#so ill keep on struggling forward til my last breath

[nexttothelamp]

...

[reidsnose]

love letters

overview: spencer has a wonderful idea after finding out that reader had never gone to her senior prom

genre: fluff fluff fluff

a/n: i mixed two ideas that have been sitting in my notes app for this lol but i think its sweet!! i wrote it a little rushed and definitely not bc im not getting a prom this year due to miss rona👀 LMAO but as always please lmk what yall think ab it :)

masterlist

-

the idea had fully occupied his thoughts the second after the words left your mouth.

it was "the buttcrack of dawn" as you had called it, though spirits were high on the late jet ride home. it was a rare but much needed positive end to the case, and everyone was happily chatting with each other. since the case was involving high schoolers, the subject fell on prom. everyone went around sharing their prom stories one by one, recalling awful dresses and questionable dates til the questions turned to spencer.

"what ab you, pretty boy, what was your prom like?" morgan asked, still smiling widely from recalling his own.

you watched spencer shift uncomfortably for a second.

"i uh..i never went to prom." he stammered, a tight lipped smile on his face.

"no! you just dont wanna tell us!" prentiss cried, throwing her hands in the air.

"i graduated high school when i was 12! why would i have gone to prom?" he reasoned.

"you had to have gone when you were older or something! everyone has!" jj countered.

"thats not true, i never went to prom either," you defended, subconsciously inching closer to spencer.

before anyone could even ask you to explain why, spencer got the idea. he mentally left the conversation after you gave your answer. he spent the whole rest of the ride home and the next couple of weeks brain storming and planning.

and casually after work one day, as he was walking you to your car, he asked you if you wanted to hang out with him that weekend; at his house.

you and Spencer had hung out before, but mostly at your house or at coffee shops; he didn't invite people over very often.

of course you agreed but you grew confused when he told you to dress fancy.

you raced home afterwards to raid your closet, looking for any fancy dresses you may have stuffed in there.

spencer spent the whole day preparing his apartment. he put up streamers and balloons. he made a playlist of all your favorite songs. and then he rushed to get his clothes from the cleaners.

and when you knocked at his door the breath that left your lungs struggled to come back after he opened the door.

he stood in a gorgeous suit, different than he had ever worn to work. he rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to the living room, revealing the adorable (albeit poorly made but its the thought that counts) decorations.

"um.. welcome to prom," he said, turning back to you, revealing a blushy smile.

he tried not to stare too much at you, but it was difficult. your eyes sparkled as you stepped inside and looked around. and the dress you were wearing fit you so gorgeously he truly couldnt take his eyes off of you.

"spencer, i..." you trailed off, enchanted by what he had done.

"sorry if it looks bad. or if you think its weird that i did this. i just thought cause neither of us went to prom maybe you wanted to have a little one with me? yeah now that i say it out loud maybe you hate it im sorr-" he rambled behind you.

you turned quickly to him as he got lost in his words, eyes glued to the floor. cutting him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him as tight as you could. you could feel the tension leave his body as he melted into the embrace, returning it gladly. he doesn't like to be touched by anyone really, except for you.

"i love it. thank you," you whispered, giving him one last squeeze before letting go.

he has a spread of snacks lying out on the coffee table which he has mooved to the corner of the room to make space for a makeshift dancefloor.

he turns on the music and you two start talking and dancing and laughing. two fools with four left feet completely and obliviously in love. well, oblivious the the other anyway.

a slower song came on, an old one that you had wanted to slow dance to ever since you were a little girl. and somehow naturally you two came together, his hand dropped to your waist, the other delicately cradling your own. your other hand found its way up to his shoulder, feeling as though a magnet was pulling you two closer. and closer.

he looked absolutely stunning. the soft lights he had strung around the apartment sparkled like stars in his eyes; its was...dizzying, in the most incredible way.

unbeknownst to you, as you stared at the stars in his eyes he was looking at his whole world that he had been somehow lucky enough to hold in his arms.

he held his arm out, allowing you to spin and when he pulled you back both of your arms ended up wrapped around his neck, and his around your waist. you were less dancing now and more...hugging. with your head pressed to his chest, he hoped with all his might that you wouldn't be able to hear his hammering heart. you most definitely could, but it was calming to know he was as nervous as you were. you smiled, listening more to his heart than the music he had played for you.

you were both sure that you could burst from pure bliss. the song ended a little too quickly for either of your liking and reluctantly you let go of each other. and suddenly Spencer was hit with the realization that he forgot something.

"oh my gosh," his eyes widened as he looked around the room.

"what?" you asked, mirroring him and looking as well.

"i can't remember where i left your corsage! i was gonna give it to you at the door but i forgot!" he exclaimed, running around the room checking shelves.

you smiled to yourself. he got you a corsage!

"ill help you look" you decided.

"please do," he chuckled.

"i thought you had an eidetic memory, shouldn't you know where you left it?" you joked, shooting him a smug smile.

"y/n, my brain was all jumbled to day and it wasn't just from being around you," he realized what he had said and quickly turned back to the shelf he was looking at, "could you check in my room please?"

his heart was racing at his own stupidity; how could he just say that so nonchalantly? he had been planning to tell you that he liked you for the longest time he cant afford slipping up and having it be anything less than perfect.

you slipped into his room, your cheeks warm from the idea that you make his big brain all jumbled. he probably didn't mean it like that, you were just looking too much into it.

you sighed as you crouched to look under his bed for it. you found a small wooden box that you slid out from underneath. it had your name on it.

is it normal to keep a corsage in a wooden box? you wouldn't know, you never went to prom.

you shrugged your shoulders, "i found it spence!"

with out thinking you opened the box, except instead of a band of flowers you were greeted with letters, all addressed to you. there were annotations written in the margins with purple ink. you furrowed your eyebrows as you scanned the various letters.

dear y/n,

today you complimented my glasses and my heart skipped a beat. thats dumb spencer dont start like that

dear y/n,

im in love with you. too forward

dear y/n,

you make life worth living. shes gonna think youre a creep

you felt a rush of euphoria fill your chest. did he really feel these things for you? your thoughts swirled in the most wonderful way. a wide smile broke across your face, butterflies running rampage through your stomach as you reread his words. his words addressed to you.

"oh thank God i really thought i lost-oh. oh no." spencer started as he walked through the door of his room immediately walking back out. you followed, blinking your watery eyes at him. "i can explain.

"i think youve explained enough, theres like 20 letters in here!" you chuckled, flipping through them.

"i didnt know how to tell you and i dont want to ruin what we already have and i-"

"it wasnt too forward." you stated, grabbing one of the letters.

"what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"in this one," you held up the letter, "you wrote dear y/n, im in love with you. and then you crossed it out and wrote that it was too forward but i dont think it was."

"youre not mad?"

"mad? spencer ive been trying to admit the fact that im in love with you since i realized it myself, why would i be mad?"

"youre..you feel the same way?" he looked back up at you, a hesitant smile pulling on the corners of his lips.

"more so," you beamed, stepping closer.

he wrapped his arms around you, "thats good or else the rest of this prom would have sucked."

you chuckled, pulling him impossibly closer to you as another perfect song played.

-

-

ultra mega super cool taglist

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @spenxerslut @violetspoetic @aperrywilliams @b-a-utiful @eevee0722 @srhxpci @reidemandweep @imdefinitelyfloating @random-human-person @gurkiloni @luvspence @calm-and-doctor @ssavanessa22 @singularityjc @sydnee-kom-spacekru @sydneekomspacekru

[illuminated-cowboy]

Stag Serenade

Chapter 2

Wildfire

 Arthur shoved his hand into the dirt, feeling absolutely nothing as he phased right through it. He pulled through, trying to dig up at least a small amount of the loose soil, but he couldn’t manage.

An idea occurred to him, maybe he couldn’t dig up his body, but if he could get to his body, maybe he could dig himself out?

He reached in again, attempting to pull himself through while not being able to push off anything. He just floated in place in the dirt, kicking his feet as he tried making sense of the physics of being a ghost.

He realized there weren’t any.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a way to do this.”

“Are you still trying to get to your body?” a disembodied, yet not unfamiliar, voice embarked.

Arthur groaned, knowing it was his immortal curser again, “Yes I’m still trying to get to my body, dumbass!”

“Here, I’ll make this a bit easier for you.” With the sound of a finger snap, Arthur found himself face to face with his own body, cold dirt surrounding his almost fresh corpse.

“There you are, you ugly fool.” Arthur rolled over and held his own hands, what was left of the right one at least. Like a glove, he slid himself in, relaxing until he felt a click, a bump, something. He really wasn’t sure how he’d know when he was truly back in his own body again.

“I’d like to warn you of something, Arthur.” The strange man’s voice called out again.

“And what might that be?”

“Once you’re in your body again, you will not be able to die. But, you will feel like you are dying.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Because so far feeling dead has just frustrating.”

“Just a warning. I felt like it would be wrong not to warn you.”

“Right, but you didn’t feel it would be wrong to offer a dumbass like me immortality only for me to think you were joking, did you?”

“Oh come on now, there are so many possibilities ahead of you. You could become the smartest man in the world by the time you’re 1000. You’ll witness firsthand all major events going forward, even the end of the world most likely!’

“Right. So how long until I-Argh!” A sudden jolt of pain made its way through Arthur’s body, his lungs felt crushed and scarred, his torn arm began bleeding heavily as every nerve began to gain feeling again and his heart started pumping his old cold blood throughout his veins.

“Fuck! You son of a bitch, fuck you!”

“Good, you made it before there was too much nerve damage. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Arthur fought against the uncomfortable feeling of dirt entering his nose and eyes, the earthy taste and unpleasant crunch filled his mouth as he screamed in agony. Realizing he could only use one arm, he reached up above his face, trying his best to angle himself in a way that he could lift himself up without packing the dirt down on his lower half.

I will kill that bastard if I get the chance, I will rip his fucking throat out for doing this to me. I just wanted to be dead already, fuck!

He felt himself moving upward, a positive result for sure. He felt a spiritual power surge through him, it helped him to keep going harder and harder despite feeling weak and exhausted.

Finally, he reached air with his hand. A couple more breaths and one final pull, and his head emerged, like a mangled newborn baby. He screamed and cursed at the world as he burst through, dragging his revived corpse away from his grave and over to a tree to rest. His arm was done for, once he had his strength back he’d have to cut it off completely.

He spit out particles of dirt and blew black snot from his nose, coughing up far more than blood in-between. He struggled to breathe, every breath felt like eternity and the satisfaction of an oxygenated lung was far from grasp. He looked to the moon to take his mind off the pain and misery he was feeling, it illuminated his dirty, dampened features and reflected off his eyes gloriously. He couldn’t see himself, but he was sure he looked like a dead man walking.

Once he was sure he had hacked up every bit of dirt and blood left in his body, he reflected on the coming sunrise, realizing an entire day had passed since he had died. This was a sunrise he was never meant to see, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel like a badass for cheating death, or a miserable man cursed to walk a world he was never intended to walk.

He finally felt recovered enough to rise to his feet, a dull ache radiating through his body and intensifying with every step. He wasn’t sure where he was even going, but he was sure if he walked long enough, he’d end up at a lake where he could wash up eventually.

He performed a dance of dragging his feet, groaning to himself, and taking large, unplanned steps in one direction or another. Sometimes he caught himself going in a small circle, and he’d have to recalibrate and jolt himself to the opposite direction.

The sun began to beam down on his dirt coated head, so he raised an arm up to shield the sun and happened to see the movement of an animal somewhere in the distance.

The whinny of a brown filly filled Arthur’s heart with a bit of relief, finally something besides a tree to stare at as he hobbled along.

As he approached the horse, he could make out a dark brown saddle on her back.

“Oh girl, please tell me your rider owns a bathhouse.”

The horse turned, noticing Arthur’s hobbling out of the corner of her eye. He reached out a hand and looked around for her owner, “Hello!” he called out as his hand touched the filly’s velvet nose.

She gave out a content snort at his presence, at least he knew that if her owner didn’t come around soon she’d likely be friendly enough to let a strange zombie man ride her.

A familiar voice called out from the woods, effeminate and soft, “is someone there?!”

“Yes ma’am,” Arthur looked around, unsure of where the voice was coming from and unable to put the name on his tongue, yet sure he had heard this voice before, “don’t be frightened by my appearance miss, I’ve been through one hell of a night.” His gaze settled on a woman approaching from the woods, a rifle in one hand and a dead rabbit slung over her shoulder.

She looked frightened and readied her rifle. “Who are you!?”

Arthur raised his hand and lifted a brow as he realized who the woman was, “Charlotte?”

She lowered her rifle and smiled in relief, “Arthur? What happened to you?!” She ran over to him excitedly, concern and worry overtaking her face as she realized just how torn up he was.

“Boy am I happy to see you.”

“I would say the same if your arm weren’t hanging off, what happened to you Arthur?” She gently touched just above the ripped section, trying not to let her shock overtake her ability to offer help.

“Wolves. Lots of ‘em.” Arthur chuckled painfully. “Only took one of ‘em to do this though.”

Charlotte cringed in second-hand pain. “Please, let me take you back home, you’ll die like this out here.”

“Kinda wish I did die, would hurt a hell of a lot less.” Charlotte shook her head, preferring to not think of her savior rather dying than being alive. She gently turned him towards her horse, assisting him up as much as she could before attaching her catch to the saddle and lifting herself up onto her filly.

Arthur held the woman gently with his living hand, steadying himself on the mare, “So, when did you get a horse?”

“I figured she was a necessity. Bought her in town one day, she’s been very loyal. Named her Wildfire.” The filly kicked up her hooves and began transporting her riders down the trail.

“She’ll be good to you til’ her last breath. My ol’ boy died about a day ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was he ill?”

“No, no… It was, well, a rat. In a way.”

“A rat?”

Arthur tried looking for a way to describe what he meant without tainting her image of him. “I’m not a good man, Charlotte.”

“You keep saying that. But actions speak louder than words. And we are always our own worst critics.”

“It’s possible I have a chance to begin again,” he sighed, “but I’ve tried that so many times, always ends with someone getting hurt.”

“Well, you didn’t hurt me. You helped me, you saved my life. I will forever consider you my friend for that alone.”

