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extasiswings · 3 years

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“i’ll keep you warm” eddie has a nightmare post-shooting 👀 (or however you wanna write it!)

This was not supposed to be this long...rated M-ish for some mild smut at the end. On ao3 here.

The thing Eddie remembers most about the shooting isn’t the shot itself, or the pain, or even the fear—it’s the cold. The icy numbness of shock curling down his spine, twisting through his veins like tendrils of frost creeping across a windowpane in winter. Cold, as his pulse skyrocketed, his body’s signals all crossed and confused and trying to circulate blood, not seeming to grasp the fact that his blood was seeping out onto the asphalt beneath him, that trying to circulate it faster was just making it worse. Cold, like he was a stupid kid at camp diving into a frigid lake before dawn, except above him was blue sky and a bright sun beating down and the fact that it was Los Angeles in May didn’t do a damn thing to help.

He couldn’t feel it. He could only feel the cold.

Buck, though—Buck, he felt. Buck’s hands burned, on his chest, his neck, his face, so warm that Eddie almost wanted to flinch away, but he didn’t. He was aware enough to realize that if Buck was warm, he was probably telling the truth when he said he wasn’t hurt. And that was good. That was all he needed to know.

The cold—

Eddie’s been through enough in his life to know that his subconscious works in weird ways. After Afghanistan he dreamed more directly of burning helicopters and gunfire, blood in his mouth and smoke on his tongue. Shadows and screams and guilt. After the well his dreams were of Christopher, Shannon, waves crashing on a beach. And Buck. Sunlight.

This time...this time Eddie dreams of drowning. Trapped beneath ice, his hands slamming against it, eventually forced to inhale—water flooding his mouth, his throat, his lungs—cold, cold, cold—

Sometimes after he wakes he’ll spend hours shivering. Phantom chills that won’t go away even when he wraps himself in blankets.

The therapist he’s mandated to see before he can be cleared for work tells him that the brain doesn’t always process trauma by taking the most direct path. Eddie doesn’t know why his has fixated on this. The cold. Maybe it’s just easiest. Because the shooting—

His chest gets tight when he’s walking in open air. Sweat breaks out across his brow when the sunlight glints off of windows. His pulse races.

He can’t breathe.

It feels a little like drowning.

“Do you feel safe?” Dr. Kingston asks one session. And Eddie thinks about freezing in a grocery store parking lot, gripping the edge of a cart to keep his hands from shaking, thinks about Buck curving a hand around his shoulder, solid and warm—

“Sometimes,” Eddie admits. “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

He tastes the lie on his tongue before it slips out.

“I don’t know.”

When the world shut down and Eddie had to leave Christopher with his abuela so that he could keep working without worrying constantly that he was putting his son at risk, Buck’s was the obvious place to go. And Eddie doesn’t know if things would have been different if it had been just the two of them but Hen and Chim deciding it was also the obvious place for them to go meant there weren’t a lot of options for sleeping arrangements.

So Eddie shared the bed with Buck. And it didn’t matter if either of them wound up wrapped around the other, the lines of their bodies pressed close enough to bleed together. If they curled into one another like plants twisting to find the light.

It was...instinct. To seek comfort. Warmth. Touch. Both of them alone for so long, and just needing—

Needing.

They never talked about it—there wasn’t anything to talk about. If it made Eddie’s heart race, if it made him ache for something he hadn’t expected and didn’t wholly understand, if when he returned home alone again his own bed felt too empty, that was his own problem.

Now, though—

Now, he knows. Because he stood frozen on the street and stared at Buck with Carla’s words in his head—make sure you’re following your heart—and realized oh. It hadn’t just been convenience, it had been love. Need and desire and love.

Now, he knows, but doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge, with the awareness he has suddenly. Buck is living in his house, in his space, helping him with Christopher and with his own recovery, making sure he takes his meds and gets to his appointments and does his exercises. Buck is there all the time and it’s a blessing and a curse because Eddie burns whenever Buck touches him.

And Buck touches him. A lot.

He hadn’t at first, right after Eddie came home from the hospital—Eddie would catch him sometimes looking like he wanted to, but holding back, reaching out but stopping himself, and Eddie never asked why. Even now he doesn’t think he ever needed to—he knows what it’s like to be afraid, to be unsteady, adrift, worrying that touching something you expect to be solid will reveal it’s just an illusion. Not wanting to find out if it is.

But Buck touches him now. And sometimes Eddie will wake up to find that Buck’s migrated from the couch in the living room to a chair by his bed, folded in and fitfully asleep. Buck never says, but Eddie’s pretty sure it’s so Buck can reassure himself that Eddie’s still breathing.

Eddie understands that need too. Sometimes he isn’t sure himself.

The first time it happens after Buck’s relationship with Taylor has flamed out—for himself, he and Ana have been over since just after he left the hospital—Eddie finally just gets up.

“Buck.” He curves a hand around the side of Buck’s neck and passes his thumb along the edge of his jaw.

Buck startles awake, looking somehow guilty.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I? Sorry, I know it’s—I can go back to the—”

“Will you just come to bed?” Eddie interrupts before Buck successfully talks himself into leaving the room. “Please?”

Buck’s eyes flick down to his shoulder. He swallows hard.

“I don’t want to—”

Oh.

“You won’t hurt me,” Eddie promises. “Okay?”

Buck searches his face in the dark, but if he sees anything, he clearly doesn’t mind because he nods and gets up from the chair. When they both resettle on the mattress, Buck only pauses for a moment before curving around him like a parenthesis, his arm falling across Eddie’s waist.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“Is this—?”

Eddie closes his eyes and sinks into the embrace. If it feels just a little bit like cheating because he hasn't told Buck how he feels, that’s between him and god.

“It’s fine,” he assures, then adds to make it a little more fair, “you aren’t the only one who needs—you aren’t the only one.”

Buck relaxes at that, his grip tightening a little with newfound certainty.

When Eddie dreams, he doesn’t drown.

“You look good,” Dr. Kingston acknowledges two weeks later. “You’ve been sleeping better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “I stopped having nightmares, so I haven’t been waking up as much.”

He catches the surprise that flickers across her face.

“They stopped completely?” She asks. “Have you been doing something different or—?”

Eddie shifts in his chair and clears his throat. What is he supposed to tell her? That he stopped having nightmares when he started sleeping with Buck every night? He’s not really ready to unpack that with his therapist—he’s barely ready to unpack it in his own head.

“Just lucky, I guess,” he says. Dr. Kingston puts down her pen and levels him with a long look that tells him she knows that’s bullshit and is trying to decide whether to push or let it go until another time.

She lets it go.

“Well,” she replies. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Eddie feels like he’s dodged another bullet.

Later, though, he wonders if he shouldn’t have said more. If he shouldn’t have asked questions. Because he goes to sleep and—

The water is pitch black and freezing. Eddie’s eyes sting, but it doesn’t matter whether he keeps them open or not—there’s nothing to see. He kicks his legs anyway, swims up, up, up, even though it hurts to make his limbs work when they’re so cold. There’s a faint light—the surface—and he kicks harder, desperate to reach—

Ice. Nothing but a sheet of ice, solid and thick. His lungs burn from lack of air, his palms beat against the ice—

He can’t keep moving. It’s too cold. He can’t—

“Eddie. Eddie.” Hands seize him from nowhere, almost too warm, and Eddie could have sworn the ice had no cracks, but he’s being lifted out—

“Eddie.”

He snaps awake, gasping. Buck’s face swims into view, worry painted across every line. His hands are on Eddie’s shoulders.

They’re so warm.

Eddie shivers.

“You were hyperventilating,” Buck says. “I thought—”

“Just a dream,” Eddie grits out, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He still feels frozen. Stupid—it was a dream, it wasn’t real, so he shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be this difficult.

He shivers again.

Buck’s brow furrows deeper.

“You’re shaking—are you cold?”

Eddie sits up and scrubs his hands over his face. He swallows back the denial on his tongue, the urge to run away and hide in the bathroom until a scalding shower makes him feel somewhat human again. Maybe he can’t always be honest with his therapist, but he can be honest with Buck.

“Yes,” he admits. “But it’s not—it’s just in my head. When I got shot I—it’s hard to explain but, yes. I’m cold. Freezing. I don’t know how—”

He cuts off and Buck shifts on the mattress, reaches out slowly so Eddie has plenty of time to stop him if he doesn’t want to be touched, and finally wraps his arms around him, pulling Eddie firmly against his chest.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Buck says quietly. And Eddie—

Something in him cracks. Not like ice during a thaw, but resolve after too much time of being worn down, pressure applied in precisely the right spot. He’s raw and ragged and his scarred heart hardly feels like anything anyone should want, but he’s so tired of pretending he hasn’t been trying to press it into Buck’s hands for a year in different ways. He’s tired of not asking and being afraid and waiting. He’s tired—

Buck makes a soft sound of surprise when Eddie kisses him. But he doesn’t push him away. And Eddie can’t help himself from pressing closer, curling one hand into Buck’s shirt and the other around the back of his neck and kissing him again and again and again, feeling altogether too frantic. He’ll probably find it in himself to be embarrassed in the morning, but want and desperation have left very little room for shame at the moment.

Buck kisses him back. His hands drop to Eddie’s hips as Eddie does his best to climb into his lap.

“Eddie,” Buck pants between kisses. “Eddie—I—” His head falls back and Eddie takes the opportunity to continue his exploration down the exposed line of Buck’s neck.

“Should we talk about this?” Buck finally manages, even as his own hands flirt with the hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie freezes. The answer, of course, is yes. But talking is the last thing he wants to do when part of him still feels chilled to the bone, not wholly alive. He wants to be touched, wants to be consumed, wants to fall into orbit around Buck’s sun and never leave.

And it’s late. Dark. The two of them, the bed, the very room caught in a liminal space where anything could happen, anything could be said, anything could be forgiven. Eddie can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a dangerous one.

His mouth drags along the edge of Buck’s jaw.

“This isn’t because I wanted someone and you happened to be here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He doesn’t look at Buck’s face. It’s easier to not, to focus on something else. He stopped going to confession a long time ago, but he never had to look directly at his priest either, always some curtain or other barrier obscuring things, lending the illusion of privacy, anonymity.

“I’m in love with you,” he admits, and Buck’s hands flex on his hips. “I’ve been in love with you. So we can talk about this if you want, but—”

In an instant, Eddie’s on his back, the rest of his sentence swallowed up by the tongue sliding into his mouth. Buck is a warm, solid weight on top of him, pinning him, anchoring him, and Eddie finds he doesn’t mind when it forces him to be in the moment, reminds him that he’s fully in his own body.

“I love you, too,” Buck whispers when the kiss breaks, and then he’s pushing Eddie’s shirt up and off and dispensing with his own—

Shannon was his first. Eddie wasn’t hers and he remembers being glad that at least one of them had some idea of what to do because the second she touched him he was so overwhelmed by sensation that he could hardly think.

This is…not dissimilar. Buck’s chest presses flush against his, all warm, bare skin, and Eddie feels like he could drown in a different way. He arches up, seeking Buck’s mouth again, and Buck obliges.

Eddie’s focus narrows to certain points—the slick slide of Buck’s tongue against his, Buck’s hand ghosting along his ribs, the careful space between their hips and the low burn of heat in his gut that makes him want to close the gap—

His hands slide up Buck’s back slowly, his fingers tracing the knobs of Buck’s spine, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades—they dance along the line of his shoulders too, sketching the breadth that he’s noticed but never allowed his thoughts to linger on. His touch is careful, reverent, as if Buck is a holy thing that his stained, sinner hands have no business touching. Perhaps, in a sense that’s true.

He’s never been a very good Catholic, but sex—sex, desire, love—sex has always been something…sacred to him. In high school, he shied away from the locker room-style conversations about who went how far with whom, kept out of any discussion involving lamentations about still being a virgin at graduation. For one thing, he thought they were usually crass and disrespectful. But mainly he just—he didn’t care about waiting until marriage or anything like that, but he always knew he wanted to be in love. Hence, Shannon. And why there hadn’t been anyone after her.

Until now.

Eddie kisses Buck until his lungs ache, but he’s not close enough, feels like he can’t get close enough. One of his hands slides into Buck’s hair, but the other trails back down, presses lightly on Buck’s lower back as his own hips rock up, seeking friction. Buck swears against his lips and closes the distance—Eddie can feel him hard in his sweatpants and flushes, dizzy at the thought of having made that happen, dizzy at the thought of more, dizzy—

He feels very much like a clumsy teenager again, fumbling his way through on instinct. At least this sort of thing is familiar, even if he hasn’t done it with a man before. Buck grinds their hips together, the friction sending sparks through every one of Eddie’s nerve endings, and kisses down his neck, teeth scraping over his pulse point. Eddie gasps and Buck hums, low and pleased, against his skin.

And then, just as he thinks he’s used to the slow burn of pleasure, Buck shifts his weight and slides a hand down to toy with Eddie’s waistband. Buck meets his eyes in the dark and swallows hard.

“Can I—?”

This time, when Eddie shivers it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Please,” he rasps, and Buck smiles before tugging Eddie’s pants down just enough to wrap his hand around Eddie’s cock.

Buck’s touch is a little tentative at first, clearly unused to the angle, and the part of Eddie that’s still capable of noticing that spends a brief moment feeling grateful that he’s not the only one lacking in experience here. But what Buck may lack in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm, experimenting with grip and speed and pressure to figure out exactly what to do to make Eddie gasp again, to make him bite his lip, to make him hide his face in Buck’s shoulder to muffle any louder noises he can’t quite hold back.

It doesn’t take long. Even before the shooting, Eddie rarely bothered to touch himself with any sort of regularity, and during his recovery he had even less of a reason to do so, what little energy he had in the first few months better spent elsewhere. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed it. But clearly his body did because his orgasm hits him like a train when Buck spits into his hand for extra glide and twists his wrist on the upstroke. He bites Buck’s shoulder and Buck’s hips jerk and then he’s just floating—boneless, breathless, and utterly wrecked in the best possible way.

Buck collapses on the mattress next to him as Eddie’s catching his breath—Eddie reaches out, his hand skating over Buck’s stomach, and makes a questioning noise. Buck laughs quietly and catches his hand, bringing it to his lips.

“I, uh—I’m good,” Buck promises, and even in the dark Eddie can see his cheeks flush.

Eddie curls into his side. “Really?”

Buck kisses him. “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve wanted to do that. Or how good you look. So, yes, I already—yes. Really.”

Eddie’s lips curve up. He presses a kiss to the edge of Buck’s jaw. As the immediate aftermath wears off, his eyelids start to grow heavy, his limbs moving a little less easily.

“We should probably shower,” he acknowledges, although the strength of the statement is likely diminished by the yawn that interrupts him halfway through.

“Probably,” Buck agrees, but he too makes no move to actually get up.

Pressed against him as he is, Eddie is warm and sated and content. He drifts, skirting the edge of sleep.

“I love you,” he says again. Because it feels important.

Buck hums. If he says something else, it’s too low for Eddie to catch.

When he dreams again, he doesn’t dream of drowning. He doesn’t dream of the cold.

Instead, there’s just light. Just warmth.

Just Buck.

#chapel writes #buddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fic

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sparkbeast20 · 3 years

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You're my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt6

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature, mention of Pain, Violence, and Abduction..... well kinda.

Previously

Belphie look on until he can’t see them anymore, then turn to look at Lucifer who is bend over to pool of blue substance. With the tip of his finger, he dips it and examine it, then it started to turn black.

“Is he?” Belphie asks Lucifer with a worry tone.

“We just have to keep an eye on him, what ever is happen is not good for us and y/n if my suspicion is correct.”

“Keep quiet, if they see us with Mammon like this. They’re going to flip” Levi helps Satan Beel to carry Mammon’s unconscious body. While Asmo looks around, if the purgatory boys or you are out in the halls. While they sneak inside.

“Be care with his head”

“I know Satan”

“Will you two keep your mouth shut, you’ll wake him up”

“What happen to Mammon?” a voice scared Levi, Asmo and Beel causing them to stiff.

“He pass out on our way back, were taking him to Lucifer’s room” Satan answer Simeon with a casual tone.

“Then why not in his room with y/n, their already there with Luke and Solomon watch a movie” Simeon with a questionable look on his face.

“Look it’s a long story, we just have to bring him into Lucifer’s right now before y/n or Luke see him like this.” Simeon agrees and help the demons moving Mammon through the halls, quietly.

Once they got to the door, they realize something.

“We forgot to asks for his keys” Beel said it first, Satan mentally facepalm himself. So, Levi start picking on the door knob, while Asmo holds his D.D.D with flashlight on top of Levi to give a better lighting.

Suddenly Mammon stirrup wake, Beel and Satan notice “Mammon it’s alright”.

In a spilt second, he shifted to his demon form, and grab Satan and Beel by the back of their necks, and crushing their head together, knocking them out and dropping them on the floor near his feet.

