in. Snorting he took the last swig of his whiskey, he tapped the bar twice ordering another one. The bartender nodded, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. He grabbed a bottle from the middle shelf and poured a few fingers of whiskey into the empty glass. The bar’s door chimed as it opened sending a bitter chill into the establishment. A couple of someones pulled out the stools on either side of McCoy and sat down. Groaning, the country doctor picked up his glass taking a long drink. The trio was silent before the more mindful of them spoke up, he spoke almost emotionlessly but to those who knew him could tell he was concerned. “Doctor, the Captain is concerned that you have the ‘Christmas Blues’” he said waving off the bartender while his companion ordered a whiskey for himself. 

McCoy snorted unceremoniously into his glass as he took another sip, “You could say something like that Spock,” he muttered lowly. The Vulcan cocked his head to the side curiously while the blonde on Leonard’s other side clapped a sympathetic hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Aw come on Bones, it’ll be okay. (Y/N) should be home soon!” he said with a small smile. McCoy set the glass down while Kirk picked up his own, “You haven’t heard a word about the ship?” he asked, a bit of hope colored his voice. Kirk pursed his lips, “None, but I have my feelers out,” he said with a grumble. Leonard dropped his head onto his arms. “Doctor, the Lieutenant is perfectly capable of taking care of herself; we are all aware of this fact,” Spock spoke up choosing his words carefully. Kirk and McCoy gave a wince and nodded in agreement at Spock’s statement. “She’s three weeks late Spock and no one has heard from them,” Leonard bit out his running both his hands through his hair making it more messed up than it already was. The Vulcan fought the urge to sigh and looked down at his hands, “She was assisting with a shakedown cruise! How-” McCoy hissed and then clamped his mouth shut cutting himself off. Kirk leaned into him unsure how else he can comfort his best friend; Spock crossed his arms on the bar slightly touching Leonard’s. They sat silently the sound of the thunderstorm outside and the quiet holiday music their only soundtrack. 

After two more drinks, Spock and Kirk helped Leonard back to his apartment. Kirk helped him to bed before sprawling out on the couch dejectedly. Spock stood as he usually did, back straight, hand clasped behind his back. He examined the full bookcase just by the entrance to the kitchen; it mostly consisted of paperbound books but it also held quite a few Holo pictures. Family, friends, and you. Spock turned to look at his Captain grim-faced, “What do we do Spock?” Jim asked with a heavy sigh. The darkened sky outside lit up with lightning; Spock opened his mouth but closed it again unable to answer. Kirk stood up, eyes landing on the picture of you and Leonard taken during his birthday last year. You smiled brightly at the camera leaning into McCoy who had his arm wrapped around you. He wasn’t paying any attention to the camera. His eyes were locked on you, a rare soft smile gracing his face. Determined more than ever Kirk looked at his first officer, “We help him the best we can and we get her home. No matter what,” he said, whispering the last part more softly hoping for the best outcome. 

On Christmas eve Leonard McCoy felt numb, he stared out the window of the Sulu’s household holding a drink in his hand. The snow peppered the air melting as soon as it hit the ground. Sighing, he turned to see Demora Sulu standing there by the Christmas tree looking downtrodden. Setting his glass down Leonard knelt down next to her, “What’s wrong kiddo?” he asked quietly. Demora shifted wringing her hands, “Everyone is so sad. Is it because Aunt (Y/N) is still gone?” she asked looking up at her uncle. Leonard gave her a sad smile, “I guess everyone is a bit down in the dumps this year. But we still have each other and we can only wish that Aunt (Y/N) will be back soon,” he said in his southern drawl. The accent always made Demora smile, this time was no different. The little girl nodded, she sprang forward giving Leonard a little girl bear-sized hug before running off to find her dads. Standing back up McCoy thought about his own little girl and how she was spending her Christmas with her mother and stepfather in Paris. He picked up his drink and downed it one go hoping it would help the pains in his chest. It didn’t.  Leonard listened as everyone gathered in the dining room for Christmas dinner but he didn’t feel the need to join everyone else. 

“Not feeling festive this year Len?” a voice asked from behind him. Leonard froze, dropping his glass, he slowly turned to see you standing there. Your hair glistened from the snow outside, you looked tired and bruised but happy. Kirk stood in the doorway with a big smile on his face, he ran a hand through his wet hair. He gave a little salute and drifted to the party in the other room. Leonard gaped. He didn’t know what to make of you, so he simply rushed forward and pulled you into his arms. You laughed and hugged him back just as fiercely, “Where’ve you been darlin’?” he asked, voice strained with emotion. He pulled back just a little so he could see you; you smiled as he ran a hand through your hair. “The cruise ran into some...trouble. Pirates don’t care if you have holiday plans apparently,” you said laughing tearfully. McCoy cupped your cheeks wiping away the tears with his thumbs, “You’re never going out there without me again,” he whispered hoarsely. Before you could respond he crashed his lip to yours and any train of thought you had was now gone. You were both wrapped up in the kiss that you didn’t hear the sound of little footsteps but you did hear the cheerful scream. “Aunt (Y/N)! My wish came true! Pappa, daddy, uncle Jim!” Demora shouted, jumping up and down. You broke the kiss with a laugh, eyes lighting up at the sight of the little girl. Your self-made family entered the room wearing giant smiles, “I’m so happy to be home,” you whispered looking up at the man next to you. Leonard’s smile practically lit up the room, “Trust me, sweetheart, I’m happier than you,” he whispered to you kissing your forehead. 

Tags:

@thottiewithashotgun

@lauraaan182

@writerdee1701

@dw-writes

@marvelouslytrekking

@spenceneedsahug

[absolute-maniac]

Katherine

Hello tumblr! I am a bit nervous about this, but for the first time ever I am going to publish a short story of my own. I would really like to hear your opinions on it. So here it comes, I hope you like it!

I had just graduated from high school when it happened, something I had no control over, and which would come to change and control my life forever. No one had warned me of what was going to happen, not even my mom who knew about everything.

For almost nineteen years I had lived in a little town named Ulvsborg together with my family which consisted of my mom, my stepfather and my half-sister. I had never met my real dad and mom refused to talk about him. My little sister Caroline wasn’t even aware of the fact that we didn’t have the same father.

It had barely passed a week after I graduated high school when the changes begun. My body started making sudden and very noticeable changes at av vary rapid speed. My hair and nails started growing impossibly fast, my appetite quadrupled, small wounds I got healed in no time and for every passing day I grew much stronger and faster.

My mom observed the changes with an almost unnerving calmness to her but still she refused to explain what was happening to me. All she did was to repeatedly tell me that it was nothing to worry about and mom wasn’t someone to be contradicted when she said something.

 It was an unusually warm and dry summer for being the middle of June in Sweden, so I had made a new habit of go running late in the evening when the air had cooled down quite a bit compared to during the day. The full moon lit up the sky so well, I could see every single detail in my surroundings.

I had just reached the top of a hill when it suddenly happened. Out of nowhere I collapsed to the ground and my whole body started cramping and with the cramps came the pain which was like nothing I had ever felt before.

It felt as if every single bone in my body cracked open, healed together and then broke once again and again. After what felt like an eternity the pain slowly started to fade until it was gone altogether but I didn’t dare to move even a millimeter from my spot on the ground out of fear that the pain would return.

It wasn’t until I heard the sound of sneakers against the gravel and the sound of rustling leaves in nearby bushes that I dared to open my eyes to just as quickly shut them again. A huge canine sat within very close proximity to me, so close I should have been able to feel its fur against my body. I was utterly convinced that I had seen its front paws in front of me, but for some reason I couldn´t feel anything except for the ground beneath me and my own rapid heartbeats.

“Katherine love, are you feeling okay darling?” My eyelids flung open and I stared in surprise at my mom´s cherry-red walking shoes. “Try to sit up.” My mom encouraged me, and I did as she said. It felt weird to sit, it felt wrong somehow but I couldn’t quite figure out why. The rustling of leaves started again but now it sounded much, much closer and what came out of the bushes and up on the track behind mom just seconds after that made me want to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to shout for my mom to run away from here as fast as she could, but I couldn’t seem to form the words no matter how hard I tried. I tried to get up so I could drag her with me, but I couldn’t get up.

The beast behind her drew closer, to the look of it, it looked a lot like a wolf. I knew wolves could be massive but this one was more than colossal it was like two wolves stacked upon each other. Its piercing eyes were huge and just a shade or two lighter than the color of fresh blood. The time to escape was gone and all I could do now was to wait for it to take the leap and rip my mom into shreds, but it didn’t. Instead it came up and sat down right beside her like a gigantic dog. My mom started to pet it and then she talked to it as if that monster was an old friend of hers.

“Nice to see that you´re still strong and well after all these years Johan. How long ago is it now? Seventeen years since the last time we saw each other?” I thought mom must have lost her mind until I thought it looked like the wolf thing nodded in response. Apparently was I the one who was going mad cause wolves did NOT nod to verify what humans said.

“Welcome Katherine, I´ve looked forward to see you for many years now.” The voice came from out of nowhere, it almost seemed as if it came from the inside of my own head. “I understand that you are probably both confused and really scared as of right now, but I will explain everything very soon. All you have to know right now is that you are a werewolf just as your mother and me. I´m the Alfa or in other words the leader of Ulvsborgs pack and from now on you are a part of it.” It was first now my mind realized why the way I sat felt so weird. I sat just like a dog would have done. That must also have been the reason why I hadn’t been able to stand up, I had tried to stand up the way humans do. I looked back and forth between the werewolf Johan and my mother.

“I know this is a lot to take in right now sweetie and I’m really sorry to leave you, but I really need to get back before Lars start to worry about us, Johan will take care of you for the rest of the evening. But don’t you worry, I will make sure to have lots and lots of food ready for when you are getting back home. Do trust me when I say you are going to need it.” My mom said and stroked me behind the ears before she turned around and started running back towards town in a speed that was very surprising for her age while I was left behind with a wolf I had never previously met.

“Come with me, I have a lot of showing and explaining to do before morning and I´d like to go thorough as much as possible of it before I let you back home to Antonia.

It took several minutes and several opportunities for my face to hug the dirt before I figured out how to effectively walk on four legs with clawed paws. Johan claimed that I thought to much about it, but I didn’t trust his words. After some minutes of light trotting, I could perceive a flickering light further ahead in the woods. Once we came closer, I could see that the light came from small fireplaces surrounded by benches made out of thick logs of wood and a to me bizarre mix of even more huge wolves and very lightly dressed humans of varying ages.

“Welcome to the camp.” I flinched when Johan’s voice once again materialized itself into my head. “This is our gathering place and refuge away from the humans where we can be ourselves without having to pretend to be something that we´re not. No humans ever go this far into the woods and even if one or two would dare to go all the way out here they would be so afraid that the sound of a branch breaking would be enough for them to run home as if the devil himself were after them.” I listened attentively while shyly letting my eyes take in the sight of the camp. When the others heard us coming thorough the woods their eyes immediately turned towards me and all the attention made me feel uneasy. The camp turned out to be much bigger than it had seemed from afar. It seemed to consist of several compartments where the cooking place and the sleeping place seemed to be the most obvious ones.                      

“The first thing we are going to do is to introduce you to the pack, it´s an ancient tradition. After that I have some things to explain to you before I´ll let someone show you the way back home. You and your mom will most likely have a lot to talk about tomorrow, but you can´t mention anything that has with us to do to your sister or stepfather or any other human.”

I nodded and immediately felt how my stomach twisted into a ball of nervousness. Johan started trotting again and while he ran, he started to make strange barking sounds. I had no other choice than to follow him unless I felt like getting left behind all alone in the middle of the camp. Once we came out into a glade, I realized what purpose the barking sounds had. The Glade were already filled with around twenty wolves of different colors and sizes and even more were on their way coming from every direction.  It was first when all of them had sat down in neat row formation that I noticed their glowing eyes. The wolves had sat down in an arrangement based on their eye color, from the darkest orange to the lightest yellow. I found it strange but intriguing and put it on my mental note of questions to ask the first person who could answer them. My chain of thoughts were interrupted by Johan in his gigantic black wolf form who just called for everyone’s attention.

“As most of you already know I’ve called to this meeting tonight to welcome a new member into our pack. What most of you don’t know is that this one isn´t just any newbie.” Johan paused shortly in his speech to gesture me forward to his side where everybody could see me. I did as I were told so nervous, I could barely breathe. “This is Katherine Grimberg, my only child and heir of Ulvsborgs pack.” Already at my last name a huge wave of noises went thorough my head and before the sentence were over the noise had grown to be unbearably loud. This was probably what made it take such a long time for me to react to what he had just told the pack. When I finally realized what his words meant the realization hit me so hard, I quickly had to lie down so I wouldn’t fall and embarrass myself in front of the whole pack.

 I paced back and forth thorough the kitchen fuming with constricted fury as mom and the young man, who had followed me home, watched me with vigilant eyes. They looked almost as if they were watching the numbers on a timed bomb count down what might be what was left of their lives. Just as mom had promised it had been a huge dinner set on the table when I came home but I had been way too upset to eat it then. I tore away small pieces of meat every now and then as I passed by the table. I was too hungry and exhausted to be able to speak and too upset over tonight’s events and revelations to sit down and eat. After about an hour of quiet angry pacing mom seemed to be fed up with waiting for me to explode. She pulled out a chair from the table, firmly pushed me down on it with surprising force and stuffed an extra fat chicken thigh into my mouth before I got time enough to resist. The sudden, amazing taste of the chicken helped my hunger to win the fight over my anger and then I was way too occupied with eating to feel anything at all until I was so stuffed, I couldn’t possibly take another bite.

Then hell broke out.

I shouted, swore, hell I even threw things all over the place for at least half an hour. It was probably a good thing the young man which had followed me home stayed for dinner cause the very same moment I thought of attacking mom he had thrown his arms around me and carried me out of the house and into the yard. Then he stepped in between us every time I even thought of taking my anger out on her. Let´s just say that he received more than his fare share of my hits and kicks, but if anyone felt any pain from my violence it was me. The guy was as hard and stable as a rock.

“So now when you’ve finally calmed down a little you could perhaps consider using words to express your thoughts instead?” mom suggested with a smile I usually would have taken for caring, now it just looked scornful.

“What is there to talk about? The fact that you’ve never bothered to tell me that I am in fact a big hairy monster? That I tonight met my father for the first time in my life, the man whose name you’ve refused to mention even once to me all of these years even though he lives literally within a few kilometers from here? Or what about the fact that I am apparently the sole heir of the responsibility over a whole fucking pack of werewolves once one or both of you decides it is about time to kick the bucket? What about what I want?! No one have even thought of asking me about my opinion, I bet no one even had the thought of giving me an early warning that this was a possibility.” The tears flooded my eyes so much I couldn’t see at all and I didn’t even know why I was crying.

“So let´s say that I would have come to you a year ago and told you that you one night during a full moon would transform into a big chestnut colored wolf, would you really have believed my word?” Moms voice were clear as glass and as cold as ice.

“No, probably not.” I confessed slightly ashamed. “But you are a werewolf yourself, you could have proved to me that you spoke the truth!”

“No, that wouldn’t have been possible. It is against the rules to bring someone who haven’t gone thorough all of the changes into the camp and if I myself would have shape shifted into my wolf form again after this many years it would be like giving heroin to someone who has one been strongly addicted to the drug. I would get stuck in it all over again and I wouldn’t be able to regain the control until it had destroyed the human life I´ve build up for myself here. I have left that part of my life behind me and I don’t think there is anything on this earth which could make me take back that decision.” I flinched when something hot touched the side of my hand. It was the guy who decided to pry my fingers away from my bloody palms. Apparently, I had clenched my fists too hard around my long, hard nails.

Thank you… eh…” I felt stupid but I couldn’t for my life remember what his name was.

“Magnus, my name is Magnus.” He said with an unexpectedly deep voice considering he couldn’t be much older than myself.                      

“Oh right I almost forgot. There is one more thing I need to bring up with you regarding your new personal life and you are not going to be happy about it. I think it might be better to tell you now when you are too exhausted to make any real harm to anyone and since you’ve already yelled and shouted so much half of Sweden have gone to bed with earplugs to try and close out the noise. Or do you prefer that Johan takes it up with you tomorrow evening so the whole camp can witness your tantrum?” I did my best to take a deep calming breath before I nodded for her to continue.

“Magnus, I would probably let go of Katherines hand now if I were you. Her hand strength wasn’t something to play with already before she went thorough the changes, a crushed hand can be pretty hard to heal even for our kind.” The warmth surrounding my right hand disappeared immediately, that was the moment I realized that whatever she was going to tell me it must be something really bad. It was probably a good thing mom had somehow convinced Lars and Caroline to go and visit Caroline’s grandpa before Magnus and I got home, because the next words that left my mothers lips made me flip so hard, I got a blackout afterwards, unless I actually fainted.

“Considering you are our only heir to the pack it is of outmost importance that you continue our bloodline. Because of this your father and I has done as the traditions urge us to do and chosen a suiting husband for you to be your partner either until you get a living heir or until death do you part, whichever may come first.” That is the last thing I remember.

 Everybody demanded things of me. My father thought I didn’t put enough effort into my training, mom thought I pressured myself too hard to try and be perfect. My friends always complained that I never had the time for them anymore, Lars complained that I went out too much and Caroline thought I had suddenly become a lousy sister who never spent any time with her anymore, it made her feel like I had abandoned her. I had at least seemed to find a new friend in Magnus since he had followed me home after my first transformation. He helped me with my daily chores, answered all questions I didn´t want to ask my parents about and didn’t seem to mind listening to my long rants about how much my new life sucked. So I couldn’t really say that I was surprised when my parents two weeks after my first transformation announced that he was my betrothed all along. I couldn’t in any way say that I was very happy over the arranged relationship, but it was at least acceptable.

I didn’t have enough time nor energy left to be mad about it anymore and even if I would have it wouldn’t have made any difference. Mom were so tenacious a mountain would have moved out of her way if she told it to.

The wedding ceremony was very simple Magnus and I both cut our left-hand palms with a special knife and let the blood drip down into a golden goblet while we said the traditional vows that had been given to us. When the blood flow stopped, and the wounds had healed we gripped each other’s left underarm and mom as the packs female Alpha tied our arms together with a white silk ribbon. Then she took a step back and Johan took a step forward with the golden goblet containing mine and Magnus mixed blood. He said a few words in what must have been ancient Swedish before he let the blood slowly drip over our left arms, so the pure white silk ribbon got permanently stained with blood. Then mom declared us husband and wife and let us tie up the blood-stained ribbon which she told us to keep in a little box at a safe location as the ribbon now represented the bond which had now been created between us.

 After the ceremony I wasn’t really sure what expectations my parents and the pack had on us. They held a big party in our honor just like at any other wedding and it made me start worrying about if people were expecting me and Magnus to seal the deal later tonight. My worries grew stronger the further the night went on and I cursed my fast metabolism for stopping me from becoming even a little tipsy even though I practically chugged everything I could find containing strong amounts of alcohol.  When we upon that at the end of the evening got pulled away from the party by a couple of pack members into a big luxurious tent, I had to press my hands as hard as I could against my thighs so no one would see how much they were shaking. The tent were so high even Magnus could stand upright in it. Once the others left us alone it was more than just my hands that were shaking.  

“You are shaking.” He noted with a worried expression as if he expected me to collapse any second.

“Did you know my mom has never let me date or have a boyfriend?” Magnus continued to look at me with the same expression without answering. “She always claimed I were to young and immature to handle the responsibility and that it wasn’t good for my health to have that kind of relationship too early in life. When I got older and those reasons weren’t enough anymore, she instead said that it would have too much of a negative effect on my grades.” I wasn’t entirely sure why I told him all of this, but I didn’t have the strength to stop the chain of words that came pouring out of my mouth like a waterfall. “Now I’ve realized that she didn’t do it for the grades but for this. She didn’t want me to go thorough the pain of having to break up with a human boyfriend when I went through the changes. All this time when she didn’t let me have a boyfriend, I was so mad cause I thought I was ready for it, but this is not what I had in mind! This is way too much pressure at once.  I´m so fucking inexperienced and the fact that I don’t know shit about these things makes me feel like a scared little girl. What…” Magnus stopped my monologuing by putting one of his big warm hands on my shoulder. With the other hand he carefully wiped a tear from my cheek, I hadn’t even realized that I had been crying.

“Breathe, to faint due to lack of oxygen won´t make this situation any better.” I did my best to do as told and after a few tries I successfully drew a shaky breath.

“What are you so worried about? Do you really believe I would ever touch you without your permission?” I was going to shrug my shoulders but then I looked into his deep honey-brown eyes the sincerity in them made me shake my head and relax a little bit.