“I was in with some bad guys. For a long time. The only ones who didn’t betray me in the end either died or left to make their lives better. And for that, I will never blame them. I should have left too.”

Charlotte slowly began to understand. “Well, it looks like you did leave. So now the question is, what will you do now?”

“I dun’ know.”

“Well, you can stay with me as long as you need to. I have an extra bed and you won’t be imposing.”

Arthur considered being stoic, denying her offer with something along the lines of “That’s alright Mrs. Balfour, I’ll get on just fine.” But instead, he sighed, and nodded to himself. “I think I could use the comfort of an indoor bed, thank you Charlotte.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I could use the company too. Maybe you can teach me some more survival skills as well!” She said cheerfully, looking behind her to catch a glance of the war-torn man. “Once you’re all fixed up, that is.”

The brown filly gave out a whinny as a fox crossed her path just a gallop away from the old cabin. Charlotte road her over to a fence post and dismounted, holding out a hand to assist Arthur down.

He chuckled as he oriented himself, attempting to first dismount alone. “In a normal world, I’d be helping you down, Mrs. Balfour.”

“Well, I’ve lost sight of whatever a normal world would be considered.”

With a shot of pain through his body, he winced, and grabbed for her hand reluctantly, trying not to fall or put too much pressure on the woman.

He tumbled down, buckling to his boots as Charlotte reached out to grab him, keeping him from falling far.

“This arm, Charlotte, it’s gotta come off.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in response. “Shouldn’t a doctor make that determination?”

“Well, the last time I saw a doctor he told me I was dying, so I’d rather make the calls from here on out.” Charlotte wrapped an arm around him and assisted him as best she could, steadying him through every stumble and trip he endured as they made their way to the cabin.

“I don’t want you bleeding out on my watch.”

“I’ll be fine, Charlotte. I just need a good bath and a knife.”

She looked at him with pain in her eyes as she opened the door. “Well, if you think it’s for the best, I trust you.” She guided him inside to a chair, and he let out a moan of both pain and relief as he sat down.

“I feel like I could sleep forever, just right here.”

“I’m going to go get you a bucket of water and some soap and we can wash you up.” She gently patted his shoulder and grabbed a large wooden bucket by the door before heading outside to the well.

Arthur sat in silence for a moment, looking around her home. The home of a widow who, Arthur figured, was surely sufficient enough to have survived on her own.

Or maybe not. Maybe in another world, Arthur hadn’t helped her, hadn’t seen her when she needed him. And maybe nobody else had helped her either.

Maybe she was only alive because of him. The opposite of many, many people Arthur had come across in his life.

Arthur began undoing his shirt with his one good arm, getting down to the last button but finding it a struggle to actually get it off his shoulders, a mixture of pain and the lack of a second working arm being the culprit.

Charlotte walked back in; a bucket full of fresh water by her hip. “Oh, let me help you, Arthur.”

He leaned forward a tad, and she came around the backside of the chair, pulling as tenderly as she could at the blue button-up. One arm down, the healthy one at least. Coated in bruises but other than that, usable and strong.

His other arm was a different story, sticky blackened blood coating the ripped and worn fabric, she contemplated whether pulling it quickly was the right decision or pulling it slowly and possibly prolonging his pain.

He winced and turned away as she pulled it off, the blood pulling at his hair and torn skin. Fresh blood pooled on the floor in small amounts as she was careful to avoid touching the exposed flesh. Once it was off, he looked like half man, half bloodied beast.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“Hey, you didn’t attack me,” he mustered a grin as he took a good glance at his arm. The skin was completely torn away, the bone entirely dislocated from the rest of his skeleton, the forearm only hanging on by the thinnest strands of red threads, “I’d be real impressed if you did though.”

“Right. Well, I think you should get nice and clean before attempting major surgery on yourself.”

“Of course.”

Charlotte brushed her hair behind her ear before twiddling her thumbs for a second and asking, “do you need, help?”

“I do believe I might, but uh,” Arthur reached for the bucket with his good arm, “to save you the trauma, I’ll take care of the nasty bits later.”

Charlotte let out a relieved sigh. “I’ll go get something to scrub you with and a bar of soap.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Wouldn’t you rather we do this outside though?”

“It’s fine, I’ve been meaning to give the floor a good cleaning anyways.”

“Yeah but, this is gonna be a lot of blood and all, I don’t wanna-“

Charlotte came back from her room with a bar of soap, a hunting knife, and a couple towels. “I really don’t mind. It will be more comfortable for you in here.”

“Alright.”

Charlotte dunked the soap in the bucket, working the lather into a hand towel and taking Arthur’s good hand, rubbing the mixture up and down his arm.

Their eyes caught each other; hazel meeting blue. She refused to admit her heart skipped a beat at the sight, because despite his worn appearance and his dirt coated features, his eyes had so much more life in them than they did the last time they met.

She smiled, reaching a hand to gently touch his chin, pulling him slightly towards her as she gazed closer into those suddenly piercing eyes, “you’re healthy again, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You were sick when you were here last time.”

“Well, you cure one thing, you end up with a lost arm I guess.”

She chuckled as she released her tender grip and continued to clean him up, handing him the towel and reaching for a new one to wash his face with, dabbing it under his eyes and behind his ears before wetting down his untrimmed hair and scrubbing it between her fingers.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened? I know you said it was wolves but, you look like you were buried underground.”

“Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?”

“I would prefer the truth, but if you’d rather be creative and keep the details to yourself, I’m still curious.”

“Well, I got the shit kicked out of me, died. God or Satan or whatever, he told me I was immortal now, but my body got attacked by wolves. I got buried then had to claw out of my own grave with one arm.”

“My, you are quite creative. I’ll have to keep you around for story ideas from now on.”

He smiled, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You know, even on Cal’s deathbed he was still telling jokes too.”

He looked to her with awe. “Any man lucky enough to have you as their wife would die happily regardless of the circumstances.”

She grinned, her eyes almost tearing up. “That’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever been told.”

“It’s been a good long time since I’ve been treated to a nice bath as well.”

“This next side will probably sting.” She said as she grabbed another clean towel and came round to the destroyed arm.

“I’ve felt worse, do whatever you need to do.”

She squeezed the towel, dripping cool soapy water down into the open wound. Arthur groaned in pain, his chest tightening as his teeth gritted against the feeling. He turned away, appearing to physically try and remove himself from the troublesome arm.

“Fuck,” he muttered through his teeth, struggling against it but knowing it had to be done, “give me the knife.”

She continued to rub down the arm, “I’m not even nearly finished getting all the dirt off-”

“Whatever is in there is in there, get me the goddamn knife!”

The woman reached for the hunting knife she had grabbed earlier from the table behind her, handing it to Arthur in one swift motion.

“Get my belt and tie it around my arm, as tight as you can.”

She hurried in front of him, kneeling and undoing the brown leather belt from his hips. Wrapping it around his arm and pulling it as hard as she could manage, blood squirting from the bottom, Arthur held the knife tightly before making one final request, “you got any alcohol?”

“Um, I have some rum in the cabinet.”

“That’ll work.”

She nodded, running for the container, and bringing it back to him. He placed the bottle between his legs, popped the top off, and took as many swigs as he could until the numbing feeling kicked in.

“I’m gonna need your help here, darlin’.”

“Anything, Arthur. I’m right here with you.”

“I’m gonna need you to hold this arm here as high as you can.”

She blinked twice. “You need me… while you…”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need you to but it’s gonna go a lot smoother if you do.”

“Okay.” She grasped his hand, cold deadened fingers between her own, and pulled the arm vertically, moving down to hold it by the length just before the wound.

Arthur stuffed a towel in his mouth, readied the knife, and began slicing into the flesh, screaming muffled into the towel as his entire body contracted in pain.

Charlotte held strong, looking away as blood splattered on her blue dress. With one final push, the arm came off, and the stump that remained poured with red liquid as Arthur tossed the knife and held the stub up as high as he could, pulling the belt tighter around it.

He spit out the towel onto the floor. “Candle!” he shouted, nodding to a candle that happened to be lit in the corner.

Charlotte dropped the arm and ran for the candle, handing it to her wilderness survival man without putting it out. He rubbed away as much of the blood as he could with a towel, then held the stump to the candle flame, trading his stinging pain for a burning pain.

The worst was over as he finished his self-surgery, laying back in the chair as Charlotte took the candle away. She returned to offer him more rum, to which he nodded and opened his mouth, silently begging that she pour it in and not stop.

With a bloodied arm on the floor, pools of suds and human liquids leaking from Arthur like a dripping pipe, he took one final moan and relaxed his eyes. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

“It’s no trouble,” she looked to the arm, the mess, the bloodied beautiful man in her chair, “I’ll go bury that in the back before it decomposes. Please, call for me if you need anything.”

And with that, Arthur was armless. He took one last look at the cold, bluish body part as Charlotte wrapped it with a towel and walked it out the door.

He picked up the rum and took another swig, the pain dulling his drunken state, yet still feeling the need to smile and say to himself, “I’m unarmed!” He giggled like a madman, trying to continue holding his brand-new stump above his arm, taking more sips in-between uncontrolled laughter, the majority of the rum dripping onto his beard and chest rather than his mouth.

By the time Charlotte returned, Arthur was far gone, flying high and performing a mixture of moaning in pain and giggling in pleasure.

“My angel!” He shouted at her. She took the bottle from his hand and rubbed some suds out of his hair.

“Do you want to keep bathing tonight or-”

“I will tell you,” he hiccupped and pointed a finger up, “what I want.”

Charlotte looked at him concernedly. “And what might that be?”

“I want for you to just give me the gentlest of kisses, right here,” he pointed to his forehead, “because women’s lips, they heal all wounds.”

She smiled, and kindly humored him, pressing her lips tenderly to his forehead. He pulled her close, his one good arm wrapping gently around her waist and pulling her in for a hug. She held his head under her breast, fingers trailing his cheek as she further indulged his desires for human touch.

“It’s been a while, darlin’.”

“Since?”

“Since I was loved.” He looked up at her, eyes looking even more pained than when he was cutting off his own arm. “I loved only so many women, and they didn’t love me, Charlotte. They used me, they used me and they left me when I couldn’t be what they needed. And that’s on me, I’m a horrible bastard.”

“No, Arthur, that’s on them honey.”

“No it ain’t, Charlotte. I hurt them bad, and I’d hurt you too if you got too close, but, I wanna be close to you. And I ain’t never wanna hurt you.”

“That’s enough of that,” she pulled away with kindness, holding his hand with both of her own in an effort to guide him somewhere to lay down, “come to bed, sleep this off and we’ll figure out the rest when you’re feeling better.”

He stumbled to his feet, holding her hands like they were precious jewels, looking at their every detail through his blurred, drunken vision, “I don’ wanna hurt you, Charlotte.”

“Don’t you worry about any of that right now, come with me.” She wrapped her arm around his back and assisted him into her guest bedroom, laying him down gently on the bed, holding his arm up and resting it on a pillow by his head.

She pulled out a blanket and laid it over his bare chest, keeping him warm for the rest ahead.

She kissed his forehead once more, wishing him a goodnight without words, then closing the door behind her to give him some privacy.

Arthur came in and out of a blacked-out state, desiring to go wander the halls and find Charlotte again to continue his self-deprecation, to show her and prove what an awful man he is, and why she would be right to toss him out and let him suffer. But she wasn’t going to do that, and he wondered if he really made such an impression on her that she would now trust him like this.

He could easily hurt her, maybe not physically but surely emotionally. That’s why Mary left him, right? He couldn’t change. He wasn’t redeemable.

But either she didn’t believe he would hurt her, or she didn’t care. Maybe she had been through the same pain as him, enough so that she didn’t care, just like he didn’t. Or at least, just like he kept trying to convince himself that he didn’t.

[boneswriteswords]

Alien Boyfriend: Duxob

I wrote this over a year ago and it was on my wattpad so I decided to move it over here too. Its my first crack at an alien and a space story. Let me know what you think and if I should continue this world building. 

I reread it and I’m not a fan but I never like any of my work so eh. Its unbeta’d because we die like men here. 