“Mammon!?!” Simeon scream, causing the other two brothers to look and gasp to what they saw.

Mammon crouch down on all fours with his hands on the back of both Satan and Beel. He stares at the three standing with sclera of his eyes turns black with sapphire blue glowing iris. Feral look on his face and snarling at them.

“Mammon?” Levi muttered his big brother’s name, call to him. “I-its us. Please you know us” pleading to him. Mammon let out a low and deep growl, and slowly walk toward them. But Beel grab his leg stop him. For a second.

Mammon kicks him square in the face causing him to let go, Mammon quickly rushes forward to Levi’s direction. But Asmo tackle Levi from behind causing them to fall forward and Mammon when over them, Simeon manage to press against wall avoiding Mammon charge.

Levi and Asmo shifted to their demon forms and get back up on their feet and facing Mammon. Who just look at them watching their movement carefully? The three stares at each other in silences waiting for someone to make the first move.

“you guys are home already?” your voice broke the silences of the hall. Mammon sees you at the end of the hall behind Satan and Beel.

Mammon roar and dashes through Levi and Asmo, manage to get to you. He quickly wraps his arms around you holding you tight.

“M-mammon?” mumble his name, all you can hear is a low growling from him while his looking at his brothers.

Levi, Asmo, Simeon, and Beel who manage to get on his feet, rushes towards you and Mammon.

Mammon stretches his wings, with one loud roar he flops his wings, he flew through the ceiling with you in his arms.

You were knock out by the collision of the ceiling. You couldn’t hear the others call to you and Mammon as you two flew farther from the house.

Lucifer and Belphie were outside when it all happen. They saw Mammon flying through the cold night with you in his arms. Lucifer swiftly shifted and try to get close. But Mammon notice, sensing a threat his wings change close to his demonic form. With one big flop Mammon dashes forward leaving Lucifer fall back by the shock of his wings flop. Once he manages to balance himself in the air, it was too late you and Mammon were long gone, who knows where he taken you.

You two found yourselves in a familiar forest as he continues to fly over the woods, where he spots a mountain, he slowly decent down. There he landed near a cave on the side of the mountain with scratches around the entire way of the cave.

He enters the cave with you being carried bridal style wrap around you is his jacket keeping you warmth as he ascend the deeper into the darker part of the cave gets to the point you can see anything if you were awake. But Mammon just keeps on walking like he knows the place and his iris glow as if he can see in the dark.

Finally, you two manage reach a cavern, Mammon flew down into the cavern and keep on walking. As he takes each step a sound of coin and metal clashing can be heard. Once he got to the middle of the cavern where there is a nest made of gold, rare fabric, small statues of him, and bones and skull of humans and demons, he gently set you down and grab the nearest fabrics and place them on top of you and under your head.

Then he flew up to the ceiling of the cavern, and grab the overgrowth of vines and leaves. Using one of his newly claw hand, he starts cutting vines clearing up the hole above the nest and letting the moon shine through the hole. Lighting up the cavern revealing all the treasure inside.

Old scrolls and books, gold, silver coins, rare fabric, statues of Mammon, and bones scatter all over the place.

Then he flew back down, then circle around your sleeping body after which he curls up next to you before drifted to sleep.

“Ugh… My head…. What happen…... Mammon where is he.” Satan rub his head as he gets up, when it all comes back to him, he franticly looks around when his sight landed on the four looking up to the gigantic hole above them.

“What just happen?” Levi is stunted as he asks.

“Beel where’s Mammon” Satan walks over to them, “he flew away” Beel asks his brother.

“He what!”

“Did you see him?” Asmo’s chirpy and bubbly personality is gone, replace with worry and fear. As he stares at the hole in the ceiling.

“W-we have to find him…...we have to find them……not just because of a psycho out there, but something is happening to Mammon. Who knows what’s he’s going through o-or what’s happening to him and y/n might be scare of him o-or~” Asmo voice is cracking as he starts to go into a hysteria? When Satan grab him by the shoulder and shake him out of it.

“Asmo calm down, will find them and we will help Mammon.” Satan reassure his younger brother, as tears start to build in the corner of his eyes.

“That is our plan.” Lucifer and Belphie walking in and Lucifer start explaining what his suspicion are, and what their next course of action.

“Mammon is subconsciously reawaking his demonic side” Asmo gasp while the others eyes widen to what they just heard as Lucifer continues “after the casino incident, rumors spread a cross with the night. That and y/n injured like that and how the students…...” Lucifer trails of for a second “and our insults towards his status of being second and his responsibility of looking after y/n. all that mountain to the beast inside of him to awaking and slowly taking over”

“B-but the Blue lotus, it supposed to stop that from ever happening”

“Levi, the petals can only do so much. Seeing y/n injured is one thing, he’ll gladly take the responsibly for that. But the rumors, our insult and nagging how he can’t do anything right. Added in his own insecurities of feeling inadequate. The petals suppress our demonic forms not stopping them from taking over when they see us in our weakest state. It felt Mammon frustrated with himself and the state of his “mate” anger it to the point of Mammon subconsciously awaking it and force the blue lotus out of him. Making it easier to come out. That why he keeps vomiting out the blue substance the past two weeks, is isn’t right Lucifer” Satan look over to Lucifer for confirmation about his theory. Which Lucifer nod causing the others to gasp.

“So, his dangerous then we though, is there other way to keep that thing from taking over Mammon” Simeon asks Lucifer who only shake his head.

“The blue lotus is the only thing can suppress us from changing into those forms. And the only things can go against are Demonic form are ourselves either one of us changes into those forms and stop him or Mammon learn to control the beast inside of him before it takes full control and we might lose are brother for good.”

All of them look at each other, with fear and worry on their faces. Trying to know who has the answer. While Lucifer look through the hold in the ceiling and into the sky, wondering where is Mammon taking you and hope that the two of you are safe.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me reader x mammon #obey me Simeon #obey me monster love #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me blue lotus petals

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 3 years

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Irresistible Danger - Part 61

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,591

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Taking Care of Business

You were in shock and at a loss for words, while Amber’s impatient expression as she stared you down meant that she obviously expected you to say something. When it became apparent that you weren’t going to kickstart this lovely conversation, she gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes before breaking the silence with a haughty voice that instantly grated on your nerves.

“Well, are you going to let me in, or what?”

Your subconscious gave a resounding scream of ‘fuck off!’ and hissed at Amber, while your brain warned to proceed with caution. The last thing you wanted right now was a fight, but it wasn’t clear which path led to a worse confrontation: letting her in or telling her to leave. Deciding to attempt civility, you clamped down the words ‘I’d really rather not’ that were on the tip of your tongue, and instead gave a small nod and stood back from the doorway to let her in. The sickly sweet smell of flowers hit when she passed by, and you had the incredibly random thought of where the fuck does she get perfume in an apocalypse?

Ignoring the unimportant question, you watched as she glanced around your room, eyes flickering over the small bed, the wooden chair piled with clothes, and then the stack of old rickety crates holding your belongings. Her face scrunched up in utter disdain of the meager surroundings, solidifying what Ben had once said about her coming from a privileged background before the apocalypse. Her room upstairs probably had all kinds of fancy furniture and clothes. You wanted to feel annoyed, even a bit ashamed, but then remembered whose bed you were now spending the night in and immediately lost all sense of self-consciousness. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what material possessions she might own, because you had Negan and she didn’t. No matter how this conversation went, that fact wasn’t going to change, and nothing she said was going to ruin your newfound happiness. You were still nervous and feeling a bit cagey being in the same room as the woman who was far from your biggest fan, but the security of knowing where you and Negan stood with one another helped you to keep calm and project an air of indifference.

However, you still didn’t want to play this too arrogantly, and decided not to close the door the entire way, pushing it so that there was still a centimeter of space keeping it unlatched. The crack was small enough for her to not have noticed, and gave you that extra padding of reassurance. You didn’t trust her one bit, and wanted an easier exit, if necessary, or a way to hopefully be heard if you yelled for help. Not that you were too worried about a physical confrontation; you looked up and down her petite, small frame and thought, you can take her if you have to. The subconscious gave an aggressive yell of agreement and stared Amber down with laser-like focus.

Not wanting to make any assumptions, you decided to stand there silently and wait her out. It didn’t take long, as she abruptly turned to you with a sneer and said, “I bet you’re feeling mighty proud of yourself right about now.”

Well then, guess we’re going with no pretense or attempt at subtlety. Raising your brows in surprise, you honestly replied, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You were certain this had to do with Negan, but weren’t sure if it was in regards to the last few weeks, if she had heard about the scene in the cafeteria, or, perhaps, it was something else entirely.

She narrowed her eyes at you and practically hissed, “Don’t play stupid with me. I know that you’re the one who convinced him to throw us all out.”

You couldn’t hide the look of utter surprise at her words. Had Negan said something to the wives today? But when?! You had seen him off on the run to the outpost this morning, and there had only been perhaps a 20 minute space of time from when his men had sat down for dinner and he himself had entered the cafeteria. Had he spent that small chunk of time talking to his wives?

Apparently so, as Amber confirmed a few seconds later.

“I can’t believe he would just march in there and tell us, tell me, that we’re not needed anymore.” She scoffed, as if the idea was laughable. “And I bet it was your idea that we lose our rooms too, right? You couldn’t even let us stay where we were, let us be on the same floor as him. No, you somehow convinced him to kick us out, and tell us we’re to ‘reintegrate into the community’. What the fuck!”

She had used her fingers in air quotes around the reintegrate part, which would’ve been a bit humorous if not for her screeched curse at the end. Your emotions were all jumbled, since part of you wanted to fist pump with joy that Negan had decided to officially move out his wives and make them a part of the community, while another part of you knew that to let your happiness show would only cause Amber to escalate. And while you didn’t feel too bad for her, especially considering the way she’d treated other women like Maria and Trixie, you could still relate on a human level to the shitty feeling of being unwanted. It was that little crumb of empathy that you tried to lead with, despite the subconscious begging you to just bypass all that and use a fist instead.

“I honestly wasn't aware that he did that,” you said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in your voice. “I understand that it’s gotta be frustrating to-”

“Don’t try to feed me bullshit by saying you understand!” she interrupted, eyes blazing with anger. “You think that just because you waltzed in there with your little food trays and spread your legs for him whenever he wants that it makes you better than us. You could’ve played by the rules and become a wife like the rest of us, but nooo. You must think you’re really fucking special, to screw us all over and wreck the entire system! News flash bitch, you’ll never be enough to satisfy him, and he’ll get bored with you soon enough. Then we’ll see how much you ‘understand’ when the tables turn and he asks us to come back while you’re the one tossed to the side! Because that’s what will happen in time, and it’ll make him look weak and indecisive to the entire community. I hope you’re prepared for that, for his potential downfall to be all. Your. Fault!”

Well so much for going the empathetic route, you thought as a spark of anger burned in your gut. She stood there, breathing heavily from her outburst and wearing a cruel smirk as she waited to see what effect her words would have on you. Said effect was that both your subconscious and brain were now wielding swords, ready to go to battle and take her out.

Any desire to try and make peace flew out the window, as you saw through her act and straight to exactly what she was trying to accomplish by confronting you. How dare she take her own hurt and insecurities and try to throw them back on you. And what made you extra mad was how calculated they were to cause injury. She had spit the words with pure venom, designed to seep into your veins and poison all confidence that what you had with Negan was real.

If she had said this to you even two days ago, it might’ve actually worked, might’ve combined with that padlocked box of questions and been the tipping point to send you over the edge into fully believing every word. There had also been the ball of self-doubt, which until the other night had been constantly following you around and whispering that Negan would never give up a group of women who were always at his beck and call for someone as independent and outspoken as you. That he couldn’t possibly change his rules so completely for you. That he couldn’t possibly love you.

But this wasn’t two days ago, and you knew better now.

Spine stiffening, you stared Amber down and said in a cool yet stern voice, “It’s obvious that nothing I say will make you happy, unless it’s that I leave Negan alone and let you have him.” You saw her eyes spark in anticipation at the words, as if she expected you to do just that. “But that’s not going to happen.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she opened her mouth, probably to spout more vitriol. But you weren’t having it. In fact, she wasn’t even worth the effort of fighting, and refusing to spend another second entertaining her bullshit would be a more satisfying win than arguing back and forth.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“Why you-”

“Leave, Amber. Before this escalates and ends in a public and unattractive way. Unless you want others to see you escorted out of the Sanctuary.”

You were possibly talking out your ass with that last bit, since you didn’t have the authority to ban anyone from the compound. However, she didn’t need to know that, and you could tell that the threat worked when her mouth clamped shut, eyes blazing with hatred as she marched towards you. For a moment, you had the fear that she was going to start a physical altercation. Instead, she angrily stomped past, a hair’s breadth away from knocking into you as the pungent smell of fake flowers trailed after her.

“This isn’t over, bitch.”

The words were said as she grabbed the knob and threw back the door dramatically. It flew open and slammed into the wall, swinging mere inches from your face. It would’ve been an impressive exit, except that she had barely set foot out into the hall when every muscle in her body went taut as a bowstring, and her face drained of all color as she looked at something up and to the left.

Taking a step forward to glance out the doorway, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of Negan standing right outside. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but seeing as how the door had been unlatched and opened a crack the entire time, he had to have at least heard the end of your conversation.

Her mouth opened but no words came out, and you knew that she was frantically trying to come up with a way to twist the situation. If given enough time, she’d make herself look squeaky clean and try to manipulate things so that it would appear as if the confrontation was somehow your fault. Rather than give her time to come up with a bullshit excuse, Negan spoke first, his tone low and deadly serious.

“Don’t say a fucking word. Nothing’s changed from what I told you earlier, and I don’t want any more fucking feedback about it. You and I are fucking done, and if you can’t handle that, then you’ll be escorted the fuck out first thing tomorrow morning, just like she fucking said.”

You felt a spark of satisfaction at his agreement with your threat to make her leave, at the way he stood in solidarity with you. Amber deflated slightly at his words, but she still glanced back at you over her shoulder, eyes shooting daggers. Unable to help one moment of pure pettiness, you looked her square in the eye and got the last word.

“I’d say this is fucking over.”

She knew she’d been beaten, you could see it written all over her face. But Amber was prideful, and she’d not crumple in front of an audience. Instead, she held her head high and walked quickly past Negan without a second glance. The two of you watched her march down the hall and disappear into the stairwell, and you had a feeling that, despite her brave face, she was going to find somewhere private to hide and lick her emotional wounds.

Negan turned to you, the anger slipping from his expression as he scanned up and down your body, as if to make sure that there was no physical injury. Thankfully, all wounds had been emotionally inflicted and they were nothing more than shallow cuts, rather than the deep stabs Amber had been hoping for.

“How long have you been standing there?”

His lips curled up into a pleased smirk, as he replied, “Long enough to know that you had the situation fucking handled, and didn’t need my help.”

You huffed out a tiny laugh at that, pleased to know that while he had been listening, he hadn’t just charged in and taken over. He’d been willing to stay back and let you deal with the conflict on your own...had trusted your ability to take care of it.

You started to exit the room and close the door, but halted when he said, “Why don’t you pack a bag first.”

“What?” you blinked rapidly at him in confusion.

He shrugged casually, as if to try and offset the seriousness of his words. “Since you’re spending nights with me, it only makes fucking sense to move some of your stuff up to my room. Maybe then you won’t keep stealing my fuckin’ toothbrushes and clothes. Maybe if you ask nicely enough, I’ll even clear out a drawer or two.”

It took a few seconds to process that Negan had just done the apocalypse version of asking you to start moving in with him. Your subconscious and brain had linked arms and were twirling in a circle while tossing confetti into the air, but you tried to act as cool and casual as Negan had about it, nodding and turning back into your room. It wasn’t until you were sure he couldn’t see your face that you allowed a huge grin and silent scream of excitement.

Grabbing the brown sack, you threw in half your t-shirts (aka the ones that were currently clean) and the navy blue gym shorts. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as you tried to quickly and discreetly throw in a few pairs of underwear and socks, though you knew he was standing in the doorway and watching your every move. You also grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste, but left the shower items. Negan had plenty of those to share, and you weren't willingly giving up the luxury of his fluffy towels and fancy soaps. You topped off the bag with some extra hair ties, a comb, and the copy of Harry Potter. It wasn’t everything, but it put enough of a dent in your belongings that you wouldn’t need to stop back here every evening after dinner, and could instead go straight to his rooms.

Walking towards him, you went to sling the bag strap up over your arm, but he held out his hand, palm up in offering. You gave a joking eye roll, but passed over the bag so that he could sling it up over his own broad shoulder. Instinctively reaching for his hand, you laced your fingers with his and gave a squeeze of thanks, as the two of you started off down the hall and upstairs to his room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

#negan #negan x reader #ash writes #negan fanfiction #irresistible danger #negan fanfics #twd #the walking dead #negan's thirst squad #negan slow burn #negan x you #negan x oc #slow burn #twd negan #fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction

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butterfrogmantis · 3 years

Photo

Woah uh been a while since I did any genuine AU worldbuilding/scenario work huh?