“One day we will have to produce an heir, but not yet. We are young, we have many decades before we even need to think about that if you don’t want to. On the paper we might be husband and wife now but what about we take it slow?” I felt very moved by his little speech.

“How slow are we talking about here, and where do we begin?” I asked as I felt more and more relieved.

“What about we begin as friends and then take it from there?” He suggested with a little smile.

“Let´s begin as friends.” I agreed and returned his smile with one of my own.

[luciana-galvez]

rockstars & runaways | part 5

Nikki and Kat go way back, but with his issues and her family history, finding their way back together is a long and rocky road. And with the rockstar life, what’s the hurry anyway?

Fandom: the dirt

Words: 2.4k

Pairing: nikki sixx x oc

Warnings: alcohol & cigarettes

Note: feedback is always welcome! (aka validate me lmao)

1980

The bass coming through the stereo was so deafening that Kat wondered how people had any conversations. She also wondered why the police hadn’t shown up yet.

She stood in the corner of the room, half-heartedly sipping on her beer, and watched as the other people in the living room either danced drunkenly to the music, screamed at each other in an effort to make conversation, or did lines of coke on the coffee table.

She had finally given in to showing up to one of Nikki’s parties, and so far she wasn’t having fun. She had never gone near drugs, and the drunken-partying scene had never been hers either, no matter how tempting it looked.

So tonight, she spent her time watching other people and occasionally fumbling on her clothes. Michelle, who had somehow (not unlike Nikki) managed to sneak herself into Kat’s life, had passed a few of the things she wasn’t wearing anymore off to Kat. Kat had vehemently protested, but eventually given in when Michelle wouldn’t drop it.

The clothes were a little big on her, but she had to admit that the black leather pants combined with the leopard print shirt wasn’t a bad look. It wasn’t a bad look at all.

Eventually, Kat made her way outside and fumbled for her cigarettes, just to have something to do. The outside wasn’t much better regarding the level of noise, but at least there were barely any people here and she had her peace.

She didn’t quite now why she had shown up tonight. Well, she did, but she didn’t know why she seemed so desperate to be playing with fire. She knew that, realistically, she couldn’t let anything happen with Nikki, but it felt so new and good and thrilling to even entertain the idea.

Which is why she so happily flirted with him whenever she had the chance even though her mind was constantly screaming at her to turn around and run the other direction.

She was ripped from her thoughts when the front door behind her opened up, almost hitting her in the back.

“Whoa, watch out!” she turned only to find Nikki standing in the doorway, blinking at her in surprise.

Speak of the devil.

He put the bottle of whisky he was carrying down on the porch railing, took a drag of his own cigarette that was dangling from his lips, and closed the door behind him again. “So, you showed up,” he grinned.

“I was surprised too.”

“You know you don’t have to come outside to smoke, right?”

“I know,” Kat shrugged, “but inside was getting a bit much. Did you know there’s people having sex in your bathroom?”

Nikki simply raised his shoulders and then dropped them in defeat. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“That was you?” Kat snorted. “What are you, feral? A good host knows to use his bedroom, because guests need to pee once in a while.”

Nikki grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“You’re insufferable,” Kat rolled her eyes and Nikki’s grin widened.

Instead of answering, he simply held out his whisky bottle for her, but she shook her head. “I don’t drink.”

When Nikki raised an eyebrow and pointed at her beer, she added, “Okay, I drink. But I don’t get drunk.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Where’s the fun in blacking out and throwing up over the railing,” Kat retorted and pointed over her shoulder, “which, funnily enough, I have seen someone do not half an hour ago.”

“Well, I can personally attest that the part before is very fun,” Nikki told her. “What do you do for fun, Kat?” he pronounced her name like it left a sour taste in his mouth, and then added: “Kat? What’s that short for anyway?”

“What do you care?”

“Kathrine?”

“No.”

“Katrina?”

“Shut up.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Will you drop it?” Kat laughed, but Nikki simply moved a bit closer to her.

“Come on, Kat. What do you do for fun?”

“I can tell you what I won’t do.”

Nikki put down the whisky and leaned in closer to her ear. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he whispered.

Kat moved her head away from him enough to look him in the eye, and she couldn’t miss the suggestion in his expression. She leaned in a little closer again and whispered back, “I’m not going to sleep with you, Nikki Sixx.”

Nikki didn’t drop a beat. “Well, that’s a shame,” he said, and then, with faster movements that Kat thought he would be capable of in his state of inebriation, he slipped his hand into her back pocket and pulled out her wallet.

“Hey!” Kat shouted. “Give that back!”

But Nikki was holding it our of her reach and before she knew it, he had pulled her driver’s license out and was scanning it thoroughly. She hated the smile that was forming on his lips.

“Katie Dawson?” he laughed with a level of glee she wished she could wipe off his face. “That is the most cliché name I’ve ever heard,” he said, but then something in his expression changed, and he glanced from the licence back to Kat, and there was a new intensity in his gaze. “…because it’s not real,” he added eventually. “Is it?”

“Nikki—” 

“This is fake.”

“Nikki.”

For a moment Nikki simply eyed her with a new-found intrigue, and then he eventually handed her the license and wallet back and watched as she put them away again.

“Do you like pancakes?” he said eventually, and Kat blinked in surprise. Nikki didn’t wait for a reply, he simply turned around. “I’m dying for some pancakes. Come on, runaway” he called out as he casually jogged down the stairs to the street, and Kat was glad he couldn’t see her flinch at the word.

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and turned around. When he found that she hadn’t moved, he rolled his eyes theatrically. “Takes one to know one,” he said, too casually, “I’m not using my real name either.”

Kat felt every hair on her body stand up at the implication. Nikki knew too much already, and she didn’t like how easily he seemed to figure out exactly where and how to push her buttons. But there was also something about him that she didn’t seem to steer away from. She didn’t know whether it was his act of anarchy or the way he seemed to genuinely not care what people thought of him, but it didn’t take her long to figure out what to do.

Against all her better instincts, she put down her beer and started following him down the stairs. “Yeah, because I never would have figured out that Nikki Sixx isn’t your real name,” she said sarcastically.

“Aaand she’s back,” Nikki grinned at her. She playfully pushed his face away when she passed him, and then they started heading down the street together.

“So, what’s your real name?” Nikki asked while trying to take a bite off his pancakes, but it fell off his fork twice before he finally managed to get it to his mouth.

“What’s your real name?” Kat rebutted.

“Frank Carlton Serafino Feranna Jr.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Kat grinned. “After your father?”

“Apparently,” Nikki shrugged. “He left when I was two. I tried calling him up once when I got to L.A.,” he took another bite and finished the rest of the sentence with his mouth full, “but he basically told me to go to hell, so that was that.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

“Seattle.”

“With your mother?”

“And a handful of charming stepfathers.”

“Assholes?”

“Grade A.”

Kat smiled. “No wonder you’re such a rebel.”

“I might be,” Nikki said and looked like he was seriously contemplating it. “I had my mother arrested when I was 14, so you might not be far off.”

Kat almost choked on her soda. “You what?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Nikki shrugged and finished the last of his pancakes. “She was bothering me, so I cut myself and told the cops it was her until she agreed to get off my back.” He held out his arm so she could see the scar.

For a moment, Kat could only stare at him in sheer amazement, but then she threw her head back and laughed. She laughed like she hadn’t laughed in a long time — loud and hearty. “That’s fucking brilliant,” she said eventually.

Nikki looked up and grinned at her reaction. “Well, I have my moments,” he shrugged it off.

Kat spend the next twenty minutes grilling Nikki about his childhood and his mother and his stepfathers, about moving to L.A. and trying to find his place and trying to find bands, and she was surprised by how willing he seemed to answer every question she threw at him.

They had paid and were on their way back when he finally shut her down. “Okay, your allotted time is over,” he said as they were walking down Sunset Strip. “My time for questions now.”

Kat glanced up at him for a moment and then directed her gaze back in front of her, but before he could start asking anything, she broke away and casually jogged across the street.

“You know, I’m just going to keep asking, no matter how many times you run away from me,” he shouted after her.

“I’m not running away,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m just trying to get a better view.”

When Nikki didn’t seem to catch on, she pointed at the billboard promoting the new The Kinks album ahead of her. After that, she didn’t look around again to see if he was following.

“You know this is illegal, right?” Nikki seemed to have eventually caught up when Kat was already halfway up the ladder.

“Didn’t take you for the type to care,” Kat shouted down.

“Oh, I don’t,” Nikki called back with a certain cheer in his voice. “But I thought you might.”

The billboard was roughly 60 feet tall, and even though many of the surrounding buildings were just as high, there was enough of a view to be able to see the lights all the way in the Hollywood Hills. Kat had sat down with her feet dangling off the edge and a freshly lit cigarette when Nikki made his way to the top.

“This is gorgeous, isn’t it?” she asked as he sat down next to her.

“I’ve definitely seen worse,” Nikki replied and took the cigarette from Kat’s hand to take a drag.

They were silent for a moment before Kat finally turned her head to him. “You have three questions,” she told him. “And I can’t promise you that I will answer them.”

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “And you say I’m the one who’s insufferable.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kat said and turned her gaze back ahead, but there was a smile on her face. “I am a delight.”

Nikki contemplated for a moment. 

“How old where you when you ran?”

“15,” Kat replied honestly. “Five years ago.”

Nikki brought the cigarette to his mouth again, thinking.

“The people you ran from,” Nikki started, and Kat noticed how he circumvented her ability to deflect the truth by not speculating who she’d run from, “did they hurt you?”

Kat turned her head back to him and studied him carefully. His eyes were fixated on her, and there was an intent expression on his face, but nothing about his mannerisms seemed pushy. She decided that he was definitely too perceptive for his own good.

She took her cigarette back and took another drag, her gaze turned back to the view in front of her. “Yes,” she said eventually, and Nikki was quiet again.

It was a while before he finally asked his last question. He leaned back on his arms and sighed. “What did you mean when you said you wouldn’t sleep with me?”

Kat was so taken aback that she couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?” she asked. “That’s your third question?”

“Yes.”

“I figured you were going to ask me for my name.”

“And I figured you’d rather willingly walk into a chainsaw than tell me your name,” Nikki shrugged, and Kat laughed again.

“It’s true.”

“See,” Nikki said and brought two fingers to his temple, “I’m smarter than I look. Now tell me.”

“Nikki, someone has got to say no to you at some point,” Kat grinned. “Otherwise your ego is just gonna go…” she finished her sentence by raising up her hand over her head and accompanying the motion with an increasingly sharper whistling sound.

“That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard,” Nikki concluded after a moment.

“Hey, I’m doing it for you, really.”

“How noble of you.”

Kat smiled at him, but didn’t reply. Instead, she laid down on her back and started watching the stars, and it didn’t take long until Nikki followed suit.

They shared her cigarette in silence, and when it was finished, Nikki lit a second one and wordlessly passed it to Kat.

She didn’t know how long they laid there, but when Kat eventually looked back at Nikki, his eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling in slow and steady intervals.

She couldn’t help but notice how much younger he looked in his sleep. His features were soft and kind, and for the first time since she had known him, Nikki looked peaceful.

Kat couldn’t look away. She was transfixed by how easy it was for him to let his guard down and fall asleep in her presence, and she desperately longed for that level of self-assurance and trust in the world.

She couldn’t help herself as she moved her hand closer to his and, after a moment’s hesitation, slowly and carefully intertwined her fingers with his. Nikki didn’t react, but Kat was glad that he didn’t. She didn’t know what made her do it, but for a moment she wondered if this was what it felt like to be at least semi-content with life.

The way her heart hammered in her chest told her it might be.

Before Nikki could wake up, Kat pulled her hand away again and instead intertwined it with her other hand and rested them on her stomach.

They stayed like that for the entire night, and when the sun came up, Nikki was still asleep.

tags: @supernaturalvikingwhore  @miserablecunt @sighsophiia  @fandomshit6000  @flizaa @hi-my-name-is-riley  @electradestiny  @starlalove  @kingbouji3 @sweetshutter  @baiabouk  @calspixie

[brotherdrowned]

eep hi!! i’m faith andddd this is my smol. :) i’m super excited here and to write with all of you. it’s been like.. a year since i’ve done any sort of group rp’s. i’ve been indie since december. xD playing around in the t100 fandom. but i missed groups and in my search i found this one !! here’s everything you’ll need to know about holly to start! alsooo hit the heart if you want me to hit you up to plot !! 

TW DEATH MENTION !!! TW SUICIDE !!!

[ madelaine petsch ] — What’s that figure? Oh, it’s just HOLLY WILKES. SHE is a  22 year old WAITRESS who is CISFEMALE and lives in Levins. You know, I think in a horror movie SHE  would be THE CHEERLEADER THAT PRETENDS TO BE DUMB. WHEN THEY'RE NOT.  They’d hate for The Director to find out THAT SHE PUSHED HER BROTHER INTO A POOL WHEN HE WAS THREE. CAUSING HIS DEATH.

NAME.     holly ann wilkes.

NICKNAME.    her mom used to call her princess, but that died with her mom three years ago.

AGE.     22.

BIRTHDATE.     january 14th.

ORIENTATION.     bisexual.

OCCUPATION.     waitress & student.

PHYSICAL THINGS 

HEIGHT.     five feet even.

WEIGHT.     119 lbs.

EYES.     light brown.

HAIR.     dirty blonde // light brown.

TATTOOS.     she has a small one on her wrist, and one on her left ankle. ( desc to come !! )

SCENT.    she over uses vanilla perfumes, so she typically smells of vanilla.

SKIN TEXTURE.     smooth. she’s obsessive over lotion. loves the feel of her skin being soft.

CLOTHING STYLE.     she loves to stick to the latest trends, but also likes sweats with oversized sweaters and boots.

DISTINGUISHING TRAITS.     she has a few scars down her arm from playing as a child. a couple on her knees, too.

VERBAL TAGS.     soft, smooth a sweet. like a sugar cookie. deceivingly kind.

ACTION TAGS.     she smiles a lot, likes to fiddle with her hair. and she bites her lip a lot.

PERSONALITY THINGS !!

PERSONALITY OVERALL. she is a VERY layered person. on the outer layers, the things other see, she’s sweet. innocent and kind, if a little dumb. constantly giving others a reason to love her. though some more weary people wonder why there’s never anyone super close to her. because she doesn’t allow people to get too close. for fear that she won’t be able to hold up the facade. under the initial layers, she’s very vain and selfish. she takes great pride in her appearance. she will do anything to keep her secrets secret. contrary to what she shows outwardly she is VERY smart. it comes along with the manipulative and cunning traits. early in life she was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. her mother, single at the time, moved to keep it a secret. and told no one. no one is aware of her diagnosis. and it’s one of the secrets she would do anything to keep.

BAD HABITS.     she has a habit of adopting animals and then dumping them, she wants desperately to feel the love for them other people do. but has yet to be able to form that bond.

APPEARANCE THINGS !!

EYES. she has BEAUTIFUL light honey brown eyes, that tend to darken in situations where she’s uncomfortable or anxious. sometimes certain lighting’s have the same affect.

LIPS.  her lips are quite literally what others wish they had naturally. with a perfectly full bottom lip and a cupids bow to die for, her lips are the envy of other girls her age. some would even go as far as to get injections to replicate them. - bullies in school used to tell her that her top lip was too thin compared to her bottom and now she believes this fully.

NOSE. her mother used to say that she had the epitome of a small, elfish button nose. rounded perfectly at the tip but still small enough to be considered girlish and feminine.

BUILD. she’s tiny, just barely standing above the requirements of a dwarf. five foot. she’s got a dancers build, having taken dance classes for several years as a teen. only recently dropping out of her class to have more time for school and work. she’s fallen just out of shape now.

SIGNIFICANT PEOPLE !!

MOTHER.  being a single parent, her mother, winnie, had all the love in the world to give to her daughter. she struggled, working two jobs to support them. leaving holly with her grandparents but it was a necessary evil. she didn’t like it and when she was home with her daughter she made it amazing. holly had everything she could ever dream of. she was the epitome of spoiled.  

FATHER. her father has never been in the picture, no child support, no visits, nothing. her mother knows who he is and he knows she exists but wants nothing to do with her. - what holly doesn’t know, is that he was a married man. wealthy with a family of his own. her mother was the side chick.  her mother constantly spun beautiful stories about him. saying that he was dead and that he died a heroic death. just to keep holly happy. until she was ten. when she found out that her father was alive and that he didn’t want her.

STEP FATHER.  her mothers husband, he came when she was eight. it all changed so fast. they moved into a new house, with her new ’ dad. ’ and her mom. and it was barely a year later when her mother was having a baby. a little boy. lucas, her stepfather, was so excited. but he didn’t let it affect how he treated holly. he was good to her. he bought her anything that she could want. he tried to be her father, he tried to be the good guy. to be her friend, even. but she hated him. she hated anyone that spent time with her mother. in her twisted reality her mother belonged to only her.

BROTHER. the whole basis of her secret. it was just holly and her mother until lucas came. and then.. all too soon someone else was taking her mother’s attention. a baby. a little boy. lucas she could tolerate. he was kind. he tried to make her happy. but jamie. the little screaming baby who wanted nothing but to take their mother away from her… yeah, no. she couldn’t deal with him. she tolerated him for four years almost before... she snapped. (more on this in her bio !! )  

BIO OVERVIEW !!

when she was young she didn’t have anyone but her mother. her father didn’t want her - couldn’t have her, as he already had a family of his own. he didn’t have the time to deal with another child running around. nonetheless the issues it would cause in his wife. her mother didn’t care, though. she loved holly. she’d wanted to be a mother from the time she was a little girl and though.. being a single mother was hard for her she fought to do everything she could to be sure that holly had a good childhood. 

holly spent a lot of time with her mother’s mom and dad. her grandparents. holly never really liked them the way she did her mom. they were strict and made her follow a strict regime that while.. good for her, she didn’t like. they weren’t too fond of her either but they were never mean. 

she showed signs that something was off from the earliest of ages and out of their love for her everyone just brushed it off as a spoiled child. it wasn’t a big deal, she didn’t... kill animals or.. like, hurt anyone or anything. she was just.. different. 

and then, when she was five, she’d been going to a therapist for almost a year when he finally referred her winnie to a psychologist for a psychological evaluation. after everything was said and done, winnie came away with a diagnosis and a basis as to why her daughter was so off.  it affected her more than she’d EVER admit. 

she never told anyone, not even her parents. they just continued to believe that their granddaughter was just a bit weird. no big deal. 

three years later, her mother got married. to a very nice man named lucas who tried everything he could possibly think of to make the eight year old like him. it never worked. she hated him. she hated him for a multitude of reasons. 

she hated him because they had to move cities. she had to change schools. she hated him because her mother loved him and because he took her attention. 

she hated him because within the year her mother was pregnant with a little boy. jamie. her little brother. at nine years old she knew that she hated him. she hated him with every fiber of her being and.. while it took her awhile to get a handle on her emotions and pretend like she loved him. it was difficult. 

the three years she spent with him were the worst of her life. she hated him more every time he opened his mouth. whether it be to cry.. or to talk. and god forbid he look at her. 

the day that she killed him was the day that her whole world changed again. her mother was at work, lucas in the house making them lunch. they were playing by the pool. she was good. too good. she’d been planning it for so long that.. she knew exactly how she was going to do it. 

he was obsessed with the pool. constantly playing around it when he wasn’t supposed to be. at almost twelve they trusted her to watch him. to make sure he didn’t fall in. 

the plan was set in motion. the dog had been digging a hole by the gate. she’d been helping her whenever she got the chance. it was slow going. it took days. and then.. it happened. their dog got out and she.. well

she shoved her brother hard into the pool. stood there for a moment and watched as he floundered around in the water. sinking like a rock. 

and then she was off, turning to take off after her dog. by the time she got back she found lucas sopping wet trying to breathe life into his kid. 

it didn’t work. 

jamie died at approximately 3:15pm. 19 days before his fourth birthday. 

surprisingly, she was never caught. they didn’t think she was capable of something like that.. and the chasing of her dog was a good alibi. 

it was executed perfectly. the only thing she struggled with was playing the part of a grieving older sister when... she loathed him. 

her mother and lucas divorced soon after, the loss of their son too much and while he continued to send her presents for her birthdays and holidays she never saw him again. 

holly and her mother moved into an apartment and that’s where she still lives, even now that her mother is gone. 

her mother spiraled after her brother died, eventually taking her own life. holly had tried everything to keep her together but.. it just didn’t work. 

it was really hard on holly to handle her mothers death but.. it’s been three years now and.. she’s doing okay? finally. 

SO yeah that’s an overview of her bio and i’ll probably write a more in depth version at some point !!