Length: ~7900

Male Alien x Female Reader

~~~~~~

The sun that rose in the west was at its peak as you pretended to rummage through your backpack. It was the kind of hot that evaporated the sweat from your body before it even had a chance to drip and you could feel the skin at the back of your neck boiling. Stealing the large tub of sun cream you in preparation for your days on this hell-site of a planet was honestly one of the smartest things you had ever done in your life.

A few feet away, Duxob leaned against your bikes, tinted band hiding half his reptilian face as he scanned the area - particularly the cargo wagon by the gateway- under the guise of adjusting something on one of the handle bars.

It was a believable enough scene. Your bikes looked like they were on their last legs, barely functional and ill-maintained, what with all the scratches and chipped paint, the dangling wires and exposed gear shifts. The tires were covered in duct tape. The seats were tattered and stained. The metals looked rusted and dangerous.  

No one needed to know that they only looked that way though.

No one needed to know that you designed them to look like heaps of junk. Aside from the things that you needed to fix on them the next time you hit a decent port city, they ran smoother and faster than anything on this side of the galaxy.  But, for the purposes of keeping your head down and not getting robbed, life was easier when they didn't look appealing.

Across the clearing, you could hear the men attaching the empty wagon to the jump ship, checking over the mechanics one last time. They're yelling something  The driver of the jump ship revs the gears in quick bursts, filling the silent port with noise, and you know that you only have a few minutes before they leave.

You adjust your band down over the bridge of your nose, turning up the the tint so your eyes weren't visible. If anyone was watching, you didn't want them to have any more identifiers than necessary. It was bad enough that your roots were showing, revealing your natural hair color to the world.

Glancing up at Duxob, you nod. His scales shift colors -green to blue to purple- in silent agreement, running his hand over his pants and mounting his bike. There was no need for words when you've been working together as long as you have. There is no doubt between you and it makes picking out the best targets easier than breathing.

Like the driver. You would have approached him. He was an old Culxan, wrinkles deep in his wide face and expression set in a way that shows he has never known much other than struggle and hard labor in his long life, but he was soft around the edges. He likely had a family or at the very least, he wished he had one. You'd be able to play into that if you had the time, chipping away at him with curious glances and innocent but intrusive questions until he broke rules about stowaways and border jumping.

But time was the one thing you didn't have at the moment.

Which was why Duxob was taking the lead while you kept watch, one hand on your gun and the other on your bike handle. There were no visible security measures - the region you were in was way too poor to afford drones and bots and all the other high tech shit that smothers the galaxies - but that didn't mean much. This was an outlaw station - used more for transporting produce and drugs than intel and technology - and that meant anyone could have some sort of weapon on them at any time.

Which meant that they all did.

It also meant that you both needed to be extra careful. What you were doing was still illegal - Duxob could be arrested the moment he set foot by the gates - but there was a lawlessness about the way they dealt with criminals.  There were no questions. There were no arrests. There were no calling the authorities.

You didn't just have to watch for guard passes through the jump, you had to watch for anyone who looked at your partner for longer than 10 seconds.

It made you anxious but you knew Duxob could handle himself. He was Alzeanian after all - one of the most deadly species to exist on this side of the cosmos - and while they were rare and were hardly ever seen off their own planet, everyone knew what they were capable of.

It was an advantage you had utilized many times since you met him.

Still, you also never looked away from him as he approached the cargo wagon. Between the whirring of refueling pods and the grinding of the lines, the whole area is drowned in a sea of noise that made it damn near impossible for you to pick up what Duxob was saying. He was off his bike and if you hadn't redesigned it yourself, you would have thought it was turned off.

'Not safe yet,' you thought, watching as he adjusts his gait into a saunter as he approaches the driver. His wide smile is all sharp teeth but his flat nostrils are closed into slits as he scented the wagon. After a moment, the slits flared open again and He stretched, his lean body on display as his dirty shirt rode up.

You tried not to stare but it was difficult when your job was literally to watch his scales to see if they shifted or not.  

Duxob's toothy smile morphed into an easy grin as he reached down into his pocket and pulled out a small bag, slipping it into the driver's pointed claw in a pseudo-handshake. He flashed green and you knew you were safe for the moment.

Relieved, you hitched your backpack over your shoulders as Duxob drove back over. "We good?"

"Yeah. One bag of units and four ounces of dust," he husks, removing his own backpack from where it was hooked onto his bike, "Pretty cheap but then again, the wagon is empty, they're jumping through a moon shift, and its heading to the Triquaz region so anything more than that would have been bullshit and he knows it."

"Ew."

You hated the Triquaz region. Hated it. On your list of choices for destinations, it wouldn't even make it to the top 500 but the reality was that you didn't have a choice at the moment. They needed to get off this planet and find a port where they could stock up on their dangerously low supplies. You were human, which limited the amount of things you could consume in the galaxy apparently, and finding stations that imported Earth produce and the like took a bit of research to find.

"I know but at least the temperature doesn't fluctuate so suddenly or so dramatically."

"This is true," you sighed, adjusting your grip on your handle bars as you walked alongside the bulky alien, kicking up dust as you did so "Do you know which planet we're going to?"

"No but I do know we will be confined inside the back for a good five days before we get there."

"Well fuck," you groaned, "Do we have enough to get us through til then?"

His lips quirked up and you couldn't help be annoyed at it. You had real concerns damnit! You knew how much you had in your bag but that was it. You didn't touch your partner's bag unless it was a severe medical emergency, like the time you got bit by a Qon and needed a poison pack or when Duxob accidentally burned off an entire forearm's worth of scales and skin trying to readjust the thrusters on his bike without your supervision.  

"Don't fucking smirk at me dickhole."

His grin widened minutely before disappearing completely, "We will be fine. We have enough to last until we get off-world and find somewhere to sleep."

God you missed sleep. It felt like ages since you were able to get more than an hour here and there. The tension in your body was tight enough to choke someone to death. Your body was not made for the rough interstellar outlaw lifestyle that you found yourself in and it loved to remind you of that.

The alternative wasn't any better so you tried not to bitch too much about it.

The wagon was attached to the jump ship, the back door closing as it prepared to jump. The gatekeepers on both sides of the portal gate were bustling too and fro, making sure everything was secured for a final time before departure.

"Ready?" Duxob grunts, picking up the pace.

This part, along with literally everything else about being a stowaway, made you nervous. Jumping was a very serious, precious thing. If you fell back, it usually wasn't so bad. Depending on how far you are, you could come back unscathed. If you fell to the side.....well, it wasn't pretty thats for damn sure.

"Ready."

As one, you run forward, kicking up even more dust and shoving your bikes upwards, hopping into the wagon just as the doors close. You can hear the clicking as the metal latch seals and the overpowering light from the east sun was consumed in darkness. You quickly dropped to your knees and clutch onto the metal door handle, feeling the start-up of the initial burst of speed that is required in order to jump.

Duxob worked quickly to secure the security locks and activate the bracer shields on the bikes, knowing full well how awful it could be if the bikes remained unsteady during liftoff.  

The wagon rocks as the buildup increases. There is heavy clanging happening outside, slowly being drowned out by the familiar ghostly noises of the portal as the wagon approaches it. You brace yourself as the rocking turns into lurching, knowing full well that no matter how hard you clutch onto the door, you are going to be flung.

It always hurts and this time is no different. The bruises on your back are going to be a fucking bitch.

"Y/N?" Duxob pulls a light stick from his bag as it ends, snapping the two ends together and holding it up. The wagon illuminates and you give him a thumbs up from where you landed on the floor on the opposite side of the wagon.

"Is anything broken, you weird fragile creature?"

The thumbs up quickly turns into middle finger and he snorts, which makes you bend your arm and snap it up a few times to emphasize the level of 'fuck you' you are directing at him. You hated everything.

The wagon lurches again and flings you over to another side of the wagon yet again. Pain shoots into your side but its quickly quashed when you realize it hurled you right into Duxob's body, causing him to grunt and slam back into the wall forcefully.

Fucking aftershocks.

"Ish what you get for talking shit asshole," you mumbled, face pressed uncomfortably into his abdomen (?)- you had no idea because Duxob dropped the light stick on impact and it rolled underneath one of the bikes and died.

A solid hour goes by before either of you move, wanting to be completely sure that the jump was successful.

"Only five days to go," you grumble as you finally shift away from the chilled body of your partner, "Fuck."

Five days of sleeping on a hard floor, working in the low lights of your remaining sticks, sucking on dehydrated food packs and ignoring the grumbling in your stomachs, and trying not to go stir crazy in the darkness of space. Again.

"We'll get through it. We always do."

"I know," you sigh, "I just wish it was different sometimes."

He doesn't say anything but you can feel his clawed hands stroke the top of your head and you hum, content despite the complaints on your lips. You'd cope. You both would. Just like you always do.

Because you weren't alone and neither was he.

~~~~~

Five days was four days and 23 hours too many to be confined in the dark with nothing to do. You were ready to tear your skin off just to have something else to focus on. As awesome as it was, travelling the galaxies wasn't a luxurious process if you didn't have the money to book passage on a tourist ship or buy your own. More often than not, if you wanted to get somewhere off-planet, you either hitched a ride or you snuck your way into empty crates and bag holds, spending hours upon hours being quiet and still.

It was maddening at the worst of times but you always felt better knowing that Duxob was with you, keeping you company in the quiet.

Nevertheless, the moment the secondary engines turned off, you were up and ready for action, securing your stuff back onto your body before the clinking and clanging of the descent even stopped.  

Duxob was too by the looks of it. His face was always hard to read but you could tell he was just as anxious to escape your wooden prison as you were. You couldn't see it too well in the dark but his scales were more red than any other color and bright than normal, indicating his level of irritation. You watched as he pressed close to the wood, listening to the shouting coming from the outside through his comm chip.

You would have but yours was damaged and the parts were too small to see and repair in the total darkness of the wagon. The universe was filled with other languages and you picked up what you could but everything on the outside sounded foreign.

"Can you make anything out?" you whisper, already straddling your bike with your hand on the starter. After being confined for so long, the rush of adrenline was blinding. You wanted to go.

Duxob jerks away from the wood quickly and hops on his own bike, "We've descended. They'll be opening the door any minute now. Get ready." His long clawed hand turned his bike on before reaching over and flicking yours on too, "We have to be quick. This port is more heavily armed with border agents and just as ruthless. Be careful."

"You too."

The seconds seem to drag on and anxiety causes your grip on your handles to strengthen even as you start to sweat. Border patrol agents were nasty pieces of work, hired to check and process travellers as they come and go off planets but, because there were no uniform regulations to keep them in line, they often just did as they pleased to people, especially those that are illegally jumping.

Like you and Duxob were.

"We will be fine Y/N," Duxob mumbled quietly, his voice hoarse from disuse and oh how you loved how he said your name "They haven't caught us yet. They never will."

The darkness seems deeper in the contours of his face as you look at him, emphasizing the brightness of his golden reptilian eyes and the gold pseudo-eyes that rest above them and bleeding over the contours of his cheekbones. (He never explained to you what the 'pseudo eyes' were - you weren't even sure if they were eyes to begin with- or what they did and you couldn't bring yourself to care about you- not when he was looking at you and you had more important things to focus on).

He's all hard lines and safety, a reminder of all you've gone through the last few years to get where you are, and you relax just the slightest bit.

"No. They never fucking will."

His lips quirk up again, "Now get ready. Its almost time."

And he was right. No sooner than you had turned back to face the wagon door, did it open with a hiss, revealing several border patrol guards with scanners and tasers and all the pretty toys you wish you could get your hands on.

"Show time."

~~~~~~

The getaway was as dramatic as you would expect. The air tasted wet, the humidity of the planet already working its magic on your already beaten body as you sped away from the guards. The port was a mess - Duxob finding it absolutely necessary to snatch one of their stun bombs and let it off over the entire port. There was a pain spreading from your side and you knew without a doubt that you got hit.

But it was worth it.

Duxob was unharmed.

You glance over your shoulder and assess the chaos left in your wake. Its nothing more than a smoky ball of dirt on wet and slimy hilltop and you grin when you see that the guard patrol bikes are still hovering around the port.

"They didn't see us. I think we're good," you shout, grinning wide despite the pulsing pain in your side. You could feel the blood dripping down your back, a burning sensation crawling over your flesh. Carefully, you engage your auto-drive.

"Lets get farther away before we get comfortable," the reptilian man warned, doing nothing to stop the smirk forming on his lips but kicking his bike into the next gear. You untie and retie your jacket's belt quickly, using whats left of your clothes as a makeshift bandage to staunch the bleeding, before putting your bike into the next gear to catch up.

"Where to?" You could feel drops of water splashing up from your wheels and you pointedly do not think about how much fucking mud you are going to have to clean out of your rechargers later. Instead, you focus on how exhilarating it feels to be alive.

Alive and with Duxob.

"There is a city not far from here but I think we should head out farther. When they release we got away, they'll immediately head to it to try and smoke us out."

"Sounds good to me." It really didn't, not with the way the fire in your side spread and consumed you but auto-drive was a beautiful thing and it wouldn't be the first time you passed out and needed your bike to take you to safety. Duxob was more than capable of syncing your bike to his so you didn't get separated and he was more than used to you passing out due to your human stamina.

It would be ok.

~~~~~~

It was not ok.

You had been on the road for at least a full 12 hours before Duxob found a port city to stop in, every rock, bump, and hurdle ripping at the ever-growing wound on your side.  There was nothing special about this particular port - same lost cost rooms, dingy dive bars, questionable food marts, and horrific pleasure buildings, all the same shit that comes with being a hub for the transients and the poor - and that what made it the perfect place to lay low for a bit.

It also meant that there likely wasn't a med bay anywhere in the vicinity and you're going to have to try and fix the wound yourself when Duxob went for food.

There were plenty of buildings advertising rooms but Duxob was picky, choosing the one that had the least amount of skeevy employees and cleaner bathrooms. It had a parking lot right outside the rooms, which was good since being able to get to their bikes at a moment's notice was vital in your combined survival.

Your room was all the way in the back of the building, on the first floor, another thing Duxob insists on when you bunker down in actual rooms for a night or two.

"I got us a room for five nights," he says, flashing the card keys and slipping them into his jacket pocket.

The surprise on your face must have been obvious because he snorted, "We need a rest. And we need to restock. Shipments are due to come in all this week at this port. Better to lay low and stay than run off with half empty gas tanks and no food."

Point.

"They didn't charge me too much," he murmured, knowing how anxious you got when you ran low on units, "I bartered."

Bartered meaning threatened the clerk until he was satisfied that they wouldn't bother you both.  You smirked up at him, "Good. I'm assuming we also have an hydration pod?"

Duxob leveled you with a stern look before it broke into a small grin and a wink, almost sending you to your knees in shock.

"Oooh, whats got you all playful?" you joked, subtly adjusting so you could poke his abdomen through his thick jacket. The movement was enough to make you want to die but you could not pass up the opportunity to tease him.

"You're going to stop smelling like shit and I'm excited about it."

"Fuck you, you stoic cumstain," you cackled, knowing full well that he was right. A downside to the life is that cleanliness often had to be traded for survival. Weeks could go by with only light rinsing and scrubbing through hoses and water containers and lakes. Soap was an almost nonexistent luxury as was conditioner and lotion.

Honestly, it was one of the hardest things you had to give up when you first left Earth and the thought of slipping into the pod and being able to do a deep cleansing of your body and wound was heavenly.

The scales on his head shift to a deep violet, spreading down his neck and chest in striping patterns and you know he is just as excited as you are to bathe. He reeks just as much as you do, the skin between his scales caked with ingrained dirt that probably drove him insane.

You made a mental note to offer to swab them out for him after his initial wash. You know, if you didn't pass out from the pain.

He swipes the card through the door before walking back outside to secure the bikes. You immediately drop all your stuff onto the bed in the corner, slowly lowering your body down next to it. You side screamed in protest, sweat starting to drip down your body as the wound shifted from a spreading  pain into paralyzing infection.

Which means that it wasn't just a normal blaster the guard was wielding.

Which means that it was one of the million different kinds of biological weapons they had at their disposal.

Which means that not only did it feel like your flesh was being fried and eaten, it likely was being fried and eaten to create the ideal environment for whatever chemical or disease that was inside it to make itself at home and infect you.

Which meant you were fucked.

The world got really fuzzy.

"....hey....Y/N? Are you ok?" your partner said, voice sounding distant.

'Oh...I think I'm dying,' you thought sluggishly as Duxob's face appeared above yours, handsome reptilian face slowly fading.