This was promised to a user on DA because they were curious about the illness I mentioned in this post: Dads by Butterfrogmantis on DeviantArt (and I didn't forget, just got distracted by the Wiki stuff and writing XD)

But yeah, basic jist is poor old Tracky here accidentally inhaled some bad bad spores. Dreamy, naturally, was absolutely distraught, and on top of handling his own stress was trying to carefully keep Rover from becoming too distressed as wee Rovey certainly didn't like seeing his dad that way. Actually, Rover suffered some pretty bad separation anxiety & attachment issues to Tracker as a child, perhaps subconsciously remembering this incident (which happened when he was a toddler.) Rover's fine now as a teenager/adult, although he's still very close to Tracker, and has possibly one of the strongest parents-child bonds in the NG ^^

The Sleeping Death plant has been removed from the Smurfs forest, and they know what it looks like now at least, so there will be no further instances (plus they have spare antidote jussst in case)

Writing extract + additional note under the cut

“Hey Tracky, I just put Rovey down for the night”

Dreamy walked over to the bed, and knelt down beside it. His husband lay in it, as cold and pale as he had been for the last week.

“You know he uh … he sounds just like you when he laughs”

Dreamy swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to respond in this state, Papa Smurf had told him as much, but he still felt as though he needed to talk, in case there was even the slightest chance Tracker would be able to hear him. He knew it was probably all for nought. According to Papa’s books, Dreamy’s spouse had accidentally inhaled the spores from the Sleeping Death plant, an invasive herb foreign to their forest, known for inducing it’s victims in a death-like state for up to 6-8 weeks before the real mortality kicked in.

It had started with Tracker saying he had a headache one evening, and that he wanted an early night. When Dreamy gone up that night to sleep himself, he found the other Smurf totally unresponsive, but breathing. Over the past 7 days, Tracker had become paler, and strange purple marks had begun to appear in random blotches over his skin. Papa had assured him this illness wasn’t contagious, but Dreamy didn’t want to risk upsetting their young Smurfling, so had done his best to keep Rover’s visits with Tracker brief, hoping each day that Marco Smurf was closer to bringing home the cure from the Sleeping Death plant’s homeland.

He knew hope wasn’t totally lost, Marco had set sail the very day Tracker was diagnosed, but the antidote’s native country was many miles away, and there was always the possibility for bad weather or pirates that could mean unexpected delays. All Dreamy could do in the meantime was hope. Hope and attend to his own duties, and remind himself that Marco was the best sailor he knew – even better than himself in some regards.

“Marco’s coming soon” Dreamy said out loud, to reassure himself more than anything.

Tracker of course, did not react, his only movements being the rise and fall of his shallow breaths. The sailor felt his eyes well up, and he blinked fiercely, the hot tears running down his cheeks as he gently lay his hand atop the duvet. Tracker was such a lively Smurf, always so full of passion and enthusiasm. Seeing him like this was … distressing. This was Dreamy’s best friend, the Smurf he loved more than all the stars in the night sky. A life without Tracker would be no life at all, least not for him.

Dreamy leant over and pressed a very gentle kiss to his husband’s forehead. It was icy, and nothing like the warmth he knew and missed.

“Marco’s coming soon” He whispered, repeating his earlier statement “He’ll make you better. You’ll get better soon, you’ll see…” *** Fear not!! The ending of that sounds ominous but it's all good lmao. It was a bit of a close call but Marco makes it! Tracker gets the antidote and after a couple of days is able to open his eyes again, another day and he can very croakily talk (He asks for Rover) and after about 2 weeks is back to normal-ish, although does have some mobility issues after being bed bound for so long, plus he lost a lot of weight being unable to eat properly during that time, but within a few months it's like he was never ill, and good old Tracker is back to normal And Dreamy can finally sleep in his own beds again, he basically spent almost a month curled up on the floor because he refused to leave Tracker's side unless he absolutely had to. Dreamy and Tracker (C) The Smurfs

#smurfs #the smurfs #my art #Butterverse #gonna use that as a tag now lmao #trackerxdreamy

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lochrannn · 3 years

Text

AU_gust: Guards! Guards!

Read on AO3

CW: Canon-typical violence

prompt no 23: Historical Fantasy

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves

Lila is unceremoniously shoved into a cell and as she whirls around to throw insults and maybe her fists at her captors - she’s been unfortunately relieved of her weapons - the cast iron bars are slammed in her face and the dungeon master sneers at her with blackened teeth, now that he’s no longer in danger of getting kneed in the balls. Again.

She slaps her hands against the bars anyway, making sure to hit them with the heels of her palms so the door rattles on its hinges as she shouts a string of threats about how she’ll carve every single one of them up and that they’d better let her out right the fuck now if they want to live.

In all honesty, she hasn’t the slightest idea why she is in this jail, for once.

She’d been making her way along a road through the forest, not on a mission, not even with any particular destination in mind, when she was jumped - completely taken by surprise - by five burly men, who knocked her half unconscious, took her weapons, bundled her up, and then dragged her to a fort and straight down into the dungeons.

And right now she’s far too furious at her captors, and a bit her own lack of wariness, to let the uncertainty of her fate get in the way of her anger.

“D’you mind keeping it down a little?” a voice behind her grumbles and Lila nearly jumps out of her skin as she whips around to see a figure sitting on a low bench in the far corner, half shrouded in the shadows.

She’d completely missed him when she was brought in.

Her fellow inmate seems to be a ranger like herself, she realises as her eyes adjust to the low lighting inside the cell proper. Long legs kicked out in front of him clad in practical leather trousers. A short leather tunic covers broad shoulders and an equally broad chest that he has his arms crossed over, only a bit of a linen shirt peeking out between leather gauntlets and empty knife straps, and Lila doesn’t think it’s a trick of the light that his skin seems darker than most people’s around here, but matching her own.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, at least doing a decent job of keeping the startled wobble that she feels out of her voice.

“Gods, you’re a charming one, aren’t you?” he asks sarcastically, pushing off from the bench and getting stiffly to his feet and Lila realises that he’s even bigger than she’d assumed he was sitting down.

She doesn’t let it show, but she is immediately on high alert as he moves. If she were armed she could probably take him, but if the scar she spots in his brow as he steps into the light is any indication, he knows how to fight just as much as her and Lila tries to push away the sudden fear of all number of terrible things he could do to her while none of the guards would bother to come to her aid.

Then she’s momentarily distracted when she sees his pointy ears stick out just a bit through the shaggy brown hair that frames his face, and she can’t hold in a surprised snort.

That is by far the bulkiest fucking elf she’s ever come across.

Indignation makes its way onto his face as he seems to realise that she’s laughing at him and he protests with a whine that really contrasts his earlier growly tones, “Hey, what the fuck are you laughing at me for?”

There’s an insecure vulnerability she might be able to exploit for her own safety if she plays her cards right, so Lila says, putting a brittle edge into her voice that comes a bit more easily than she cares to admit, “Not laughing at you, sorry! I’m just a tad stressed out about being locked up with someone who could be a brutal murderer for all I know!”

She’s surprised at how well her ploy works when there’s an instant shift in the elf’s energy and he actually takes a step back, giving her a lot more space, and his expression softens from irate to pensive.

“Uh, yeah… sorry,” he mumbles, fingers twitching at his sides as if he feels more uncomfortable than she does right now, “not gonna murder you. Promise…”

Oddly reassured by that, Lila stifles another laugh at his discomfort and instead asks conversationally, “What are you in her for, then?”

“Fuck if I know,” he replies exasperatedly, his frustration clearly not directed at her, though, “I was following a band of thieves through the forest hoping they’d lead me to their den and next thing I know, I wake up in this place with a headache and, I’m pretty certain, a crack in my skull. You?”

“More or less the same,” she answers with a shrug, then she goes on, hoping he’ll get what she’s offering, “Show me?”

It seems he does because he - tentatively, she notes - makes his way over to her and leans down a bit so that she can examine the right side of his head.

She hadn’t noticed it earlier, probably focussed a lot more on her own concerns, but now she sees the long gash that starts on his cheek and when she gently pushes strands of his hair out of the way, she sees that it’s matted with blood, originating from split skin that reaches all the way to above and behind his pointy ear, which is also a bit bloodied and swollen, clearly having been injured by the same blow.

The wound looks painful and like it will scar, but she doesn’t think it’s life-threatening as long as it doesn’t get infected.

“You’ll live,” she informs him tersely, but for some reason she can’t resist carding her fingers through his hair reassuringly before letting her hand drop. He grunts at her touch and blinks slowly and there’s suddenly an odd warm feeling in Lila’s chest.

She tries to dispel the tension developing in the cell, takes a step back, crosses her arms, and asks, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Diego,” he says neutrally. She hopes he hasn’t picked up on her sudden embarrassment.

“Well, Diego, I’m Lila,” she offers with a bit of a sigh and then brightens, “You wanna get out of here?”

Diego looks at her sceptially, “You got a plan?”

Lila grins at him, giving him a quizzical once over, “As a matter of fact, I do!”

“Uh, guard?” Diego calls out not loud enough, and entirely unconvincingly, seeing as he’s supposed to be distressed and Lila can’t help but press her face between his shoulder blades in fond exasperation.

She’s known him for all of ten minutes, how is she already fond of this hopeless fucking idiot? Gods, he can thank his lucky stars that he ended up being locked up with her or he’d never get out.

Lila is standing right behind Diego, hands fisted into the material of his leather tunic at his back, pressing as closely against his ridiculously solid body as she can, making herself practically invisible to anyone who might happen to be looking into the cell even if they came up close.

“Fuck, you’re a terrible actor,” she wispers and feels the muscles in his back tense.

“Shit, woman, stop nagging! You do your job, I do mine, if you don’t mind!” he grumbles out of the corner of his mouth and then takes a deep breath.

The next time he shouts, Lila has to stop herself from startling, because his voice echoes off the walls and there’s a decidedly dangerous edge to it. It’s a voice that will not be ignored.

“Guards! Guards! The fucking ranger’s escaped! She just disappeared from the cell!” He slams presumably his fists into the bars and makes them rattle loudly and the commotion has its desired effect, because Lila can hear hurried footsteps thundering down the hall towards them.

Good, it sounds like two of them, that’s what she was hoping. She was expecting at least two, but three would have already made her plan a bit more difficult to pull off.

She focuses intently on the task at hand, dragging her subconscious away from the warmth she feels radiating off Diego’s body and the not overpowering but decidedly distracting smell of his skin,

“What the fuck?!” she hears one of the guards shout as he arrives at the cell and can apparently indeed only find one occupant.

There’s a rattling of keys and the hinges of the cell door squeal as it is opened.

Diego’s muscles shift against her, it feels like he’s lifting his arms. “Careful where you point that thing,” he says evenly.

Right, so she assumes he’s being kept in check by one of the guards, but that’s ok, that’s part of the plan.

One set of footsteps tentatively enters and Lila readjusts ever so slightly, face still firmly pressed against Diego’s back but she can now see the guard as he passes them, gaze fixed on the far side of the cell, sword raised defensively, and he completely misses her as he edges past.

Lila spots the hilt of a knife sticking out of his belt and in a flash she slips away from Diego and up behind the guard, pulls the knife out of his belt, and slits his throat with it.

Confident enough in her skills that she doesn’t have to bother checking she’s done the job thoroughly enough, though she does register the thud as the guard’s body hits the stone floor, she twists around to assist Diego.

But there’s no need as she just catches him grabing the short spear, the tip of which is still resting against his chest, pulls it out of the other guard’s hands and slams the handle hard enough into the man’s face that Lila can hear the sickening crunch of multiple bones breaking.

She doubts he’s dead, but this guard will also not cause them any issues in the foreseeable future.

“Holy shit,” Diego breaths out in surprise, “I didn’t think that would work!”

“Oh thanks for the confidence!” she says, more exhilarated than miffed, really, and grabs his hand.

On some absolutely batshit impulse she interlaces her fingers with his, but then decides against just dropping his hand like it's a hot piece of coal, lest she make things even more awkward.

She ignores the wide eyed stare he gives her, though a part of her brain registers how he clasps her hand right back, and starts pulling him out of the cell, urgently saying, “Come on Diego, we need to go!”

#au_gust_2021 #fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #lochrannn lxd au challenge

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imagine-that · 4 years

Text

Wounded

Warnings: kinda angsty I guess? Obviously mentions of weapons and wounds and stuff?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

You sat most of the night, biting at the tip of your fingernails and still flicking through tv channels anxiously as the sun began to come up out the window.

You always worried when the Avengers went on a mission, they were always your best friends and basically your family but it had gotten even worse since you’d met him.

The day you met Bucky, the real Bucky not the winter soldier, was the day your heart grew ten times bigger and the day your worries grew a thousand times.

Of course, Bucky refused to let you tag along on any missions, always worrying himself that you’d get hurt or killed.

“Bucky, I know you’re in the middle of a mission but it would really ease my nerves if you would just call me.” You sigh into the phone as you leave your ten thousandth voicemail in his box. You knew he never really checked his voicemails or even his phone for that matter but it was the only thing keeping you from reaching literal insanity.

As you stand, you nearly bump right into Wanda in your state of hazy worry.

“Oh sorry Wanda. I didn’t realize anyone else was in the tower. Thought everyone was on mission.” You apologize with a halfhearted smile. She looks at you quizzically for a minute before she responds.

“He will be alright y/n. They all will. From what I was told it is a very simple mission. They should be back soon actually.” She assures you, the tone of strength in her voice keeping you calm.

“I know. I just worry. A lot. Probably a little too much actually.” You admit, subconsciously knawing on your thumb. Wanda swats you’re hand away from your mouth, nodding.

“I understand. But don’t let that worry get the better of you.” She says, holding onto your hand tightly.

“Thanks Wanda.” You say, a wholehearted smile replacing the previous expression you had.

“It’s my pleasure.” She smiles back, giving you a quick hug before she’s walking back out the door.

Shortly after she’d left, you hear a crash coming from the entryway, telling you the team was probably back. You stood quickly and ran over, excited that they were finally back.

As soon as you reached the door, you gasped in horror as Tony and Steve carefully carried a bloody and beaten Bucky through the open doorway.

“Wha- what happened?” You ask quietly, barely getting the words out. You follow behind them as they bring him over to the couch, his body practically limp. You hear his small whimpers and your heart practically shatters.

“He’ll be fine. He’s Bucky. He’s strong.” Steve says, probably more reassuring himself than he is you.

You go over to him, determination coursing through you as you grab a fistful of his shirt and try to get him to look at you.

Normally, you’d check to see if anyone else is injured. But seeing Bucky in the state he’s in sends you into full panic, making any rational thought fly right out the window.

“Steve. What the hell happened?” You demand and he sighs in defeat.

“He got hit with a bullet. He’ll be fine.” He repeats, clearly in a bit of a daze.

“Dollface.” You hear a hoarse voice murmur and your attention is immediately brought back to Buckys pale face. You kneel down onto the carpet, your face barely an inch away from his.

“I’m right here Barnes. I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper, running a hand up and down his arm.

He responds with a very weak smile and you feel tears starting in your eyes.

“Where did it hit him?” You ask no one in particular, looking up at the first person you see which happens to be Tony.

“Was it? I think it was what? The chest? Or the shoulder?” He says unsurely, looking over at Steve for confirmation. Steve nods his head, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Which are you nodding for?! Was it his chest or shoulder?!” You snap, looking to Steve.

“It was his shoulder.” He musters monotonously.

“And you didn’t think to take him to a damn hospital?!” You shriek, tears running down your face.

“We couldn’t. He’d end up arrested for being the winter soldier.” Natasha says, causing you to notice her presence.

“Right.” You sigh, looking back to him longingly.

“Doesn’t Fury know someone? Someone who could take care of him at whatever’s left of S.H.I.E.L.D.?” You ask, frantically trying to think of ways to help Bucky.

“He might. Let me call him and ask.” Natasha offers, pulling out her phone walking off into another room to take the call.

You squeeze Buckys hand gently and rest your head on the sofa cushion near his.

A few moments later, Natasha returns to the living room just as she hangs up the phone. Your head perks up hopefully as you look to her for an answer.

“He said they’ll be here as soon as possible so we need to make sure to put pressure on the wound.” She informs and you nod while Steve is quick to grab a rag and press it onto Buckys wound. He moans in protest but you ignore it as you put your hand over it to keep it over the wound tightly.

“As if we didn’t already know that.” Tony scoffs and Natasha kicks him in the shin and glares, telling him to shut up.

You softly push Bucky’s hair out of his face, stroking his stubbly jaw with your thumb.

“He’s gonna be fine. I know he is.” You sigh.