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Chapter 41

Jared's POV:

    Without a word Roger pulled me into his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind us and turning the lock. Like the rest of the apartment it was decorated in tones of charcoal and slate with wood accents, understated and urban, and although it didn't seem much like Jane, it did seem to suit Roger quite well. “I like your place,” I told him. “Did you guys hire a decorator or did you do it yourself?”

   “I mostly did it myself,” Roger confirmed. “In bits and pieces over time but I'm pretty happy with where I've gotten it right now. I've always had an eye, it just took a while before I had the money to do things the way I wanted to.”

   “I guess that's not an issue now,” I pointed out. “You've really done well for yourself. Your career, I mean. I'm kind of surprised you and Jane still live together, actually. I know it's none of my business but by my estimation, either one of you could easily afford your own place, even in Manhattan”

   A lot had changed since the first time I met Roger and Jane, not just their financial circumstances. I had been a little taken with him right from the start, he was witty and fun, bright and sharp, and if I hadn't already been knee deep in the first Jane mess then things might have gone a little differently. We were very different people now than when we had started but I had enjoyed reconnecting with him. When he called to check up on Jane after the whole Angus gossip debacle, we found ourselves talking again and things just clicked. We had a lot of similarities, Roger and I, and we got each other in a way that I don't think a lot of other people did. When he told me about his breakup with Daphne and I invited him to come hang out for a while and get his mind off things, I swear I didn't have any ulterior motives. Things just happened. But watching Roger jump the rails like a speeding commuter train reminded me how fast my train was going too, and how quickly it could all fall apart.

   Roger considered my statement then shrugged. “I don't think we ever really even considered being apart. We've been together so long. We don't get to see each other much when we're working though – I travel a lot and when she's promoting her work she does too.” He gave me a wry smile, that sharpness of his seemingly directed inwards today. “A therapist would probably tell you we're co-dependent. Plus I'm pretty sure I'm depressed and I have abandonment and daddy issues. But hey, who's keeping track?”

   He sat down on the bed and I joined him, thinking about the assortment of “daddy issues” I had collected myself over time. “I have the “out the door before I was even born” variety,” I confessed. “What kind do you have?”

   “The “beat the insolent, blasphemous queer out of him with a two-inch barber strop” kind,” Roger said matter-of-factly before breaking into a dangerous grin. “Didn't work.”

   “Fuck, I'm sorry.” I wondered if I should tell him about my experiences with my stepfather, but there was something in his demeanor today that told me he probably didn't want to commiserate. It had only been two weeks since I had seen him last, but he looked thinner and paler and tired, and I was reminded of Jane's misgivings moments before. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but it was a stupid question. He obviously wasn't okay, I just didn't know what to say. Everything felt awkward, like visiting the bedside of a friend who had just been diagnosed with cancer. You wanted to help, you wanted to reassure them, but you didn't quite know how, and in the back of your mind you're just busy being grateful it's not you. I decided to just keep feeling my way forward. “That must have been a hell of a way to grow up.”

   “Wouldn't be so bad if the rest of the lot of them weren't completely brainwashed by that so-called church of theirs. I'm the youngest you know, I have four brothers and three sisters. None of them speak to me.”

   This was more about Roger and his life than he had shared in all of the time we had spent together. I hadn't known he had any siblings at all, let alone seven of them. It hurt to know that it took him coming apart to trust me with something so mundane. It hurt even more to know that it would take something similar for me to be this honest. At least I could sit here and listen. He seemed to need that right now.  “Again man, I'm sorry. That's pretty fucked up...”

   “It isn't even because of that church though. Not really,” he continued, picking at the bedspread underneath him while he avoided my eyes. “I mean they're pretty full of poisonous ideas about a lot of bullshit, don't get me wrong. But see, my unforgivable sin was rocking the boat. I didn't do enough to cover for my father when people questioned what was happening. Not that I actually told on him, or that he got into any trouble over it. The congregation is good at circling their wagons if nothing else. But he was inconvenienced, and you know, we can't inconvenience John Harrington.” He gave a small laugh. “Or maybe it is their church after all. Honor thy father and mother. No matter what they do or if they deserve it.”

   “Fuck your old man,” I told him. “Pretty sure you're better off.”

   “Yeah, so am I. But I'm not going to pretend like it doesn't hurt to lose the rest of them too. You know my mother died, a few weeks ago. My sister Marsha called to tell me about it the night before the funeral, just to make sure I knew I shouldn't come home. I'm not welcome.” Whatever little bit of stoicism he had been trying to hold on to melted away and his voice started to break. “She was my mother. I thought that meant something. I didn't even know she was sick. I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't even...”

   “What would you have said to her?” I asked him. I couldn't wrap my head around where he was right now. If I had been raised by those people, if I had been treated like that, I don't think I would have given a shit if any of them died. Obviously, though, he still carried a lot of hurt from it all. I thought maybe saying out loud what he would have said to her might help. I hated to see him floundering like this.

   Roger swallowed deeply and gave his head a little shake. “I don't know. Part of me wants her to hug me and tell me she still loved me, in spite of everything. Part of me wants to scream at her and ask her why she never stood up for me. Either way...” He swallowed again, and quickly wiped his cheek. “It doesn't matter. She never took me back, she threw me away and I'm never going to get that answer now.”

   I probably shouldn't have done it, Roger had made it very clear he was through with me when we parted in Wisconsin, but I leaned over and slipped my arms around him, pulling him up against me. “You are not some thing to just be discarded, Rog. You are amazing. I am so sorry they don't see that but that's on them not you.” He was shaking and I think fighting back tears, and I gave him a little kiss on the side of his face, right by his ear. I meant it to be reassuring. He didn't take it that way.

   Roger pulled away from me and sat up with a defeated sigh. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” His face had gone slack and his glassy eyes avoided my gaze. “Like it even fucking matters anymore. I guess we're just back to finding something to fill the ache.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it across the room. “Do or don't, it's not like it changes anything, so what the hell. I mean you did come all this way.”

   “What? No, that's not what I fucking meant. That's not even why I'm here.”  I was horrified by the casual, detached way he seemed to be offering his body up to me. I got up and picked up his shirt, and as I handed it back to him I noticed how marked up his chest and back were. I don't think I was the only one he had made this offer to recently. “What's happening to you, Roger?” I didn't know what to say, I knew I was drawing a lot of conclusions but I had seen a few people hit rock bottom before and if Roger wasn't there already he was dangerously close. I reached forward before I realized what I was doing, my fingers tracing over a bite mark on his shoulder. He immediately jerked back away from me.

   “Fuck you, what did Jane fucking say to you?” Roger snapped, his mood swinging around in an instant. He hastily pulled his shirt back on. “It's not like she thinks. She's such a fucking idealist. She doesn't get what it's like for the rest of us...”

   “Okay stop. Please. Jane didn't say anything to me. I honestly just came down here to apologize to you. I was an asshole when you left that morning and I'm really sorry about it. I just wanted to make sure we're good.”

   “Yeah sure, we're fine,” Roger mumbled. “Sorry to interrupt your plans. Feel better about yourself yet?”

   I wanted to snap. He was being impossible, opening up and shutting down again so fast I couldn't hope to keep up. I fought back the urge to storm out. “Not really. But that's not why I'm here. I mean it, Roger. I'm sorry for the way I acted when you left. I like you a lot. I'd like it if we were friends. I can find a piece of ass anywhere. Friends are a little harder.”

   “A spectacular piece of ass,” Roger protested with just a hint of a smile.

   I laughed. “Yeah, okay, a spectacular piece of ass. But I think maybe a good friend. I could really use one of those right now. It looks like maybe you could too.”

   “Maybe.”

   “I'm trying to be less of a self-involved prick. Granted, it's not going very well...” I confessed with a shrug. “I am who I am. But I'm trying.”

   “You're not that self-involved,” he conceded. “As a matter of fact, you've mostly been really kind when I've been around. You're just focused and I think you forget other people more than you mean to. It's still kind of shitty but it's fixable and you're a good person underneath it all.”

   “Thanks, I think.”

   “Sure. Don't mention it.” He sighed and leaned back on the bed. “Are you sure she didn't say anything to you? Jane, I mean.”

   I shook my head. “She said it wasn't a good time when I told her I wanted to talk to you. That's all. I know this is a stupid question, but I don't know how else to ask. Are you okay? I mean, is there anything you want to talk about? Can I help somehow?”

   “I don't know. I'm trying to sort it all out. Jane's all wrapped up in Shannon and I'm pretty sure that's not a good thing but she's not listening to me so there's nothing I can do there.”

   I tried to keep my face neutral. Roger didn't know the half of it. Shannon was my brother and knew I had to have his back but I was certain Jane would not have been cool with the way he had behaving on tour without her if she knew. I had considered spilling the beans when I had spoken to her on the phone. I had thought about maybe just leaving hints. I was thinking about it now, but it wasn't my secret to tell. I had warned Shannon, however, that if he fucked this up Jane was, in my opinion, fair game. I had only ever agreed to back off from her in the beginning. Recent misjudgments aside, Jane had only improved with age in my opinion. I didn't hold out a lot of hope, once she had finally seen Shannon it seemed that she only ever had eyes for him. But I could see the way things were going, with or without my interference. Time would tell how it all played out.

   “She has made the plans and I have followed for most of our lives,” Roger went on. “Which is fine but, again, she's all wrapped up in Shannon and I don't think she knows where she's going anymore.”

   “So make your own plans,” I suggested. “There must be something you want to do.”

   Roger smiled. “Co-dependent, remember? But I have been branching out.”

   He just continued to sit there with that wry smile on his face. “Are you going to tell me into what or do I have to guess the password or something?”

   “I'm kind of embarrassed, actually. Especially since it's you. When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actor. I was in a few school plays but I was really awful at it. I mean really, truly awful,” he confessed. “But Daphne was hounding me about branching out. She really was just fame chasing and thought I could be her ticket, she thought I could get into acting, and as far as she was concerned that was better than just being a model. I tried to tell her how bad at it I was but she just kept hounding me, so eventually I agreed to take lessons. I'm finding out I actually like it, and I'm not as awful as I thought, I was just clueless. I've really been putting a lot of work into but I think it's paying off.”

   “You know, that's always been my plan. I just throw myself really hard at things. If you like it and you're willing to work for it I absolutely think you can do it.”

   Roger laughed. “Okay, let's not pretend like you aren't gifted as hell. I believe you work for it but we are not exactly starting from the same place.”

   “You have no idea where I started from,” I told him. It didn't feel like the right time now but I promised myself soon I would sit down with him and tell him about my early days in L.A. “But you're right, it wasn't the same place. You have a lot more resources now than I had then. It's going to play out differently than it did for me. Is the class going well?”

   Roger blushed. It seemed strange on him. “Well, I was in this play this spring. The play was terrible but I got some good mentions in reviews. But...” He took a deep breath. “Turns out I had a flair for something I would never have suspected. I'm going to be doing Shakespeare. It's a fall festival and then some traveling. The director I'm working with is grooming me to come back and do Shakespeare in the park for the season next summer...”

   “Seriously? That's amazing! That's a huge deal!” I was really impressed. For someone with Roger's experience level to be getting this kind of an opportunity, he had to be good. “Don't even try to tell me you aren't talented. This wouldn't be happening if you weren't.”

   Roger shrugged but I could the smile on his face. This meant a lot to him, and he was proud of it. Probably more so since it was a childhood dream he never thought he was going to be able to chase. “Why hasn't Jane mentioned it?” I asked suspiciously.

   “She doesn't know yet. It's going to be a lot of work and travel and I probably won't see her much this year. With everything she's been through, I feel like I'm abandoning her. I'm thinking of turning them down.”

   “Don't you fucking dare. She would not want that."

   “She'd give me her oxygen tank if she was drowning. Doesn't mean I should take it.”

   “Look, I know it's not any of my business, but we're having this discussion so you're getting my opinion anyway. You need to do this. You two need to cut the cord a little bit. You're both a lot stronger than you think you are but you're never going to know it if you don't try to stand up on your own. This is your dream. Chase it. I bet you'll be amazing.” Roger shrugged. “What play? What part?” I asked.

   “Of all the parts in all the plays, which one would you cast me in?”

   I thought about it for a minute. I wasn't a huge Shakespeare fan, but as my mind wandered back to high school English classes one part did indeed stand out. “Puck.” I ventured.

   Roger laughed and smiled. “Give the man a prize. Midsummer Nights Dream it is.”

   I laughed back, enjoying seeing him smile. “You are going to be perfect. Send me dates and locations and I'll try to make a show.”

   “I will.” He nodded but then the smile started to fade and his face started to darken again. “I'm afraid though. Things have gone really well for me so far. Better than they should have. It feels a little cliché, the model/actor thing, and it feels a little greedy to chase something else. Like I'm just tempting fate.”

   This was one area I was very familiar with. “Look. Not everyone fits in one box. You can't let your expectations be shaped by what everyone else thinks you should be doing. You especially can't let fear of failure stop you from chasing something you want. Besides, failure is a great teacher. You learn as much from failing as you do from succeeding. Probably more." He looked so uncertain, and I knew that confidence that he normally seemed to be brimming with was in short supply. Now was the time he was going to need it. I wanted to hug him again but I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. “I think this is exactly what you need right now. A sense of direction and purpose, and one that wasn't assigned to you by Jane.”

   “I don't want her to think I'm abandoning her.”

   “She won't. She's going to be proud of you and excited for you. You'll see.”

    He let out a breath he had been holding. “Thanks. For listening to all this. For being a friend.” Roger leaned forward and hugged me this time, and I pulled him in as tightly as I could. I felt better about things than when I had walked in there but I wasn't put off by the slight uptick in his mood. I was still very worried.

   When he let me go I tried to measure where we were at. I knew Shannon would be ready to hit the road soon, but I wasn't ready to leave Roger just yet. I forged ahead one more time. “Can I ask you some things?” I ventured.

   Roger sighed in obvious anticipation of where this was going. “Go ahead,” he replied.

   “Are you okay? I mean I know you're going through some things right now, but are you safe? Can you be left alone? Are you going to do anything stupid?”

    “I'm not going to off myself if that's what you're asking," he replied gruffly.

   “No, that's not what I asked.  There are a lot of dumbass, self-destructive, bad decisions you can make short of that. You're hurt and you're angry and you're turning it in on yourself and I'm really fucking worried.”

   “She did say something.”

   “No, Roger, Jane did not tell me shit. Why? What is there to tell? What did you do?”

   Roger closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. “Something I won't do again. I promise.”

   “Until the next time temptation comes along?” Roger didn't reply. He obviously wasn't going to tell me what happened. From the way he had reacted, I figured it had to do with those marks on his skin. “Okay, make a deal with me. Promise me that you will stay safe, that you won't do anything stupid, and that if you think you're going to you will call me. Day or night, it doesn't matter. I want you to call me. And I want you to promise to see someone.”

   Roger huffed and shook his head. “Like a therapist?”

   “Yes, like a therapist. Jesus, you said it yourself, you're probably depressed, you're in a bad place. You need to talk to someone. A  professional. Promise me.”

   He was quiet, and I watched him turning everything over in his head. “Fine,” he finally conceded. “I'll call around on Monday.”

   “Thank you.” I gave him another hug, now that he had given me one and I knew it would be okay.

   “You're a good friend you know.”

   “And a spectacular lay,” I added with a laugh as I tilted my head and bit my bottom lip. Roger broke into laughter again.

   “Spectacular asshole is more like it,” he said as he gave me a gentle shove.

  @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli@maliciousalishious@meghan12151977@mustlove6277 @fyeahproudglambert@little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k @snewsome756

[baadbaadblacksheep]

Recovery - An LtR ficlet

Read on Ao3 [here]

Set in the Learning the Ropes AU by @purely-a-trashcan . Basically my take on what happens after chapter 21.

[Disclaimer: I don’t know jack shit about hospitals or loss of limb injuries. Everything medical I know is attributed to the show Scrubs]

“Gabriel Reyes?”

All three of the men stood up, prompting the nurse to smile and shake her head. “You can’t all be Mr. Reyes.” Jack let out a sigh and sat, pulling Genji back into his lap and getting a bit of resistance from his unhappy fiancé in doing so. Gabriel crossed the short distance of the waiting room to the nurse.

“He’s asking for you. Normally we don’t let visitors up to the critical care unit outside of visiting hours but he’s struggling against us, even with the sedatives and pain killers. He’s gotten a blood transfusion but we’re waiting on your family doctor you requested to head his care to arrive before we administer another; he’s still low but he’s okay. We’ve stopped the bleeding and the wound is clean and under control. Loss of limb is pretty traumatic. We thought it might help if he sees you for a few minutes. He won’t stop calling out for you.” The nurse relayed all this with a professional calm. Gabe’s heart surged at her last sentence; Jesse was suffering alone all this time. He was probably scared out of his wits.

Gabe followed the nurse into the elevator and through the busy halls upstairs until they came to the room Jesse was in. Gabe heard him before he saw him; Jesse was asking the nurse in his room quite loudly if his Gabi was coming soon. He could hear her respond in hushed reassurances.

Jesse’s head swiveled in his direction, and Gabriel had to bite back a reaction. It was really gone. Cut just above the elbow, nothing but air where there should have been the rest of his arm. The stub was heavily bandaged, but looked clean and free of blood. The nurses must have cleaned him up pretty well at some point. The nurse looked up and followed Jesse’s gaze, smiling politely at the visitor. She turned back to Jesse, asking if he would be alright for the moment alone they were being granted. Jesse’s enthusiastic nodding prompted both nurses in the area to leave them be, the one who brought Gabe in letting him know it was only for a few minutes. He nodded in understanding, keeping his eyes on Jesse.

The young man looked paler than his usual coloring, weak. He stared back at Gabe with unreadable eyes. No joy to see him, or horror to be seen in this state. Just blank. “Don’t,” Jesse whimpered out when Gabe crossed the room to him, reaching out, “Don’t touch me.” Gabe blinked in surprise but backed up a step or two. Jesse blew out a sigh that turned into a strange laugh, his posture in the hospital bed slumped.

“I was passed out when they brought me in. I screamed when I saw it, first time I woke up. They had to sedate me. I was freakin’ out, Gabi. Came to again… I dunno. Not too long ago. But I screamed again, scared the shit outta the nurse next to me. It hurts, Gabi. Even with the pain killers they say they got me on, it fuh-fucking hurts. Every time I see it. I just remember.” A sob burst out of Jesse finally, tears flowing easily like a burst dam breaking. His voice had hitched several times while he had been talking.

“They didn’t get it in one chop, Gabe. Naw, it took a few h-hits. And they were laughin’. Like it was the funniest goddamn thing in the world how much I was hollerin’. He had my head in his lap, stroking’ my hair and smilin’ at me on their way to dump me. Like he hadn’t just cackled in my face while he recorded what they did on my own god damn phone. I thought I was gonna be sick. I think I was, before I blacked out.” Jesse was staring at his remaining hand in his lap, fidgeting with the knit blanket draped over his legs. Gabe felt nauseous just hearing this. It was unreal. Jesse had told him stories of Xander’s cruelty, but it was always followed with a disclaimer that Xander wasn’t a bad guy, he could be sweet, and maybe sometimes Jesse deserved it anyway. Gabriel hated that. No matter how terrible the stories got, Jesse remembered Xander fondly at times. It was forgivable to a degree; it was the boy’s first boyfriend, after all, with only some confused flummoxing over his sexuality with some random people before he met Gabe.

“At l-least I don’t gotta look at that big ugly scar or shitty tattoo anymore. He really c-cut himself outta my life!” Gabe winced at the ugly laughter that intermingled itself into Jesse’s wet sobs and moved closer. Jesse barked out another “Don’t touch me!” when he caught sight of his boyfriend reaching out to him. He wiped at his face with his hand, only smearing the constant flow of tears across his cheeks and nose. His chin was dripping with the salty water now.

Gabe wanted to pull his boy to his chest, to shush his crying and tell him he was safe now, but he knew it was pointless. He wasn’t sure anything he said would be helpful right now. Jesse was growing hysterical at this rate, and any attempted soothing from Gabe might only make it worse. He could only stare at his shoes while Jesse gasped in deeper and deeper breaths until they became calmer and shaky.

“I would understand,” Jesse finally whispered out, so lowly Gabe had to lean in to hear him, “if y’all wanted to split now. My stuff’s still mostly packed up already, y’know, just seems like a s-sign.” A sob half-escaped him, getting bitten back quite literally behind his clenched teeth. “An’ don’t keep me around out o’ pity either—“

“Jesse.”

The younger flinched at the sound of his name, but to his own surprise only spoke louder, “Gabi, don’t. Don’t tell me you still want me, that y’all still want me around. It’s only gonna make it so much harder when you dump me.”