"Nope," you slurred, making sure to emphasize the pop of the 'P', "I got shot at the port. Thought it was a normal blaster shot but looks like its not...."

"What?"

Oh, he sounded mad.

"Yeah. Don't be mad."

"Oh. Mad doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling," he growled, easing off your jacket and the majority of your shirt off as carefully as he could to inspect the damage. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"We had to get away." There were pieces of fabric melted into the wound and no matter how gentle he was being, it was not pleasant and you couldn't stop the choked noises from escaping. Something cold was sprayed on the blistering skin and you vaguely recognized the smell of antibiotic spray.

'He's so smart,' your mind supplied as it floated in dead, squishy remnants of your ability to think rational and continuous thought, 'Knows just what I need.'

"We could have stopped sooner! This needs to be dressed and treated!"

You didn't have the strength to argue, blinking to fight off the very tempting urge to just pass out and ignore the way your body was succumbing to the infection. There was an unhealthy amount of sweat pooling in your collarbones and in the small of your back but there was ice in your bones.

"Stay awake. Stay the fuck awake Y/N! Do you hear me? I'm going to wrap you up and get some help."

"Too dangerous."

"Fuck you, I swear if-"

You didn't hear what he said next. Everything went silent, like when audio is cut right in the middle of a movie. You were positive he was still talking but his lips were moving way too fast for you to read them and it wasn't like you could see them clearly anyway.

A feeling of calm washes over you before the world goes black.

~~~~~

The first time you regain consciousness feels like something out of one of your nightmares.

There is pain.

Lots and lots of fucking pain.

And you can't move.  Your body was frozen, limbs unresponsive and weak.

And there is one - no, two - faces hovering above you covered in blood and neither of them was Duxob. You didn't recognize either of them but you knew that the blood was yours.  

The screams formed and fizzled out before they could reach your teeth.

'Please. Please let me die. Oh my God, please let me die. I can't....help me. Someone help me!'

The darkness gripped you tight and you hoped that you never woke up again.  

~~~~~~

The second time you wake up, you are in a different room and the pain is gone but it was replaced with a throbbing ache in your joints. Its dark, the only light coming from a small light stick in the corner of the room, but you can make out the shape of something moving in the room behind weighted eyelids.

"Dux?" you rasp, mouth dry and disgusting, "That you?"

The shadow figure moved closer. Right away you knew it wasn't Dux and you couldn't stop the anxious whine from escaping. It crackled painfully in your throat. The dark hid everything from you, fear slamming back into you forcefully.

"Shhh. Shhh little love," the shadow whispered, voice feminine and sweet, "Dux is nearby. Cade had to take him to the back room while R fixed you up."

A cool cloth was placed on your head and you flinched, whining again when you realized you couldn't move away from it. The ache spread throughout your body as it tried to shiver. The bed beside your hand dipped before a soft hand stroked your cheek and hair.

"Rest. You are out of danger now. I'll let Dux know you know you woke up," the shadow said, a smooth lilt to its voice as they continued to soothe you. "He worries."

As much as you want to protest, to jump up and demand answers, scream for Duxob to come in and protect you from the shadow and this strange, awful place, you couldn't help but the shadow's touch was comforting. Something beeped somewhere in the darkness followed by a burst of sweet-smelling aroma.

Before you could stop yourself, you slipped gently back into unconsciousness with the bitter knowledge of waking up alone on your tongue.

~~~~~~

The third time you woke up, you felt better. The throbbing ache was centralized to the spot where you knew your wound was. You kept your eyes closed for a few moments, cataloging your body, relieved when it seems that all your limbs seemed back online and capable of movement.

"Y/N?" a familiar voice asked and you couldn't help the grin as it formed on your mouth.

"Dux?"

"Yeah, its me," the sound of wood scraping on wood filled the room and the bed dipped a little, "I was starting to think Jazza lied."

"Who?"

"Don't worry about it right now," he murmured quietly and you didn't have to look to see that his face was next to yours on the pillow, "How do you feel?"

"Sore," you whimpered, shifting a bit on the bed, "but good. Better."

"Good. Good."

After a moment of struggle, you were able to roll your head to side and open your eyes. Duxob's face was, indeed, very close to yours on the pillow. Close enough that you could trace the green patterns in his iris's.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hey."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok."

"Promise?"

He chuckled at that, the sound reverberating through the pillow, "Promise. Go back to sleep. You need more rest."

As soon as the words left his lips, you yawned, sending what was probably a really nasty-smelling gust of gross-mouth into his face. His face contorted in mild disgust but stayed put. You admired his restraint.

"Sleep." There was a hint of command in his tone.

So you did, eager to fall into a place that was just Dux's cool hands and vibrant scales.

~~~~~~

Weeks had passed before you were able to stay awake for more than three hours and each time you woke up, Duxob was there with fresh blankets, soup, and a new story about what he had done while he waited for you to wake up again.

You quickly became acquainted with Jazza, a fiery little humanoid Flazian woman with artificial purple eyes and scars across her pink body who you recognized as the shadow who lulled you back to sleep, Cade, a small golden alien (you couldn't place his species for the life of you) with bright orange antennae and tattoos covering his body, and R, a tall tentacled Carcog who trained as a doctor on Pantone but left the practice to lead a rebellion after he discovered that the institution that hired him had been giving placebos to the poorer populations of beings instead of actual medicine.

You had also learned that the building you were in was where R worked to heal the disenfranchised and those injured by border agents and those they work for in the various riots and rages he leads and organizes. It was beaten down and broken, windows boarded up with wood and red tape, floors splintered and decayed, regularly infested with at least three kinds of parasites at any given moment - seven if Cade didn't parasite bomb once a week -, and the smell was enough to make you vomit. It was incredibly well-hidden - it had to be in order to fly under the radar for extended periods of time.

However, despite the shitty state of the building and most of its rooms overall, the healing rooms were immaculate and perfectly sterile. The medicine cabinets were lined up neatly along the walls and labeled with the different medicines they stored. There were neat charts and lists hanging on the walls - patient schedules, post-its with cute doodles on them, restock lists, all manner of relevant papers.

Air purifiers hung in every corner just high enough to reach and adjust if needed and you were thankful for them because without them, you could imagine it getting quite stuffy in the room.

Cade had found the building right before the last time they had been forced to run - over 3 years ago - and they still hadn't been found, which put you at ease. You wouldn't be able to fight your way out if there was a raid on the building.

Especially since you were unarmed and unable to get out of bed without risking rupturing all of R's hard work.

They were quite the trio, always on the go and doing something, getting in each other's way - sometimes on purpose just to get a rise out of the other - but, despite their strangeness, you were grateful. They saved your life and, from what Jazza had said, kept Duxob from losing his shit all over the place while you were out.

"Dinnertime!" Jazza sang as she sauntered into the room, a steaming bowl of gross mush that was supposed to promote rapid healing.

"Oh goody," you reply sarcastically, dog-earing the page you were on and putting the book off to the side so she could place the bowl on your lap table.

"Hush now," she mock-scolded, purple eyes whirring as they focused on you, "This is helping."

"But it tastes like shit," you whine loudly, exaggerating random syllables, "Its NASTY!"

"Child, I will spank you."

"Pfft, that is sooooo not a punishment," you smirked, wiggling your eyebrows at her as she cackled.

"If it makes you feel better, the rest of us are stuck on this canned garbage until we can make another run and it tastes even worse than the shit R is making for you."

"You're right, I do feel better."

"Oh fuck off."

You laughed, only stopping when your side started to throb. R had told you all about the stuff you had been shot with, and, because you waited so long before getting it treated, you would likely always have a residual pain in your side from where the nerves had been frayed and rebuilt.  Over time, the pain would fade into a more manageable level and you'd be able to resume most activities but it would likely never go away.

It bummed you out in more ways than you could ever imagine and for once, you were thankful Duxob wasn't in the room. You were 90% sure R had already told him everything a;ready, there was no way he wasn't going to get some answer from R after he had fixed you up, but you sure as hell didn't want to have a conversation about it.

"So, I have more questions," Jazza smiled and you groaned obnoxiously, causing her to shoot you a playful glare.

Jazza had grown up with very little knowledge of the worlds beyond her own, having come from a very secretive sub-community on a moon in some quadrant you hadn't even heard of, and only started experiencing other beings when she hitched a ride with Cade off her birth world. As a result, she had at least 20 new questions for you every time she came in and grilled you endlessly as she tried to understand. Most of the time, her questions were about humans and Earth but there were times when her curiosity drifted to your partner.

It was sweet, the way she lit up when something made sense to her. She's get all starry eyed and excited and you felt a pang of loss over your own loss of wonder.

"Ok. Shoot."

"What is up with Dux's scales? One minute they're green. Then they're blue. They get really bright and then dim down like a Hashi craft. I fucking turned around yesterday and he had bright red fucking elbows for no reason and I don't know dude, is he sick? Does he need a catheter too?"

If you had been drinking, you would have choked, "First of all, thank you for reminding me that I have one of those in right now. I really needed to be reminded that I can't pee on my own."

"You are welcome," she responds with all the seriousness of condolence.

" Secondly, its partially how he communicates," you said, rolling noodles onto your fork, "Alzeanian scales are a lot more complex than what people think. Probably because they don't leave their planet often and anyone who visits their planet gets killed so no one really has any data on them." You shrug, dipping your fork of noodles in the little sauce pot. "Each scale looks like its just a flat color from a distance but the closer you get, the more you can see that they are more of an iridescent duo-chrome. Alzeanians can control how muted or how bright their colors are and can make them shift from regardless of where they are standing in the light. Duxob has a green to blue-purple shift in the majority of his scales. In others, he has a gold to red shift and he has a tiny patch that shifts between purple and red but that's literally just on his elbow. Depending on where we are and what we are trying to do, he uses them to talk to me from a distance."

"That is so cool," Jazza whispers, eyes wide and whirring as she slurps down her own food with her double-tongue.

"It can be," you acknowledge, "and its always nice knowing that your partner is adept at handing any kind of situation and can alert you real fast if things get...unsavory. I lucked out big time that he took me on."

You couldn't help the twinge of sadness that came when you thought too deeply about Duxob's presence in your life and the implications of how recent events were going to change that.

"How so? I saw your Wanted reel. You are quite handy with a gun," she grinned, nudging you with a dirty hand and you couldn't help but grin back. You were extremely proud of your Wanted reel. It really captured your insanity and desperation for freedom. Other outlaws try to seem as scary as possible when they know they are being filmed to dissuade anyone from coming after them.

Not you though.

You welcomed the challenge.

'Come and get me. I dare you.'

"I try."

"You succeed."

"Its all I know how to do. Wield a gun and fix bikes," you shift your now empty bowl away from you. There is a bitterness lurking there, something you try to keep down as much as possible. Jazza seems to understand.

"Lets change your bandages," she suggests and you are grateful for the change in topic.

~~~~~~

You hate physical therapy.

Hated it.

You also hated Duxob.

Because the piece of shit loved to get you up early and do the exercises with you until you cried.

This morning was no different. The stupid lizard wouldn't stop smiling as he guided you into each stretch.

"Stop enjoying this," you grumbled as he pushes down on your torso so you get an actual stretch instead of one of the fakes ones you did before he took over because you didn't see the point of putting yourself in more pain.

"I'm not," he said, smile stretched, sharp, jagged teeth on display, even further on his usually stoic face. Fucking liar.

"You are, you - ow, ow, ow, owwwww," you screeched as he eased you into the most painful of the stretches, "Whhhhhyyyyy?"

"You need to use your muscles again. You were in a coma on and off for two weeks and you've been recovering in bed for two more. You're going to get squishy and useless."

"I already am squishy and useless though!"

"No, you aren't," he murmured, letting you come out of the stretch and falling back onto the bed, "And you need to get your body used to movement again."

"Leave me to die," you whine dramatically, turning your head and throwing your arm over your eyes like a princess.

The words formed and hit your mouth before they hit your brain and the silence that follows is deafening.

"I think recent circumstances would suggest that I wouldn't," Duxob says, soft and displeased.

"I know," you sigh.

~~~~~~

"Tell me," Jazza begins, a couple of days later, "How'd you get hurt anyway? I feel like we've talked about literally everything else since you've been here but that. You had a pretty sizable wound when you came in. R wasn't sure you were going to pull through and he's done multiple surgeries on Gorglax creatures."

"Oh um, well," you wrack your brain for a good explanation but the look on Jazza's face suggests a finger right in your side if you lie. "Ok well. We had gotten off a port wagon and the usual 'run for your lives before the space coppers get you' game ensued. Dux had managed to get a hold of one of their stun bombs and released it, paralyzing the border guards. Most of them anyway." You take a deep breath, a weird flash of emotion flowing through you as you relived it. Ew. Not going there. "There was a smaller one following close behind us as we fled from the port. I don't know if he saw me or what, maybe he completely disregarded me as being the less important catch - whatever - but he aimed at the back of Dux's bike. His recharger wasn't in the best shape - I only had duct tape with me when I rewired it - and any sort of hit would have caused an explosion. He took aim at it and I swerved in front of him, causing him to slam on the breaks and swerve away."

Your side throbbed dully at the memory of your skin splitting open as the gun went off anyway, haphazardly, hitting you just enough to burn away a chunk of your body.

"It went off anyway  and got me in the back as I was speeding away."

"It wasn't a direct hit?"

"No, thankfully."

"Then why was it so bad?"

You chuckled awkwardly, "I, um, didn't tell Dux I had gotten hurt so we, kinda, sorta...drove for 12 hours before I collapsed and he brought me to you."

The furious look on Jazza's pretty face would have been hilarious if it hadn't been for the fact it was directed at you, "You are an idiot."

"Hey, no I-"

"Yes you are! Did you have some kind of death wish?!"

"No-o...I-"

"You what? What could possibly have gone through your head that would justify you allowing yourself to burn and rot?"

It was silent for a moment as you tried to think of a reason other than the truth but, it just wasn't worth it. Not anymore. You were tired.