The lot of you sit there stuck in that moment for what feels like forever, waiting for help to get there. Your foot taps anxiously against the carpet in anticipation and worry.

Soon, a knock on the door is followed by a man and a woman, wordlessly rushing to your spot beside Bucky. With slight protests, they pull you to your feet, moving you away from him so they can examine his wound.

They explain what they’ll need to do briefly but you don’t hear a word of it, instead only hearing the ringing from your own ears.

You watch mutely as they pick up his body and place it on the stretcher they brought into the room, wheeling it over to the door.

You get to your feet, going to chase after them but Nat quickly steps in front of you, bringing you to a halt.

“Y/n, let them do their work. You need rest.” She insists.

“But-“ You begin to protest but she raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t slept since we left. You. Need. Rest.” She argues, the people around you agreeing with simple nods or hums of agreement.

“Fine.” You huff, laying back down on the couch and snuggling into the cushions with a blanket, drifting off into a fitful sleep.

—————————————————-

A few nights later, you wake up late but quickly recover, running around the people spread out on the couch and floor around you and into your room, changing into comfortable clothing. You run back into the living room and grab your keys, eager to get to wherever they’re keeping Bucky.

For the past few days, you weren’t allowed to see him. You were given minimal information and rarely any updates for some reason which frustrated you beyond belief. You’d remained glued to the couch with the phone next to you, just waiting for more information. Everyone in the avengers group had stayed with you, some leaving and coming back from minor missions but all spending every night by your side.

It didn’t do much to ease your nerves but they treated you both like family as always and it warmed your heart immensely.

Because of your stress though, you’d hardly slept any of those nights. You tossed, you turned, you got up and paced but got maybe three or four hours of sleep each night.

When Fury had informed you you’d be able to see him today, you were practically bursting with joy and a small sense of relief.

“Y/n?” Nat asks, not even seeming the slightest bit groggy.

“I need to see him.” You sigh, looking over at her with desperate eyes.

She nods in understanding, walking over without making so much as a creak in the floorboards with ease.

“I’ll drive. Fury sent me the location while you were sleeping.” She explains, instantly in agent mode.

You nod, walking out the door after her and out to the car.

After a short drive, you arrive at a regular hospital. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you look over to Nat for answers.

“It was apparently a lot easier than they thought it’d be to get him in. They used an alias and apparently have some sort of contact in the hospital here.” She informs you as the two of you start walking through the parking garage, over to the elevator.

During the entire ride up to the floor, you’re fidgeting, your nerves getting the better of you.

You get out, all but running to the room Nat told you. Once you find the number, you fling yourself into the room, racing over to the bed.

When you look, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in at the sight of him peacefully sleeping.

You sit down in the chair, reaching over for his hand and holding it in your own shaking ones, never having felt so thankful to feel his pulse on his wrist as your fingers find their way there subconsciously.

You finally notice after a moment of nothing but his breathing and the beeping of the machines to fill the silence that Nat stayed in the hall, giving you a moment with him on your own.

You stare down at your fingers entwined in his own, listening to the steady beeping and biting your lips out of nerves.

“Hey doll.” A voice says from beside you and you’re whipped back to attention, looking over at him with wide eyes.

His soft smile causes a sudden and teary one of your own, giggling through your hiccuping sobs.

“You’re ok.” You cry, head falling onto his chest. He chuckles a little but you don’t miss the wince in pain when you touch his shoulder.

“Sorry.” You murmur, immediately pulling back from him in fear of hurting him.

“It’s alright y/n. It’s only a bullet wound. I’ve been through worse.” He says teasingly but your frown stops him, making him feel immediately wrong about saying it.

“Don’t talk like that. Please.” You mutter, looking down into your lap.

You always hated when he talked about his hydra days. Obviously you let him if he needed someone to talk to but when possible you avoided the subject, hating the trauma it caused him.

“I’m sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood I guess.” He apologizes with a half grin.

“That’s very unlike you.” You tease, wiping the corners of your eyes as he chuckles a little more.

“I shouldn’t be making you laugh, it’ll make it hurt more.” You groan and he shakes his head.

“It’s fine.” He grunts, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You grin over at him until a few moments later, you’re frowning again.

“What?” He asks, looking puzzled.

You lightly smack his metal arm, scowling at him.

“James Buchanan Barnes, don’t you ever scare me like that again!” You scold.

He sighs, knowing it would probably have come to this at some point. He especially knows how upset you are when you use his full name to address him. He hated when you did that.

“You know how I feel about missions. They scare me. Like a lot.” You cry, not meeting his eyes.

“You know they’re dangerous y/n. You knew that before we even started going out.” He sighs, frowning in worry.

“That’s the point!” You exclaim.

Before he can respond, you grumble under your breath angrily as you snuggle up to him as gently as possible on his other side, no matter how uncomfortable the metal arm may be to be cuddled with.

“Just try not to get hurt again, yeah?” You murmur into his chest.

He grins a little, though you can’t actually see it.

“Not that I was really trying to this time, but I won’t. Promise.” He swears, nuzzling his chin into your hair.

You shuffle closer to him, gently wrapping your arm around his torso as his wraps around your waist.

You stay there as long as possible. Throughout the day, people come and go, either visiting with him or checking his vitals or his wound but the one thing that doesn’t change is you, snuggled comfortably up to him, protecting him as much as you’re capable from any other thing that may harm him and swearing to yourself that you always would.

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darlinvandijk · 4 years

Text

Smile Please

Concept: Might not be too like put together since I had so many ideas coming to my mind for this. Not a request but someone said imagine being in quarantine and not being able to see Ruel and missing him, then like having him sing to you so you can fall asleep. Well I decided to do that but also put a complete darlin twist on it.(She’s also in the industry too btw) Can you tell what this is the prequel to? I hope you enjoy :)

A sigh escapes my lips as I stare at my laptop screen, Netflix asking if I’m still watching for the 15th time today, like I’d be doing anything else. Every single day is a blur of Netflix, naps, FaceTime calls, and YouTube binging. Oh, and absolutely no human contact.

I roll over on to my stomach as I hear my phone buzz, praying that it’s someone trying to talk to me, rather than getting another meaningless social media notif. My heart skips a beat as I see my boyfriend texting me, nothing but excitement filling me as I see the word FaceTime. Only to be filled with dread as I think about how I look, having put in absolutely zero effort the last few days, because I mean who’s going to see me?

I toss my phone on to my bed, telling Ruel to give me a few minutes, before launching myself into my closet. I rip off my stained sweats and hoodie, before realizing I haven’t done any laundry in a week. I rip a pair of shorts out of the pile on my floor throwing them on, before grabbing my secret hoodie that I always keep hidden. The hoodie that Ruel has no clue about, because if he did, well he’d lose his mind. Desperate times call for desperate measures though.

“Hi baby, you’re looking beautiful as always” Ruel sweetly says, instantly answering my call as I lay back down on my bed, still keeping my body out of sight from him. Upon hearing his sweet words, I bring my hand up to cover my face, not wanting him to see the red hue taking over. He laughs at my actions before freezing, staring at me with a look I can’t quite figure out, the smile from his face completely gone. “Babe, what are you wearing right now?” he practically shrieks at me, his eyes now glaring at me with complete betrayal filling them. Betrayal that could have been avoided if I just answered shirtless.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Rueloff, anyways, how’s your day going?” I question, my eyes looking anywhere but him. My question is met with silence, a haunting silence that causes chills to run down my spine. “That’s great to hear, you’ve had a fun day huh, well let me tell you about my day, so I took 5 naps today, I know right less than usual, I also watche-“ I immediately blurt out, seeing Ruel try to open his mouth to talk, his eyes now drilling holes into the visible hoodie.

“You told me you hadn’t seen that sweater since the Paris show! You stole my sweater and didn’t tell me for 7 months?” He cries out, waving his hands around the air in distress, thinking about the all the lies I spewed about his favorite hoodie. “You told me it must’ve been misplaced when we left the venue, because and I quote, you had seen it on the couch. You’re a thief. My own girlfriend is a snake” he whines, shoving his face into a pillow, grumbling more things about how I can never be trusted again.

“I asked you to let me wear it and you always told me no, I did what I needed to do. You know this is my favorite one” I mumble, playing with the sleeves that go past my hands. He gives me an incredulous look, wondering how I’m able to turn this against him so fast, not knowing I’ve been preparing for this since the day I shoved it into my underwear section of my bag. “I can give it back if you want, I just like it because it smells the most like you.” I whisper, looking into his eyes finally with a pout, knowing it’ll win him over. As soon as the pout forms, his eyes are instantly drawn to my lips, his eyes softening at the gesture.

“You’re such an asshole, trying to guilt me for wanting my favorite hoodie back, but fine. Keep it, I guess you look better in it than I ever did pretty girl” he groans, unable to keep the smile off of his face as he sees my body drowning in his hoodie. I lean against my headboard laughing, my phone set up on my night stand, completely oblivious to the beautiful boy watching me. Ruel sits there in awe, eyes wandering over every inch of me, his expression softening by the second. “You truly are stunning though sweetheart, so fucking stunning” he breathes out, gaze unwavering when I look at him, my heart stuttering as I take in the look he’s giving me.

“I miss you” I tell him, as I lay down and pull a blanket over my body, the heartache of not being able to see each other fully kicking in. He lets out a deep breath, feeling useless as he watches me wipe my eyes, knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix this. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood. It’s just been hard without you lately, but I know we have to stay home for a good reason, it just sucks” I whimper, my voice cracking as I try to keep my tears at bay, feeling more emotion than usual because of how late it is.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize love. You didn’t say anything wrong, this social distancing thing does suck, but before we know it you’ll be back in my arms again yeah?” He questions, trying to lighten the mood, only ending up with a frown as he watches the tears finally fall down my face. He gives me a few moments to gather myself, watching as I grab some tissues, my ragged breathing the only sound filling the air. “Don’t cry bubba, please don’t cry. I miss you more than anything, you know that. You also know that it breaks my heart to see you cry, think you can give me a little smile please? Might die if you don’t ” He dramatically whines out, covering his face with his hands, putting on the biggest show possible. I don’t see it, but as soon as I laugh at my boyfriends dramtic performance, a smile spreads across his lips, pride filling him as he gets me to cheer up a little.

He lays down in the same position as me, both of us facing our phones as we look at one another, a comfortable silence settling over us. My eyes wander over his messy grown out hair, looking at his mustache that he takes so much pride in, and looking at the necklace hanging out of his hoodie. The necklace that holds the plain band version of my promise ring that he got me, saying that it was unfair if I was the only one that got to have “major drip”. As my eyes wander, I subconsciously start playing with the drawstring of my hoodie, not noticing the way his eyes instantly get drawn to my promise ring, love filling his heart as he watches the small diamond in the middle sparkle in the light.

“I can’t wait till I can change that ring to a real one” he muses, picturing the day he’ll get to switch out my ring with the one he already knows he’s going to get when the times right. My eyes widen at his confession, my heart speeding up as I hear the seriousness in his voice. “Even if it means having to wait until I can finally catch a break from all of this” he mumbles, getting caught up in his head, thinking about how nonstop his life seems to be, wondering if he’ll actually ever have the freedom to settle down. Or if it’ll make me runaway before he can even get the chance.

“One day bub, one day. I promise.” I smile at him, knowing my reassurance about what our future holds puts him at ease, his biggest fear that I’ll leave from not being able to handle what comes with being together. “I know you get worried that your career and you being gone a lot will make me not want this anymore, but I promise that won’t happen. No empty love or empty promises here, I’m not that shallow bub. Your career is important to you and me, I’ll never let it get in the way of us” I tell him, watching as he nods his head with a small frown. He starts to fiddle with the ring, sliding it around the chain before looking up at me with a curious look.

“Do you ever get worried? That this will become too much and the nonstop lifestyle of it will just do more harm than good. I can’t think of my future without you in it, but this is a lot to deal with” he questions, concern flashing through his eyes, my gaze catching on to the slight shake of anxiety in his hands. “Once this pandemic is up I’m gone again, more shows and interviews. I just don’t want it to hurt us, because you’re my priority. That’ll never change. I just don’t want you faking that it’s okay, when I know it bothers you” he rants, running a hand through his already messy locks, the stress of the future already taking over his mind.

“I promise we’ll be okay. Your career will never be too much for me, if you can put up with mine and my random traveling for shows and interviews, then I’ll support you and your career.” I reason with him, watching him nod his head, still not fully convinced with my answer. I softly call his name, making him look me in the eyes, seeing the absolutely confident look I give him. “You’re always going to be a priority, your career and mine can’t change that. I’ll never fake anything or tell you something that isn’t true” I state, watching his shoulders sag in relief, my words finally easing the anxiety he’s feeling. He takes a few moments to think before giving me a final nod, deciding that I convinced him enough that his career won’t scare me away.

“I know, I know. I just get worried, we’re both in an industry where everything is just so fake, you can’t ignore the fabrication.” he quietly says, both of us thinking about the things that truly happen behind the scenes, the things the fans don’t know about. “You’re right though, we’ll be fine. I love you and you love me, that’s all the matters. It’s all we need to make this work” he confirms, giving me a boyish grin. I let out a laugh at his smile, before a yawn takes over, making my eyes water as the fatigue of being up so late finally kicks in.

“I’m getting bubba, but I don’t want to hang up” I whine, as I cuddle further into his hoodie, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I watch him with droopy eyes, trying my hardest to stay awake with him, knowing he wouldn’t be going to bed anytime soon. “Can sing for me? I miss hearing you” I mumble, my words incoherently forming a thought that he understands, a quiet laugh escaping his mouth as he hears it.

“Go to sleep baby, I won’t hang up.” he promises, watching as I get more comfortable. Once I stop shifting around, he gets comfortable, and decides to sing the one song he knows always helps me sleep. “I will always love you how I do, Let go of a prayer for you, Just a sweet word, The table is prepared for you” he softly sings out, his voice over the speaker filling my room, slowly lulling me to sleep, my mind filled with nothing but thoughts of love and adoration for him.

I’m already asleep by the time he finishes, not seeing the way he watches me with a small smile, not being able to hear the last few thijge he utters before letting himself also drift off to sleep. Not knowing the weight his words would truly hold in the future.

“I love you sweetheart, nothing will ever get between us, I promise. Our love is deep enough, we can handle it.”

#one ruel #ruel #ruel van dijk #ruelvincentvandijk #ruel imagine #ruel imagines #ruel fanfic #free time ep #imagines #one shot #imagine #x reader #ruel one shot

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 16

Hallucinations

Ao3

-o-o-o-o-

"Nightwing, report."

Bruce says it more heartlessly than he means to. Here he is, dragging his eldest child through the grimy streets of the Theater District, kicking up abandoned, soggy pieces of litter as they stumble inch by inch towards the Batmobile, and he asks his barely lucid son to report as he hangs around Bruce's shoulder by a limp arm.

And maybe it's just the quote unquote emotional constipation in him. Maybe whenever he sees any of his children this out of commission, something inside of him subconsciously crawls away to hide. Turn his face. Harden every single one of his outer layers until the sight of pain in his children's faces just doesn't bother him as much as it probably should.

It does bother him. He just can't ever bring himself to show it while they're still in the heat of the moment.

"Chum," he repeats when Dick simply lets out a little mewl. "Can you make it back to the cave?"

:READMORE:

Dick shakes his head against Bruce's shoulder, pain wrinkling the skin at the corners of his wandering eyes. Bruce noted Dick's been looking slightly off and to the left for the past five minutes. Bruce wishes he could see what Dick sees right now, tell him whatever he's seeing over there isn't real and it's all Crane's fear toxin, but he knows better. He's worked with plenty of victims who hallucinate enough times to know the worst thing you could do was ask them about the sights and sounds they were experiencing. Whether it's illusions caused by drugs or a mentally ill patient in Arkham, asking them to verbalize and explain was just as good as making it a reality for them.

Bringing it out of their heads and into the real world.

Judging by how Dick's still managing to get his legs to work alongside Bruce as they walk a little further, the delusions he's seeing must not be fully effecting him.

"B- I…" Dick swallows and shakes his head again. "It's bad this- this time. I- I don't know if… if I can…"

He cuts off with a groan and Bruce drags them forward ever faster, wincing at the strain of the movement added with Dick's extra weight bearing down upon his wounded calf, sliced open by Scarecrow's scythe not ten minutes ago.

Bruce has already administered the antidote into Dick's bloodstream, but it seems Crane has altered his formula once again. The most it's doing is slowing down the effects, but Bruce knows that sooner or later Dick will be completely lost to his nightmares, and Bruce will be helpless to do anything but work as fast as he can to create an antidote.

"Just hold on, chum, just one more street and we'll be in the car, then we can figure all of this out."

Curse Crane for being around long enough to know that Bruce's most important tricks and tricks are within his utility belt. He got a lucky swipe at his hips during the heat of their now finished battle and broke a lot of the wiring he has within the device. The button to summon the Batmobile was broken, and seeing as Alfred was currently out of the country and most of his kids off doing their own things, he couldn't have anyone manually drive the Batmobile towards them.