A small, cold hand was at Gabe’s shoulder before he could answer that with protest. He turned to see Dr. Ziegler behind him, forcing her usual professional smile on her face. “Gabriel,” she began softly, “they’re turning his care over to me, now. I would like to do an examination of my own in private, if you don’t mind. Jesse is starting to exhibit signs of hysteria and he is still producing adrenaline from shock. Not to mention he is still low on blood; I am starting another blood transfusion as soon as possible. I think it is best he does not receive visitors again until I can stabilize his body as well as his mind.”

Angela Ziegler: their private doctor and a master of politely telling someone to clear a room. Gabe resisted the urge to refuse to leave. She was right. Jesse needed to calm down and rest and his presence wasn’t helping. He moved as though to leave, then turned in the doorway, arms crossed.

“I want constant updates. Even if there’s nothing new to report. I need to know his status or I’ll come find out myself.” It was only a mostly idle threat. But Gabe hated being left in the dark, and he knew Jack and Genji would want the updates as well. Genji himself would probably scale the building and bust through the window if he couldn’t know how his best friend was doing in such a crucial time.

“Of course. Go get some rest, Gabriel. I have your number.” Gabe shook his head, informing her he was not planning on leaving the lobby downstairs until Jesse was stable to her standards. Angela shook her head and smiled but did not scold him like he thought she might. Gabe gave Jesse one last look and an “I love you” before he left the room. Jesse wouldn’t meet his gaze, still trying to control his tears.

Jack and Genji were standing in the lobby with Fareeha when he returned. All three turned to at him as he approached.

“Gabriel,” Fareeha said in greeting, nodding towards him. It struck him for a moment. He had known her for as long as he had known her mother, since she was a young teenager with an affinity for soccer and a fantasy of bringing justice to the world. Ana had taught her to fire a gun but it was Gabriel and sometimes even Jack who took her to the range on occassion to perfect her shot. That headstrong teenager was a grown woman now, living out her biggest dreams as part of the LAPD with aspirations so big it worried her mother and stepfather to death. Wilhelm was loudly supportive of her when she sought to join the police force, but in private he would lament his worries just as openly as Ana. Not to say they weren’t proud, but Fareeha had a penchant for jumping headfirst into danger. Which is why she made it to Jesse as fast as she did. And for that, Gabriel was thankful.

“I need to get official statements from everyone involved, and then I need one from Jesse himself. How is… what is his condition?” Fareeha’s voice softened a bit.

“Angela is here, looking him over herself now, but he was stable enough for me to see him. They got the wound under control but he lost a lot of blood. He’s got some drugs in his system so I don’t know if he’s in the state to be giving you his story. He was also a bit hysterical. I’d wait until Angie clears him if I were you.” Gabe’s mouth tightened a bit, remembering Jesse’s slurred words. Jesse had some insecurities, he knew this, but it was heartbreaking for them to rear their head at this critical time.

Fareeha nodded before visibly trying to regain her professional composure. “Right. Well. Let’s get your statements out of the way.”

The hospital graciously provided a quiet room for them (though it gave the impression that the hospital was used to this). They all told the same story, but it was required for them to all give separate statements regardless. When Genji’s turn came around, his statement was given with a tired voice and averted eyes, but no emotion shown other than that. The neutral Shimada façade was wearing on him as the night went on, refusing to betray any distress.

The sun was rising by the time they made it back out to the lobby, the early rays of light making themselves known through the glass double doors of the hospital’s front. Fareeha thanked them and gave them all tight, reassuring hugs, her police persona dropping quickly.

“I’ll contact you when they release Jesse’s phone from evidence, but that could be a while. I’m sure that’s the least of your worries right now, though,” she offered before she left them, giving Gabe a tight smile.

“Did they find the guy who did this? Or anyone involved?” Gabriel asked, mouth set tight again. Fareeha’s frown mimicked his own as she shook her head.

“I’ll check when I get back to get an updated answer, but they were long gone by the time they left him and contacted you. This is part of a bigger issue in the gang world. I’m not in the gang violence department, so I don’t know the whole story, but I do know that Deadlock has been rumored to be moving their influence towards Mexico. Rumors say they’re joining forces with Los Muertos but I don’t know how true that is. Either way, last I heard, the border was informed to look for the van and people seen in the CCTV footage, but I can’t say that they were really on their way down there or if they’d be caught going through anyway. But the detective heading this case thinks they were on their way to Mexico and took a detour here. I’ll call you when I know more.” Gabriel nodded his thanks and accepted another hug before she went to the front desk, asking for Angela.

“Someone needs to feed the dogs and be at the office in a few hours,” Jack said, “I know you don’t want to leave right now. I’m going to drop Genji off at the house and I’m going to head to the office. I can send Genji over here later so you can switch with him and get some rest. Okay?” Gabe wasn’t looking at him. Jack let out a huff of air, staving off his irritation. He was no stranger to Gabe’s bullheaded attitude. “You are going to get some rest whether or not you like it. Jesse will be okay. He’s stable. Angela has him in her care now.”

Gabe walked out with them to the car, the rising sun warming his skin from the freezing hospital air. “He wasn’t okay, Jack. He was telling me he was so sure we didn’t want him now. Wouldn’t let me say otherwise. Angela made me leave, he was getting so upset.”

Genji frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m coming back later. You don’t have to switch with me when I do. But I want to see him. I don’t care if Angela won’t let me.” Jack gave him a look, but Genji ignored it. “Don’t strain yourself. You can’t stay fueled by coffee forever.” Genji stood on tiptoe to kiss Gabe’s cheek before getting into the car. Gabe allowed himself a small smile at that.

“We only took one vehicle. Let us know if you need to leave.” Jack gave him a tight embrace, a concerned look on his face when they parted.

“I’ll be fine, Jackie,” Gabe murmured, though it didn’t ease Jack’s worry. “It’s Jesse we should be concerned about.” Jack blew out a sigh and shot him another look, but relented and got into the car as well.

---

As chatty as Jesse was when Gabriel had seen him, he had nothing much to say when he was declared stable and moved to the recovery ward, allowing him visitors. Genji had come in to his room with Gabe asleep in the chair next to the bed, Jesse watching over him silently. Jesse had only raised a finger to his lips when Genji appeared.

“He was asleep when I woke up. Don’t think he slept all night.” Jesse’s voice was gruff but quiet. Genji frowned just a bit, standing next to the bedside opposite of Gabe. He wanted to hug and cling on to Jesse but everything in his body language suggested he shouldn’t try.

“Jack hasn’t slept either. Hana sent me a picture of him asleep in his office earlier. I told him to take the day off. Surprisingly, he listened to me. He’s on his way now.” Jesse actually let out a soft breath of amusement, which Genji took as a good sign. Gabe had made him seem so unwell. But he seemed fine now.

“I suppose he should get an eyeful so he knows he ain’t missin’ out on much to leave me behind. The sooner y’all realize you don’t need this broken mess bringin’ you down, the better.” Genji frowned, but it went ignored by Jesse, still turned away. So this is what Gabe was talking about.

“You know we aren’t leaving you,” Genji said softly, setting a hand on Jesse’s leg. Jesse flinched, but didn’t react further.

Gabe was jerked into wakefulness by the shout of a protesting nurse after Jack, who was walking through the door. “No more than two visitors at a time!” She was scolding, following him in.

“I’m allowing it. Let them be,” Angela called from hallway, passing the area with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. She stood outside the doorway until the nurse left, looking begrudged to have been shooed away by a visiting doctor. Angela entered and smiled at them all, looking like she hadn’t rested at all since her arrival. “If you three could please see me at some point, they’ve set up a temporary office for me down the hall.”

The three tried to engage Jesse in any kind of talk, but he seemed more interested in staring anywhere a person wasn’t, only answering in irritated grunts at times. After half an hour of failed communication, Jack proposed they go talk with Angela. Jesse looked almost relieved at the idea of being left alone.

“With trauma like this, especially considering he’s lost an arm, we may see Jesse go through the stages of grief. This is a loss for him. He will most likely be stuck on a mixture of anger and depression for quite some time. You must be prepared to support him regardless of his moods. Have you given any thought to a prosthetic limb yet?” The men all shook their head.

“It’s been too early to talk about that. Jesse will barely talk to us at all, beyond talking about how he thinks we’re leaving him now. We do know someone in the prosthetic business, though,” Gabe told her. Angela nodded, taking a long sip of her coffee before speaking again.

“If he chooses to have a prosthetic, it will be much longer before he reaches acceptance. First, he will have to learn how to function with one arm. Then he will have to start all over again, learning how to use his prosthetic. It will be incredibly frustrating for him. And in turn, for you all as well. I must know if you are prepared to go through this challenge with him. Because that is what it will be, for all of you.” Angela gave them all stern looks, but it was unneeded.

“We’re a family. We’ll get Jesse through this, together,” Jack said with confidence.

---

Jesse fought them at every turn. He wouldn’t accept any comfort offered and begrudgingly accepted help when it was needed. Eating was a hassle, every time. It wasn’t that it required more than one hand to eat, but just the fact that Jesse could no longer even lean on his missing elbow as he ate was enough to discourage his appetite, if there was even one to begin with. Jack had experience with getting Genji to eat when his appetite was near non-existent towards the beginning of their relationship, but his old tricks weren’t going to work with Jesse. It was like Jesse was trying to lay down and die any time they weren’t forcing him to engage in anything.

Gabe was a constant in the small hospital room when he wasn’t at home getting some decent sleep or working in the office for a half day every other day, trying to catch up with what he was missing when he was gone. Jack handled the office fine during the day, coming to visit at night along with Genji.

“You don’t have to always be here,” Jesse had grumbled once, “I’m fine alone. I’ve told you as much.”

“You don’t eat when we’re not here to make you,” Gabe countered, “Angela thought she was going to have to put you on IV nutrients. Still thinks that, with how little you’re still willing to eat for us.”

Jesse had only grunted at that. He didn’t say much if he didn’t have to. Genji would talk his ear off to fill the silence, but there was only so much he could say in one visit. Genji had also smuggled his puppy, Blue, in once. It was worth it to see Jesse light up just a bit at seeing his puppy, who was elated to see her suddenly missing master. Angela had caught them 15 minutes into the visit and had made Genji promise not to bring her in again, but she couldn’t deny that Jesse had actually smiled for once since coming to the hospital.

Coming home was something Jesse began looking forward to after that. He claimed it was just to see his pup again, but they knew there were other things on his mind. They had gotten settled into the new house, but it seemed awfully empty and quiet without Jesse there. Gabe could barely stand being there. Jesse should be home, cuddling up to Jack in his recliner, playing video games with Genji on the couch, distractedly going over schoolwork on his laptop at the kitchen table, half-naked and laying out on their bed with that smug grin and confident flirtatious attitude the minute Gabe walked into their bedroom. The house wasn’t a home without him in it.

Angela had declared his healing at a point where he could continue to heal at home, after some time. They had all come together to charter him home, but when asked if he wanted to stop for dinner at any of his favorite restaurants, he merely continued to stare out the window and muttered that he just wanted to go home. Of course, they had all agreed, he should be home, finally. Jesse had pushed past them all to go into his small personal bedroom once they arrived, Blue hot on his heels in pursuit of her owner. It was agreed to give him some space until dinner arrived, having ordered delivery, but it was discovered that he had crawled into bed and fallen asleep when they went to get him to come eat. Any attempts to rouse him were only met with the sight of him curling up tighter and covering his head with the blankets. Shutting out the world. Even Blue was evicted from the bedroom, left whining at the door outside. The puppy had tried her best, tugging at the blankets and pouncing on the sleeping mass that was her master, but Jesse’s temper with his baby had been surprisingly short.

Hospital fatigue. Settling in. Exhaustion from recent events. Whatever they wanted to call it, after a week Jesse was still curled up in bed, refusing to eat much or move unless necessary. Any attempts to get him up or engaged in anything was met with baseless anger, tears, or both. Though the tears seemed to be a constant. It broke their hearts when they reached the point that they realized they hadn’t seen him without a tear-stained face in some time. They forced him to drink water, in attempts to keep him hydrated, refusing to leave him be until he finished entire water bottles for them. He had gotten good at glaring at whoever had brought it to him as he downed the entirety of a bottle in one go.

No one took it personally, though Genji was pouting after every attempt to get Jesse to stop his corpse act. Gabe was allowed the most time with him out of them all. Jesse would let himself be pulled close in his boyfriend’s embrace, if only for a few minutes, accept larger bites of food than Jack or Genji could offer him for meals, let him to clean and monitor the tender, still healing stub of his arm. It was an improvement. Every week he was a little more willing to engage, less hindered by knee-jerk reactionary emotions, sleeping less though still quite a bit.

Fareeha had come by with his phone after a while, the blood cleaned off, the metal and glass ensured to be disinfected, and the videos and call history wiped from the phone’s memory before it was handed over. He spent all his time browsing through websites or playing games if he wasn’t sleeping or being visited. Angela came by to check on his healing progress once a week, remarking it was good for him to be learning how to use something as commonplace as his phone with one hand. He was getting close to approval for a prosthetic, but no one had brought it up to Jesse himself. Not yet.

---

A soft knock at the door startled Jesse out of his half-sleep. He called out his usual “go away” as he readjusted to the waking world. He had been on the cusp of another nightmare; he couldn’t help but be secretly grateful for the intruder. The door opened and shut softly, and even with his back to the door Jesse could tell from the near-silent, light footsteps that Genji was attempting another visit. Jesse grumbled, rubbing at his itchy face, cheeks tacky from his earlier crying. Didn’t he have better things to do?

“You don’t have to move if you want,” Genji’s surprisingly gentle voice came, “But I have a bag of your favorite chips and I’m watching Lonesome Dove. Feel free to join me.” Jesse snorted at that. Genji hated those old Westerns. He had complained every time Jesse convinced Jack and Gabe to watch them with him. Then again, Genji complained about anything that wasn’t picked by him.

“You hate Lonesome Dove,” Jesse muttered out, ignoring the rasp of his raw throat. A hand rubbed at his side on top of the comforter before Genji’s weight next to him made the bed dip. Jesse tried to ignore the sound of the chip bag opening and the opening theme playing on the TV on the opposite wall, the movie being mirrored from Jack’s tablet that was now sitting on the bedside table.

“But I love you,” Genji retorted, carding a hand through Jesse’s unwashed hair.

5 minutes later, Jesse turned over to watch the movie, instinctually cuddling up against the body in bed next to him. With a little adjustment, his head now rest on Genji’s shoulder, forcing him to sit up since Genji was sitting up with his back supported with the large pillow he had brought with him as well. The sweet chili flavored chips were offered soon after the position shift, and when Jesse just couldn’t be bothered to reach his hand into the bag, Genji readily fed them to him.

Jack and Gabe found them both fast asleep hours later, empty chip bag knocked onto the floor and the two younger men still sitting up against the large pillow, mouths slightly open as they breathed softly in sync.

Jack nudged Genji awake, helping him roll out of the bed from under Jesse’s body as Gabe sat on the other side of the bed by Jesse. The couple left the room as Gabe stroked Jesse’s cheek, waking him gently with soft murmurs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, dulcito,” Gabe suggested when Jesse’s eyes opened, focusing on his lover, “You’ll feel better after a shower.”

Jesse protested weakly, but allowed Gabe to scoop him up into his arms. He could admit it would be nice to get the greasy feeling out of his hair, scrub at his skin and get his face feeling fresh again, but he just didn’t have the energy to try. Fortunately, Gabe did, though Jesse couldn’t bring down his walls to feel or show his appreciation at the time. Jesse would rather lay down and die than keep going after what happened to him, but the bastards wouldn’t let him do it.

They passed Jack and Genji in the hall as they trekked out of the room towards their shared bedroom. Jack had a fresh set of sheets and a new comforter in his arms, Genji with a clean outfit for Jesse to lounge in once he was clean. They gave him warm smiles as they passed back to his small private room, but Jesse could only feel guilt. They were keeping him clean, fed, and attempting to keep him distracted from his negative thoughts and constant flow of tears. He didn’t deserve this treatment. If anything, Xander’s re-emergence from the shadows and into his life again only proved he was trash and deserved to rot like it.

The eloquently tiled and ridiculously spacious shower in the master bath was a welcome sight, despite this thinking. All four of them could stand in the enclosed shower and still have some room to move. There were three shower nozzles, one on either side and one gentler rain-like drizzle from above, that ensured whether someone stood or opted to sit on one of the two built in seats in the corners, they would be close to, if not in, the path of the spray.

Gabe turned on the water and gave it a moment to warm up and for him to strip them both before once again picking Jesse up in his arms and taking them both into the shower. Jesse was sat on one of the seats, where the tiles had thankfully warmed from the water. The spray only hit his legs, but he would only have to lean in to wash himself. Jesse leaned back against the wall, the tiles there a bit cooler and not yet heated up, letting Gabe massage his shampoo in thoroughly. The conditioner followed and soon a full body scrub with his body wash, Gabe gently getting him to lean into the spray and wash off between each new product.

Jesse had started his crying again at some point without him even noticing. Gabe had attempted his best to get him to stop before he washed Jesse’s face last, kneeled between his legs and petting his cheek, cooing reassurances that everything was alright. Jesse had tried once to explain to them all that he wasn’t in control of the random fall of tears, but it didn’t stop them all from their gentle treatment when it started.

After being towel-dried the best Gabe could manage, he was handed his toothbrush with a bead of toothpaste applied, told to simply try his best when Jesse stuck the bristles in his mouth and barely guided them against his teeth. His dentist had painstakingly filled all of his cavities despite his horrific dental anxiety, a nightmare for everyone involved when it was discovered, so he figured he at least owed the poor woman some effort to keep his mouth healthy.

Gabe had been incredibly gentle around the flesh at the end of his stub, and treated it as instructed once Jessi had spit and rinsed. Everyone seemed to be taking the missing arm better than he was, minding the still very tender area of the impromptu amputation and being careful not to engage him in anything that required more than one hand. Jesse took the pain pill offered to him, washing it down with the opened bottle of water set out for him. He had never complained about the pain, nor had he told anyone it had decreased to a constant dull ache at this point, but Angela insisted on keeping him medicated for it. No one would just let him suffer like he deserved.

Eventually Jesse was dressed and back in bed, his clothes and sheets fresh as well as his body. Gabe had him curled up in his lap, stroking his still damp hair. Jesse wasn’t attempting to doze off immediately as he might normally, actually feeling a bit of refreshed energy, and Gabe was enjoying the small victory in silence. Jack and Genji would be back soon with dinner, and they would all pile on Jesse’s bed somehow and let him pick a movie to watch together. Jesse had tried sitting with them in the living room recently but he had wordlessly fidgeted and fussed the whole time until he had gotten up and retreated back to his room. He was still not ready to leave the security of the cocoon he had made for himself, but they were proud of him for beginning to entertain their requests for him to rejoin them in the rest of the house. It didn’t last long, and sometimes they were met with angry rejection at the idea, but he was still starting to show signs of a will to live that was the biggest relief of all.

“So,” Gabe murmured against his ear, “Angela says you’ve got maybe another week and a half before she could approve you for a prosthetic.” Jesse stiffened in his lap, as predicted, and Gabe held his breath in anticipation for the response. When nothing was said, “It would be your choice, Jesse. You don’t have to—“

“How soon?” Jesse spoke up suddenly, twisting himself to look at Gabe directly. “How soon could I have one?”

Gabe blinked in surprise, not expecting that response. “Well, we have a friend in the business. The best, actually. Akande Ogundimu. If you want, he can be here in two weeks to fit you for one. He deals with some pretty advanced technology as far as prosthetics go. As for when you would actually get it, I couldn’t say. Akande could tell you much more than I ever could.” Jesse considered this in silence, resting his form back against the broad chest against him.

After a while, sitting in silence with Gabe rubbing his back in slow circles, Jesse looked back up at him. His face was slightly reddened, eyes wet with tears threatening to fall. “You’d still want me even if I didn’t get one, right?” Gabe let out a soft laugh, simply relieved to hear Jesse not insisting Gabe didn’t want him at all, for once.

“I’d want you even with three arms,” He teased, pressing a kiss to Jesse’s warm neck. Jesse laughed, short and rough, pushing against Gabe’s shoulder. It was the first laugh Gabe had heard since the first night at the hospital, an angelic sound in comparison to that hysterical moment.

“Gabe, come on,” Jesse had said with a crooked grin, swiping quickly at the tears that did manage to escape down his cheeks. He protested no further, though, seeming happy enough with that answer. While Jesse’s good moods were short-lived, at least they existed at all now. The lifespan of this one seemed promising, especially when Jesse perked up slightly at hearing the front door open to announce the return of the rest of their group. There were still hard days ahead, but for now, at least things seemed to be looking up.

[figjelly]

Dear Therapist.