"I thought it was a normal hit, something minor," you whispered, unable to keep looking into the girl's pretty purple eyes, "I thought that I'd likely be okay. We'd stop, I'd patch myself up, and we'd rest. It wasn't until we got there that I realized I was fucked but even so, I was content. It hurt like a bitch but I've long accepted that I'm going to die in a shoot out or in a shitty sleep room in some shitty port," you sighed, leaning back into your lumpy pillow and rubbing your face, "And you, if I was gone....Dux would be safe. Safer, I should say."

Jazza's round face softened, the anger melting into a calm understanding.

"How so?" Her voice was soft, like the night she had soothed you to sleep in the shadows.

"I am a liability. I am no use to him, not really. I get hurt more. I eat more. I sleep more. I am more high maintenance than he is. I require things he doesn't and  that make being on the road difficult. There is a reason humans aren't an ideal partner, especially when you are running from space cops! I mean, look at where I am now? In bed! Hurt! He had to go around in a strange place and put himself at risk to try and find someone who could help. And he's waiting for me out of some misplaced whatever when we both know he could dip at any moment and he'd survive just fine!"

You didn't realize you were screaming until you stopped to catch your breath, throat hoarse and frustrated tears rolling down your face. Everything that had bottled up the last few years poured out, exploding in a tsunami of bullshit you didn't want to have to deal with. There was a throbbing in your side that you knew was from overexertion but you didn't give a fuck anymore.

"He would be fine," you reiterated, suddenly feeling sluggish. The drip in your arm had turned up on its own at the feel of your elevated heart rate and increasing level of agitation. R had set it up to monitor your activity and keep you from doing something stupid out of boredom and ripping yourself open. It was such a staple in your life that you had forgotten it was even in.

"No, I really wouldn't."

Oh shit.

He did not.

"Dux?" your mouth was slow, dripping over the syllable as he entered the room. A silent conversation took place between him and Jazza, one too fast for your slushy mind to process, before Jazza took off out of the room without another word.

The door closed and he sighed, all but collapsing on the chair next to you bed, looking more ragged than you had ever seen him before. His scales flashed and shifted uneasily as he looked at you.

"It seems we need to talk," he said, the finality of his tone telling you a talk was going to happen despite his phrasing.

"If you want."

"No but we're going to."

"Fine, you start."

Coward, you scolded yourself but hey, feelings were scary, which is why you never dealt with him.

"Fine," he growled, scooting the chair even closer and putting himself all in your personal bed space, "Things are going to change."

"I figured," you shrugged, "I can't run anymore. My side will never allow me to do all the strenuous activity of being an outlaw."

"Agreed. You can't do that anymore," he said, eyes roaming over the bandages peeking through the shredded top you were wearing before meeting your eyes again, "So I came up with a solution."

You leaned your head back, your neck unable to hold it up due to the sedation pumping through you, "Where are you going to take me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'd like for you to drop me off in a place I'll be able to get around easily enough. I liked that little blue planet we stopped at like 2 years ago."

"You aren't going anywhere."

"But you just said I can't run anymore. I can't stay here forever and we are still Wanteds. I'm going to need to be in a place where I can live and blend in without drawing suspicion."

"Who says you can't stay here?," he asked, harsh golden-green eyes boring into yours, "And who says that I'm going to ditch you on some random planet?"

"Dux, I can't," you pause, mind really blurry because he isn't making any sense and it's making you anxious, "I am very drugged. Please stop."

His gaze softens and he reaches a stubby clawed hand out to stroke your head, "Calm down, ashistoiro. You are ok. You are safe. I am here."

"Ashi-what?"

"Ashistorio, Y/N. Beloved in Alzeanian...well, the closest translation for it," he murmured, claws scraping gently along your skin, "I discussed it with R. He is letting us stay. There is a bunker attached to this building that he is going to let us have until its time for all of us to leave. I am not leaving you. I won't. I can't. You are my biggest asset."

It wasn't a normal confession of love, not by a long shot, but it was one of the most meaningful you had ever heard.

And you hated that you were passing out in the middle of it.

"Yeah?"

He smiled as he watched you nod off, "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