He's just glad Damian went with Alfred to England. The lad needed a trip out, and Alfred was happy to suggest bringing him along. Because, while that might mean there's no one to help Bruce while Dick is dosed up on fear toxin like this, it also means Damian won't have to see his eldest brother like this.

"Br's," Dick mumbles beside him as the place where Bruce parked the Batmobile comes into sight.

"Yes, chum?"

"I can't… I- think-"

Suddenly, Dick jerks away from Bruce's grasp, and thanks to the blood-loss in his leg, he isn't quite strong enough to stop Dick from slipping from his hands and collapsing onto the floor, whining and trying to get back to his feet with the strength of a newborn fawn.

Bruce rushes forward. "Nightwing!"

He tries to grab at Dick and lift him back up, but Dick yelps and flinches violently like he's been shocked. "No please!"

And… shit. The fear toxin is finally taking full effect. Of course it's had to happen now, when they were so close to the Batmobile. Within a millisecond, Bruce tries to determine what kind of procedures he'll have to enact to get Dick into the car and back to the cave. Does Dick simply need space? Or does he need to be restrained?

He should plan on restraints. Always plan for every outcome, but prepare for the worst case scenario first. It's a lesson he's forced himself to learn over the years, one he's taught to every child who he's ever mentored and called his own.

"Please no, please stop-" Dick continues to whimper, slowly stumbling to his feet and backing up like he's one blow of the wind from falling over. "I can't-"

And Bruce moves. As much as seeing Dick like this hurts him, he also knows the longer the toxin is in Dick's system, the more potential damage it could do. It will be better in the long run to ignore Dick's internal struggles and get him to the cave than it would be to not startle him.

Dick tries to fight him, his breaths coming out in panicked bursts as Bruce grabs onto his upper body and pins him to his chest. Dick immediately begins to struggle, his back to Bruce's chest and his arms trapped between Bruce's restraining ones. He yells out, screams to be let go and left alone, but Bruce grinds his teeth and manhandles Dick towards the car, forcing himself to ignore the pulsing pain in his leg or how he'll definitely have to stitch it himself later.

He gets to the car thankfully without anyone coming out to see what the ruckus was about. People scream all the time in the Theater District despite Bruce's constant attempts to lower the rate of crime. Where in normal cities, people would probably at least look out their windows to see what commotion was about, in Crime Alley it was smarter to keep the blinds shut and the doors locked.

Shoving Dick into the car takes tremendous effort. Dick's full on panicking now, trying to hit and kick at Bruce with everything he's got, and by the time Bruce has him locked into the back of the Batmobile where the chair with restraints reside, he's sporting a number of new bruises along his chest and jaw.

He shuts the foot and leans against the car for a moment, catching his breath as a wave of dizziness crashes into him. Dick's writhing within the restraints of the chair, screaming and kicking, clawing at any straps his fingers can barely grasp at.

Bruce sucks in a breath of air, hardens the shell around him, then limps towards the driver's seat.

By the time he skids to a stop within the cave, Dick's gone from screaming and struggling to crying and heartbreaking attempts to simply curl up. Multiple times during the ride, he's called for Bruce to save him. To swoop in and make the pain stop. Multiple times he apologizes for not being good enough. For always failing.

Bruce wants nothing more than to tell him that he's here, and that he'll fix this, and that he considers the man Dick Grayson is today to be one of his greatest achievements. Never a disappointment.

But his vision is woozy and he feels nauseous thanks to the blood-loss, and he knows Dick will be deaf to any reassurances until he has an antitoxin in his system. There is no point in wasting time. Not when he could be spending it curing Dick's fears and then making sure he doesn't bleed to death.

Because he's pretty sure if he bleeds to death while Alfred is in England, the man will bring Bruce back to life just so he can kill him himself.

He slams his fingers on the button that opens all the doors of the Batmobile and then stumbles out. He leaves Dick restrained to the chair for the moment while he practically trips over his own feet towards the lab where he grabs a roll of gauze and ties it around his leg. He then grabs the nearest clean syringe, turns, and prepares himself for what he's about to do.

He takes off his cowl, in hopes a familiar face will make the process easier, but Dick still sobs and screams and begs as Bruce shoves the needle into his arm anyway.

"I'm sorry, please, it hurts- it hurts-"

He forces himself to tune it out, rushing back towards the lab as quickly as his hastily bandaged wound would allow and begins to analyze Dick's blood. Dick doesn't stop whimpering for the entire process, and by the time Bruce has an antitoxin ready, he's practically numb.

Numb to Dick's constant sobbing and expressions of fear. Numb to his own body.

Everything spins as he walks like a dead man towards his son one final time. As much as it initially pained him to do, he's glad now that he has Dick restrained like this. He's so weak that he knows he wouldn't be able to fight off Dick's writhing if he were free.

He presses the needle into Dick's neck, ignoring how his cries and shouts become louder, his struggling becoming more violent. However, there's nothing Dick can do to fend off Bruce like this, and soon the entirety of the antitoxin in running its course through his system.

Both Bruce and Dick collapse, Bruce because of the overtaking dizziness, Dick because the fear toxin is now in process of being nullified.

Dick's still hallucinating, Bruce can tell, but they're not as violent as what they were just a few minutes ago. Bruce can't really look and see through, he can barely keep his eyes open. It's all he can do to lean against the car and rest his head near where Dick's thighs sit on the chair. He can feel Dick twitching every so often, but the twitches become smaller the more time goes by.

Eventually, Dick's whimpers become nothing more than tired sighs, and Bruce finally lets his eyes close.

-o-o-o-o-

Bruce wakes up what must be hours later. He knows this, because the chittering in the cave above him is louder, a sign that it's morning and the bats are slowly beginning to return home.

He's laying on his back on top of one of the metal lab tables, various beakers and tools pushed to the side to make room for his body. His entire leg is numb, but not in the way that meant blood-loss and infection, but one that suggested a numbing agent. He groans and gets his elbows under him, wincing at the strain in his spine from the hard surface of the table. There's a tug in his wrist that belongs to an IV hooked to a bag of blood, and when he looks down he can see his leg has been expertly wrapped. Various medical tools lay forgotten by his legs along with a bloodied needle and a spool of medical thread.

Then, his eyes catch onto a very pale, but peacefully resting Dick Grayson. Bruce has no idea how he escaped the restraints of the Batmobile, dragged Bruce all the way here, and patched up his leg, but judging by how he's absolutely knocked out cold, curled up in a very uncomfortable metal chair, it took a lot of strain for him to pull off.

Bruce is just glad that Dick managed to escape the restraints after the antitoxin was administered, and not before.

Slowly, Bruce slides the IV out from his arm and climbs off the table, cautious of his bad leg. Dick doesn't move as Bruce approaches, which is probably for the best. Bruce carefully brushes his hand against Dick's cheek, and finally lets himself feel something when Dick hums sleepily and leans into his touch.

Dick is twenty-seven years old. But Bruce knows that Dick could grow to be forty, or eighty, or older, and Bruce would always see him as that little eight year old who first somersaulted into his life, the same little boy stood in front of Bruce with a determined set to his jaw; demanding Bruce let him out at night to fight crime.

"Dick," Bruce whispers, moving his hand up a little to sneakily check his temperature as Dick's eyelashes flutter open. "Chum, Alfred will murder us if we sleep all night in the cave."

"But'm comfy," Dick mumbles through a yawn and Bruce finds a grin slowly spreading on his lips.

"No you're not. Come on, up."

Dick groans as Bruce wraps his hand around his bicep to coax him to his feet. Soon enough, Bruce has Dick leaning against his side, arms wrapped around each other to support both of their weights. Together, they walk towards the stairs, dreading the walk up but knowing they can do it as long as they have each other.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #nightwing #batman #dc #dc comics #fear toxin #fic #fanfiction #jin writes #whumptober2020 #no.16 #hallucinations #blood tw #injury tw #panic attacks tw

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guildedlily6 · 4 years

Note

Hi can you do a jj image where the reader wants to order something at restaurant but She’s to scared to do so and he does it for her bc he noticed she was uncomfy and then she opens up about her social fears// i hope u understand english is not my first languaes

And A Side Of Fries (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Author’s Note: Hi I loved your request so much because I can relate too! I hope you enjoy and thanks so much for sending in a request!

Y/F/S= Your Favorite Soda.

Word Count: 697 (kinda short)

Warnings: one swear, social anxiety (a little), that's really it.

---------------------------

JJ and I walk through the door of The Wreck. It’s around 8pm and a light breeze blows through the open windows in the restaurant.

Tonight, JJ said he would “treat” me by taking me out on a date. I told him I wanted to eat at The Wreck because we’d get a discount from Kiara and her dad.

“Hey guys,” Kiara greets as we walk up to the counter. “I actually have some other stuff to take care of, but you two will still get your discount. Carl here can take your orders.” And with that, she smiles and walks away through the back door.

“What are you going to get?” I ask JJ, peering up at him.

JJ takes his cigarette out of his mouth and sticks it in the bin near the counter. “Eh, the usual. Burger. Fries. What about you?”

I feel the usual twist in my stomach and flutter in my chest as it feels like adrenaline is kicking in. Only, it’s not adrenaline. “I’ll just get the same as you.”

“Alright,” he says, his eyes scanning my face, probably noticing that I’ve begun to shift uncomfortably.

JJ and I have been together for about two months now, but I haven’t exactly opened up about my small freak-outs I have when I have to order things by myself or talk to new people. Social anxiety. It’s a bitch, but I can’t help it.

Our new server, Carl, walks up to the front and starts tapping away on the order screen.

“Hello, my name is Carl. Do you two know what you’d like to eat?” Carl looks up at us, waiting patiently.

He’s friendly enough, but I subconsciously sink back against JJ.

“I’ll get the beef and bacon cheeseburger and for the drink, I’ll just have water. Oh yeah, and a side of large fries,” JJ orders. I hide a smile. JJ knows that I’ll steal his fries even if I get my own.

“Okay. And for you?” Now Connor’s eye’s shift to me and it’s like I freeze up.

What did I want again? Hamburger… No, wait, cheeseburger with fries? What size? Drink?

I realize Connor is just staring at me intently, watching me try to collect myself to order food.

This is so dumb.

“She’ll have a cheeseburger and Y/F/S as a drink. And a side of fries,” JJ says for me. He squeezes my hand to reassure me.

“Alright. What size of fries?”

“Medium.” JJ hands over some cash after Carl tells us the price.

We go and sit down in a booth.

“Sorry, I froze, and- Well, thanks for ordering me,” I mumble, messing around with the number Carl gave us. “He just kept… staring.”

JJ shrugs and leans back against the back of the booth, resting his arm on the windowsill. “It’s no problem. He was bug-eyed anyway.”

Kie comes over with our food and drink and sets them on the table then leaves.

I feel as if now is the time to explain myself to JJ. “Sometimes I have trouble talking to people. Like, not you, because I know you, but new people. It just, I don’t know, makes me anxious.” I take a sip of my drink.

“I just noticed you seemed nervous. It’s okay, though, cause I understand,” he says. I can tell he means it because he smiles and reaches across the table to rest his hand on mine.

For the rest of the date, JJ and I chat about the awkward yet funny experiences we’ve had with people and we laugh together. He makes me feel like it isn’t a bad thing. It’s okay to get anxious sometimes.

We finish up and leave the restaurant, hand-in-hand. The breeze brings a chill to the night air and causes my sundress to flow in the wind.

We stroll down to the beach, still smiling, and for the first time in a long time, the unsettling feeling of anxiety is completely gone. It’s just me and him.

He kisses me and it helps me to know that he’ll always be there, even if it’s for silly things like ordering an extra side of fries.

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Feel free to send more requests for different characters, or even more JJ. You can always look at my list of TV shows, movies, and books to get an idea of what I can write! Thanks for reading!

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj obx imagine #outer banks #john b #kiara carrera #pope heyward #and an side of fries #send requests

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imma-lil-teapot · 5 years

Text

TMNT 2003/2K3 Headcanon: Crying - (Raphael)

Feel free to scroll past this first part if you’re not interested in my silly rambling and nonsense. I won’t mind. Promise. ;)

Alrighty then, lockdown has officially started here. :/ *Unenthusiastic streamers fly* Oh well, look what we have all the time in the world for: WRITING! *Enthusiastic streamers fly* Not too much extra to add in this regard since the last headcanon (thanks a bunch for the likes btw, guys :D ), so I guess we’ll just get right into it. :)

Please bear in mind that I’m SUPER rusty! Haven’t written in ages so there are bound to be typos and all matter of general errors scattered throughout the post. Don’t pet them! They bite!

Anyhoo~ Despite attempting to create and share with the goal in mind to uplift spirits, I decided to start on a rather upsetting subject (PLEASE DON’T LEAVE! They end on happy notes ;) ) because, Imma just come and say it, I enjoy seeing my favourite characters shed tears (not for just any old reason -their personality plays a huge role in this- and CERTAINLY not for sadistic reasons, land sakes no! But… well, you’ll see~ ;) ) It makes me all gooey and fuzzy inside to see them display such raw emotion and I just wanna leap into the TV screen to hug and console them. I dunno why. Maybe I’m nuts like that. (Remembers Raph crying at the farm when Leo was badly injured and wishes she could just hug them all and take away the pain) Oh well, if you enjoy visualizing the same, then *High Fives*. :)

So yeah, if you read the title, you’ll know this is based on the 2003/2k3 series (my favs). Hope you all enjoy~ :D Grab tissues cause sad turts ahead! :’(

Jibber jabber stops here~

TURTLES~

LEONARDO

RAPHAEL - You are here

DONATELLO - Coming soon

MICHELANGELO - Coming soon

WARNING(S): Because of the subject, Angst and Hurt/Comfort will be present.

RATING: G (General)

WORD COUNT: Uhhh... *Shrugs shoulders*

ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD:

Well, you’re just gonna have to scroll down to find him, Master Splinter. ;) I really didn’t know what to add so... *Shrugs* And look at da squishy Turtle Tots, dey so cuuuuute!!! <3

TO THE HEADCANONS~~~~

~RAPHAEL~

– With his infamous hotheadedness and quick capacity for battle, it’s of course natural at first for one to expect Big Bad Raphie-Boy to be completely opposed to the very thought of crying. He is the resident ‘tough guy’ after all.

– However, this notion couldn’t be farther from the truth: sure, he can be brash, quick to temper and lash out at those that give him enough incentive to, but underneath that rockhard exterior beats the heart of a real softie, and when something truly upsets that tender muscle, you can bet Mr. Hothead’s not going to try too hard to keep the tears at bay.

– He’s as passionate as he is headstrong, and reining in such powerful emotions proves to be difficult at most times for him, so out of the four of them, and given the right circumstances, Raph can be surprisingly easy to get the tears flowing.

-- He’s no crybaby by a long shot, mind you, but he also knows that holding back on the waterworks is pointless and makes one just feel worse in the long run. If you’re going to cry, just cry. Simple as that.

-- Like all of his brothers, Red can’t handle the thought of losing any of his family and close friends. It tears him apart inside and he’ll desperately attempt to protect and prevent anything terrible from happening to them, but when it does, he’s an emotional wreck and doesn’t always know how to handle his distress.

– His initial reaction is to be by their sides before becoming outraged, and depending on the different situations, it’s not uncommon for him to also nag and pass remarks at the injured brother(s). It’s the only real way of expressing his fear of losing them before dampness starts forming in his eyes.

– Despite his tough guy front, he’s not against crying in front of his family and friends at all. He knows his place and doubts a few tears will have them seeing him in a different light, particularly his father/master and brothers for they’ve seen the worst in him on many occasions.

– It’s only when a particularly harsh meltdown wishes to happen does Raph choose to spare them the sideshow; he knows it’s not a pretty sight, so before the sniffling begins, he leaves the Lair and heads topside for some much needed air.

– He chooses the nearby rooftops as his destination; the ideal location to let go of the ever building waves of raw emotion that continue to grip at his chest, and by the time he makes it up the fire escape ladder, he spares little time letting out a rough growl in frustration, kicking an air vent a couple of times for good measure.

-- With some rage and frustration now out of his system, he heads on over to the brick wall and turns his back to it, roughly sliding down into a sitting position and exhales a dismal sigh. As he subconsciously replays the earlier events through his mind, he finally allows the next phase of his sorrow to surface unbridled.

-- He dolefully holds his head in one hand and balances it on a single knee pad as the tears now begin to flow freely.

– They instantly soak into his mask, and he grits his teeth as he feels the surges of emotion wrack his entire body. He doesn’t characteristically whimper or sob when crying, but he coughs a lot, and his nostrils leak like a faucet, forcing him to frequently sniff and snort just in order to breathe. This is the very reason why he refuses to really break down in front of the the others; not because of his tenacity, but because he simply finds the whole affair gross. His family certainly didn’t need to hear him constantly hacking up a lung and sounding like an untuned trumpet every time he blew his nose.