Every Wednesday (except for the last Wednesday of the month), I write my therapist. I’ll post them here. I’ve been working with this therapist for three years, seeing her once a week. Recently, I decided I wanted to try to reduce my number of visits to once a month but I wanted check-ins. We agreed I could email her. Trigger warnings for everything under the fucking sun for these posts. If you don’t want to be sad, please click this link. Read more after the cut:

I've been mulling over the purpose of keeping in contact with you in-between our face-to-face meetings. Too many hours were spent agonizing over how to optimize the therapeutic value of writing before I realized the answer was simple:

I simply need someone to talk to. Sure, that fact is confounded by chronic and acute issues (e.g. dealing with my current life situation) and events that have reverberated so strongly against myself that they still cause significant disturbances (e.g. my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood); however, underneath all of those things, is the need for attention.

I'm human. It's natural.

The problem with talking to other people is the work I have to do in order to pretend I genuinely care about someone else's problems or feelings. This is not to say there are times I don't genuinely care--I would just rather the burden be permanently removed from my responsibility.

But with a therapist, I'm allowed a brief respite and can pick and choose whether to engage in that work (the work of keeping up my end of a relationship, caring about another's feelings or thoughts, thinking about the consequences of my actions, etc).

So, that's the point. I get a tiny break from those responsibilities and some attention. Seems reasonable.

Then another few hours were spent on how to work within that need. I finally decided on something pretty mundane: storytelling. I've not given much thought on what to story to tell but I've settled on:

Why Ash Has Fought Against Embracing Writing and Art

My mother earned an AFA in her late 20s from a local community college in Louisiana. Before this, I drew and wrote quite a bit but her work and her descriptions of her art classes had me simultaneously enthralled and terrified. I wanted what she was experiencing so badly it hurt but I never believed I could do anything like it. My mother never gave me any indication or support that I could but didn't discourage me from drawing or other acts of creativity. Although, I can never be quite sure if this was actual support or extreme apathy. By the time I really got into creating, she was in the thick of her anorexia and the abuse in our household had grown so thick that it crept out the cracks of doors and windows. Opening the front door, I usually held my breath and had to count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 until I reached my room-- the safest place in the house. For me anyway.

During this time. we owned a short, squat coffee table that had an oval top and an elevated slat underneath where we kept our photo albums. I spent one Saturday cutting up old copy paper into the shapes of buildings and taping them to the edge of the coffee table. It was a tiny, paper village that looked in on itself. If I gave it a name, I don't remember what it was. I never imagined people or weather or anything; it was just a tiny place I created and I was so pleased with it. My mother let me keep it up for a day or two. I think my father yelled at me about the tape on the wood. Either that or he never said anything about it.

It's strange how both of those memories seem equally likely. I tend to talk a lot when there's silence because in my experience, silence is always a prelude to something worse. I can never decide which was worse: the silence that usually lingered in public family spaces with my dad or the constant, angry din of my step-father. I suppose there is no sonic safe space for me. This probably explains why I cling to music in which silence and not-silence live in harmony with one another--nay, depend on one another to make sense.

While Paper Village was around, my mother was always on the couch. She worked as a page at one of the libraries and, coupled with lack of calories, she had nothing to give by the time she came home.

Like I said, I'm not sure if her strange encouragement was real or if it just took too much energy for her to give anything but positive reinforcement. Engaging with her children would have taken more than she had to give because she was too busy eating herself alive, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Or maybe she just allowed other things to eat at her and all she had to do was lay there and suffer.

I can empathize. To an extent. I know that feeling, wanting to be consumed from the inside out.

We inherit our parents's trauma although we'll never fully understand it.

I hated my last nurse practitioner from the outpatient behavioral realm of the hospital. I just expected more of her and instead I heard the same things over and over again when it came to self-mutilation: "You did it to feel alive."

I don't think that's true. I don't think that's true for either me or my mother. "Alive" is to simple a thing to describe wanting to be eaten whole. There is disconnection between the mind and the body, the space between my brain and my body and my thoughts become universe-wide gaps and I'd be gasping for air in the vacuum of space and I just needed something, something, something to tether me back.

So, perhaps I shouldn't hate her for using a shorthand for something she cannot begin to fathom.

Except for that stupid, trite plaque that was painted teal and proclaimed in white, curvy letters: Success is not for the lazy.

Never mind. I still hate her.

I can't remember if my mother was laying on the couch when she told me that one day I'd write the "next great American novel." It certainly happened before the age of 10. And I certainly remember thinking, "Nope."

I stopped drawing my comics after she became excited and entertained ideas of me publishing my work. It was silly. A lot of my comics featured a cat who was a superhero and who saved the world from silly things like a slushie floods (blue raspberry-flavored because I have and always will hate that flavor). She said I should write a full story and illustrate it. She suggested a tour of Egypt since I was into Egyptology at the time. I was excited. I drew. I wrote. It wasn't great. I was 8 or 9, why would it be? I showed it to her. She then said that I had to work harder because it wasn't good enough.

Ah, there we are. A more-than-likely formative moment.

I stopped drawing the cat. I stopped drawing the comics. If I drew, I kept things to myself. It was easier. I kept my writing to myself. Then, at the age of 14 or 15, after my stepfather searched my room "for drugs," both my mother and he had me sit down because they'd found all the notebooks I'd hidden. They yelled. They demanded to know what all of it meant. I was 14 or 15. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

My propensity for coming up with overwrought and over-thought explanations for things isn't an accident. Well, not entirely one of pure ontological origin. They wanted to know what I was doing, what it all meant. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

But it wasn't enough. There had to be more! There was meaning underneath all of it! An abnormal psych college textbook was omnipresent in our home. While it sat on the bookshelf, it loomed over me while both of them demanded to know what it all meant!

"Yes, hello?" Present Me answers, exasperated with the amount of phone calls I've been forced to deal with lately. "Oh, it's just you. Go back to the 1940s, psychoanalytics."

But I was 14 or 15 so the next day, my face still red and my mind still detached from my body, I put all of my notebooks and sketchbooks in my backpack and discretely trashed them all in a school dumpster.

There is still a tinge of pain in heart whenever I think of a pink journal I had with an orange kitten on it, looking up at me from the trash. I remember thinking to myself, "This has to be done."

I am good at doing what needs to be done.

So, you've never asked, but it wasn't like I never wanted to be a writer and/or artist.

I just didn't want to say any of the things I've written aloud.

Because sometimes I think about the Paper Village and the pink journal with the orange kitten on it and it's too much. I'm starting to tear up even now. I'm just infinitely adaptable. I've got a mind that is passably good at most school subjects but not quite what anyone wants. I hit that wall with the PhD program. I'd been found out for the fraud I am. "Go back to your Paper Village!" is what I scream at myself when I wonder if my adviser sabotaging my quals was something everyone agreed to. "Ash is a fraud. Put out the hit." Except it doesn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that didn't quite eat me whole but left me a pile of ashes.

But then I remember all the times I'd tried getting back into art, taking an art class here and there in college, and thinking, "But they know I'm a fraud too!"  And I imagine everyone gathering around in a much more atmospheric location for clandestine meetings and agreeing, "Ash Brandt? She talks about her Zoology classes during Drawing I. We can't have this. She's far too interested in Biology for this. Put out the hit."

And it didn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that left me mostly burned, licking my wounds all the way to a Liberal Arts, BA because I could never get anything right.

Or, this is all bullshit I put together because, if anything, I know how to tell a good story.

Until next week.

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

The Fourth Musketeer

Note: I owe someone out there a Beth/Gideon fic and I was working on it rather diligently until my laptop decided to die and I lost a big chunk of it. It was 5,000 words and I only saved like 3,700 of them so I decided to take a break because I was so angry. During that break, I was talking to @welllpthisishappening​ (as par the course with me) and during a conversation, we somehow created a fourth Jones sibling for the Little Pirates ‘verse, which through a monkey wrench because I had all of their lives mapped out and now I have to redo a huge chunk to make up for this cutie that we came up with. (I’m really not mad, if anything more amused because I get to play around with this universe more.) Anyway, @welllpthisishappening​ is entirely to to blame for this monster right here, which I both love and hate her for. Anyway, if you’re unfamiliar with the Little Pirates ‘verse and wish to read more, here’s a link to my pseudo-master post: [LINK]. Please note: Anything under Ever After verse is a bit null and void at the moment because it doesn’t take into account Ned’s existence.  Summary: After her horrendous pregnancy with her daughter, Emma Swan was pretty set on not having anymore kids…or so she thought. Rated: T+ Word Count: 7,200+

It all started at Granny’s when they had to meet her parents and siblings for dinner. The joint Charming-Jones clan was big enough to warrant a second table being tacked onto their booth and the kids were banished to the secondary table while Emma sat between Killian and Henry. The kids, for once, were getting along and minding their own business. They all seemed to be focused on Emma’s younger sister Ruthie, watching as she began to draw on her placemat with more artistic skill at six years old than Emma had in her entire life. None of them seemed to notice anxious energy surrounding Snow and David, but Emma had picked it up almost as soon as she walked into the dinner. Her parents were looking at them with nervous smiles, their hands interlaced tightly on the table.

“So…we have news…” Snow started somewhat nervously.

“Very exciting but unexpected news,” David clarified giving Snow’s hand a squeeze in support.

“Okay…I will have to be the judge of that, but I can’t necessarily tell you if it’s exciting and unexpected if I don’t know what it is,” Emma replied, giving them both an impatient look that blatantly expressed her desire for them to just come out with it. She had never been very good at guessing games.

“Well, umm…we’re pregnant again,” Snow announced with a somewhat self-conscious smile. “It’s a bit of a surprise, but we’re happy about it.”

“That’s awesome, Grandma!” Henry laughed, leaning over to brush his hand against theirs because he couldn’t necessarily hug them while being trapped in the booth by his mother and stepfather.

“Congratulations both of you,” Killian replied before Emma could even comprehend fully what her mother had said. “How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” Snow replied.

Her small smile grew before Emma’s eyes until it was beaming. David’s expression matched hers; his own smile dazzling and so big that the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit. Emma couldn’t remember the last time that she saw them smile like that. Fuck, her mother was actually glowing. She was the only pregnant woman that Emma knew who actually glowed when pregnant. Emma had always felt like fricking Emily Rose from that weird exorcism movie that she watched on On-Demand one time because it was free, especially with Beth. Her last pregnancy was horrible.

“You’re pregnant?” Emma croaked out before she could stop herself. She was still coming to grips with her mother’s announcement. She hadn’t been expecting it, especially since they were now either entering or currently in their forties, at least in a physical sense. They were getting a bit old to be handling babies.

“Bit slow on the uptake today, huh Swan?” Killian murmured in amusement as he wrapped his arm around Emma’s shoulders and placed a kiss on her temple.

And that’s when Emma saw it. 

There was a particular gleam in Killian’s blue eyes. Over the course of their marriage, Emma had learned that Killian was quite expressive with his emotions and had specific looks that expressed them. Her favorite was when he was feeling particularly naughty and the kids had made themselves scarce and he would look at her with smoldering eyes and a wicked smirk that promised absolute sin. However, he had other ones like when he was observing their children playing in the backyard where his entire face went soft and his eyes were tranquil or when he was irritated while reading in another language and he couldn’t remember the translation, and his eyes were narrow into hard points as they examined the text. The most common look these days however was an exasperated eye roll whenever one of the kids (mainly Wes if they were being honest) did something particularly careless and stupid like trying to hot-wire David’s truck.

This particular look, however, Emma had seen emerge just before their wedding when he had been playing with little Alexandra Herman and it was something she had become increasingly familiar with over the course of their nearly decade old marriage. It was a look very similar to the softness he had for their little trio of pirates but it held more yearning and more wistfulness and it always ended up being entirely focused on Emma. It was a look that so clearly said “I want a baby.”

Dreaded pirate captain was a title he once treasured, but Emma knew that Killian Jones did not covet any position more than he coveted being Daddy. He loved being a father and everything it entailed from checking for monsters under the bed to torturing their little ones with tickling fingers while snuggling on the couch. Killian had their pediatrician on speed dial and was dangerously close to being a bubble wrap dad. He knew exactly how to make mac and cheese the same way that Granny did because that’s all Harrison would eat once upon a time when he was smaller. He knew all the names of Beth’s pirate stuffed animal army from Captain Bear to Gertie. He also knew exactly how many blankets Wes needed to fall asleep and how to arrange them so their little blonde boy was snuggled up like a burrito. Killian lived and breathed to be Daddy.

And now, without even saying a word and just by looking at him, Emma knew that he wanted another little one to add to their little crew. He wanted to add a fourth musketeer.

It terrified her.

It wasn’t that Emma was entirely against the idea of more kids. Quite the opposite. There was nothing more attractive than Killian Jones holding a baby, especially if said baby had his pointed ears and smile as all three of their little pirates did. Making that image a reality had its appeal, but pregnancy sucked. Each and every one of her pregnancies had been taxing and, for lack of a better term, an event. For Henry, she had given birth in prison. Harrison had been so large that he had nearly ripped her open. Wes had been a breach baby. Beth had been nearly a month early and was almost born on the Jolly Roger. As much as she loved her kids, she hated pregnancy with a capital H. Killian would never pressure her and he had been gracious when Emma said that Beth would be their last, but she hated disappointing him.

The look in his eye didn’t leave for a second that night, but Killian made no mention or hint towards the subject of babies to Emma. He did, however, pepper Snow with questions on their plans for the new baby, what the doctor’s recommendations for her health and how the kids coped with the announcement of their latest addition.

When they returned home and put the kids to bed, Emma waited for him to broach the topic but Killian merely kissed her forehead and picked up his book, some old tome in Latin, to read while she turned on the television to watch the latest trash television show on ABC.

The “baby look” (as Emma took to calling it) and the lack of discussing children continued on into the next week. Emma watched as he stared more wistfully at infants in carriages and made silly faces at toddlers in Granny’s Diner to keep them entertained. She nearly lost her shit when he offered to hold a young haggard-looking mother’s baby in the grocery store as she loaded her purchases onto the conveyor belt, cooing and bouncing the child as he did so.

Watching the scene made Emma’s biological clock scream at her, reminding her that she was nearing the end of the fourth quarter fertility-wise. She was well aware that she was about to hit the two-minute warning; her forty-first birthday was about to approach in the upcoming months. They really needed to talk before Emma’s ovaries overrode her brain and she did something drastic.

“Okay, Killian. Out with it,” Emma snapped abruptly that night as they prepared for bed.

Her husband blinked at her in surprise, obviously not expecting the outburst. He gave her a puzzled look as he closed his book and gave her his undivided attention.

“Out with what, Swan?” he asked with a small frown.

“You’ve been acting…different since Mom’s...announcement and you’ve got that look going. That look when you want something…something that we’ve discussed several times.”

“If you already know what I want, then why do you need me to say it, Emma?” he asked her, running his hands through his hair. 

She quietly sucked on her teeth when he used her actual name instead of his patented “Swan.” It meant they had crossed over into the realm of a serious conversation and Emma wasn’t entire sure she was prepared for it.

“Because I need to hear you say it, Killian…” she said it so quietly that for a moment she wasn’t sure that he heard her.

“You want hear me say it? You want to have this conversation?” Killian clarified with a furrow of his brow. “Because I was pretty certain that this conversation was done nearly five years ago and you weren’t interested in opening up again and I sure as hell am not interested in starting a fight.”

“Just say it!” she commanded, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I want another kid, Emma,” he stated softly. “I want another kid so badly it hurts, but I know you don’t so I didn’t think it was up for debate.”

“It’s not that I don’t want another kid,” Emma started and before she could properly think about it, she began blurting out nearly every thought she had on the issue. “Want is not an issue. If the whole process of pregnancy, childbirth and childrearing was easy, I would give you as many kids as possible because you’re the best goddamn father in the world, but that’s not the issue here. We have three children. Three wonderful, demanding, wild, crazy children. I love them with everything I got, but bringing them into this world wasn’t easy. Pregnant in my thirties was tough enough, I cannot imagine how tough it would be now. Especially with all the risks. Birth defects, still births and miscarriages are much more of a risk now than they’ve ever been…I’m not sure I could survive that…not to mention, we’re old. I hate to say it, sailor, but we’re going a bit gray,” Emma finished. 

Her fingers dug into the flesh of her palms as she recited all the information that she looked up on the internet while she had been sitting in the Bug on stakeout this afternoon. She was pretty sure her palms were bleeding, but she ignored it. 

“I know the risks, love. You’re not the only one who knows how to use Google anymore. Yeah, there are risks, but with age, we are older, wiser and we’ve now been around the block a few times. Hell, we now know how to handle a kid who knows how to start cars without keys. Look, Swan, I’m happy. I love our kids and they’re more than enough, but I’m never going to stop wanting more children with you because what we make is perfection, though sometimes that perfection is...a bit rough on the edges...but any child with you as a mother couldn’t be anything less than perfection…”

“You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?” Emma said softly, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t expected to get this emotional during this conversation, but he always knew what buttons to press to get a response from her. She both loved and hated him for it. “It’s almost not fair…”

“It’s not fair,” he agreed. “But I want nothing more than a little girl with blonde hair and green eyes. I want a little Swan.”

“You have Beth,” Emma chuckled wetly. “And she would take that statement as an ultimate betrayal.”

“Or she would be excited at the prospect of being an older sister and having someone to boss around,” he countered.

“Beth? Our Beth? We talking about the same girl? Because she would hate the idea of being an older sister, especially to another girl. She would have a fit because that means she won’t be Daddy’s special little girl anymore and she would have to share you.”

“She already shares me with Henry, Harrison and Wes,” Killian scoffed.

“Your relationship with our daughter is very different than the ones you have with our sons and that’s fine. This isn’t a criticism because I honest to God love that you two are so close, but yeah, you have very different with her than you are with the boys. She knows it and she loves it. She wouldn’t want to share it,” Emma replied with a shake of her head.

“Sharing is a part of life though,” Killian responded with a heavy sigh, refusing to acknowledge Emma’s commentary on the nature of his relationship with their daughter, not that she expected him to. Killian, who prided himself on being a good father to all of their children, did not want to acknowledge the idea of possible (most definite) favoritism. She could understand that. It wasn’t particularly the nicest thing to come to terms with.

“It is,” Emma agreed with a sigh. “But before we discuss this further, I need you to ask yourself this…Are you sure you really want to go all the new baby nonsense again? Sleepless nights? Spit up? Changing diapers? Messiness? A good few months without sex? Going through potty training again? Yes, potty training, you remember that nightmare, right? Not to mention, I would be out of commission for a few months with a new baby. Money really isn’t an issue for us, and yes, we can convert the office back into a nursery, but do you think you can handle being interim sheriff? And deal with the dwarves on your own without killing them? Be professional without me and without my Dad because I doubt he wants to leave the farm this time around? And if the answer to any of those questions is no, this conservation has to end now.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose at her words and Emma watched as his mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. If the conversation they were having wasn’t so serious, Emma would have laughed at the fact she had rendered her normally verbose husband speechless.

“Swan…are you saying that this is actually on the table? That you’re actually considering this? This isn’t just all hypotheticals?”

“I’m asking you if you’ve really thought about this beyond the baby fever nostalgia and remembered how shitty taking care of a baby is both figuratively and literally, and if that’s something you’re willing to do still while we’re getting old…fuck, we would be the oldest parents at high school graduation.”

“No, Snow and Dave will be there right beside us with their little one. Our child would automatically have a playmate there. As for the challenges, yes, I have thought about it, but any challenge, any struggle and yes, all the sleepless and sexless nights are worth it. Even if we get another hellion with a penchant for chaos, it would still be worth it because there’s nothing in the world that’s better than having children with you and I mean that with every fiber of my being.”

“Okay…” Emma replied, letting out a heavy breath. She couldn’t think of a legitimate response. She was feeling a bit tongue tied at the moment.

“Okay?” Killian repeated with a hint of inquiry, leaning forward a bit. “You never said whether you were seriously considering this…but what do you say, Swan, we give it one last good try…?” His voice trembled a bit on the last few words and he was looking at her with something akin to desperation.

And that was the question there, wasn’t it? Did she want to give it “one last good try” and all that it entailed? It meant commitment. It meant genetic disorder screening, prenatal vitamins, fertility shots, specialists, possible treatments and a horde of doctors telling her that late in life pregnancy was far from ideal with high statistics on everything going wrong. No, she didn’t want any of that hassle. It was too much. However, the image of Killian playing with the baby in the grocery store was burned into her mind. Though she couldn’t get herself to say it out aloud, Emma privately admitted to herself that she loved and even wanted to see him hold another child while softly singing sea shanties and whispering stories about his days on the Jolly Roger while he thought Emma wasn’t listening.