You couldn't wait to wake up.

 ~~~~~~

[ikesenhell]

Into the Deep

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 7. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine on my page. NOTES: HOLY SHIT. It’s been a minute. Admittedly, I’m more or less finishing this for @chezzkaa (because you asked about it and were really invested) and @velociraptor-detective (because I know you like post-apoc). But I’m going to finish the goddamn thing. Here you go. I’m doing it. We’re almost there. TRIGGER WARNINGS: drowning, panic-inducing scenario, sickness, some talk of mental illness, implied death. 

---

Masamune didn't have his hands free to brace. The road ran roughshod, the ancient truck they were bound in barely hanging on by the hinges. No doubt whatever shocks it had were long gone. The way their captors drove didn't help. One of them had an arm hanging out the back slat window, eyes never leaving them. The cold moonlight pooled in the truck bed and glimmered on faded red paint. 

Kicking out his feet, Masamune stretched enough to brace his body between the short sides of the truck bed and stop her from banging into the back. He fixed him with a grateful glance. They couldn’t talk--even if they weren’t gagged, they had an audience--but he could read the muted question in her dark eyes. What now?

What now indeed? The projector they’d rescued from the turbine was somewhere in the truck. They’d disabled it, but no doubt the cultists could just pop it back. And that was assuming that it was their ghost ship’s source in the first place. The other knew they’d gone to the turbine field, but after that? Their tracks were muddy and difficult. Mitsuhide was good at his job, and Hideyoshi excellent with the land, but given enough time…

Well, time was not on their side if this ‘Messenger’ was as bad news as Masamune assumed. 

They turned down another dirt road. In the distance, he could see the faint lights of Waŋblí Hoȟpi flickering. So close! And yet… 

These corn fields were familiar. Weren’t these the ones they’d run through those days ago, shot a flare gun by the well and made an escape? That figured. They’d come pretty close to their source, then. Masamune stilled his beating heart as best he could. They’d get out of this. They had to. He’d get her free, or one of the others would track them down…

(Or they wouldn’t. And that was not the end Masamune was willing to entertain. If it took him fighting til the end, at the very least, she would get out of this. He swore it to himself on his father’s grave.)

At last, the truck pulled into the driveway. The same ramshackle house as before, weathered white siding and the screened porch, THE GODS COME FOR FAITHFUL spray painted on the side in bright green. This was it. Masamune wriggled one of his bound hands to her, just close enough for them to link pinkies. She squeezed tight. 

One of their captors opened the cab door and motioned with a shotgun. “Come on.”

It was awkward, but they both wriggled themselves out of the flatbed. Bugs battered against the porch light, their impact of bodies a quiet thud in the still night. Where was the wind? A near supernatural calm lay over the plains, as if it held its breath for the next step. Someone jabbed a gun hard into his back. 

“Move.” 

What choice did they have? Masamune kept his eyes open, senses peeled for anything to change the tide of their fate. Maybe this ‘Messenger’ was more amenable to reason. Onward they walked in the night, through the narrow corn pathways. He could hear her behind him. That was the only thing keeping his pulse calm. Breathe. He had to breathe for her. 

Finally, they came into the same clearing as before. The eerie green light spilled from the missile silo-turned-well, pouring over the grass. They had one of these in Waŋblí Hoȟpi--one missile had ejected in the old War, so it was empty and safe for storing water. This one? This one, he had no idea. Insofar as he knew, the other one had never gone off. Was this even drinkable? It looked like it was in use...

Just like that, it clicked. 

Masamune had seen radiation poisoning before. It was usually obvious. In the south and the far east, the ground was so polluted that the headaches came on within miles of the containment border. Anxiety, tremors, convulsions, nausea, vomiting--he’d seen it all. There were some brave souls that ventured beyond the concrete walls to try and repair the last and greatest ecological disaster, but it was so dangerous that they either spent mere minutes or never came back. 

But those were the large-scale examples. Once he’d had a companion on the delivery road, a man named Sampson. An odd, jittery fellow with a solid fifty years on him, he would pace circles around the campfire until exhaustion finally took him, hallucinating ghosts and talking to trees he swore moved. That was just him. At the time, Masamune didn't think too much into it. He knew Sampson was from back east, but the radiation meter never clocked the man too badly. 

Now he thought twice. What if that was what became of those who ate off irradiated ground? Did it pass through you like water? What if--for example--the water from a still-active missile silo was your drinking and crop water? Masamune stared around him at the wide eyed, stretched faces. Thin hair, gaunt frames, shaky hands…

One of their captors--the eldest present, maybe fourty--approached the well and lifted his hands to the black sky. “We return to you, Messenger. We bring you those you have claimed. You have blessed them. They are chosen in your eyes, and so we shall give them to you!”

Hands wrestled him and her forward, shunting them to the edge of the well. The light was blinding bright from this angle, impossible to see beyond the lip. Someone dragged cinderblocks and rope into view, and she shuddered.

Oh no. Oh hell no. 

Masamune--acting more on reflex than sense, in retrospect--slammed his forehead into the man next to him, wrenching his arms around for freedom. Six more men piled onto him; he collided hard with the dirt, his eyepatch grinding into his cheek. She released a muted scream and something silenced her. No! Masamune fought savagely and it meant nothing. There were just too many of them. He could feel his captors binding his ankles with rope, lashing them to the cinderblock, dragging him toward the well--

No. She couldn’t die. Not like this. Hang him--he wouldn’t let her, he’d promised, he’d promised, he’d promised--

In the corner of his good eye he caught sight of her, her dark hair emerald in the light. Two of the men were carrying her; she’d put up enough of a fight that a third was still writhing on the ground. No good. They were shunted back to back, wrists tied firmly together. He grabbed onto her hand with his, holding tight. 

I’m never letting go. I’m never, never, never letting go.

She squeezed back, her grip so tight it burned. Masamune rolled his head back to rest on hers. It was the only solace he could give. Someone was chanting. The words made no sense, spiraling in his mind. They didn't even matter. She inhaled hard behind him, bracing. 

And then--with no ceremony--one of the men placed a booted foot on their shoulders and shoved them in. 

Masamune considered himself fortunate that he was used to shock. The water was so frigid that it nearly knocked his senses clean. Somehow he held his breath. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale. Fight. Fight for her. He could feel her body struggling, the cinderblocks dragging them down, everything pressing around them. The light was so bright that he squeezed his eye shut to spare it. 

Plan. Plan. Plan. Need a plan. 

What could he remember of the other missile silo, the one they’d gutted for the well? He was a child then. Distant memories of his father with the others down at the sight filled his mind, their bronze shoulders in the sun as they hefted down timber frames and bags of concrete. They’d blocked something. 

Blocked what blocked what what was there--

Masamune flexed his wrists hard, then contracted them. The rope loosened. Going up wouldn’t save them. They’d just be back in the belly of the beast, even if they got the cinder blocks off, but--struggling one hand free, he grabbed tight onto her wrist and swam blindly forward, searching his hand along the wall. Rusted metal scraped against his fingertips. His lungs burned and his chest screamed and his mind wailed against the pressure--

There was a divet in the wall. Desperately, he hammered his fist against it. 

A deafening rush greeted him--and they were jerked like ragdolls and slammed onto a hard floor. Masamune scrabbled to his feet. No time to absorb his surroundings! If this were a room (it looked like it to his water-logged brain), then he had to stop the incoming water before it was too late. Weighing himself against the pouring tide with the cinder block, he slammed his fist into the rusted wall until the sliding door crashed back down. 

They were safe. She heaved from the sodden floor, coughing up a lungful of water, and he collapsed by her. 

“Kitten,” he gasped hard. “Kitten, slow down. Inhale slowly.”

She clutched at his wrist, pressing her face into her arm. He stroked her soaked braid, rubbed his thumb along the curve of her neck, and finally absorbed their surroundings. It looked like a control room. Of course--missile silos once had rooms. It wasn’t just a tube. Mechanics and engineers needed access. The walls were sheet metal in varying stages of rust, peeling away at corners to allow faint drips into the foot of water on the tile floor. A thin ripple by the sealed door behind them let him know that their sanctuary wasn’t water tight--not completely--but it was good enough for now. At the moment, they were safe. 

“Masamune,” she gagged. “Masamune--”

“I’m right here, Kitten--”

They were alive. He pressed a hand against her neck and felt her pulse hammering there. They were alive. She whimpered, and he dragged her into his arms and kissed her forehead like he could drag her inside of his chest and burn alive in his love for her. 

“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you. I love you. I love you--”

Had she let him, he would’ve said it a million times. She didn't. Instead she wrapped herself around him, her body pressed so tight that it hurt, her lips like the crash of a tidal wave. He gripped her hair tight and shoved his tongue savagely inside of her mouth, soaking in all the heat of her body. Her nails were in his shoulder and her moan echoed in his pulse and her heart one with his and he tasted water and blood and the faintest hint of her lavender soap. 

How had he ever left her? 

At last she pulled away from him. Her desperation was still in her eyes, but her hands gripping his conveyed that instead. 

“I love you,” she answered him, and his heart surged so hard and loud in his throat he wondered if it would burst. “I love you, too. You’re alive.”

Masamune conjured up some of his bravado to reassure her. “I promised you. What do you say we work on getting out of this mess?”

For the first time in hours, she smiled at him. All of the fear and panic of the last minutes ebbed away. How could he be afraid, looking in her eyes? “Let’s do this.”

---

The silo wasn’t in bad shape, all things considered. Some hallways were too flooded to manage further up, so they descended instead. 

“Maybe we can drain it,” she mused aloud. “Do you think there’s a mechanism for that? I would think someone must’ve considered that as a possibility.”

“Maybe,” Masamune allowed. “I gotta be honest, I don’t know enough about these things to know that. Besides, I’d be concerned if we did.”

“Why’s that?”

He tested the latch to another room, pressing the ‘open’ button briefly as a test. It slid into another dry room, the water from the previous room rushing in to fill the gap around their feet. They sloshed into what looked like an observation room. A broad pane of glass looked out onto the center of the flooded silo, and there--leaning awkwardly in the water, barely latched in place--was the missile itself. 

“Think I’ve figured out what’s happening here,” he mused. “I think it’s the water.”

She fixed him with a quizzical stare. “What do you mean?”

“Radiation poisoning I’ve only seen in large doses.” Masamune inspected the edges of the window. It seemed water-tight enough. They had time, at least. “So I didn't really think about it, if I’m honest. Ain’t a lot of radiation out here. But this missile has been just sitting here with this nuclear core for however long, and then the water in this silo has been absorbing everything else inside here, and then they drink it and use it for their crops…”

“Oh.” She paused. “Oh. Do you--”

“I mean…” He hesitated, investigating the console for any clues of what to do. “I’m no expert on it, Kitten. But I’ve seen radiation make a few people go cooky. There’s some of the classic signs: can’t keep food down, thin hair, shaking, anxiety. Combine that with an illusion of a ghost ship, maybe someone that’s already got a few screws jostled,  and you might just get something a little… out there. No ghosts, no hauntings, no curses--just radiation and mental illness.”

She leaned over the console, pressing her face to the glass. Masamune followed her gaze down. It wasn’t so far from the bottom now. He could see the edges of the silo floor. In the faint glow of green work lights, the skeletons of less fortunate victims glittered. There they were, no doubt, all the kidnapped people of the plains. 

“Well,” she breathed. “We have to end this here, don’t we?”

The lights got fainter the further they descended. Boiler rooms and old storage closets were the only things left. Masamune was close to backtracking when she yanked on his hand. 

“What do you think our coordinates right now are?”

“Coordinates?” He repeated dimly. “I dunno, Kitkat. Why?”

She pointed at the floor. It took him a moment, but at long last, what caught her attention swam into view. Once upon a time, someone had spray painted the floor. It barely showed anymore; apparently they’d used glow-in-the-dark paint, and its half life only lasted so long before it stopped fluorescing. It was little more than a gray smear on the tile. In the terrible light, he could barely make out the letters, a smudged arrow pointing at the nearest locked door: ARK. 

[ittakesrain]

a shitshow of a brain-dump

Even though I keep thinking this episode is over, it never is. Or, it hasn’t been yet. Eventually, it will be. Hopefully sometime fucking soon. But today is not that day, my friends.

I went to bed at 4:30pm last night. Like, the afternoon. Slept til 7 this morning, too, which I guess isn’t a bad thing. It certainly beats being conscious. But maybe that’s a bad way to look at it haha, like, I shouldn’t want to be unconscious. It’s just like…how else am I supposed to deal while just waiting this fuckin’ thing out?

I was asking myself what’s better. Crying for hours, tears saturated with anguish and discomfort and uncertainty and fear? Or all-consuming emptiness, nothing left to think or feel or experience, al emotion lost in the void? They both suck. But it’s been changing up nightly, so there’s at least some variety in the fucking depression.

I had therapy this morning, which always helps, and it did help, and I’m so relieved because I’m still kinda riding that high even though I needed my Klonopin (that I’ve been taking daily, because why suffer, I can’t take the suffering).

Anyway. I went in all mopey and folded into myself as usual but she eventually got me talking (damn, how does she do that?) and I was able to breathe for 45 minutes and have that time as a break from wanting to cease existing just to escape the torment. I could go on forever about the miracles that happen there, while we sit next to each other on the floor by the window, but more on that later.

I hung out with a friend after, a fellow mental health warrior, and it was a great distraction, and she totally understood that I needed to bolt outta there once I felt the oncoming, out-of-nowhere panic attack ready to pounce.

Came home. Ate fucking food (berries and cottage cheese, weird but healthy, I guess?). I actually ate something with my therapist today too, she gave me some of those breakfast biscuit things, and I ate them, go me.

I took all my fucking vitamins and supplements. Multi bc I’m not getting enough shit I need, biotin because since I’m not getting the shit I need my hair is falling out. Magnesium because it’s supposed to help with anxiety. PassionFlower extract because that is alsooo supposed to help with anxiety and I am desperate.

I also feel the need to say that I’m doing everything right. I’m taking the meds and stopping to inhale and exhale like a normal human, I’m tryinggggg to stay positive. I’m disheartened (and fucking furious) that this still happened.

Now for the brain-dump part that probably isn’t going to make any sense because it’s literally just random nonsense I typed up throughout the day.

I was thinking about what I want right now (an end to the torture, a plan of attack to kick back at this bullshit, some internal motivation that doesn’t dissipate abruptly and painfully) and about what I need (aside from a damn miracle). Like, how do I ask for help from people? What can I tell them I need? Basically I just need patience. Lots of love and affection (all the hugs and cuddles, please). I need work to be understanding about this. Which they are. It’s just ugh I’m still embarrassed.

Okay, now a word on understanding. I hate when people tell me they understand because unless they have bipolar, they most certainly do not and don’t insult me by saying that you do. I’m not gonna invalidate the pain other people feel, that’d be a shitty thing to do. But like, it’s insulting and upsetting. If I’m trying to explain how in my dark moments I literally CANNOT see clearly, I CANNOT fathom a time when I wasn’t in pain or a time when I won’t be in pain, I CANNOT function…and you tell me you’ve been there? Well then why can’t I just “be positive” and move on, like you apparently were able to do. I don’t wanna rant about this too much, but like. It’s on my mind.

I also had this random thought: I take one step forward, two steps back, two steps forward, one step back. I’m staying in the same place (cue bitter frustration seeping out of my brain). But I’m kinda dancing with it. Dancing in place. Like, what I mean by that is I’m trying. I’m doing new things and trying my best (when I am capable of it) and just. I dunno, is that a good perspective?

Lastly, I’m trying to find a way to love myself even with my malfunctioning, glitch-ridden brain. Even with my blossoming bouquet of mental illnesses. What I really mean by that is I’m trying to be proud of myself in spite of feeling like a total failure. I mean, yeah, surviving on a daily basis is a HUGE accomplishment for someone who’s got a mental illness. If you’re in that category of people, congrats and I’m so proud of you. But like gahhh I wanna be proud of myself and it seems to be a struggle for me. I’m gonna try being patient. I mean, nothing says I can’t get back up on the horse and try again. Actually, I’m gonna do that. Because I really have no choice, but because that’s how I like to think I am. Resilient, blah blah, we know. Bipolars are resilient. But, like. Yeah.

Some definitions:

Fail- to be unsuccessful in achieving one’s goals

Success- the accomplishment of an aim or purpose

Goal- the object of a person’s ambition or effort, the desired aim or result

Ambition- a strong desire to do or achieve something, typically requiring determination and hard work

And some quotes:

“Failure is not a sin” –dunno who said it but my HS principal said this at our graduation

The only way to fail is to not try –again, dunno who said it, but we all know this basic idea, don’t we

“Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently” –apparently Henry Ford said this

Success is a journey, not a destination –I think of happiness the same way, interesting

“Ambition is believing in yourself even when no one else in the world does”

I’m just trying to convince myself that I’m worthy of the time it’s gonna take for me to get my shit to an acceptable level of “together.” The words I typed up there totally aren’t gonna make sense if anyone reads them, buuuuut maybe when I go back and read this thingggg later, it’ll jog something in my brain that helps.

Alrighty. Enough smashing this keyboard for the night.

[gaiyofanfiction]

Save me (8)

Chapter 1: Second Time? - Chapter 2: Awake - Chapter 3: First Love - Chapter 4: Mama - Chapter 5: Reflection - Chapter 6: Lie - Chapter 7: Stigma - Chapter 8: Begin - Chapter 9: taken - Chapter 10: Torture - Chapter 11: The Plan

Reader X Jungkook

Mental Hospital AU

Angst/Thriller/Romance