– The episode doesn’t last too long, though, much to his delight, and after some more thorough nasal clearing, Raph then wipes at his still somewhat wet eyes and mask before drawing out another -now exhausted- sigh.

-- He’d begin gradually twirling a single sai around whilst he collected his thoughts. It felt more natural to keep his hands busy than have them being static when he was feeling this way. As his demeanor altered, so did the actions he performed with it.

– He wouldn’t return to his family just yet for there was still some brooding left to be done... At least that was what he’d convinced himself he was doing. He wanted a clear head when he returned so for now, he’d remain in place on the rooftop in the crisp air with the city bursting with life just below him.

-- He had to admit, it was certainly the best place for him to be with his thoughts. Comforting in fact. A true New Yorker at heart.

BONUS EXTRA~

– Aside from having everyone special to him perish, one of Raph’s greatest fears is his inability to fully control his own temper. On more than one occasion has it gotten out of hand and thus resulted in him injuring his own brothers, and it had shaken him to the core each time.

– He’s come to the realization that he is his own worst enemy when it comes to reigning in his own inner rage, and it uneases him immensely that it could happen again and he’s fully aware that the probability is higher than he cares to admit. The more he concerns himself with it, the more it upsets him and thus, the tears of frustration start.

– Fortunately, his bros are there for him and can tell when he’s feeling low about it. They know the best course of action is to have a light-hearted conversation about it with him and offer their reassurances... With Mikey of course adding his own two cents on the matter in his unique Mikey style, which usually involves poking fun at his brother in red and causing Raph to go from broody to enraged in record breaking time. Just how it should be.

– Not only is Raph A-okay with crying himself, but he’s often first on the emotional support committee to offer the shoulder of comfort to his friends, amazingly enough, and he’s actually pretty decent at it too. Though, not for absolutely everyone; he has his limitations when he knows someone’s really just blubbering for attention.

– He wasn’t always so accepting of shedding tears, though: as a very young Turtle Tot, he often thought of it as being too ‘babyish’ for him to do and thus despised it whenever something happened to cause him to tear up.

– It took Master Splinter a rather surprisingly lengthy amount of time to change his perception of crying. No amount of explanations on how it was a perfectly natural expression of emotion would sway his son.

– It got so out of hand that Raph would be in utter denial about crying right in front of his father, even while the latter would be staring at his tear-stained face directly in front of him. “M‘not cryin’,” the little Turtle would sniff. “Cryin’s fah sissies.”

-- Splinter could only sigh and shake his head as he knelt down to embrace his son. When could he feel that Raphael would not fight the closeness, he’d give him the same lecture again, and Raph would finally succumb to his emotions and sob into his father’s robe whilst Splinter comfortingly rubbed his shell.

-- He could only guess that his words finally got through to his son for ever since that day, Raph’s entire attitude had altered for the better on the subject.

BONUS EXTRA EXTRA FEMALE READER OR S/O EDITION~ (Can also use an OC/FC insert if you wish, up to you)

From the moment you entered the Lair, you could clearly see something was up; Mikey was nursing an obvious wrist injury with a bag of frozen peas and hovering around Donny’s work area, complaining about the swelling to the purple-banded Turtle, who appeared to be paying little attention towards his ‘younger’ sibling as his back was turned.

"Hi, (Y/N).”

You visibly jumped at the voice behind you and briskly turned, only to meet Leonardo’s placid form, and he swiftly apologized for the start.

After the formal greeting, you gestured with a thumb in confusion at the former scene with an added, “Do I want to know?”

The leader’s facial features altered to a more serious aspect. “The end result of testing Raph’s patience,” he offered, which instantly had you more than a little concerned. Sure, Mikey could come off as being annoying, but to go so far as to physically harm him?

“Are you sure it’s not worse than ‘just a sprain’?” You overheard the injured brother asking Donny, whose focus remained on a contraption of sorts you couldn’t quite make out on his desk.

“Yes, Mikey, you’ll live,” he responded with just a hint of weariness. “But no swinging your nunchucks around for a coupla days,” which was met with a typical whine in response from his patient.

“It’s really not as bad as he makes it out to be,” Leo then added, turning your attention back towards him. Though you didn’t express it, you were grateful to hear the good news.

"Where is he now?”

“Topside most likely.” Of course. It didn’t surprise you in the least that Raph had chosen to head there and you quickly set a course for the surface. “Need an escort?” The leader in blue offered, to which you politely declined. You knew he needed no further explanation.

As you pushed back the manhole cover and made your way towards the nearest fire escape ladder, you were unable to put aside the various speculations as to why your special Turtle would hurt his own brother... Well, you would be kidding yourself to say you didn’t have at least one very plausible theory in mind, but as you neared the top of the ladder, the guesswork was instantly dropped and replaced with trepidation for you knew how Raph felt about injuring family.

To put it simply, you were going to be dealing with a very dejected Turtle, and true to form, as you peered over the top of the building, the iconic emerald green hide and red mask tails met your sight.

This was Raph’s favorite spot to gather his thoughts after all, so it was a no-brainer decision to begin the search there, and it was clear as day that it was exactly what he was doing for he made no effort to acknowledge your presence as he remained seated against the wall in a slouching position and gaze locked out front.

As expected, he appeared to be moping. “Hey, Raphie,” you greeted, clambering over the wall.

You were unable to tell if he had been aware you were nearby for he made no prior indication but instead merely replied with a gloomy, “’Sup, Kiddo?” No movement whatsoever.

It amused you whenever he chose to refer to you by that nickname, especially since you were both the same age, but as you ambled on over towards him, you were left anything but amused as your former notion was set in stone when you caught the telltale signs of wet stains under his eyes. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

It wasn’t the first time you had witnessed ‘ol Red crying, but it didn’t prevent your heart from breaking all the same. Something about seeing the bullheaded bad boy in tears left you in a real state of dismay, so without invitation, you seated yourself next him, affectionately leaning against his side, but before the consoling could begin, you had to gently ask, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Ugh, it was so stupid! Mikey wouldn’t quit goin’ on n’ on about beatin’ me in the Battle Nexus tournament and kept rubbin’ it in our faces about becomin’ the champ,” he exclaimed with shockingly little provocation, sniffing loudly. “I jus’ got so sick’ve it this time, an’ it’s not like we neva duked it out before or nothin’ but... I went too far this time, (Y/N), ya know?”

He still refused to look at you as he began to wipe away some fresh tears that were forming in his eyes.

Your assumption had been correct all along; you acknowledged full well how Mikey’s triumphant achievement grated on Raph’s last nerve and how the orange-banded Turtle would seek out every opportunity to gloat about it in a bid to purposely provoke his ‘older’ brother. “Well, you know Mikey, Raph,” you said, not quite sympathizing with the actions he took, but rather offering some support. “He tries to get under your shell on purpose.”

"Yeah, I know, but... Dat’s no reason ta clobber the guy. Not like that, anyway” You noted how his voice gradually lowered grievously and you couldn’t stop yourself from placing your head on his shoulder.

“No, it isn’t, but...” you knew you were grasping at straws by this point, but still offered, “They say it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be.”

He sighed dolefully. “I lost control again, (Y/N),” and you could feel the vibrations beginning to surge through him. “No matta what I do, I jus’... I jus’ can’t...” He trailed off, wracked with emotions as he covered his face with one hand and allowed the tears to fall, a cough slipping here and there.

You heart bled for this boy, and more than anything right then, you longed to relieve him of the pain, so you did the only thing you could think of: be right there by his side, comforting him through the breakdown. “Oh, Raph. It’ll be okay,” you calmly whispered, slinking an arm around his carapace and shoulders, bringing him closer and lightly squeezing his bicep with your free hand. “It’ll be okay.”

He leaned into the much needed support and continued to allow his misery to flow forth. You didn’t mind in the least for it was exactly what he required in order to heal, and you would be there for him every step of the way.

AND THAT’S A WRAP!

ALL THE FEELS!! I EMBARRASS!!

WOOT, that’s Turt number two completed! Sorry it took a little longer than expected; I still feel rusty with sentence structure and all and am not entirely pleased with the outcome, but I did feel an improved ‘flow’ from the first so maybe things are slowly coming back to me? Or maybe it was the scenario; it felt more natural o write than Leo’s... Maybe cause Bloo Boi’s my fav Turt and I felt added pressure with his?

Oh well, Donny Boy’s next~

Thank you all so much for the read and hope you enjoyed~ :D

~Drag0n Mistr3ss’ Random Fandoms*

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whisker-biscuit · 4 years

Text

In the Name of Science: Chapter 4

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture

Summary: Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik. Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.

Note: Warning for detailed panic attack.

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When Sonic was seven years old, he’d found a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. It was so small that he was able to hold it in one hand despite his own size, and he’d carefully inched his way up the tree it belonged to, too afraid of dropping it if he moved too fast.

Maybe it was because the chick had been struggling for so long already, but all it was able to do in his hold was weakly bob its head and hold its mouth open, for food or for pity. No sound had come out of it the entire way back to its nest.

The idea had scared Sonic that day, of being too weak or helpless to do anything more than what that baby bird had done. His memory of it had mostly faded beyond subconscious fear.

It’s not subconscious any longer.

He presses up against the back of his cage, feeling the horrible weight of the things around his face and his neck and wanting nothing more than to get them off. But he can’t, because his hands are still stuck together, and he’s so scared, so scared of what the doctor is going to do to him if he tries anyway.

His mouth is clamped shut in a way that makes his teeth not quite lock right. No matter how he tries to adjust it, they remain in that same position and do nothing more than remind him of the muzzle as his cheeks bump against it with every movement.

At least he didn’t bite his tongue.

This isn’t a reassuring thought, because he can’t say it out loud like usual. If he can’t say it out loud, then he can’t reassure himself. It doesn’t feel real if it’s not something he can hear. There’s no guarantee it’s real. There’s no guarantee any of his thoughts are real if he can’t –

If he can’t –

He can’t breathe.

Sonic’s hands fly up to the muzzle and start pulling at it frantically. His panic rises as it refuses to budge. He jerks his head forward, side to side, slams it backwards against the wall and yanks as hard as he can. The tears in his eyes finally spill over as he begins hyperventilating. It won’t come off, it’s not coming off!

Another whine escapes him. He jumps to his feet then takes one step and crashes hard on his face, having forgotten his bound ankles in his frenzy. The clang of metal on metal plus the painful smashing of his snout has him crying out wordlessly, unable to articulate anything beyond fear and distress.

He can’t run and he can’t move and he can’t speak and he can’t breathe and he’s going to die here like this, oh god why did he ever think he’d get out of this alive? He can’t, he can’t, he can’t!

His fingers aren’t really grasping the muzzle anymore. His thoughts are dissolving into static. Black spots dance in his vision like terrible mocking figures.

The teen writhes against the floor, thrashing and kicking mindlessly in his panic attack. At one point his feet connect with the wall so hard it jolts pain up through him like lightning. He gasps and whimpers through clamped teeth. It’s barely enough to snap him back into his body, momentarily. His heart is still trying to break out of his chest and his breathing is erratic and keeping him lightheaded, but he’s more aware of these sensations again.

An image comes to mind. It’s Pretzel Lady standing on her back deck, body straight and arms held in front of her. She’s listening to a recording of ocean waves and chimes. Her breathing is controlled and deliberate. Her eyes are closed.

In desperation, he does the same, trying to repeat the motions he’d watch Pretzel Lady do a thousand times. Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. It’s hard; he’s still panting way too fast to really control it. But he keeps trying. In, hold, out, hold.

The static peters out. The black spots disappear. He stops thrashing and instead simply lays there, eyes closed and breathing all he can do to keep the panic at bay. Slowly, very slowly, Sonic relaxes. He’s exhausted, but the worst of the attack is over – for now – and he doesn’t have the energy to think about anything else.

It feels like an eternity later that he stirs from his lethargy. Sitting up sucks and leaves him dizzy, so he leans back against the back of the cage with half-lidded eyes and just…exists. His hands and feet are no longer magnetized together, but he doesn’t remember when that happened. The metal around his mouth isn’t cold anymore. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, and he doesn’t want to think about it, so he stops doing both.

Instead he thinks about Donut Lord and Pretzel Lady. They probably have no idea where he is. Probably don’t even realize he’s been captured. The tears are threatening to spill again, so Sonic wipes his eyes as best he can and tries to turn it positive. He’d saved them from falling to their deaths – a situation he’d caused, but no one was keeping track of that anyway – and now they’re safe back in Green Hills.

If they’re safe, that’s what matters. He’d dragged them both into this mess. It’s only fair they get out even if he doesn’t.

He recycles this thought in his mind like a mantra, as loud as he can manage. It’s no substitute for speaking, but he’s determined to make it work. If he spirals again he doesn’t think he’ll be able to snap out of it.

So he sits against the wall, still and quiet and weary.

……………………………………………………………………..

Robotnik comes striding in a few hours later, the smug sneer on his face implying he knows exactly what was going on earlier.

“Well, well, well. The kick’s really been taken out of you, hasn’t it?” He strokes his mustache and peers into the cage. “Who would’ve thought that all that I needed to calm you down was this?”

A broad gesture is made with his hand towards the entire setup, but they both know what he’s referring to. Sonic curls in on himself.

“Do you want it off?”

The hedgehog makes a bitter, forlorn noise. He doesn’t want to give this man the satisfaction of begging again, but he can’t handle having the muzzle on any longer either. Defeatedly he nods.

“Lovely!” Robotnik snaps his fingers and within an instant a pair of egg drones are hovering above the pen. “No struggling, now, or I’ll take it as a sign that you want the thing to stay indefinitely.”

Sonic shakes his head frantically, his eyes wide and alarmed. He stays as still as he can when the ceiling hatch pops open and the robots drop through. They pull his arms up by his restraints and lift him so he’s dangling the same way he’d been when the muzzle had first been put on.

The scientist’s hand goes for his face, and Sonic stiffens at the action. Fingers grip the muzzle as his other hand reaches behind quills. It pauses just outside of their range.

“We’re going to try an experiment in obedience. I’m going to undo the straps around your head without robotic assistance, and you aren’t going to stiffen your quills while I do so.”

He gives the muzzle a good jerk, causing the teen to flinch violently and whimper a nervous agreement. Satisfied by the answer, Robotnik’s free hand buries itself in blue to find the clasps. It takes about ten seconds and Sonic hates every moment of it. But he manages to keep his quills loose and non-deadly throughout.

The muzzle comes off with a final click and the doctor steps away with it in his hands. Sonic immediately starts panting with his mouth open, his jaw sore and his mind feeling significantly less trapped.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

Robotnik gives him a few head pats, earning another flinch. When the hedgehog goes to respond however, he’s met with a smile and a subtle lifting of the muzzle. Paling, his mouth clicks shut. This causes the man to laugh in a way that sounds more like a scoff.

“Ah, so he can learn! Look at the progress we’ve made with just half a day, how remarkable.” The way he says it implies the scientist is praising himself more than Sonic. “Though, I do think that’s more than enough excitement for now.”

The robots release the teen and he collapses into the cage with a grunt. His body isn’t hurting nearly as much as this morning, but it still sucks. The shadow of the mad doctor covers the front as he examines the food and water bottles.

“I see you haven’t touched either of these. No doubt your appetite must be ravenous, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sonic picks himself up and draws his knees to his chest. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to answer, so he simply stays silent to be safe, but his stomach gurgles in response anyway. Robotnik observes him for a long, tense, quiet moment. The expression on his face slowly turns to something terrifying, and he taps the top of one of the bottles.

“Well? Aren’t you going to do something about that?”

The hedgehog stares at him.

“What?” He asks despite himself. The doctor only grins at the confusion, not reprimanding him for the slip-up.

“Eat! Drink! I can’t have my beautiful little specimen collapsing from malnutrition before the fun truly begins. No, no, no, that would be irritating and irresponsible. So go on.”

Sonic blanches as he realizes what is expected of him. He doesn’t want to use those weird, awful nozzles, and he definitely doesn’t want to do it with his captor watching.

“I’m….I’m not hungry.”

Robotnik gives him a look like a scolding parent. “Your biological responses beg to differ. Additionally, I have calculated that your basal metabolic rate is significantly higher than both humans and hedgehogs with your age and weight category. Therefore, it stands to reason that going at least twelve hours or more without sustenance is both dangerous and stupid.”

He leans forward and taps the bottle again.

“That isn’t even placing into consideration the factors of dehydration and recovery from injury. You are undernourished, and I will not accept that. It will skew the results of everything I have planned once you are back to full health. Come here and eat and drink. Now.”

The teen bites his lip but doesn’t move. The scientist’s mustache twitches as his face darkens.