“No, I don’t want to try,” she said softly and she watched his face crumble for a moment before he was capable of masking his disappointment. It was that final look that affirmed her decision.

Emma moved forward and opened the top drawer of her nightstand. She bent down on her knees and began riffling a bit through the junk before finding her birth control pills. She could almost physically feel the weight of Killian’s eyes as on her as she picked up the foil package and lifted them up so he could see them.

“Emma…what are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She ignored him as she stood back up and walked towards their bathroom with a sense of purpose. She pushed the door open and made a deliberate choice not to close it. She stood next to the toilet and looked back at her husband who had scrambled to the edge of the bed, obviously wondering to himself what the hell she was doing. The lines of his forehead had never looked so pronounced.

“Emma…?” This time his voice was louder and the silent question more present.

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, steeling her nerves. When she opened them, she looked Killian straight in the eye as she deliberately dropped her birth control pills in the toilet and flushed. Once more, her husband opened his mouth to say something but was speechless. Emma had never seen him more confused in her life.

“I don’t want to try.” Emma repeated with a sigh, “but I don’t want to not try…or at least I don’t want to try to prevent it. Trying means doctors, treatments and I know you…you will look up ever old wives’ tale about fertility and probably eat a huge fucking lemon whole just to make yourself more fertile or some nonsense like that…I don’t want the hassle…but if it happens…and that’s a big “if” because like I said, we’re old…then it happens and I would be okay with that, but if it doesn’t happen, don’t beat yourself up about it because, you’re right, we make some amazing kids and we already have three good ones down the hall. Okay?”

“Okay,” he replied softly and now, he had tears in his eyes and a smile so hopeful that it made Emma’s heart ache.

He opened his arms, gesturing for her to come to him and she nearly sprinted into them. They both started to laugh and cry at the same time as they embraced, holding each other so tightly that Emma was sure they were going to give each other bruises. Killian wiped at her tears and began to kiss every inch her face, still chuckling between each one.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream…” Killian murmured against her hair and Emma got the impression that he was trying to hide the fact he was legitimately crying now by burying his face in her hair.

“It’s not a dream,” she murmured, running her hands down his back in a soothing gesture. “But it’s also not a guarantee. We agreed to not try but not prevent, remember?”

“I know, I know, Swan,” he murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the apple of her cheek.

He captured her lips with his in a brief but intense kiss that was full of promise. He pulled her close until he had firmly slotted himself between her thighs, his hips rolling against hers. Emma couldn’t stop the soft sigh that escaped her lips and she moved to run her fingers through his hair, dragging her nails lightly against his scalp in the way she knew he liked. He replied to the gesture with a deep groan that rumbled in his chest and his eyes were dark as he pulled away.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to start this “not trying” business right now…” Killian murmured against her lips.

“No one is stopping you, especially not me,” she replied softly.

Before she had even finished her sentence, she found herself on her back with a very amorous Killian Jones hovering above her. He captured her lips in another fierce kiss that held more emotion that Emma knew what to deal with. Giving her bottom lip once last nip, he changed courses; his nose brushing a sure line along her jaw as he worked teeth and tongue torturously against her skin. He nuzzled his head against her throat before worrying his lips against the pulse point in her neck.

“I love you…” Killian whispered it so quietly that she almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you too,” she whispered back and she hooked a leg around his waist, knocking her hips against his. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he replied, biting gently. “Never, ever.”

Killian had always been a thorough and attentive lover; it was one of Emma’s favorite things about him. However, he was extra zealous in his efforts that night and there was a renewed sense of purpose that seemed to power each caress, kiss and thrust. It was as if he was physically trying to will a child into existence with every fiber of his being despite Emma’s insistence of “what will be will be.” When they finished in a sweaty boneless heap of limbs, Emma caught him absently worrying his thumb against her abdomen as his eyes fluttered shut and he rested his head against her shoulder.

As Emma predicted, it wasn’t that easy. Even after months of vigorous and almost embarrassingly near-constant lovemaking, there was nothing. Emma watched as her mother’s stomach swelled and hers remained stubbornly flat. She tried not to feel bitter when Snow gave birth to another boy while her own womb was empty. Though she knew that it wasn’t going to be an automatic success in the same way her other children seemed to be, she privately became fearful that their no longer subtle efforts would be fruitless and wondered if their kids could sense the unspoken disappointment and desperation growing between them.

Worse, Emma was starting to wonder if she was menopausal. Over the course of the months, her periods had gotten lighter and less regular. She hadn’t bled in early two months, but she also hadn’t felt any of other pregnancy symptoms that she had with her other kids. With the boys, she had incredibly sharpened senses and near constant queasiness. With Beth, the symptoms had been amplified to the point where she had barricaded herself in the bathroom due to the near constant vomiting and diarrhea. 

Now, she was just tired and dizzy, which unfortunately led to her being short with everyone including her kids. She had yelled at Wes the other day so heatedly that she thought her normally cool-as-a-cucumber son would be reduced to tears. Emma knew she had gone too far when Harrison embraced his younger brother afterwards. As long as they had been alive, Harrison and Wes had never had the best relationship, but that day she saw Harrison captured his little brother in a hug and look at her like she was an alien. Emma Swan had never felt like a bigger asshole than she did in that moment. She was a terrible mother and maybe it was best that she didn’t expose another innocent child to her shitty parenting skills.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell Killian her suspicions; she didn’t have it in her heart to crush the dream. She did, however, book an appointment with their family doctor to confirm the fact that at forty-one years old she had entered early menopause just as she was just getting around to the idea that she actually really wanted another kid as badly as her husband did. The irony was not lost on her.

“You’re not menopausal,” her doctor stated bluntly as she looked at the results of her blood test. “Your estradiol levels are normal. If you were going into early menopause, they would have greatly decreased. Your estriol levels are pretty high though. Dollars to doughnuts, you’re pregnant, Emma.”

“What?” Emma blinked.

“You’re pregnant. This shouldn’t be such a surprise. You haven’t been using any form of prophylactics, you’re sexually active and you’re in relatively good shape. I have less concerns for you than I did for your mother with Robbie, however I do have to remind you that being pregnant in your forties is risky business and you’re more likely to run into complications such as Down’s syndrome and pre-eclampsia.”

“I can’t be pregnant. I’ve had no other symptoms. No vomit. No smells or cravings. Not even sore boobs. None of the usual mess,” she replied in disbelief.

“Not every pregnancy is the same, Emma. You know this. Sometimes not all symptoms present themselves. It happens. Regardless of symptoms or no symptoms, blood doesn’t lie. Your estrogen levels are through the roof. I would like to take an AFP, HCG and a hormone inhibin A test, if that’s okay with you? Maybe even an ultrasound?”

“Yeah…” Emma croaked, still in shock. She had prepared herself for the worst and now her doctor was telling her she was pregnant. It felt like she was in a fever dream.

Emma ended up leaving the doctor’s office in a daze, barely holding onto the tiny ultrasound photo in her hands. When she had come to her doctor this morning, she had done so with the expectation that her doctor was about to tell her that she was entering menopause and her baby making days were behind her. Now, she was leaving with the knowledge that she was eleven weeks pregnant with a baby the size of a fig and said fig had come up healthy on the test screenings so far. Praise the Gods for small blessings on that front.

Shit, what was she going to tell her kids? Killian was a non-issue; he would be through the roof with excitement over the news. Her kids who had no knowledge of the fact their parents were trying without really trying to get pregnant over the last six months were another issue entirely. Henry would be okay with it. He was grown, out of the house and very much focused on his own life. Harrison would be okay, he would probably give them a bit of lip but he would get over it fairly quickly. Wes and Beth? Their reactions would be anyone’s guess, but Emma was preparing herself for the Apocalypse. A meltdown of epic proportions was in her future and she could feel it.

Her husband and kids were on all couch, yelling and playing some racing video game on the big screen when Emma arrived home. She stuffed the ultrasound photo into her pocket and observed them for a moment, gathering her bearings. Killian, who was still getting used to using the one-handed game controller that Henry had gotten him for Christmas, was in last place with Beth in third. Wes and Harrison are neck-and-neck with Killian indiscriminatingly sending them complications from his last place position in hopes of letting Beth gain the lead.

“I win!” Harrison shouted.

Harrison thrusted his fist into the air in victory as his character crossed the finish line ahead of Wes’s character which had spun out to the side and allowed Beth to gain second place. Killian, in an act of fatherly selflessness, paused his character to allow Wes to finish in front of him.

“That’s because Dad kept blue shelling me,” Wes grumbled, tossing his controller and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Her youngest son was incredibly sore loser as they had long since learned.

“Nothing against you, lad, but I was trying to give your sister a fighting chance for once,” Killian replied, dropping the controller in order to ruffle Wes’s blonde hair. 

Ever the tough guy, Wes tried his best to wriggle away from his father, but Killian caught him and decided to up the ante by giving the boy big, loud, smoochy kisses. Wes protested loudly and Emma couldn’t help but smile at the scene, her hand subconsciously resting upon her stomach. He was such a good father. This new kid was going to be so well loved.

Beth caught sight of her first. Her eyes lit upon seeing Emma standing by the door. She immediately scurried off the couch, running towards Emma until she had wrapped her arms around Emma’s knees. Beth looked up at Emma with a delighted grin and little gurgling giggles emitted from her throat.

“Hi Mommy!” Beth greeted sweetly.

“Hey kid,” Emma replied with a small laugh, running her hands through her daughter’s long dark hair. The girl’s wild mane was forever tangled and Emma did her best to work through the knots.

“Swan,” Killian greeted with a small smile, still holding a squirming Wes against him.

“Mom! Help me!” Wes cried out dramatically, making Emma laugh harder. Their current youngest son had a flare for the dramatics and Emma wasn’t sure if it was genetic or something he learned from watching Killian.

“Resistance is futile. She won’t help you,” Harrison grinned wickedly, leaning forward to tickle Wes’s ribs as Killian held him in place. “No one will save you now, Westley.”

“Actually, I do need to borrow your father for a moment,” Emma said with a small smile before looking down into her daughter’s bright eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Is Daddy in trouble?” Beth asked curiously.

“No, Daddy is not in trouble, but Mommy and Daddy need to talk,” Emma replied, tapping the end of Beth’s nose with her finger gently. Her daughter scrunched her face in response to the tap and Emma never realized how many freckles her daughter had until that moment.

“She said ‘need to talk’!” Wes exclaimed in stage-whisper to Harrison. “Dad is so in trouble!”

“Dog house,” Harrison said in agreement.

“Daddy’s in trouble! Daddy’s in trouble! Daddy’s in trouble!” Beth began to chant in a sing-a-long voice, the boys joining in as she got louder.

Emma sighed and brought a hand up to bury her face in. Maybe having another kid wasn’t the best idea they had ever had. They could barely control the three they had as it was.

“Alright, alright,” Killian sighed as he released his hold on Wes who immediately moved to tackle his much larger brother. “That’s enough from the peanut gallery. Mom and I are going to go talk, please do not burn down the house or commit any ritual animal sacrifices while we’re gone, aye?”

“We will do our best,” Harrison responded with a shrug as he successfully pulled Wes off of him. 

It was almost comical how little effort Harrison put into fending himself off from his younger brother. They were the closest in age out of their brood with only fourteen months between them, but they couldn’t have been more different from each other like day and night. Emma privately wondered what the unborn child inside her would be like when it finally made its appearance. Intelligent and kind like Henry? Strong and gentle like Harrison? Wily and witty like Wes? Fearless and commanding like Beth? Or would it be something else entirely?

“But we make no promises,” Wes tacked on, rubbing at the bruise that was beginning to form on his left cheek from being tossed by his brother like a ragdoll.

“Naturally,” Killian replied dryly. “I wouldn’t have expected any less.”

Emma reached down to give their daughter a brief kiss before meeting her husband’s eyes and tilting her head towards the stairs in hopes he would get the hint. He nodded in response and gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She reached for his hand as they climbed the stairs, intertwining their fingers and giving his hand a squeeze in solidarity, trying to tell him without words that everything was going to be alright.

Killian sighed and ran a hand through his hair as she closed the door to their bedroom behind them. The smile on his face was positively nervous and it was clear that he, like their children, thought he was in some sort of trouble despite her reassurances otherwise.

“Alright, Swan, what is it? Whenever someone says the words “need to talk”, nine times out of ten I’m not going have a good conversation,” Killian replied, sitting on the bed and looking up at her expectantly.

“Like I said before, you’re not in trouble. So I guess this is the one instance out of your ten scenario,” Emma replied, playing with her hair as her nerves started to get the best of her. “I thought this was going to be easy, but honestly, I feel so unprepared and finding out about it kinda put me in a daze so I apologize for not coming up for a cute way of telling you but…”

She pulled the sonogram out from her back pocket and nearly shoved it into Killian’s chest. Surprised, Killian took the photograph into his hands automatically and Emma watched as he took in exactly what he was holding, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

“Swan, is this what I think it is?” Killian asked, breathlessly.

“Yeah…” she replied, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face so wide that her cheeks hurt. “Congratulations, Dad. The fourth horseman of the Apocalypse is on his way.”

“Her way,” he corrected absentmindedly as he studied the sonogram. “It could be a girl. Why didn’t you tell me that you thought you were pregnant, Swan?”

“Because I didn’t know,” she replied with a small laugh. “When I made the appointment, it was because I thought I was menopausal. My period stopped but I didn’t have any pregnancy symptoms and I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to disappoint you because I knew how much you wanted this baby…And well, I’m definitely not menopausal because you’re holding actual photographic evidence that there is a eleven-week old fig inside of me right now…a healthy eleven-week old fig…”

Killian dropped the sonogram on the bed and pulled her to him, arms wrapped around her in a vice grip. Emma pushed her fingers into his hair, caressing the soft strands as Killian rested his head between her breasts for a moment before dropping to his knees so that he was eye-level with her stomach. With misty eyes, he placed a kiss against her lower abdomen. Emma felt her heart triple in size as she watched him.

“Hello there…” he whispered to her belly as he pulled away. “I know you’ve been around for awhile and we haven’t spoken yet, which is awfully rude of me but in our defense, we didn’t know about you, however, allow me to make amends by introducing myself. I am Daddy and the delightful creature who are you’re inside right now is Mommy. We love you very much and we’re very excited to meet you.”

Emma had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry, but that promise was broken as she listened to her husband talk to the unborn little pirate inside of her. It had made all six months of trying but not trying completely worth it. She didn’t think it was possible to love Killian anymore than she did in that moment.

“How are we going to tell the kids?” Emma murmured as she continued to play with his hair.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, Swan,” Killian replied with a chuckled, looking up at her with some mirth in his eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure we have three of the world’s worst eavesdroppers standing outside our door listening to each and every word. Isn’t that right, Jones crew?”

There was a loud creak and hushed whispering from outside their door. Emma groaned, taking her hands out of Killian’s hair and rubbing her eyes. For the second time that night, she wondered if bringing a fourth child into the fold was a good idea.

Killian got off his knees and kissed the top of Emma’s head as he rose to his full height. He immediately went over to the door and opened it, exposing their three sheepish-looking children.

“How did you know we were there?” Wes asked, looking very impressed with his father.

“Because I’ve been living in this house longer than you’ve been alive,” Killian remarked before tapping his foot on the floorboard beneath Beth’s foot. “And I know that board creaks when stepped on. Valiant effort I must say, but a very rookie mistake. It’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations. Mom and I were having a very adult conversation that wasn’t for your ears.”

“Is Mom really having a baby?” Wes asked bluntly, ignoring his father’s lecture.

“Yes. Mom’s pregnant,” Killian affirmed with a sigh.

“Jeez, another one? You think you guys would have learned after having these two,” Harrison remarked, jutting his thumb in the direction of his younger siblings.

Wes let out an offended squawk and hit Harrison between the ribs while Beth, who had been looking at her parents with the most betrayed look, burst into angry tears. Both Killian and Emma sucked in a breath. In the haze of emotions, they hadn’t prepared themselves for a round of Hurricane Elizabeth.

“I don’t want a baby, Daddy!” she cried, stamping her foot.

“Why not, minnow?” Killian asked gently, getting on his knees so he was eye-level with their five-year old. “Don’t you want to be a big sister?”

“No!” she shrieked, giving another stamp with her foot. “I don’t want a baby! You have us! There’s three of us! You don’t need it! You don’t need another baby! You have me! You have me! I’m your baby!”

Emma sighed as she leaned against the doorway looking down at her daughter having an absolute meltdown. Well, this reaction was predictable. Killian looked up at her with a helpless expression, not sure how to respond to Beth’s tantrum. Harrison and Wes watched in fascinated interest as their sister’s face turned purple.

“Hey, hey…” Killian murmured, soothing Beth’s shoulders in hopes of quelling her tantrum. “This is exciting. You get someone new to play with. Maybe she will even play pirates with you and help you terrorize your brothers and you won’t be so out-numbered. That would be fun, right?”

“No because then I wouldn’t be the Pirate Queen!” Beth cried harder, tears dribbling down her cheeks in earnest.

Killian’s brow furrowed, obviously not following his five-year old’s logic.

“And why is that?”

“Because there can only be one and you’ll want us to share and there can’t be two Pirate Queens, Daddy. There just can’t!” she explained as if it were obvious.

“Says who?” Killian asked, squeezing her shoulders.

“Everyone,” Beth replied seriously. “There can be only one, Daddy. Everyone says so.”

“Good to know someone’s been watching Highlander,” Emma remarked with a chuckle before joining Killian on her knees to get to Beth’s level. 

He was doing a shit job at damage control. For someone so close was to their daughter, he didn’t seem to understand the root of the problem. Beth didn’t want another child to ruin the dynamic and hierarchy that already been established, especially when it came to her father’s affections where she was number one as the only girl and the youngest.

“I know this is scary and new, but it’s also exciting, Little Beth,” Emma said, tugging a strand of hair behind Beth’s ear. “The new baby isn’t going to replace you, I promise. We are still going to love you and your new baby brother is going to love you so much. I guarantee he is going to follow you around and want to be just like you because you’re such an awesome sister.”

Both boys snorted at the statement and Emma gave them both a withering look that made them both step back a bit.

“Baby sister,” Killian corrected.

“Oh no, this one is definitely a boy. A dark haired, blue eyed boy. I can feel it,” Emma replied with a smirk.

“Care to wager on that feeling, Swan? Because fatherly intuition says it’s a blonde haired, green eyed girl,” Killian responded, raising his eyebrows at her.

“What do you say, Little Beth, should we wager a full month’s worth of diaper changing and ice cream on a boy? Since fatherly intuition doesn’t exist and Daddy is full of crap?” Emma remarked, pulling Beth to her side.

“If there’s ice cream involved, I want in on this,” Wes remarked, joining Emma’s side. “And I’m Team Brother because one Beth is enough.”

At his words, Beth looked positively offended and with the maturity of any five-year-old, she stuck out her tongue at Wes. Emma sighed and mentally counted to ten.

“Traitors,” Killian admonished his youngest children without much heat. “The two of you are traitors.”

“Sorry, Daddy, but there can be only one Pirate Queen,” Beth replied, not sounding the least bit remorseful.

Harrison who had been quietly observing for the majority of the squabble took that moment to join his father’s side, looking at Emma with apologetic eyes as he placed a hand on Killian’s shoulder.

“I’m Team Sister because the world cannot handle another Wes Jones.”

“You’re right,” Wes said with a smirk. “The world cannot handle any more of this kind of awesome.”

“Well, that’s definitely a word for it,” Harrison muttered under his breath.

“Alright, enough with the witty banter. It really gets tiring after a while,” Emma huffed. “The stakes of the wager are as follows, an entire month of diaper duty carried out by the losing party. Kid or kiddos on the winning party get ice cream. We have ourselves a wager?”

“Aye, love, it’s a deal,” Killian replied, leaning forward and sealing their wager with a brief kiss that made all of their three children gag.

“Good because I’m going to make you eat your words because fatherly intuition does not exist,” Emma declared.

And in the end, she was right because six months later she gave birth to a son; a dark haired, blue eyed son whom they named Edward David Jones but affectionately called Ned. Emma practically cackled when they placed him in her arms, looking at her husband like the cat who ate the canary.

“You know what Neddy is telling me right now, Killian?” Emma asked, as she held her newborn son to her breast.

“What Swan?”

“That you and Harrison are going to have a lot of fun changing his shitty diapers.”

[sometimesverysad]

Why

Why do I have to check up on him. I don’t remember him checking up on me when I was suicidal in 7th grade through my senior year of high school, when winters got the best of me, or I had the rare (although it didn’t seem so rare looking back) “out-of-season-blues”.