A/N: Hey all! We’re really hoping you guys are liking the story. Sorry it’s been so long since we updated. It’s been pretty crazy. thank you for sticking with us. ALSO, we’re doing a thing. The first person to guess and comment on this post the correlation with the Doctor, the name of the facility and the fact that he’s a villain in our BTS story, one of us will write that person a personalized one shot of their choice! Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. We did take their personalities and match as best we can with illnesses, however we do not claim that the boys from BTS have these mental illnesses! Also, we did as much research as we can on each disorder. We are not meaning to offend anyone who has these illnesses at all. ALSO, WE DO KNOW BTS CHANGED THEIR ENGLISH NAME TO BEYOND THE SCENE BUT WE’RE USING BULLETPROOF BOYSCOUTS CAUSE IT FITS THE STORY BETTER. Trigger warning: Mentions of mental illness, hospitals, self harm, suicide attempt and abuse. Both Gaisho and I recommend, if you feel like you need to go to the hospital for ANY reason, please don’t be afraid to do so. It can help. If you EVER feel like you need to talk to anyone, vent, or need advice on anything, please do not hesitate to msg us! We’ve been through it all. Character Descriptions so far: Reader- Chronic Depression, Derealization Disorder and Dissociative Amnesia Jin - Narcissistic Personality Disorder (With homicidal tendencies) Suga-Â Narcolepsy and Chronic Depression J-Hope- Bipolar II Disorder Rap Monster- OCD and Paranoia Jimin- Explosive Anger Disorder V-  Schitzoaffective Disorder

Chapter 8: Begin:

        As soon as you make it through the doors of the cafeteria, you notice Jimin sitting in a wheelchair at the table. You, Jungkook and Suga approach the table carefully, as to not startle him. The three of you take the empty seats.

        You turn to Jimin and scan his face. All the passion and love he normally had was gone. He reminded you of what Jin looked like the first time you witnessed the results of an EST treatment.

        “Jimin, how are you?” You hesitantly ask.

        Jimin looks at you, his eyes showing no sign of emotion. “Y/N, there you are. I was worried.” He speaks low, ignoring your question.

        Your eyes widen at his statement. “W-Why were you worried?”

        Jimin struggles to lean forward in his chair. “I heard them. Talking about you.”

        “Jimin, why were they talking about Y/N?” Rap Monster asks, worry laced his voice.

        Jimin’s breathing becomes heavy. “T-They mentioned. Your dreams. And then. EST.” He whispers quietly so only the table can hear.

        The boys look from Jimin to you, confusion passing through their faces. You freeze, eyes open in shock.

        “Y/N, what does he mean about your dreams?” Suga asks curiously.

        You shake your head, feeling an anxiety attack coming on.Pretending not to have a clue what they’re talking about, you say, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

        Jungkook’s features turn hard and dark. “No, they'll never take Y/N. Not while I'm around.” He growls.

        The boys look at him in shock, never hearing him speak like this. Rap Monster was the first one to recover and smiles at Jungkook, saying, “well will all make sure that no one harms Y/N.”

        You look around at the table of boys, all nodding in agreement. Your eyes start to tear up. “Why would you do something like that for me? You just met me a few days ago?”

        “Why wouldn't we? You're a very attractive girl and a guy like me needs to be surrounded by attractive people.” Jin sends you a flying kiss.

        The rest of the boys rolls their eyes and groan. “What he means is, you're one of us now. You've done so much for us, now we want to help you. You're our family and we always have our families backs.” V sends you a smile.

        'It seems like V is doing okay now. That's good.’ you smile at the boys and bow your head. “Thank you. That means so much.”

        Suddenly Jungkook grabs your arm and stands up. You look at him confused until you see him nod his head towards the other side of the room. You see Dr. Seung Ho Choi talking with three of his nurses. Your eyes widen as fear shoots straight through you.

        Jungkook talks to the boys in a low voice, “I'm taking Y/N back to my room. Please try to keep them occupied til individual therapy, at least then they'll be too busy to do anything.”

        The boys nod in understanding. With that, Jungkook drags you quickly out the door and down the hall to his room. Once you're inside, he closes the door quietly. It's quiet for a few more minutes as he tries to stop his trembling body and heavy breathing.

        You look at him with concern. “Kookie? Are you okay?”

        The boy focuses his attention on you, sending a small smile. “I'm okay. Just trying to calm my anxiety.”

        You nod your head in understanding. “I know how that feeling is. I have anxiety attacks too.”

        Peering over his shoulder to look at you, he is now just realizing he has you in his room and he starts to freak out even more. You walk up to him and have him face you. The both of you blush, but you pull his sleeve to have him sit next to you on the bed. 

        You both sit there awkwardly, but he finally talks, “so I now know at least a little more about you. You get anxiety attacks. Care to elaborate why you're in here?”

        You shake your head and fiddle with your fingers. “I-Im still not ready yet, I'm sorry. I'm worried once I tell you, you'll end up disappearing like the rest.” You mumble that last part under your breathe.

        Jungkook opens his mouth to make a comment but decided against it. “That's okay. I can tell you why I'm here, if you like. Since everyone else has told their stories and I’m the last one.”

        You nod your head motioning for him to continue.

        “Well, the doctors tell me I have something called Agoraphobia.”

        “Agoraphobia? What is that? I've heard of it.”

        Jungkook scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “The best way I can describe it is the fear of everything. At least that's how it feels. Well to be exact, it's the fear of being in a situation with nowhere to escape. It's a severe anxiety disorder.”

        “Oh I see.” You tilt your head in curiosity. “How would that end you up in here though?”

        Jungkook sighs and fiddle with his bed sheets. “Well, it's kind of an embarrassing story, really.”

        You scoff, making him raise an eyebrow. “I bet you it's not as embarrassing as mine.” You mumble.

        He looks at you with amusement, but continues. “All throughout my childhood, I was a pretty sheltered child. And when I say sheltered, I mean I literally never went anywhere. I was home schooled up until high school, so I didn't have any friends and I didn't do any school clubs. My parents wanted me to focus on my studies, so when I got into highschool, I would be top of my class. The fifteen year old me who didn’t have anything. The world was so big, I was so small.”

        Jungkook’s face twists in pain at the memories. “They didn't expect their plan to backfire. The first day of highschool was the first time I was social in any form of the word. I didn't expect there to be so many people, so much noise, so close in contact to me. I freaked out. I ended up running into the forest preserve next to the school to hide until my parents came to pick me up.”

        His body starts to shake. You can tell he was struggling to tell you his past. Empathetic as you were, you intertwine your hand with his and with the other hand you lightly cup his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m right here… Keep going.” 

        “My parents found out I skipped my first day and they told me if it happened again, I'd be grounded. Well, they didn't really need to worry about that. I wouldn't leave my room after that day. Every time I would try, I started hyperventilating and my body would shake. I'd end up right back in my room with the door locked. They would ask what's wrong and I told them I wasn't feeling good.They would get my school work and bring it home so I would do it in my room. But that excuse didn't last.”

        Jungkook was choking on his words. He took your hand and pressed the back of it against his cheek. Your heart breaks for him. “Listen, Kookie, you don’t have to tell me, you can -”

        “One day my father dragged me out from my room and took me to school. He said that if I run again, then I could never come back home. I tried my best, I swear I did. But, I just couldn’t take it. I fell into a squat and covered my head yelling for my ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’. It was so embarrassing and traumatizing. I became a laughing stalk and my parents shunned me… So, they brought me here. Never seen them since. Not one visit.”

        You tilt your head. “How long have you been here exactly?”

        Jungkook lightly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand. “I was the last one to arrive out of the bangtan boys. I’ve been here for about a year.”

        You look at him in shock. “A year?! Oh my god, that means they’ve been here for more than a year!”

        Jungkook nods. “I was so nervous to be in here, I didn’t know if I would make it. But meeting the Hyungs really helped me. They’ve done so much for me that I feel like I could never fully repay them. I would do anything for them. When I found out about them going in for EST, it broke my heart. I feel like I’m going to die when hyung is sad. When hyung is in pain, it hurts more than when I’m in pain.“

        You look at him with a thoughtful look. “Kookie, have you ever had to go for EST?”

        He swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “We all have. Some more than others. Usually Jin, Jimin and V go the most because of their conditions. But we’ve all been at least twice.”

        You look down at your hand intertwined with his. ‘The fact that they have to go at all is sick. This place is terrible. The faster we can get out, the better.’

        The two of you were quiet for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company. Suddenly you have a thought. Before you can really think it through, you blurt it out quickly.

        “Kookiepleasegooutwithme!”

        Jungkook looks at you wide eyed. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

        You swallow the lump in your throat and speak a little slower, “w-will you go out with me? I know we’re stuck in here but i mean after. Please, go out with me after.”

        Jungkook just stares at you for a moment before a wide bunny-like smile appears on his face. “Y-yes! Of course I would love to go out with you!”

        You smile back at him and squeeze his hand. “You know, you look like a cute little bunny when you smile like that.”

        He chuckles. “So I’ve been told.” He wiggles his nose, making you giggle.

        Suddenly he takes your hand and places it on his chest. “You feel that? You make me feel alive! I don’t ever want you to leave.” 

        Your heart soars at the thought of making him feel that way. “Jungkook, c-can I-”

        Before you can finish your sentence, the door to his room flies open to reveal three nurses, one female, two male. Jungkook and you quickly stand up, taking a step back away from them. Jungkook puts an arm in front of you instinctively.

        The female nurse takes a step towards you with a cold look on her face, grabbing your arm. “Y/N, if you’ll please come with us.”

        You try to pull away, absolutely terrified. “W-Why? What’s going on?”

        One of the male nurses comes and grabs your other arm, roughly pulling you to him, making sure you can’t get away.

        “W-Wait, where are you going? Why are you taking Y/N?” Jungkook reaches out for your hand but the other male nurse grabs him, pulling him away from you.

        The female nurse sends Jungkook a strained smile. “It’ll be okay. Y/N is just going in for a short treatment because of an incident that happened this morning.”

        Fear flashes through Jungkook’s face as he realizes what’s going on. “W-Wait! No, you can’t take her!” He struggles more, reaching out for your hand. You try to grab it but you’re being pulled back. 

        “Now, Jungkook, dear. You know what happens when you start to act out.” The nurse warns. He ignores her entirely.

        “No! Please don’t take her! She’s the only one that doesn’t trigger my phobia! PLEASE! NO, DON’T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME!” Jungkook starts yelling and putting up more of a struggle to get to you.

        The nurse raises an eyebrow and mumbles something to the nurse that’s holding you. Your eyes widen as you hear what he whispers. Suddenly you stop struggling and smile at Jungkook.

        “Kookie, stop.”

         He pauses his struggling to look at you, wide eyed. “Y-Y/N…”

        “Please, I don’t want them to take you too. I’ll be okay, I promise.” You turn to the nurses, who look at you in surprise. “I’ll go quietly, as long as you leave Jungkook here.”

        The female nurse thinks this over before nodding and guiding you out the door. You take one last look at Jungkook, who looks like he’s just had his heart ripped out. You send him a small nervous smile before disappearing around the corner.

        The male nurse lets go of Jungkook after he decides he won’t run after you and leaves him in his room. Jungkook stands there as tears run down his cheeks. ‘No! They took her! W-Where’s everyone?’ Jungkook stumbles out of his room after a few minutes to search for his Hyungs. He finds them all in the game room, just sitting around.

       Rap Monster looks up. “Oh, hey, Jung-” His sentence and smile fades as he sees the state that Jungkook is in. “Jungkook, what’s wrong?”

        The rest of the boys turn their attention on Jungkook, waiting for an answer. Jungkook tries to calm his breathing but failed to do so.

        “T-They took her from me. They took Y/N for EST!” His body movements become random and breathing becomes heavy as his panic attack increases.

        J-hope stands up and tries to get Jungkook to sit down. “Kookie, please try to relax.”

        Jungkook shakes his head, his whole body trembling. “I-I c-can’t. They took her. Right in front of me. They took the one person who didn’t trigger my phobia. The one person who didn’t deserve it.”

        V and Jimin look at each other, tears welling up in their eyes. Suga, Rap Monster and Jin all glance at each other in worry.

        “Kookie, she’s strong. She’ll get through this and she’ll be out soon.” J-hope tries to sooth Jungkook by rubbing his back.

        Time passed. It was time for individual therapy and you still weren’t back yet. One by one the patients go in to have their sessions, but the boys’ minds were elsewhere. After the sessions, they all sit at their usual table in the game room. Suddenly, the door opened. They all glance at the door to see the female nurse roll you to the table in a wheelchair and disappear.

        All the boys look up at you to make sure you’re okay. All they saw was a dead look on your face.

        Jungkook slowly walks up to you, as to not startle you. “Y/N? A-Are you okay?"

        Your eyes start to focus more at hearing a male voice. You look up at the boy in front of you. “W-Who are you?”

[Masterlist]

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

voltron- lance with a cold but doesn't want anyone to know?

(Omg my first voltron prompt..also lowkey nervous bc I’m new to it and everyone already has a million amazing voltron fics and I have nothing new to add to the table :“D on the shorter side so I get used to writing voltron :”) )

Amongst the total debacle of space, discovering alien life, realising that the world was so vast and bigger than the human mind could comprehend, Lance had found another family through his friends. It wouldn’t quite fill the void left by the loss of his family back at earth, but they were loving,  a little ignorant and harsh at times during high drake situations, very rarely at that but Lance understood, given the clusterfuck that was their situation.

The universe had been so much larger and diverse than Lance had could have possibly imagined, so many things he did not know. Among all this, topped with insecurities he had struggled with beforehand, he struggled to find his place in all of this.

His friends were kind to him, never telling him he was useless of any sort, but he couldn’t help but feel it. Watching them, with all their own niches and spectacular talent, he grew a little envious, and wishing he could be that. Wishing he could be a little bit more than this.

So when his body began to break down, he had to ignore it, not wanting to seem any weaker than he already was.

“Paladins! Report to the bridge in 60 ticks!”

Lance groaned, not wanting to leave his comfortable, warm position on his bed. He tightened his sheets around his frame as he regained his senses. As he did, he wished he hadn’t because he became aware of a powerful headache, a stuffy nose and a fevered body.

As soon as he realised what was up with him, he widened his eyes, taking his ailment as a challenge. No way would he be taken down by something as simple as a cold.

He pushed himself out of his bed, trying to get ready as quickly as possible. Lance instantly regretted his past decision as his headache intensified, causing him to feel weak and woozy. He groaned softly, until a sudden tickle brewing in his sinuses had him inhaling sharply and sneezing harshly towards the floor.

Lance groaned yet again, the force of the sneeze causing his head to whip forwards, the sudden movement doing no wonders for his already painful headache. He laid a hand against the wall, steadying himself as a wave of dizziness hit him, sighing, bracing himself for what was no doubt going to be a rough day.

“Lance, you’re late!” Allura sighed, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Nah, y'all are just early! Party doesn’t start til I walk in,” Lance beamed, trying not to raise any suspicion towards his illness.

Keith rolled his eyes fondly, averting his attention back to Allura, “So, what’s the agenda for today?”

“I would like you paladins to partake in an extensive training session today, to bring you all back in shape for any unexpected attacks,” She explained.

“Of course, we appreciate how well you’ve all been working and how strong you’ve all gotten, but there is always room for improvement!” Coran grinned.

“Great!” Lance beamed with feigned enthusiasm for the others. ‘Great,’ he beamed sarcastically to himself.

“I’m ready to kick your ass, Keith,” Lance grinned, all this forced energy already draining his weak body, causing him to feel warm and dizzy. 'I am definitely not ready to kick any ass, Keith,’ Lance thought to himself.

Shiro raised his eyebrow slightly, noticing a slight rasp and congestion to Lance’s voice. He cleared his throat as the rest of the team running off to get into their gear, catching up with Lance.

“Are you okay, Lance?” Shiro asked kindly.

“What? I’m fan-tastic, ready to seize the day!” Lance beamed.

“Hmm,” Shiro merely grunted, not too convinced but let it go for the time being, giving Lance a friendly pat on the back.

Lance kept his smiley, energetic facade on until Shiro and everyone else were out of his sight, and then proceeded to cough a short fit of chesty wet coughs into his arm.

Lance groaned softly, wondering how he was going to get through today.

Lance dodged Keith’s swing sloppily, last minute and nearly tripping over his own feet. He breathed noisily through his mouth, his nose completely stuffed. He could barely even see Keith with his vision turned a blur from his awful headache.

“You’re slacking, Lance!” Keith taunted, dodging a sloppy swing from Lance with ease.

Lance made a groan of frustration and annoyance, his nose starting to burn with a tickling sensation, averting all his attention towards it. Due to the overpowering sensation, he lost all his concentration and ended up being hit by Keith. Extremely hard.

Lance let out a hiss of pain, swallowing to stop himself from being any louder than he    already was being. He dropped everything, his frame tipping slightly as he rested his hands on his knees to support himself. The one good thing that came from this was that at least now, he lost the about the tickle, but instead had a throbbing pain in his leg.

Keith’s face went completely white, eyes widening in shock. He rushed towards Lance in worry, dropping everything. He wrapped an arm around Lance’s shoulder to help him stand upright and steady.

“Are you okay?!” Keith asked frantically, guilt dropping out of his voice.

“I’m fine, Keith!” Lance snapped, pushing the boy off of him and stood straight on his own, causing his head to spin. He sniffled weakly, trying to steady himself so he could see straight.

Pidge came up to them, examining Lance’s leg, raising an eyebrow quizzically, “There’s not much damage done here, thankfully. Just a bruising at most.”

“I’m not weak!” Lance hissed, becoming slightly delirious.

Pidge widened her eyes, “What?! No, Lance! That’s not what I meant at all!”