“Do it now, or I’ll have you force-fed. Do you know what that entails?” A bemused stare. “My robots will force a tube down your throat straight to your stomach and feed you that way, mostly with liquids. I’ve heard it is extremely painful and unpleasant, but I’ve never received the opportunity to try it on anything. I highly doubt you’d like to be the first.”

Sonic’s hand flies up to his mouth, wanting to vomit just from the description.

“That’s what I thought. If you don’t want to learn firsthand, I suggest you come over here right now. I won’t ask again.”

Ears pressed flat against his skull, the hedgehog stands shakily and makes his way to the front of the pen. He looks between the bottles and Robotnik, who is watching him without a shred of mercy. Sonic swallows his pride and his angry fear and grabs one of the nozzles.

The food is bland.

……..........................................................................

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 4

Behavioral training continues with predominantly positive results.

End Log

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A/N: Hi y'all. I promised I wasn't dead, and here I am! Sorry about the long wait. Spring term of college was moved online and I started a new part time job that cut out a lot of free time, so it was a struggle to balance the two and I wanted to focus on keeping my grades up. But now I'm free for the summer (mostly) and I'm ready to rumble!

I reread the fic to catch the tone again but this chapter feels a little off in a way I can't really place. If the characters don't read well please let me know, I'd really appreciate the feedback because it's driving me crazy. Also, we're going to pick up the pace for time passage from here on out. The first day is always the longest, after all.

Hope you enjoy! Please stay safe in these uncertain times and take care of yourselves!

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic movie #sonic movie spoilers #dr robotnik

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zuppizup · 5 years

Text

Five Times - Chapter 03 Night Terrors

Summary: Five times Ibis interrupts Callum and Rayla (and the one time he doesn't)

Pairing: Rayla/Callum

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 1998

Tumblr: Chapter 1

Chaper 2

AO3 Link: Chapter 1

Chapter 2

~~~

He sits bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. The sheets are tangled mess around his legs and the blankets kicked off on to the floor. A cold sweat drenches his night shirt.

Callum lays back on the pillow, his forearm covering his eyes.

That damn dream again.

Plummeting after her. Repeating the words over and over but his wings don’t take until the last second. He dives for her… but it’s too late… for both of them.

He squeezes his eyes shut, as if that will somehow banish the images burned into his subconscious.

He wishes he could go see her, though logically he knows she is fine.

It’s been nice staying at the Storm Spire and having beds and such luxuries, but he’s strangely found himself missing sleeping in the caves and furrows they had frequented in recent weeks. He didn’t realise how much he’s come to depend on her just… being there. Simply looking around and seeing her sleeping soundly had become a strange comfort. Even before her plunge of the Storm Spire, he had found himself used to it.

Contented and reassured by it.

A part of him is tempted to just open her door and check she’s sleeping soundly, but that would be selfish. There’s no point in risking waking her up just because he had a bad dream.

With a sigh, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

He needs to clear his head.

The wind whips through the halls of the Storm Spire, chilling his bones. He pulls his jacket tighter against him as he plods up the steps. He’s not sure why he thinks going outside onto the peak will help but he feels like he’s suffocating inside.

He steps out into the moonlight, sighing.

Amaya had tried to talk to him about trauma and stress after she heard of what happened up on the Spire.

He had told her he was fine.

Better than fine even.

Elated.

He had saved Rayla after she had saved Zym. They had thought they were doomed over and over and somehow, they had pulled through!

She had told him that feeling might pass. Strange thoughts might invade his head.

Torture him.

That that was normal.

Typical, even.

He wishes now his aunt had not left so soon after the battle.

Maybe she could have helped him figure out how to sleep.

But Amaya was right. She and the remaining Sunfire elves had to leave. To continue the search.

They still hadn’t found Viren.

“Callum? Are you ok?”

He starts at the sound of Rayla’s voice, looking around.

He sees a strange shimmer in an alcove to his left and then she’s somehow materialising before him.

“Rayla?” She looks cold, clad only in a light cotton nightgown. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugs, glancing at him. Even in the dim light he can see she’s been crying. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He sighs, reaching for her. “Me either.”

She melts into his arms as he tries to wrap his jacket around her. She’s freezing. He wonders how long she’s been out here.

He’s conflicted. He’s relieved to have her near, but he’s not accustomed to seeing her like this. Rayla is one of the strongest people he knows. Seeing her so rattled is hard.

He hugs her close, wishing there was something he could say, something he could do to help her banish her demons but they’re both in the same boat and he doesn’t even know how to help himself.

She shivers and he’s not sure if it is from cold or something else.

“We should probably go back inside" He whispers into her hair.

She nods but doesn’t speak.

They walk down to the sleeping quarters hand in hand, stalling outside her bedroom. In truth, her parents’ bedroom.

“Good night.” He kisses her softly on the cheek, not really wanting to say goodbye but knowing they need their rest.

“Night.” She hugs him before turning to open her door.

He looks at her closed door for a few seconds before sighing and walking the short distance across the hall to his own.

He closes his door, leaning back against it. He knows he should sleep but it does not come easy these days. Not after the nightmares anyway. He’s usually so exhausted from training that his first sleep comes easy but then he’s woken by a nightmare and his rest is fitful for the rest of the night.

He wonders if there’s a way to propose they… sleep together?

Or rather, in the same room.

He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor or in a chair, but these constant nightmares make it hard for him to relax on his own.

But that would be pretty inappropriate and he doesn’t want her to think he’s… looking for other things.

He’s flushes and he puts those thoughts out of his head.

He just needs to get over it. They’re only dreams. They can’t hurt him.

A gentle knocking startles him and he opens the door to find Rayla standing there. Even in the dark hallway, he can see she’s blushing.

“Em, hi.” She’s biting her lip.

“Hi… Em, do you want to come in?” He feels his face burn too. Which is stupid. She’s been in his room many times.

She glances around and nods, ducking under his arm as he steps back and opens the door wider...

They stand in an awkward silence for a few seconds.

“Would you mind... if I slept in here?” She looks at him and then immediately looks away. “It’s just... I have trouble getting to sleep lately.” She gestures to the reading chair. “I’ll sleep there. I... it’s a bit lonely in their room after travelling with you… and… and Zym and Ezran for weeks.”

“No, it’s fine.” He’s both relieved and weirdly terrified. It shouldn’t be that different having her sleep in his room as opposed to right next to him in a cave, but somehow it is. “You take the bed though. I don’t mind the chair.”

She snorts, a little of the awkwardness leaving her posture. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed. Anyway, I can’t imagine a prince would be too impressed with an assassin taking the comfy option."

“Well, princes have to practice chivalry so, in that case, you have no option but to take the bed.”

“Callum-” She tries to protest before he takes her by the hands.

“Rayla, please.” He kisses her on the forehead. “Just indulge me.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is sweet. “Fiiiine.” She walks over and slumps on his bed.

He makes himself comfortable on the high-backed reading chair.

He already feels more relaxed. He risks a glimpse at Rayla and is surprised to see her eyes closed and breathing a steady, heavy rhythm. She must have been exhausted. It’s not long before his own eye lids feel heavy and he drifts of to a restful slumber.

He’s awoken by an unfamiliar sound. His sleep addled brain takes a few seconds to realise it is Rayla. She is trashing around and crying out in her sleep.

He jumps up and rushes to her side.

“Rayla.” He touches her shoulder and shakes her gently, fearful of startling her awake. “Rayla.” He grasps her a little more forcefully. “Come on. Wake up, Rayla.”

“Callum!” She jerks awake suddenly, her chest heaving.

“Sush Rayla, it’s ok.” He takes her hands as she looks around disoriented. “I’m here.”

“Callum.” She throws her arms around him. “You’re ok.”

His neck feels wet and he realises she’s crying. “It’s ok, Rayla. It was just a dream.”

She allows him to hold her while she regains her breath. “I feel so stupid.” She sniffs, speaking softly. “Everything is fine.”

Callum sighs. “Amaya said it’s normal.”

She sits back and looks at him, a confused look on her face.

He continues. “She said it’s pretty typical for soldiers to, you know, have nightmares and… feel off after a battle or whatever.” He takes her hand. “She said to give yourself time. It’ll get better.”

Rayla squeezes his fingers. “Can… will you stay with me?” She resolutely looks down at the bed.

Callum chuckles softly. “Well, this is my room, remember?”

“No…” Rayla tugs mindlessly on the sleeve of her nightgown. “Here. Will… will you sleep next to me?”

“Eh-”

“It’s… In my dreams… I just…” She sighs. “I think I would sleep better if you were next to me.” She glances up at him.

Callum doesn’t trust his voice and elects to nod his agreement.

Rayla smiles softly and shuffles back on the bed to make room for him.

Callum’s mouth is dry as he climbs in next to her, awkwardly pulling the covers around him as he lies down on his back. He rests his sweaty palms on his stomach and stares at the ceiling for a few seconds before risking a sly look in her direction.

She is lying on her side, her hands drawn up in front of her face. She catches him looking at her and give him a shy smile. “Good night.”

He smiles back at her, feeling a little more relaxed despite the fact he is sharing a bed with Rayla. “Night.”

She shuffles forward a little, resting her forehead against his upper arm as she closes her eyes.

He can’t help but smile at her, his heart skipping a beat. She really is the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on.

When Callum wakes he’s surprised to see grey dawn sunlight creeping along the floor.

He feels a gentle weight on his chest and glances down to find Rayla snuggled into him, one hand resting lightly over his heart. His own arm is cradling her back.

He has absolutely no recollection of how they ended up like this. After a beat he decides he doesn’t care. He feels well rested for the first time in weeks. He’ll deal with whatever embarrassment stems from this whole thing when she wakes up.

He turns his head so he can rest his cheek on her hair and elects to rest his eyes a little longer.

He’s woken by Rayla next. She shifts against him and he opens his eyes to see her looking around bleary eyed. She takes a second to full wake up and he sees the exact moment she realises the compromising position they are in.

Her flush starts in her chest and rises up to her hair line. Eyes opening wide, she pushes herself away from him and sits up. “Eh, sorry.”

Callum cannot help but giggle at her. “It’s fine.” He sits up himself, knowing he’s probably as red in the face as she is. “Did you sleep ok?”

She smiles at him. “Yeah, for the first time in ages actually-” She glances at the pulled curtains and he sees her ears do that cute little drop thing. “Hold on… what time is it?”

Callum looks at the shadows and play of light through the pulled curtains.

“Oh no!”

It is much later than they usually get up.

He jumps up. “I’m supposed to have training with Ibis first thing!”

Rayla is already extracting herself from a tangle of bedsheets. “I have guard duty!”

She sprints to the door, Callum hot on her heels.

“I’ll see you later?” He catches her hand.

“Of course, dummy.” She gives him a quick hug and turns open the door. “Hopefully no one notices that-”

They are both startled to find Ibis standing before them, his hand raised as if to knock. His eyes widen in surprise, initially at the door opening suddenly, but they seem to open even wider as he looks from Callum to Rayla and then back again.

Rayla is stunned silent, her mouth open in shock.

Callum looks between them. “Ehhhhh…”

Ibis take a long-suffering sigh as he rolls his eyes and turns to walk away.

~~~

Chapter 4

#rayllum #rayla x callum #callum x rayla #rayllum fanfic #Rayla #callum #tdp #tdp fanfic #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #Ibis low key hates living with love sick teenagers #myfic

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novantinuum · 5 years

Text

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 9

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 7.2K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which a diamond is a girl’s best friend.

You can find the first/previous chapter and AO3 links in the reblogs! (I have to omit them from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos on AO3 as well.

Chapter warning: There is a fairly in-depth depiction of a dissociative flashback. Nothing I'd consider particularly extreme or deserving of a ratings bump, but I figured it'd be courteous to make a specific warning for it anyways.

Chapter 9: Symmetry

On literally any other day, folding laundry would be relaxing.

There’s something comforting about falling back into predictable rhythms, hands running on automatic through assorted piles of clothes as her thoughts take a wandering vacation. Chores are boring, sure, but compared to the non-stop drive of the rest of her life Connie can at least appreciate how mindless they are. In a world filled with things like honors algebra and violin recitals and sword training, falling into the arms of subconscious repetition every once in a while feels nice, like a much needed mental break from the rest of reality.

The only problem is exactly that: it’s mindless. It doesn’t force her to use an ounce of brainpower. It doesn’t block her thoughts from waltzing down dark alleyways, or taking sharp swerves into territory unknown. It doesn’t distract her from obsessively checking her phone every other minute to see if she’s gotten any new calls or texts.

It doesn’t stop her from worrying about Steven.

Normally steady fingers twitch as she folds a sock inside its proper pair. Her pocket nearly feels like it’s burning. Groaning, she tosses the pair into her suitcase and pulls her phone out. The lock screen illuminates, showcasing a photo of a pretty sunset she took from the hill above the temple. Her mouth tightens. Once again, nothing. Giving in to the distraction, she unlocks her phone and taps to reach his latest message. Tired eyes gloss over his photo and those words for the thousandth time.

Accidentally got separated from gem—

I’ll call later, some kinda scary stuff happened—

Please don’t worry too much.

Well, too late for that. She’s not fooled by his blasé, chipper attitude in this text, or the forced grin of the concerningly pale-faced Steven (one of two! How can he claim he’s fine when he’s literally lost a part of himself??) at the forefront of the photo he sent. No, no. She won’t be convinced until she audibly hears it or can throw her arms around him in person, which is harder said than done when he hasn’t returned her calls and Mom won’t let her take the bus over to his place for the morning because she’s supposed to be “packing.” Ugh. As far as she’s concerned, visiting extended family in India can wait its turn. Something terribly wrong must have happened in Beach City last night, and the suspense of not knowing is nearly suffocating her.

But logically, she knows worrying about it nonstop won’t be of help to her or Steven. He’ll call when he calls. She just hopes it’s before she leaves the country. Her dad's a bit of a tightwad when it comes to the idea of upgrading to international call and text, to her chagrin. If she’s honest, it’s the one part of this trip she dreads— having zero contact with her best friend for a week.

Connie hastily breathes in and out, attempting to forcefully will the stress to dissipate. Let it go. Stop thinking about it. She gently tosses her phone on her bed where she can’t reach it, and pushes herself back into the dependable rhythm of laundry folding.

Licking her chapped lips as she works through the pile of newly clean clothes, she folds the turquoise colored silk choli bodice her mom arranged for a relative to hand weave for her on her last birthday and carefully places it with its matching saree. The decorative border running the length of the saree is embroidered with little flowers and swirls in gold thread. Connie smiles faintly, reverently running her hand across the smooth fabric. She’ll be wearing her typical shorts, overalls, and blouses for most of this trip, but she’s super excited to have the perfect excuse to bring this outfit out of her closet for once. It always makes her feel beautiful, with her hair pinned back and the saree draped around her, but she still can’t help but fear she’s ridiculously overdressed whenever she wears it anywhere outside of family events. A shame. Maybe she’ll build the courage to wear it one day when she goes to Steven’s house for sword practice. She’ll change into her usual training clothes during the practice itself, of course— she can’t risk tearing silk or restricting her movement— but it’d be cool to share a piece of her own family’s culture with him like that. Her cheeks heat up as she imagines his reaction. He’ll probably think it’s pretty. Pearl, too. Her teacher definitely has a flair for artistry, after all.

...but of course, that’s assuming Steven and the Gems are okay.

Her previously giddy thoughts wane like a withering petal. Sitting with her legs criss crossed on her bedroom floor, she hunches over with a heavy sigh, propping her chin into her hands. How long is this morning going to last?

Muffled amidst the cocoon of thick blankets adorning her bed, her phone’s ringer picks that very moment to blare into existence. Her nerves electrify in an instant, though whether that’s more a symptom of surprise or anticipation is anyone’s guess. Chest pounding, she shoots to her feet and scrambles across the room to pick it up. She sighs a breath of relief as her eyes skim over the caller ID. It’s him. And he wants to video chat! Without thinking twice she jabs her thumb against the screen to answer.

A handful of seconds pass as her phone attempts to connect over her family’s spotty wi-fi, heart twisting painfully in her throat as she steels herself for whatever potentially bad update about her friend’s life she’s about to receive, but then—

The video pushes through, and her friend appears on the screen. His hair is notably mussed, (more so than usual, that is), with wild curly locks sticking up from his head at weird angles.

“Mornin’, Connie,” he says, exhaustion evident on his face but besides that, appearing physically well. There’s actually color in his cheeks for one thing, unlike in the photo he sent before dawn.

“Steven!” she exclaims, subconsciously gripping the sides of her phone tighter in the absence of an actual hug. “You’re okay!”

“More or less,” he says in confirmation, the corner of his mouth turning up for a glimmer of a second. His expression quickly becomes tinted in shades of remorse, however, his voice on the brink of cracking. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t call back earlier! My phone died on me, and then I forgot to plug it in, and then I got distracted by a bunch of crazy family stuff, and that’s probably not a good excuse, but—“

She tries to feed him a reassuring smile, pushing down the blatant depth of her worry for his sake.