What I do remember is him breaking promises, looking myself in the mirror at 7, 10, 13, 17, last week, sobbing and red-eyed, telling myself not to let him get me down, that he wasn’t worth it. That him not showing up to spend time with me during his given weekends as a child, meant that he was busy, had more important things going on, had another family to take care of, and that that was okay, I could get along without him, I had before. As long as he was happy. While at the same time damning his happiness. That him borrowing money from me these last few months or so, hundreds and hundreds of dollars, with the possibility of never paying me back didn’t matter, as long as he was alright. Happy. Healthy. Off the streets. Off the drugs. It didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.

What I do remember is him shrugging off my mother and stepfather’s abuse, all because it wasn’t as bad as his own. Telling me horror stories of being thrown down the stairs by his own stepfather, knocked out, burned. Of finding his own father with a bullet hole through his head, bloodied and long at peace in the woods; “suicide and suicidal thoughts run in our family you see?” Of his own mother ignoring it and later arguing into his siblings’ and his adult years that it never occurred. That I needed to grow a backbone. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, but it certainly wasn’t something I wanted to hear from him. I had thought he knew how mean my mother’s words could be. How she used her illness as a blanket for why she could manipulate, name-call, put down, scream, shout, take away. Why she deserved all the respect in the world and we had to wait till we were 18 to be treated as anything more than her problems and property. and later she would come to gaslight, much the same way his own mother did. I thought he would understand…

What I do remember is when children services finally got involved, and I finally thought I wouldn’t have to suffer under my mother’s roof anymore, that he took me in for half the summer in between my middle school and high school years. When I reasoned with myself that I could make new friends out in Wheeling, that living in a very dilapidated apartment in a very dangerous neighborhood owned by the government because my dad could only afford to pay 30 dollars a week for housing was all ok, that I was starting over at high school fresh, and without my mother to hold me back, he gave up when the going got tough. He had had trouble getting me registered in a school out there. Something about custody being a slow thing to transfer over. That time, I didn’t have any excuses for him. I had to go back to living with my mother.

What I do remember is him getting in a political debate with my aunt on Facebook over the Zimmerman case. Me taking my aunt’s side and outing him as a disgusting racist, and downright terrible father, for all his Facebook friends to see. I don’t know what had possessed me. He didn’t either. He painted himself as a good Christian man for all of our audience, and then he told me lies of how he had always been there for me, always taken care of me, as if I hadn’t been there too and couldn’t call his bull shit. He didn’t like that. He later sent me a long and drawn out text detailing how he would kill me if I weren’t his blood relative. My aunt got the police involved. His wife at the time texted me telling me to ignore him, telling me he was on painkillers. I worried for her safety more than for my own.

What I do remember is him not showing up to my graduation. Not that it was a big celebration. I had just barely graduated after all. After my senior year and being isolated by my grandma and aunt and uncle after leaving my mother’s house (another story, another time), I had turned 18, moved out once again, gone to summer school, gotten that one English credit I needed that I hadn’t received my Junior year. It was a “hey you passed a little too late but you still passed” ceremony. With three other kids. Two didn’t show up. It didn’t matter though. I knew by then. It was ok. It was ok.

What I do remember is not talking to him for an entire year after that. Sending him a long drawn out text about how he’d never been there for me, and how I didn’t want to be there for him, as long as he was on the drugs. I don’t remember his response. I don’t remember my response to that. I don’t remember my thoughts on him that entire year because, he just wasn’t an important figure in my life anymore. I don’t know if he had ever been. Knowing me I probably worried for the bastard. Hoped he was safe and would recover from his addiction soon. He didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it.

What I do remember is him coming back into my life this last January. I think about a week after Christmas. He had been arrested for panhandling. He admitted that it was to support his drug addiction. His wife left him. She called me to let me know. I was happy for her. He came back into my life a month later, sober for the first time in what seemed like forever and on parole.

What I do remember is every time he called me, he would ask me to lend him hundreds of dollars, for “bills mostly”. I asked him once if he was lying to me, and if he was back on the drugs. He acted as if I had slapped him and I felt awful the whole week. I think I took him out for steak at Texas Roadhouse that night. I ended up paying for his meals quite a bit in fact. He had very expensive tastes.

What I do remember is every time we hung out he talked about poor him and how he wanted to kill himself. “Suicide and suicidal thoughts run in our family, you see?” I tried my best to cheer him on and soothe his worries, trying not to get sucked into his toxic head space. I was recovering from my own suicidal thoughts and tendencies after all. I did this all while questioning how I had learned to take care of my dad when he had never learned how to take care of me. Or himself for that matter.

What I do remember is a couple weeks ago. Him asking to borrow money from me again, this time to renew his license. I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind. He was helping me learn how to drive. He was “making up for lost time”. Hell he had even put me on his driver’s insurance which has given me a huge discount because he had used his military benefits. Everything was going alright. He decided to bring up political beliefs at lunch. After literal months of not arguing with him during every other time he said something right-winged and grossly inappropriate I snapped. He got quiet and we quickly changed the subject. We were in a public place after all. His favorite Chinese restaurant. He wouldn’t want to get too angry and accidentally make a scene. We got back into my car and went on with our day. But he had to take an eye exam to get his license renewed. Standard procedure. He didn’t like that. Later he let me know. His eye sight has never been good and he doesn’t own glasses. He didn’t pass. He did however, scream that God was fucking him. That the whole world was fucking him. Hit the ceiling of my car with his fists like a child. It’s not like I hadn’t seen this kind of anger from him before. It had never been directed at me. Just his wives and inanimate objects as far as my experience went. I decided I didn’t want to chance it. I told him to turn around and go home. That I didn’t want to see him for a couple of weeks. He obliged. Right after letting me know how great it was of him to be making years of neglect as a father up to me by teaching me how to drive. The fight on the way home didn’t seem important. I just wanted away from him.

What I do remember is finding out that the “down-payment” he told me he needed from me to put me on his insurance plan, was just another one of his lies, a way for him to squeeze more money out of me. That I foolishly let him.

…………………………………………………………

I haven’t seen him for about three weeks. Maybe a month. I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t care. My grandmother called me today. Let me know that he’s had something of an episode. Whether that means he’s doing drugs again, has had a manic episode like something close to what I have dealt with when I was in early elementary school and late middle school with my mother, or is suicidal, I don’t know. Is it wrong to say I don’t care to know? She says he went missing. That one of my aunts, his oldest sister took him to the hospital, and he left without anyone knowing where he went. Is it wrong to say I don’t care where he went? Is it wrong that even though I try to convince myself I don’t care by saying it, that deep down I know I still do? Is it wrong that I’m terrified, but equally I’m glad that he’s gone, at least for the foreseeable future? I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how I feel.

My grandmother says I should check up on him. Just a text will do. She knows most of the situation between my father and I. But this is the grandmother who has “forgotten” her children were brutally abused by her current spouse for most of their lives after all.

She says I should tell him I love him.

Now, out of all the things my father never did for me, telling me he loved me was not one of them. He was good at that. That was why I idolized him so much as a child I’ve come to realize.

So for him, and for my grandmother, whom I care about a bit more than him, I will tell him I love him.

I have decided I will not have any contact with him otherwise. Besides, I never said I would show him that I love him. I learned from the best in that regard after all.

Let’s see how long it lasts this time.

[tickletherapy]

Losing Hope (Star Wars)

Her heart rushed. Sweat running down her forehead. Behind, she left the corpse of a friend. Ahead, the only thing that matters – the mission. They all knew death could be waiting – though, deep inside, there was the hope of getting away even after all this mess. Hope is all they ever had, after all. Rebellions are built on hope. She needed to redirect the antenna in order to send the plans of the Death Star to the rebellion. If she could do that, they had won – nothing after that would matter. Capture, torture or execution, nothing would matter – she would have assured her father’s revenge. The seeds of rebellion he planted on the Death Star would bear fruits, grow into a mighty tree that would destroy the Empire! She had that hope. Hope was all she had. She arrived at the panel, the tension apparent on her face. She typed quickly the necessary commands, and with a loud noise, the antenna begun to spin into place. All she needed now was to go back to the center of the tower, a few feet away. A single rush through the precarious footing she currently was and she would be there. Then she would win, they would all win, and all the lives lost today would have been worthy. She had that hope. Hope was all she had Her hope was crushed with a single sound – a “pew” among a sea of “pew”s, the most important of all “pew”s shot on that day. Krennic managed to catch up before she could return to the main computer to upload the files. Krennic had lost much time that day with theatrics – not now. A single shot, straight to the head, with precision honed by decades on the Empire’s military. On stun, of course, not on kill – that girl could be a very valuable prisoner. And with that, hope was lost, and Jyn Erso didn’t even realize, knocked out cold as she was. This fortunately spared her of seeing all the death and destruction caused by the Empire on the rebel forces as they pointlessly awaited the plans. They stayed in the fight way past what common sense would dictate. They bet more than they could afford to lose, and then they lost it all. Because they had hope. And now, they couldn’t have even that. What little remained of the fleet retreated when it was painfully obvious that Jyn and her teammates had failed. They would surely be all dead by now. And, except for the girl herself, they were. Jyn, still unconscious – this time through sedatives - was taken from the planet to somewhere else: Coruscant, the Imperial Center, hearth of the Empire and home of Palpatine. There, she was taken to the deepest levels of the Emperor’s castle, where the most vital prisoners of war suffered indescribable torment through interrogation or just torture for the sake of torture. When Jyn awoke, it was in an entirely different environment. She looked around, still dazed, her instincts urging her to rush forward and upload the files. When she tried, however, she realized she was not able to do so – she was restrained to a vertical frame, lightly inclined upwards. She couldn’t see behind her, but she could feel that she was on top of a big machine, instead of a simple vertical table. Each of her limbs was locked into one of the extremities of the device, making her completely exposed, tied in an X. The coldness she was feeling drew attention to the fact she was now undressed, with only her undergarments spared. She then noticed she was no longer atop of the tower at Scarif, within the imperial data bank. Instead, she was in some sort of dungeon – metal ceiling, metal floor, metal walls. Everything was grey. A depressing look. So, that was it. Captured by the Empire. That meant she was now going to die screaming. It didn’t matter though. Nothing mattered. They bet everything, and they lost. Her torture – and she had no doubt she was about to be tortured – was irrelevant. She was trained for this, from her times with Saw Guerrera. Her paranoid stepfather trained her in all forms of resistance to pain. She was familiar with the mind-games of torture, and knew how to circumvent them. They would get nothing out of her. And then… She waited. Waited and waited, then waited a little more. Waiting was terrible – the boredom made her mind drift, and it drifted straight to her upcoming ordeal. But she was also familiar with this tactic. Let the tortured do half the job themselves, in their mind. Pain is not the key to a session – fear is. Pain is merely an instrument to induct fear, to create a game of reward and punishment. Those were what broke the interrogated’s mind and made them spill the beans. Not the punch that just hit, but the fear of the next one. She would not allow herself to fall for that trap. Thus, she redirected her mind to somewhere else, when she was a child, and she, her father and her mother still lived a happy life. She would never forgive the Empire for taking that away from her. Finally the door slid to the side, as two men entered the room. One was Krennic, still dressed in his impeccable white Grand Admiral suit. The other man was unknown – he wore standard Imperial Army outfit, but also a black mask made of fabric. - And here we are, dear Rebel. You lost – Taunted Krannic, who now once again had the time for his pompous speeches – The Rebellion was crushed after their foolish attack. All your friends are dead. Right now, the remaining Rebels are certainly cowering in their base, awaiting to be brought to justice like the rats they are! - I’ll never tell you anything! – Retorted Jyn – I’ll die by your hands, but you will have nothing. - Oh, we are well aware that you have been trained to resist most forms of torture. Which is why we are employing the services of Mr. Kraus – He said, signaling the masked man. She doubted Kraus was his true name – His craft is quite unique. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You might even find it funny. Now goodbye – He said, turning his back – I await a report in the morning. - Sure – Replied the torturer. When Krennic left, Jyn stared the mysterious man. - I will not… - She started, but was interrupted. - Shut up. I have to think. I’m not here to interrogate you, I’m here to use you as a test subject. She stood there – she didn’t have other options -, puzzled. She was not being interrogated? Krennic certainly seemed to believe so. A test subject? For what, she wondered. As if he could read her mind, the man continued his ramblings. - You are going to help me test my most recent invention… I based it on the engravings of an extremely ancient race, forgotten by time… No one knows where they’re from or where they are, just some artifacts scattered throughout the galaxy… Nonetheless, based on their design, I created this. I call it “The Embrace of Mirth”. Embrace of… Mirth? What was that madman rambling about?! He paid no attention to her, typing on a computer on the corner of the room. Suddenly, the machine started moving. It started reclining forward, until she was facing the floor at an inclination of 45º. From below, she saw a part of the machine slide forward, until it was right below her. It looked like a close metallic box, that finally opened to reveal a bunch of syringes facing her, and other instruments whose purpose she was not aware – rods with round tips, claw-like structures, etc. Behind her back, she also noticed something strange, as the solid surface behind her back also slid open. She guesses similar instruments also faced her back, or maybe others. It was an embrace alright. Was she about to experience chemical torture? But what about the Mirth part? The man once again typed things, and she felt the machine trembling. Something was about to start. She gulped. It was time to face her fate. She would endure it with everything she had. She would die screaming, but loyal. She had that hope. Hope was all she had. And yet, she was taken by surprise when, instead of burns and cuts, of pain and suffering, she was met with a different sensation: A gentle squeeze on her hips. Shocked, she buckled forward – or rather, downwards, trying to escape the touch, her brain still not fully processing what she was experiencing, acting completely by instinct. However, she was bound extremely tight, and her buckling was fruitless, merely squirming in place, providing no respite. Another squeeze came, and then a third and fourth and many others in quick succession, and finally Jyn Erson realized what was happening. She was being tickled. - WHAHAHAHAHAHAHATT THEHEHEHEHEHEHE FFFUHUHUHUHUHUHUCCKCKCCK!!! – She exclaimed in surprised laughter. Jyn has been a very ticklish girl since childhood. In fact, Saw Guerrera tickled her sometimes as torture training, but never for too long – only stuff like not laughing for two minutes or keeping her arms raised while having her armpits attacked. Now, she was at the hands of an actual tickling maniac, and she doubted he would stop tickling her in two minutes. Laughing and squirming, Jyn forced herself to establish enough self-control to look down. She saw cartoonish white hands pinching and squeezing her hips. The hands were on the extremity of a metallic “arm” so to speak, a malleable, retractable metallic appendage, which came from behind her, into the body of the machine that she could not see. It was exactly the kind of tickling hand a tickling machine from a cartoon would have. Jyn felt extremely silly – and the ticklish feelings didn’t help. There were two of them, tickling her hips on each side. – STohohOHOHOHpP ThahAHAHAHAhtHTTH!! – She ordered, now able to calm down a bit since the surprise had passed. The man didn’t even acknowledge her furious remark, continuing to type commands and analyzing the screen with joyful intensity, like a father watching his child. It tickled madly, but not nearly enough to break her. She could take this forever – it wouldn’t be a pleasurable endeavor, but she was feeling confident. Then the hands changed again, and she yelped. Now they started pinching and scribbling her ribs, and her laughter increased considerably. She had forgotten how ticklish her ribs could be, even to a light stimulus like this. Once again she instinctively buckled forward, but was kept rigorously in place. Her head ached back as she laughed, the innocent manifestation of her struggle to escape the sensation. And quickly she was realizing she couldn’t. She got thankful for a second when the hands stopped tickling her ribs, digging into her armpits next. Once again, the cycle repeated – laughter, squirming, struggling. And just as quickly, the hands stopped, this time giving a more definitive reprieve. She panted in place, hanging uselessly from her bonds. She closed her eyes, reminding herself she had survived it. She had endured the first strike. She couldn’t let her fear conquer her. Jyn reminded what Saw told her: It’s not the blow you endured that breaks you, it’s the fear of the next. She would not allow it to get the best of her.   The torturer remained uncaring, watching the screen with attention. She couldn’t know this, due to her angle of vision, but he was analyzing the feedback from the machine, which was mapping her most ticklish spots. He was neglecting her feet, true – the machine was optimized for upperbody tickling – but he still believed in it’s creation ability to break the captive’s will. And, from initial feedback, it seemed promising – she had a very high ticklishness score, wih her midsection region seeming to be particularly promising. He took notes of that, before inputting many command lines. - Okay Ms. Erso, it’s time to start the test for real. The machine is programmed to do so. Have a good evening, I’ll be back in a few hours – He said, moving towards the exit. Jyn’s eyes widened with fear. Hours? Was she going to be left there for hours, alone with the torture device? – Wait, where are you going?! – She asked, but the man simply ignored her. He left the room, closing and locking the door – and exactly when she heard the lock, she felt the hands make contact again. This time, however, they were four pairs coming from behind her – two on her armpits, and two on her sides. She buckled forward again, perhaps subconsciously hoping to escape. This hope, like all her other ones, were fruitless. And now Jyn was starting to grasp the fact that what she had endured previously was nothing, literally nothing, compared to this. What she went through was merely a test, a quick run to check if everything was working. Now she was being tortured. She also noticed the machine kept testing ways to make the tickling worse – the hands on her armpits did a spidery motion for a minute, then dug deep for another, then tried drilling the index finger in them. Meanwhile, the hands at her sides never stopped squeezing and scribbling and scratching. Jyn wish she knew what conclusion the machine came too – she was too busy laughing to notice what tickled more. Then, the machine started experimenting with her midsection, trying her navel, her sides, her hips, her ribs, and everything between. On this she was able to notice that her ribs were definitely the most ticklish area – scratching them deep send her completely over the edge. She hoped the machine would not do that too frequently, and was saddened by the realization that she was falling for the very tricks she knew she couldn’t. She was getting afraid, and that fear could be used against her. Those thoughts, however, were dispelled when the hands scratched her ribs again. Another very sensitive region, she quickly realized, has right below her armpits, near the uppermost rib, where her breasts connected with the armpit. It was much more sensitive than the center of the hollows, and deeper stimulus made her laugh loudly. And it kept going! She was quickly understanding how terrible tickling could be as a torture instrument thanks to one factor: How unusually long the stimulus could be applied. Sure, getting tickled was a lot less worse than being electrocuted, but you can’t electrocute your target for 15 minutes and hope to still have him alive to interrogate. The torture never stops, and this have a terrible effect on the subject’s mental state, as Jyn was quickly finding out. Once again, she was distracted out of those thoughts as the machine tickled her armpits more aggressively for a second, making her buckle forward once more. – HAHAHAAHAHAHAHEHEHAHAHAHEHAHAHEEHEHE!! – She laughed at the empty room, struggling violently in her bonds. Right now she was being tickled on both her ribs and her sides, which she realized now was a terrible combination (For her – it was great for the machine). At least her midsection was the area with the most freedom of movement she had – but that was still not much, and the hands followed incessantly, never allowing any respites from the suffering. In amidst the torture, wandering was everything her mind could do to try to get some respite, some peace. Thus, she caught herself thinking about the box below her – with the syringes and god knows what else. That box has not moved so far, all the hands coming from the empty area behind her. And in fact, what else could that machine bring? Was 4 hands it’s limit? Could it bring more? Jyn shuddered at the thought.   But once more, her mind was abruptly brought back to her ticklish reality when the hands started tickling her inner thighs, squeezing strongly. The other two, meanwhile, tickled her sides furiously. Jyn howled, quickly losing the strength to fight, her body starting to resign to the fact there was no escape. Her body lost hope. She couldn’t allow the same to happen with her mind. But it was hard. Once again the hands came back to work on her extremely sensitive midsection – which she was quickly realizing was her true weakspot. Her ribs were almost unbearable, but everything in the region was hard. Near her bellybutton was also terribly ticklish. She didn’t want to find out how bad her bellybutton was, and hoped to not find out. Finally, after what felt like hours, the robot stopped. Once again, Jyn felt her body hanging, supported by the machine. She felt pathetic, but she was too weak to fight it – and she needed to save her energy nonetheless. - Feeling good, subject? – She heard a robotic voice speak, coming from the room as a whole. Was that the machine? Jyn looked around, confused. After a few instants, she felt the hands dig into her armpits again, tickling mercilessly. – I asked you a question. - SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHRRRRYHYHYHYHYHY!!!! – She screamed, and the tickling ceased. Pleading to a machine. How low had she fallen? – I… Of course… not! – She replied, panting, but desperate to speak before the machine got angry again. - Good. – Said the voice. – Rebels deserve no comfort, no respite, and no mercy. You have been subjected to 10 minutes with four hands. I will now tickle you for 20 minutes, and I’ll add two new appendages. – Jyn’s eyes widened, and her breath accelerated. She had just endured ten minutes?! And now she was going to be tickled for double that time?!?! - Please, no! – She pleaded again. Deep inside, the proud Jyn Erso, member of the Rebellion, screamed in anger. But the rest of her being – Jyn Erso, the ticklish imperial prisoner – needed all mercy she could get, and humiliation was a small price to pay if it meant not getting tickled any worse. - I’ll let you choose my tools – Said the machine. Finally, the box below/in front of her reacted, with doors opening on the sides. From them, four pairs of arms emerged. They were all hands, but holding different things. One pair actually didn’t hold anything. Another held a feather on each hand, stiff and small. The third pair held holopens, with very sharp tips. And finally she noticed, with a blush, that the last pair were holding sonic vibrators. The voice went silent, but Jyn was confused. She had to make a decision, she guessed, and started thinking. After a few seconds, however, the machine spoke once again. – Failure to comply results in punishment – It said, in a harsh tone. Suddenly, all the arms rushed forward, and went to work. Jyn screamed – first of fear, then of agony. The two feathers started tickling her navel – one lightly brushing on her entire stomach, softly, while the other went inside her bellybutton and started spinning furiously. Jyn’s fears were confirmed – the button was maddening. Meanwhile, the two vibrators where applied to her ribs, and were by far the worst torture. She started shaking for real in the rack, struggling violently, to the point she was afraid of popping her arm out of its socket. And she laughed, a mighty, never-ending laugh that filled the room. Could the other prisoners hear her? Oh my god this tickles so much. The two new hands went to work on her hips, making her dance – the one of the left squeezed, making her jump to the right – into the hand in the right, which made her jump to the left, in a never-ending cycle of laughter. And finally, the pens were scratching her lower sides, drawing all kinds of patterns. Holopens had deletable ink, making sure the canvas was always blank for another round. - SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHRRHYHHYHYHYHYY!!!! – She screamed again, barely able to form the syllabuses amidst the laughter, praying that asking for forgiveness would be enough. It fell on deaf ears. Jyn was starting to lose it. Her mind didn’t drift anymore – it was not impossible to focus on something else. And when she thought it couldn’t get any better, she felt the previous pairs of hands getting back to work – two hands on each armpit, tickling lightly and slowly in the left, and fiercely in the right. She couldn’t really decide what was worst, each bringing its own form of torment – one is teasing, while the other is devastating. One keeps at edge, while the other breaks the will. One is the preparation for a blow that never comes, while the other is being hit repeatedly. Though she was only half-aware of her own thoughts, the finer details of her suffering lost due to the fact she was struggling like a madwoman and laughing, screaming and cursing like…. Like someone who’s being tickled tortured for almost half an hour, I guess. As her torture continued, she started losing her strength. Her arms failed to propel her to struggle. Her legs couldn’t pull and push anymore. Her midsection could no longer dance. Her body had given up, accepting the ticklish feelings as inevitable. And Jyn was ashamed of her own weakness. Because, deep down, she was starting to lose her willpower. The thoughts of betraying her friends crossed her mind – and were quickly dispelled. Still, they were there, buzzing like an annoying mosquito – or, alternatively, like those double-damned vibrators on her ribs. And, heavy with guilt, she found herself wishing the machine was asking some questions. Any questions. Anything that at least assured her that she could end the torment if she wanted to. There was a tragedy in having to fight against the temptation of giving in, but at least, maybe, it could give her some fuel to bolster her will. Right now, she had absolutely nothing – her only option was to suffer and laugh. And that was by design. Giving her a way out would be giving her hope. The Embrace was there to teach her there was no hope left on the world. And it was succeeding. And thus, Jyn was forced to take it. Take it, and keep taking it. Ten hands working all over her body was positively driving Jyn Erso nuts. She needed a break, and she wondered how long it would take, as she stood there, almost motionless. Unbeknownst to her, the 20 minutes were up already, but just like her, the machine also knew that what breaks the subject was the fear of the next blow – and a way of enhancing the fear was by lying about how badly the previous experience was. Under tickling and with no visible clocks, the subject completely loses the sense of time. Thus, when the tickling was hitting the 35 minutes mark since the last break, the machine decided to taunt. - Only one minute to go, Rebel! Let’s play a game. I’ll let you end the torture anytime, just shout “Mercy”. If you do, however, the next cycle will be worse. If you manage to not ask for mercy for a minute… I might give you some. Ready? – The machine asked, ans Jyn nodded – she had learned her lesson. Failure to comply leads to punishment. And then, Jyn’s eyes popped from her eyes and she left out a guttural howl, the cries of a tortured beast. Everything started tickling at absolute full force – the hands started scribbling at inhuman speeds, or squeezing deeper than ever. It sent a clear message: Whatever you are going through, we have ways of making it worse. Jyn tried to hold it, but it was unbearable. And finally, she was allowed some control over her fate. Almost by instinct, a few seconds in, she screamed. - MEHEHEHEHEHEHERRRRRRCYCYCYCYYHYYHYHYHYH!!! – She finally begged. Making true on its promise, the machine indeed stopped. Jyn felt relieved. It had been a long time since she had gotten a break, but finally, it was over. And then, the machine spoke. - Okay, you got your mercy. Break is over. The next cycle is one hour – the machine said. Jyn couldn’t believe her ears. Her breath got quick, and she felt the despair growing inside her. She started repeating to herself: It’s the fear of the next blow that breaks you, it’s the fear of the next blow that breaks you, it’s the fear of the next blow… She knew that. And yet, she was afraid. And she wanted to break. But she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and braced herself. And after a few seconds, it hit her, and her mind was completely melted, because the machine started tickling her at full force, just like before, with that maddening intensity she didn’t manage to last even a minute a few instants ago. And she would have to endure a whole hour. Her laughter could barely be recognized as such, most of the sounds replaced with bone-chilling screams of pure agony. She struggled with renewed strength, strength born from the despair of her hopeless situation. And the machine added another twist to the torture: Every few instants, the arms would cycle around her, changing the spots each tool was being used. So now she had vibrators on her armpits, feathers on her ribs, brushes on her hips… And on the next moment, another combination. The quick change broke any attempts of defense she mustered. Above all, she cursed her midsection, specially her ribs. Her entire belly, sides and ribs were absurdly ticklish, and seemed to only grow more sensitive each minute. Finally, she understood how effective that machine was – not only could it keep tickling for a long time, but it could tickle at a much quicker pace than any number of humans could. She couldn’t take it anymore. 10 minutes into this new torture, she broke. She told what she thought the machine wanted to hear, hoping that it would bring an end to the torture. Hope was all she had. - IHIHIHIHIHIH’LL THAHAHAHAHALKK!!! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHLLL TAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHALLLKK!! – She pleaded. She would normally feel terrible, but the ticklish sensations didn’t allow for any other feelings right now. Tickling was everything on her mind – tickling, and the desire to make it stop. But the pleads fell in deaf ears. She tried again, but didn’t get any results. She then resorted to one last hope. She breathed. She was ready to die from the start – and at least that little control she was still able to enforce. She was tired of suffering pointlessly – and it was clear for her now that the machine would never stop, no matter what she did. She was tired of being robbed of her freedom, of being merely a toy for that sadistic thing. She got ready to bite her tongue off, and end it all. But before she could do it, she felt one of the hands entering her mouth, keeping it open with strong metallic fingers. No, that couldn’t be. That thing couldn’t take her freedom away! She had a right over her life! She tried to shake the hand off, but it was too strong. - Bad girl… You are not allowed to do this! The cycle has been increased to an hour and a half – The machine said. Jyn cried. There was no hope left. She wasn’t even allowed to cry properly, since the laughs kept getting in the way. Like a bumbling fool, she spent her time sobbing and squealing, in a horrific paradox. As she hit the tirthy minute mark, she felt herself completely drained. She felt she was about to faint and welcomed the embrace of darkness. But naturally, the machine would not allow that either. Finally the syringes below her moved, hitting her along her legs and arms. And as the fluid  entered her bloodstream, she felt her strength coming back. She struggled harder than ever, trying to shake the needles off, but they followed her movements, always staying in place. She was awoken again. She cried. She pleaded and begged for the following fifteen minutes, always hoping to finally touch that metallic heart, to finally make it understand she could no longer bear this, and she needed it to end, and that she would do anything for it. But every plead fell on deaf ears. Machines have no feelings, only the programming. And then, she accepted. She understood at last. She was no longer human. Jyn Erso, the human being with rights, freedom and hope, died with the headshot from Krennic. What they extracted from that place was a shell of a person, a carcass whose only purpose was to obey and to suffer on command. She wished the Emperor would order her execution soon. But she didn’t hope. She knew better. And the minutes stretched forever, as all she could do was squirm and laugh, as her ticklish armpits, sensitive thighs and unbearable midsection were probed, raked and pinched. She couldn’t take it anymore, and yet she had no other option, because only human beings deserved mercy. The machine finally understood that Jyn had reached the state it wished. It stopped for a moment, taking Jyn by surprise. She cried again, this time of relief, but didn’t have much time to enjoy it. One of the hands grabbed her chin and forced it upright, forcing it to face the computer. It was merely a symbolic act – the machine had no face, and could see everything through multiple cameras. And then, it spoke. - Who are you? - I’m Jyn Erso… - Jyn replied, hesitantly. - Wrong. You are the Empire’s bitch. – The machine replied, and two hands started lightly tickling her ribs. She screamed. - YEHEHEHESS!! I’M THE EHEHEHEMPIHIHIRREHEHEHEH’S BIHIHIHITTCCHH!! – Anything to make that stop. And it stopped indeed. - What is your purpose in life? – The machine asked. - T-to be a test subject? – She replied, unsure. - Close. Your purpose in life is to please me, to please the Inquisitor, and to please the emperor. In that order. - My purpose is to please you, to please the Inquisitor, and to please the Emperor… - She replied, obediently, feeling disgusted with herself, but also relieved that the tickling finally stopped. - Good – The machine replied, and the door once again slid open. The inquisitor entered again, and without even looking at Jyn, went straight for the computer. Jyn saw her chance. She could finally end this. Saw Guerrera be damned, the Rebels be damned, she needed to stop the tickling. She was terrified of the next cycle. - I’ll talk I swear. Wathever you want. The Rebel Base is in Yavin 4! Their leader is Senator Mon Mothma! They have 3 squadrons, the Blue Squadron was wiped out in the Battle of Scarif. But the Red and Gold one remains, the Gold one is comprised of Y-wing bombers and… - She said, her voice slowly dying as she realized the man was not listening. He just typed in the computer, and smiled, satisfied with the data. - The Emperor will be most satisfied with your job, Embrace. – He complimented the machine. - I am built to serve, Master- It replied. - I… I want to talk! You did it, you broke me! Please, let me tell you everything, I can’t take it anymore! – She pleaded. Once again, she realized, she was falling victim to Hope. The Inquisitor slowly approached her, observing the terrible state she was into, how much pain and suffering and distress she was into. He smirked, and said: - Of course you will talk. This was never in question, Rebel. I told you in the start. This isn’t an interrogation. You cannot end this – He declared, turning his back and moving towards the door again. – Embrace, proceed with the testing. Try a longer stretch now, we need to see if you can maintain a prisoner in optimal suffering for long times. Try four hours for the next cycle, okay? - NO! PLEASE, I WILL DO ANYTHING! – Jyn screamed. She couldn’t take 4 hours. She couldn’t. They couldn’t be this cruel. Without addressing her, the man left the room again. The hands in the machine started approaching. - NOOOOOO!!!! – She cried, as the hands made contact again. She begged for death. For anything that could give her a break. She cursed the day she joined the rebellion. It was not worth it. She should have obeyed the Empire. Kept her head low. Ignored her father. Everything was lost, and she was in hell. And, amidst her screaming delirium, she thought she heard something: The motors of an X-Wing fleet. She wondered if her friends had come, or would come, rescue her. It was impossible – the fleet was destroyed, most of the Rebels died, and she just gave them the location of the secret base. Logically speaking, it could end only one way: The rebellion crushed, the empire victorious. But her mind couldn’t handle the prospect of being locked here, tickled forever. She needed something. And thus, she hoped – she hoped she was indeed hearing a fleet, that the Rebels would come rescue her, that they would find a way. Hope was all she had. Part 2 - 