Lance let out a shaky breath, realising what he had done and softened. In that moment he looked much younger, tired, weak. “I’m sorry,” he croaked softly, voice scratchy.

Hunk frowned, “Lance, what’s wrong?”

Lance shook his head aggressively, picking back up and getting himself into a a fighting position. He faced Keith, pulling on a determined look, as he painted. Suddenly, the tickle from earlier returning with vengeance, intense and burning that there was no time for a build up. He simply launched into an powerful fit of sneezing, head snapping forward with each one, which progressively got more forceful.

As he finished, his pounding headache worsened from the impact of snapping forward repeatedly. He slumped forward, giving in to his illness as he allowed himself to feel the true extent of his illness.

“..Lance..?” Pidge called gently.

Lance sniffled, letting out tiny little chesty coughs due to his congestion. He looked pathetic, a complete contrast to his bubbly, friendly exterior.

“What’s wrong?” Hunk asked patiently, a gentle hand propping itself on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance looked up blearily, eyes watery and exhausted, letting out a shaky little sigh before starting his sentence with a congested, little cough, “..I just don’t feel very well..”

Shiro smiled softly, approaching the younger boy and holding him by the shoulders, “Oh Lance..you should’ve told us. You know we wouldn’t have made you do this if we knew you weren’t feeling good.”

Lance sniffled, leaning against Shiro’s steady embrace, “I know..I just..”

“You just..?”

“…I didn’t want you guys to think I was weak,” Lance choked.

Pidge looked bewildered, “What?! We would never think that! Why would you think that? We would be nowhere without you!”

Lance shrugged, “..I don’t know..I wanted to prove to you guys..to myself..that I have a place here, I guess. It’s all just so overwhelming..”

Hunk frowned, “Awh Lance! You have nothing to prove, you’ve already proven yourself time and time again! We wouldn’t have even been able to do all of this if you haven’t connected with Blue!”

Lance managed a tiny smile, “..I just..I don’t know, feel inferior to all you guys. You’re all so talented..”

“Well, that is a load of garbage,” Keith said.

Pidge blinked, looking over at him, “Keith!”

He shook his head, “Lance, you are one of the most talented people I have ever met. You never seize to impress me everyday, and I learn more about you and realise that you’ve really got something. It’s a load of garbage that you think otherwise.”

Lance managed a small smirk, “..I..impress you?”

Keith blushed, looking away in embarrassment, “..That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Ah, there he is,” Pidge joked.

Shiro felt Lance’s forehead with the back of his hand, frowning, “You’ve got a bit of a fever too..you need to get to bed and get some rest. We need you in tip top shape as soon as possible, because we do really need you, Lance.”

Lance gave him a small smile, “..Okay.”

With that, Hunk swooped in and picked Lance up in his arms, giving him a large, loving grin, “Nurse Hunk to the rescue!! I’ll cook you up some good soup in just a little bit!”

The Paladins escorted Lance to his room, where they safely put him into bed, where Hunk said his farewells to make Lance some soup, shortly followed by Pidge who went to find some medicine, then Shiro who went to inform Coran and Allura, leaving him with Keith.

Keith fluffed up Lance’s pillow and tucked him into his blanket, feeling his cheek, brushing hair out of his face, in that totally loving mushy gushy out of character way that left Lance bewildered and having an out of body experience. He didn’t know if this was his fever or real life.

Keith answered that question for him, a slight blush to his cheeks, “..Don’t get yourself excited, I’m not going to be doing this every night now.”

Lance pulled on a look of fake disgust, “Eugh, I wouldn’t want you to.”

Keith smiled softly and sat at the edge of his bed, arms crossed and obviously finding trouble keeping eye contact with him, “..Lance..”

“Mm?”

“..I..didn’t know you felt that way. I-I know this is weird, and let’s not make it weird but if you ever want anyone to talk to..I’m right here, any time at all,” he stammered.

Lance gave him a small woozy smile, a soft, kittenish sneeze escaping him before he sniffled, snuggling into his covers. “..Right back at ya Keith..I’m here too..”

Keith smiled softly, gazing over at Lance with care, watching as the boy’s eyelids slowly drooped, clearly exhausted. He chuckled, “Get some sleep, Lance.”

Allura gently opened the door to Lance’s room, having decided to check on the Paladin and to see if he was well, only to see Keith sitting right by Lance’s side, a loving gaze on his eyes as he watched him sleep, as if trying to keep him safe.

Keith tensed as he heard her come in, whipping his head around to face her and relaxed as he realised it was only her. Suddenly, he realised what had happened and blushed with embarrassment, “uh..listen..”

Allura only smiled, “No, you don’t have to say anything. And I won’t either.”

She left shortly after, knowing Lance would be just fine if Keith was there by his side. And she was right, because Keith remained there to ensure that Lance was alright, making a vow to himself that nothing would ever hurt this boy, and the rest of his friends would help him do so.

[writing-away-my-sorrows]

It’s Quiet Uptown (One-Shot)

Intro - here’s a little short story i made in my free time-- its based off an au i created :>> i promise ill continue other fics!! i jjust need to make a schedule for the other ones :>> (title art by me!)

Paring - None! Clean of sin!

Words - 2,778

Triggers - Mention of death, angst.

Summary -  Ever since the death Alexander Hamilton, America and it’s members as been morning, especially his beloved son and wife. After several months of separation, they finally meet again, Philip needing to explain himself.

~Enjoy!~

Philip Hamilton took a long, shaky breath, taking in the gloomy scenerary. Tall, scrawny trees overhung the streets, struggling to hold onto it's orange-red leaves. He could hear the trees scowl as the calm breeze swept into the landscape, attempting to snatch the autumn leaves out of their grasp. The cold, ridgid sidewalk gave a somewhat unsettling clunk whenever the man rested his polished shoes against the surface. The garden that rested beside the sidewalk stretched out for miles, the flowers resting among other flowers gently. He can remember plucking one orange and whilte flower, accompanied by several smaller red flowers, and tieing them neatly into a lovely boque. He had spent the rest of his cents to get a red, silky ribbon to neatly perfect the boque, and he  made it to his mother on Valentines day. She never acknowledged the flowers and eventually returned them from the very garden he plucked them from. He kept the red ribbon on his bedroom dresser.

Just recalling the painful memory sent tears forming at the tips of his eyes, which he quickly dismissed with a wipe. Philip took another shaky breath and looked up into the sky. It was so loney after Alexander was shot. The world had paused and started to fade from it's color as it wept at the lost of a stellar man. America's tears were the rainy days trust upon them, and when our nation got angry with the killer, lighting would strike outside Philip's window and light up his entire room. Not only did America weep; his mother, Aunt Angelica and several other faces, wept at Alexander's absence.

Philip bit his tounge and slowed down, aiming to rest at a wooden bench that over looked the garden. As he looked, tears gargled up in his throat, and he couldn't brush them off. It felt horrible to have that feeling of guilt in his chest, swallowing his lungs. he had to let go. But how?

The boy cleared his throat and gave a sleek smile. He started to sing, letting his child like voice carry through the weary town. "I spend hours in the garden... I walk alone to the store. And it's quiet uptown... I never liked the quiet before."

Philip raised his head, trying to corner his tears curling in his eyes. "I take the children to church on Sunday, the sign on the cross of the door. And I pray," His voice horrible hitched, letting a tear run down his freckled cheek bone. "That never used to happen before."

He started to tap his smooth fingers against the polished wood to the beat of his singing, trying to soothe the sorrow. "If you see him in the street, walking by himself, talking to himself, have pity," He took a deep breath. "Paps, you would of liked it uptown, it's quiet uptown," He felt his voice peak at the end of that sentence, feeling the tears trailing down his neck.

"He is going through the unimaginable. His hair has grown astray, he passes everyday, they say he walks the length of the city," Philip took a breath to close his tear clogged eyelashes. "You knock me out, I fall apart-" Philip tried to sing the last lyric, but tears exploded from his eyes, heavy sobs escaping his insecure breathing. As he cried, he raised his legs to rest his feet on the bench, bringing his shaky knees close to his chest with a tight hug. He managed to mouth the words, "Can you imagine?"

He could feel his pants soaking up his salty tears, his knees quickly freezing due to the cold, dreary day. His body shaked violently, his cries eerily echoing throughout the town and returning as a creepy, high pitched wail. Philip's fingers had gone numb to the grip on his sleek fabric, and by the bitter enviroment. His face grew cold as his tears frose up his face, feeling the shivers down the tracks of his tears.

After uncountable minutes, Philip raised himself, wiping the tears from his face and raising his head. He could still see the color coated garden, but several yards ahead of him was a dark figure, turning the  corner to see his state. He automatically poped himself from his crumbled form and brushed the remaining tears from his clothes and face. He studied the dark figure, only to reckonise the dark outfit and onyx colored, silky hair to come face to face with Eliza Hamilton. Philip's throat clogged, tears walloping in his chest, ready pop like an unopened champain glass. He hadn't seen his mother in a while, eversince they parted and moved to his own apartment, which was for the better. He stared coldy into her helpless eyes, tears slipping into the corners of her eyes. God help her soul; it's hard when your own son is guily for the bullet in your husband's chest.

After a couple solid seconds, Philip stratched up the courage to clear his throat and shakily open his mouth. "Look at where we are. Look at where we started," His weak symphony traveled through the silent garden, cleanly arriving at Eliza's ears. Her expression hardened, her sad eyes morphing into a stern look, obviously knowing where this was going. Phillip bit his tounge, restraining himself from any of her displeasure of the song that he caught Eliza singing to his father at hard bumps in his life. It was a dangerous move.

"I know I don't deserve you mother, but hear me out, that would be enough," His heart skipped as Eliza's face flickered at the word of 'mother'. "If I had smiled, if I wasn't so irrational, he'd be standing here right now, and you would smile, and that would be enough," He paused to breathe. His face was already moist with tears again, the faucet running. "I don't pretend to know the challenges we're facing; I know there's no replacing what we've lost, and you need time," He paused to look at Eliza straight in the eyes, his expression softening into a warm face of plead. "But I'm not afraid; I know who my mother is. Just let me stand there by your side, and that would be enough."

Philip watched, pained as Eliza looked into Philip's milky brown eyes, tension piling in his throat. Eventually, Eliza turned and started to strode out of the way and aimed at the sidewalk behind Philip. His heart lept a yard as his eyes flickered in hope, feeling a worderful, warm sensation surging through his veins. It's been months since he's felt anything positive. Just the painful reminders of his sins.

He stumbled with his hands as he scrambled to raise from his weak position. Taking a dry sleeve, he wiped his tears and jogged to meet up with Eliza.

"Ma, wait!" He stumbled next to her goth styled mother, her black buckle dress mixing with her hair. Standing next to her forced him to look slightly down, due to his height difference. He could still remember when he was small enough to be picked up with ease and when he could gaze upon his parent's giggling faces. He would steal his father's army coats and run around, holding a banana as a pistol. He would constantly have pistol wars between his father and whenever he shot him, he would dramatically fall over and give a cheesy last words. Philip would laugh and shake him awake, which resulted in him jumping and tickling Philip til he couldn't breathe. Eliza would occasionally join in as a general, ordering Philip to stand with pride and go into battle with courage. This would result in a gang attack, both Philip and Eliza tickling Alex. His laughter rang in the back of his head at night, rattling his emotions like maracas.

Eliza looked away, but quietly said, "Your piano lessons are paying off."

Philip was struck with confusion, making him think for a couple seconds, "Oh, haha, thanks. I've been practicing."

He could see the side of her mouth curl into a warm smile, but not saying anything. Philip smiled back, keeping his eyes ahead of him on the blossoming garden sidewalk. And upon contact of the concrete, Eliza spoke again.

"You've gotten tall."

"Hah, kinda. It's mostly my shoes."

"You have flat shoes."

"With thick soles."

Silence hung between them like mistletoe on Christmas, but the couple tried to reach in but kept missing and stumbling. No one spoke to break the tension for minutes at a time. Conversation was small, going on and off at will. He deserved it; killing your father isn't exactly something you just get over with.

This went on for hours, the two Hamiltons throwing and tossing thoughts at each other, barely having a conversation per topic. They ended up walking into the park, being able to see the calm and swift beauties of the night soaking up the damp park. Each step of their feet sunk into the rich grass, making a soft crunch upon impact. Dew flung from the grass and bounced to the next tuft of grass. The soft melodies of the crickets singing their song for the whole world to hear, and awaiting their applaud. The moon was a fat crescent that night, it's bright, pear white color glimmering throughout the park, shinning on every piece of green it could reach. Stars were shattered across the sky, little specks of moon dust sprinkled across a smooth canvas. As Philip gazed at the stars, he couldn't help but to start connecting all the dots in search to find a secret image or a hidden letter. His heart shattered inside just looking at the breath taking sight, tears crawling into his eyes again. He loved the look of the galaxy when his eyes were wet, as all the lights swirled and danced with eachother, all laughing and dragging the moon into the dance floor.

Philip unconciously strode forward, gazing into the sky and expanding his hands out wide, almost if to hug the garden. "Look around, look around, Eliza!" He spun around, singing his tone in a hopeful ring, looking at Eliza with excitement.

He swallowed hard. Eliza had flinched when he refered to her as "Eliza". He had never said her name in years. He bit his tounge to relieve his embarrasment, and then turned himself to the sky. The tingle of a tear curling under his eyelids grated his nerves. He was prepared for anything she would throw at him to punish him.

"There are moments where the words don't reach," Philip jumped at the elegent voice singing, only to be hit with a needle of nostalgia, realising Eliza was singing. God, she's never sang in years.

"There's a grace to powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand; we push away the unimaginable," Philip had to remind himself to breathe. The tears trickled down his face, dripping like a faucet at his mother's singing. Her melodic voice and sweet notes she hit made him gawk, as his heart had throbbed at every word she spoke. One bullet and you loose so much, even more than you intend to loose.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard the crunches of Eliza's footsteps behind him walking forward, approcahing his left side. Eventually, he could see her figure right beside him in the corner of his eye. His head throbbed with stress as his hands started to shake. Blood pulsed through his veins as his heart tried to skip a beat. He started to bite his tounge to relieve the stress, and ignored the metal taste of blood in his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a shuddered breath, trying to contain his cool and retain the reputation he gained from Eliza the past couple hours. He tried to focus on the view but he was cut off.

A warmth graced his left hand. A soothing touch. His eyes flew to his hand, a jolt shuddering through his body. There was another hand holding his. One with a beautiful, gold wedding ring. He traced it's to connect it to Eliza. It took him a second to realize that fact, and when he did, his eyes widened and they sparkled under the moonlight. Eliza was holding his hand. After all those endless months of guilt and regret, it's just forgiven in a swift hand stroke.

"It's quiet uptown," Philip felt blessed to hear those words, being beautifully sung by his beloved mother. It struck him with pain to hear the horrible hitch in her voice, only to have a javelin stuck in his chest when she turned around. Eliza and Philip locked eyes, Eliza's face falling apart as tears were trailing down her face and dripping like a faucet. Her pale face was flushed with a deep red, her nose and ears burning up due to her tears on her cheeks. Dear god, when he saw her eyes, Philip almost forgot how to breathe because of the helplessness behind her full pupils. The moonlight reflected just right on her eyes to give a sence of innocence, but guilt simatanueasly. It's different to see your mother in tears; a woman you've lived with for years, and aquantied with love and smiles suddenly starts to cry over you.

Philip took a deep breath and moved his hands, aiming to take his mother's hands in forgiveness, but Eliza retracted her hands and turned to face Philip. She wore an expression of torn warmth, the kind of look you'd get from someone who's seen their child achieve their dreams. She drew a long, shaky breath, and finally spoke.

"I-- I'm sorry, Pip," she sputtered, her tears beating her to the race.

Tears infected Philip again, plump droplets of water failing to stay on his face. He looked down, giving a warm smile and half laugh, only stopped by the bubble of tears lodged in his throat. He looked back into Eliza's eyes and spoke.

"I'm a-also sorry... Ma," Speaking was hard when you have a walnut of guilt stuck in your throat, ready to be digested and yelled at for.

Eliza's expression softened and morphed into a more forgiving smile. "I-I'm..." She cut herself off by slowly bringing Philip into an embrace, clutching to his smooth fabric. She rested her weary head on his shoulder, feeling the damp tears soaking into his fabric. Philip was startled at first, but he slowly released and started to hug her back, giving her a kiss on her forehead before resting his head on her shoulder. He released all restrain he had on anything that moment, sickening sobs gradually acesending into muffled cries, his feeble grip tightening with every sob he let escape. He could feel Eliza's stream of tears soaking his suit, but he didn't care. Today was the day where his mother finally gave in and forgot the blood he spilt.

After a good minute or two, Philip raised his head to catch his breath, giving a shuttered gasp of air. He released one of his hands to wipe the tears off his face, feeling Eliza lift her head as well. They released their grips as they caught gaze again, taking a minute for Philip to get lost in Eliza's crystal eyes. As Eliza returned the gaze, Philip let out a nervous laugh and looked down at her small, child-like hands. Philip took Eliza's hand and wrapped his finger around her's, just like he would do when he was younger. Eliza was caught off guard a little bit, only to smile and curl her finger around his.

They stood there for several moments, lost in the moment until Philip started to walk, aiming down towards the flower bed. Eliza followed, still keeping their hands locked. They walked for several minutes til Philip gently cleared his throat and spoke the sweetest words Eliza had heard in a while.

"Mom... Do you still love me? Even after all that I did?"

Eliza was caught off guard, skipping a breath as she closed her mouth in silence. What seemed like seconds appeared like hours as she processed her reposnce. Eventually, she smiled and responded with a calm, but loving tone.

"Til the day I can kiss him again."

~Fin~