Exhaustion didn’t begin to describe it. Jyn Erso believed the machine. She absolutely believed the threat of the 4-hour torture session. She believed from the first minute, and the machine gave her no reason to have any hopes of a bluff. Jyn Erso had no idea how long it has been so far, but from past experiences, she supposed she was nearing the one-hour mark. It had been hell. All the hands and their tools resumed tickling with full intensity as soon as the Inquisitor left the room, and they hadn’t stopped since. Jyn wanted to struggle, to curse, to die, but she didn’t have the energy for the first two or the permission for the third. Slowly, she learned a new definition of what is “bearable” or not. Like, that torture, she thought it was unbearable. And yet, what has she done, if nor bear it for two hours now? Well, she was broken, and has been for a long time. The once proud rebel would do anything to make that stop. To make the robot stop squeezing her thighs, scratching her armpits, and above all, prodding her ribs. Oh, her ribs, cursed be them all. Still, broken as she was, she was still alive, wasn’t she? She was still laughing. She was still wishing this all would end, in wathever manner. She could still think. Cogito, ergo sum, I think, therefore I am, said some philosopher or something. For Jyn, right now, it was more on the land of “I laugh, therefore I am”. “I suffer, therefore I am”. Still, the machine had stripped her human rights from her, but it couldn’t strip away her being – not that Jyn would voice those feelings. She had learned to not challenge the machine, to obey the machine, and she would. She was an obedient toy. Still, even if Jyn herself was denied to end her existence, she took comfort in the fact that the machine could not torture her existence out of her. She needed to cling to something, now that she no longer had hope. For the millionth time, her mental rambling was dispersed by a particularly effective squeeze to her thighs. - OHOHOHHOHOHO GOGOHOHOHOHOHDDD!!! - There is no god here, Jyn. I am your god. – The machine replied. At this point, Jyn was just hanging, just occasionally squirming lightly when a stronger stimulus shook her up. She had no energy for anything else. More and more, she closed within her own mind, her brain lightly realizing cutting stimulus from the outside was the best way to proceed. Within her own mind, Jyn begun to fear about one thing she didn’t realize she could still lose: Her sanity. After a few more minutes, however, the machine slowed down. Jyn almost cried of relief. - I’m getting bored. Let’s play a game, Jyn? - Whahahahttehehehehevvveheehehrrr yohohohohuhuhu wahahahahahannntt! – She replied, obediently. She learned to not defy the machine. - Wathever you want, Master – The machine corrected, punctuating the error by increasing the pace again. Jyn howled like an animal before quickly screaming - MAHAHAHAHASSTHEHEHEHRRR! MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSSSTTHEHEHEHEHERRR! - Good. – The machine said, slowing the torture down – but not stopping it, never stopping it. Jyn’s life would be composed solely of torture from now on; mercy would only come in the form of less torture. – You still have three hours to go. I’ll start tickling you at full force again in one minute, on spots at my leisure. If you manage to not laugh for five minutes, you’ll receive fifteen minutes of light tickling. If you fail, you’ll be punished What do you say? - YEhehehehEHEhess MahahHAHassteheheherr!! – She replied, desperate for anything that could ease her suffering. The machine then started counting from 30, and Jyn knew it was her signal to prepare. And she did, biting her lip hard as it reached 5. 4. 3. 2. Before hitting 1, the hands made contact with her ribs, catching Jyn by surprise. She squealed and buckled forward, failing immediately. - Why, that was disappointing – Said the machine, resuming the full-body, full-force onslaught. Once again, Jyn had been stripped of hope, that sadistic machine giving her a taste of it just to take it away. She screamed. – Time for your punishment. The hands and tools kept tickling her throughout her whole body, as she had been for the past hours, until the five minutes were up. Then, the machine slowed down again, and Jyn fell forward, hanging by the millionth time. Finally, one of the syringes moved and hit her again. She thought it was the revitalizing serum – god knows she needed it, though she would rather just faint – but it wasn’t. She was not sure what it did.   Then the counting started again, and Jyn knew her only choice was to play. And she would. Anything was worth a reduction in the torture – she had grown accustomed with the full-force tickling in the past hours, but now that she got a few minutes of a lighter treatment, she was afraid again. She remembered what having a simpler time felt like, and she wanted that. Thus she bit her lip at 5 and was ready for the tickling to start at any second, but this time the machine was honest, starting at one, with two hands holding feathers stroking up and down her arms. And once again she was taken by surprise, but she managed to keep her mouth shut, emitting a muffled scream. She was MUCH more ticklish for some reason. Her armpits were sensitive, but not that much, and not against the feathers. And yet, each stroke was absolutely agonizing. She kept her mouth shut because she needed to do it, but each stroke took out a sound – if the machine wanted perfect silence, she would have lost already. But she was not laughing – muffled yelping, screaming and crying, sure, but not laughing. Then two hands, no tools, started scribbling her sides. Her eyes popped open – that was unbearable! – but somehow, not even she was sure how, she kept her mouth shut. She started laughing though, continuously, and that put her in a bad spot – with the mouth shut, the air from her laughter needed to go out through the nose, and while it was getting out, it couldn’t get in. She tried to couple the two, trying to gasp short amounts between each laugh, and she sounded like a pig having an orgasm. But she couldn’t open her mouth… She couldn’t… And then the rotating brushes hit her ribs, and she screamed from the top of her lungs. In the next millisecond, she was being tickled by all the implements again. She screamed, tears rolling down her face. An already unbearable torture had just gotten considerably more intense. And once again, 5 minutes later, it all ended, she was injected, and the count restarted from 30. She noticed, with horror, that the “light” tickling was starting to feel torturous. - Plehehehahahahahssehehehhe NOHOHOHHO MHOHOhoHOHOHoohhrrrheheheheeEHEHEE! – She begged to the machine. Thanks to her desperate pleas, she didn’t prepare herself for the tickling – and she couldn’t really stop laughing, thanks to the “light” treatment. All the machine had to do was squeeze her thighs once, and then the harshest torture would restart, getting more and more maddening each second. Her chance had eluded her. After three more cycles of that, the “light” treatment was as horrible as the harsh one was before it all started. And when she lost the game, time and time again, she was treated with a torture that transcended the word “unbearable”, that was so horrible that words could not do it any justice. She struggled so hard – despite almost five hours of continuous torture – that she started to feel her tendons and ligaments rupture – but the pain was quickly soothed, and the injuries mended, by the serums of the cursed machine. She cried, as she was injected with the sensitivity enhancer again. - PLHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHSSSEHEHEHEHEH STTOHOHOHOHOHOPPP!! KIHIHIHIHIHIHLLLL MHMMMEHHEHEEHHEHEHEHE!!! – She begged, crying. - No – The machine replied, and all arms descended upon her. Her scream matched those of the damned in the fires of hell. She cried, tears rolling down her eyes, making her taste their salt. She couldn’t take it. Her body couldn’t bear it. Her mind couldn’t bear it. For the love of god, someone make this top. Daddy… - DDDAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAADDDHHYHYHYHYHYHY!!! – She cried for Galen Erso, for Saw Guerrera, for anyone that could help her. - Jyn…. Why did you do that? – She heard her father say, and saw him in the corner. She cried more, a hint of joy, hoping her father would rescue her. - You know you deserve this. Why did you join the Rebels? Why did you let me die? – The machine taunted, with Galen’s voice, adding to the hallucinogens that Jyn had been administered. The young rebel didn’t even consider the hypothesis – she was in no state to do it. - SAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAVVVHEHEHEHEHEHE MMEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!! – She cried again. – KIIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHLLL MMEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!! – She begged. - No, Jyn, I will not. Because you dezzerv…. Dzzztt… Bzzzttt… - The machine failed, and stopped. The energy of the whole building had been cut. Jyn cried of happiness. - Thahannks… Daddy… Thahanks… - She cried, still giggling from the ordeal, even the lightest breeze managing to tickle her a bit. The door was blown open and she screamed in terror, certain it was the Empire ready to torture her further. She kept screaming, her altered state unable to recognize the ragtag survivors of the Rebellion. They broke the machine, freeing her. Admiral Ackbar himself led the charge – he was not a field warrior, but the Rebellion needed every able body. - Take her quick and let’s go. She’ll recover at the ship! – He said, as one of the soldiers grabbed Jyn Erso on his arms. Slowly, she stopped screaming and, finally, was allowed the comfortable rest of unconsciousness. She didn’t realize it immediately – and, in her dreams, the machine was still there, poking her sides, scratching her ribs – but she was finally free. Her torture was over. Slowly, she would learn to hope again. She would be restored. And she would help bring peace to the galaxy as one of the greatest icons of the rebellion! Or maybe she would end up captured again, finally tortured to insanity. Only time would tell. But for now, Jyn Erso rests with a smile, and the Rebellion manages to score a small victory over the Empire.