“Hey, don’t fuss about it. It happens. And anyways, you’re here now, right? So all that doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Her friend deals her a noncommittal shrug in response, and slouches against the rough hewn stone she’s only now noticing in the background. If she has to guess, he’s sitting on the beach, leaning against the sheer cliff walls where they first met almost two years earlier. Interesting, she muses, her brow furrowing. Usually when they do video calls Steven makes a point to stay in his house because he gets better reception there. On top of that, there’s an undeniable melancholy brewing within his eyes that would be amiss to ignore. He’s not even trying to mask it for once, which speaks volumes in and of itself about how heavy a burden it’s become, whatever it is that’s bothering him. Geeze, what on Earth happened over there last night?

“So, your gem,” she starts, edging towards the topic carefully. “Are you still—?”

He shakes his head, seemingly already catching on to what she’s gonna ask. “Nah, we’re together again! Turns out I can still fuse even without without him.”

“Hmm, I—“ Connie pauses, mind fixating for a second on the specific way he referred to his gem half, ascribing an undeniable sense of individuality to him— “well, I’m super glad you figured that out. But I still don’t understand, how can you get separated from your gem in the first place?”

“It’s, uh- a pretty complicated story, fair warning.”

“Pshhh, that’s no problem, I’ve got all morning,” she says, and props her phone against her bedpost so she can continue packing while listening. Freed once more, her hands seek out more unpaired socks to join.

“Only if you’re good with it, then.” The boy sighs deeply as he begins to prepare his words. The infamous drama zone kicking in, he lets his head lull backwards at gravity’s command against the cliffside’s face. She can’t help but cringe at the audible smack of his skull against smooth rock. “Ow!” he whines, immediately jerking forwards again. He rubs the back of his head in clear disbelief, softly laughing at his own folly. “Well, that was a pretty dumb idea.”

“Not gonna disagree,” she says with a giggle, glancing between her clothes and the screen in intervals as she folds. “Now, tell me everything. From the beginning. I still gotta pack, but I’m listening, I promise.”

A soft smile brightens his face, sunlight glinting off his dark brown irises. It’s enough to capture her stare, to make everything else in the world freeze to a stop. Just for one magic moment. Her heart almost flip flops at the gentle way he gazes at her, his eyes filled with a shy reverence that honestly, speaks volumes to his nature as a person. Because while he’s grown undeniably strong as a half-Gem, he’s far more than that. He's kind. He’s sensitive, and caring. So, so caring. More than anything else he tries his hardest to be extra empathetic about the needs of others around him, and she adores this about him, she truly does. Her only wish is that he could be this receptive about his own needs all the time, too. With her firsthand knowledge of the stressful stuff he and the other Gems deal with on a weekly basis, she can’t help but worry sometimes.

He breathes in, chest rising and falling as he prepares to tell his story. “Okay. So it all started yesterday morning when I was playing video games with the Gems…”

______

“—and then that’s when I figured out I could still fuse, right after I texted you. So we did, and- and well, that’s pretty much it,” Steven finishes with a bit of a waver in his voice, absentmindedly twirling his finger around a short curl at the nape of his neck as he adjusts his grip on the phone with his other hand.

With his story more or less complete, barring a few recent occurrences he’s hesitant to speak of right now, he pays careful attention to the minute fluctuations of Connie’s expression as everything he’s told her sinks in.

(He intentionally left out some of the more intimate bits, of course— like softly crying himself to sleep before Dad warped back, or having a near breakdown on the beach, or his conversation with half of himself. Some moments simply aren’t for others to know.)

Her voice wavers as she finally makes to respond. “Wow, that’s… a lot.”

“Yeah. And like, I wanna believe it’s over now, but everyone’s still acting so weird.”

“Mmm, and then there’s everything about your mom, and Pink Diamond…” She balls her hand against her mouth as she mulls over this information, her sobered glance shifting from him to some unspecified point in her bedroom.

And at seeing the subtle aversion of her gaze, he frets for a second. He squirms in the seat of the cold metal chair he’s made his temporary home in, toes curling inwards much like the creeping dread that’s trying to inch its way ever further into his heart, stifling any last hope of peace or calm. Replacing it with fear. Like, what if his real talk is too real? Too honest? What if he’s freaked her out, or overloaded her with the sheer weight of everything that’s happened to him, what if she’ll wanna keep her distance from him because of all this, what if—

“I’m so sorry you have to deal with all this,” she says softly, slashing the cord that’s restraining him within his frantic thoughts.

His shoulders relax, tension fading.

“I- is there anything I can do?” his friend continues. “To help, I mean?”

“Nah, don’t think so. Not right now, at least. Honestly, just having someone to talk to about all this means a lot.” He begins to slowly swing his legs back and forth, and leans against the coffee stained table top. “Normally I’d talk to one of the Gems, but. Well, y’know.”

His friend bobs her head in the affirmative. “Mmm.”

“It’s just…” he begins, pausing with a long sigh as he tries to organize all his jumbled emotions into something remotely explainable. His eyes drift away from his phone, focusing instead on the soft, tantalizing glow of the ice cream freezer across the shop. “I think I almost died, Connie. For real. I was shivering, a-and scared, and cracked, and- and yet they couldn’t stop fighting about whatever happened in the past. I don’t know anything about Pink Diamond, or what terrible things Rose apparently did, but now it’s like… even if they don’t mean to, that’s all they can think about when they look at me?”

Steven groans in exhaustion, slumping forward so the side of his face is pressed against the table. It’s comfy, never mind how dirty the surface probably is. He shifts his phone in his hands so Connie’s image is still parallel to him. “I dunno. I should’ve never popped that bubble in the first place. If I didn’t let Bismuth out, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Steven!” a loud voice calls from across the shop. “Are you gonna buy a donut or what?”

“Whu- huh??”

Startled, he shoots upright in the chair— knowing all too well from the faint thrum dancing under his skin that he’s on the brink of summoning his bubble on sheer impulse— before realizing that no, it’s only Lars, everything’s fine, I’m fine.

The surly teen is slumped against the counter next to Sadie, (who’s counting the money in the cash register on sheer compulsion, as if rifling through it one more time might cause the cash to magically multiply), both employees marinating in the boredom of yet another low traffic mid-September day at the Big Donut. He pauses to catch his breath, in retrospect feeling super silly for his near freak-out. His two favorite donut people have been here this whole time, of course. How he managed to become so sucked in by his call that he forgot is beyond him.

“Are you okay?” he hears Connie ask softly, obvious concern in her voice.

Lars on the other hand, apparently wasn’t finished calling him out.

“You can’t just- loiter here all morning and not buy anything!” he says. Brow threading together in perplexion, he whirls towards his coworker. “Right? Isn’t there a law for that? Sadie, help me out here-!”

She rolls her eyes so far they almost disappear back into her skull. “Oh, leave him alone, he’s fine...” “Yeah, I’m not loitering, I’m having a nice conversation with my friend!” he chimes, holding up his phone screen to them as proof.

“Hi Sadie, Lars,” Connie says.

The young lady behind the register smiles warmly despite the bags under her eyes, and pauses her task to wave to the camera.

Unimpressed, Lars leans his chin against his balled up fist, elbow propped on the counter. His tired eyes narrow into thin slits, exaggerated by the squish of his cheek against his bottom eyelid. “A ‘nice conversation?’ You’ve been sitting there for half an hour rambling about the misfortunes of near death,” he says, deadpan.

“I—“ His eyes grow wide as he combs back through the— now that he thinks about it— admittedly dour mood of everything he’s recently said. “Is that really what it sounded like...?”

Is he just being a killjoy to everyone? He thought it’d be okay to be real about it with his friend for once, since he usually keeps his deeper issues to himself, but perhaps...

“No, just ignore him,” Sadie says as she diligently sorts the coins, cutting in right before his mind can continue its downward spiral.

On the screen, Connie nods in wholehearted support. “It’s just venting, I don’t mind.”

And despite everything else he manages a smile at that, small and thin but filling him with a needed burst of energy all on its own.

“Huh,” Lars mutters, scrutinizing him closely. “Well, whatever it was, dark and brooding is a surprisingly good vibe for you. We’ll make a teenager of you yet.”

Steven blinks in confusion.

“But I already am a teenager,” he says, perhaps a bit more defensively than he ought have.

“Yeah!” chimes his friend over the phone.

“Wait, really? Aren’t you like, nine or somethin’?”

He squirms in his seat upon reference to his inability to physically age, feeling the flush touch his ears. “Uh, actually…”

“Dude, he’s been a teenager,” Sadie says. She stuffs the last of the quarters in their slot and securely shuts the cash register drawer. “He turned fourteen a few weeks ago, don’t you remember?”

“N- no… I just—“ Lars lets out a scoff, shooting her a moody sneer. “Whatever, okay? I don’t have the time or the patience to remember everyone’s birthdays in this dead-end town.”

“Only twenty-nine people even live here year round.”

“So? Your point is?”

“My point is that it’s kinda common courtesy to look up and pay attention to your surroundings every once in a while?”

He turns up his nose. “Ugh, well you know what—“

Steven purses his lips as he watches the two of them devolve into yet another round of petty squabbling. (Why all of these fights lately…? What’s wrong with everyone, what’s in the air?) Suddenly feeling very much like high tailing it out of here, he shifts in his seat. He and Connie share a knowing glance, one that quickly lets him knows they’re on the same page. Originally, he came here to use the store wi-fi since he didn’t want to be at home right now, but he can probably still use it just fine sitting at the table outside. Without any overt announcement of the fact, he stands and makes his way to the door. Lars and Sadie are too caught up in their spat to notice him leave.

Only when the cool breeze greets him outside can he relax. He kicks back in one of the chairs set out front of the store, adjusting his phone in his hand. Gulls call loudly from the boardwalk in their endless search for trashed food. A handful of people he doesn’t recognize— tourists!— splash in the water or play in the sand, a pair of young men holding hands as they cross the public beach. Sunlight is finally breaking through the cloud cover, brilliant blue overtaking dreary grey. He smiles faintly. Despite everything, it truly is a beautiful morning.

“Sorry about all that!” he says to his friend on the line, glancing back at the doors of the Big Donut. “They really are cool people when you got to know ‘em, but they kinda disagree about stuff a lot.”

Connie stifles a laugh, her expression unreadable for a moment. “I know you keep saying they’re probably dating, but I honestly don’t believe you.”

His skin grows clammy all of a sudden.

Don’t… believe...

He's frozen. It’s almost like he’s with Sapphire, trapped again in that old motel room shivering amidst her frost powers. And yet simultaneously he’s not, ‘cause… because he’s burning up, hand clutching at thin air. He’s terrified. He’s completely alone, he’s—

He’s back in the forge.

Bismuth’s there, looming like a reaper above him, arm shapeshifted into some sort of curved saw blade and held aloft. Thick, viscous lava boils angrily in the pool surrounding the platform he’s on, and more than anything it’s a warning, a constant warning, and he’s stupid, he’s so unobservant and stupid, he should have paid heed to it when he came down here in the first place, why didn’t he—

Heat blasts almost violently at him as he shuffles away on hands and feet, scooting backwards on the blistering stone. He heaves for breath amidst his panic. Meanwhile, the channels of hard light running parallel with his veins buzz alongside the rush of adrenaline keeping him alive. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticky and unnaturally cool.

No matter how hard he tries, he’s too weak against her. His shield isn’t strong enough.

He knows this for a fact now, knows that Bismuth can dissipate both it and his bubble with enough force, and that’s a super scary thought but it doesn’t stop the primal instinct pulsing insistently at the back of his mind, pushing him to stand back up, to summon his weapon anyways and try to defend himself. It’s nothing but a lost cause, though.

Now, his only true shield is his words.

“Wait, I’m not my mom!” he cries in desperation, shielding himself with his arms. “I don’t know what she did, but I’m sure she didn’t want to hurt you!”

The stark shadow obscuring the rainbow haired Gem’s eyes grows darker.

“It’s too late,” she spits, preparing to swing her arm down. “I don’t believe you anymore!”

And then with a shallow gasp he’s here again, here at this dingy plastic table sitting under the bright and blue hope of morning, his phone clutched in a vice-like grip. Breath passes through his lips shakily. What the heck was that?? Was his gem feeding him old memories like what happened in his sleep, or something? Whatever it was, he’s genuinely not sure how much time has passed during the vision, a realization which unnerves him. Seemingly not too long, as Connie hasn’t moved to speak yet. Yet still her too-familiar words echo in his mind, pulsing with the thrum of inflamed blood vessels at an open wound, and without the blessing of inhibition he blurts out the first thought that reveals itself.

“That’s fair,” he says, voice cracking. “I probably wouldn’t believe me about a lot of things right now.”

Her brow creases with obvious concern. “Hey... Hey, I didn’t mean that personally. I was just messing around with ya’. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I guess I just feel... really on edge.” Jittery fingers card through thick curls as his chest softly rumbles in the absurdity of it all. “Geeze, I’m being a real sad sack today, huh?”

“Well, you’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah, but to be fair ‘near death scenarios’ are pretty much just an occupational hazard at this point. And I’ve handled that fine before, so…”

“Still doesn’t erase the fact that it’s impacted you hard this time,” she says softly, leveling her gaze squarely on him, her intuitive brown eyes disassembling his insecurities and then putting them back together like a puzzle.

He flushes, shrinking where he sits. He pulls his legs up onto the seat, clutching them to his chest. Intuitively he knows she’s right, he knows that all this has messed with him more than the danger of Gem stuff normally does, but he still can’t help but feel… ashamed? That he’s feeling this way in the first place? It’s bizarre. It’s completely dumb, and the more he fixates on it the more dumb it becomes. Eventually he decides he’s not in the right mental state to try and weave a halfway rational response to her and elects to swerve the topic.

“So there’s also another not-great thing that happened,” he begins, hugging his knees. “Should probably mention.”

“Yeah…?”

“Garnet unfused over all this. Maybe for good this time.”

She gasps, and in an instant her face shoots closer on his screen.

“Wait what? She- you mean that Ruby and Sapphire aren’t—“

“Yup.”

Connie covers her mouth in shock, eyes glistening. “Oh, no! Steven, I’m so sorry! And you don’t think they’ll be able to work it out?”

“No, they made it seem pretty permanent.”

“That’s… really rough,” she sighs in solidarity. “‘Cause I mean, at least since it’s fusion she’s still there in spirit, but- you grew up knowing Garnet.”

“Exactly,” he nods. “I love Ruby and Sapphire a whole bunch, but it’s still different, y’know? Like, it’s like I lost someone important to me. Maybe forever. And... it feels so awful,” he says, pushing past the lump in his throat that he wishes more than anything would go away. “All of it. It’s like everyone in my family’s falling apart. The moment she unfused, Sapphire immediately shut herself in her room, and then Ruby was so upset she ran away, and Amethyst and Pearl started yelling at each other about everything, so… I left. And called you,” he explains, gesturing at her. “And now I’m here, chillin’ at the Big Donut. And that’s pretty much it.”

“Gosh...”

“Yeah.”

“Again, I’m sorry you had to deal with all this. I mean, outright getting cleaved from half of yourself? I can’t even imagine…” She bites at her knuckles for a moment, deep in thought. “Makes me wish I had more than sympathy to offer.”

“Nah, just you listening to everything means a whole bunch. I really appreciate that,” he says. “I—“ his voice wavers a bit as he feels the heat of the blush blossoming across his cheeks— “I really appreciate you. A lot. You- you know that, don't you?”

She giggles, the sound a beautiful reassurance to his ears. “Of course I do! And anyways, you always take time to listen to me when I’m down. That’s what jam buds are for, right?”

“Right,” he says, the word reverberating in harmony in the deepest reaches of his heart.

“Steven!” a voice calls from the distance.

Connie’s brow furrows. “Is that…?”

He whips his head around, squinting in the sunlight to catch a clearer glimpse of the figure running towards the edge of the Big Donut’s patio, his long hair rippling behind him. At the sight of family, his eyes light up. He waves his free arm in greeting.

“Dad!”

“Hey, kiddo!” his dad says, crossing the last few steps to the patio chair he’s curled up in. Gasping for breath, he plops himself in the chair adjacent. “I thought I’d find you here. You doin’ better now?”

He makes a half grimace, and shakes his flattened hand in a so-so gesture.

Dad’s hopeful smile fades, quickly replaced with a compassionate sense of understanding that could only come from years of hard earned age and experience. “Yeah. Yeah, I getcha. Seeing people you love fight like that’s never fun. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He presses his mouth into a line as he contemplates. To be honest, after venting about everything to Connie, fixating on negative emotions more is the last thing he wants to do, but he doesn’t wanna be rude to his dad. Thank goodness he has a valid excuse to avoid it altogether!

“Uh, I’m kinda on the phone, here,” he says, showing him his phone screen as proof.

“Oh, by golly, so you are! Hey, Connie. How are you hangin’ in there?”

She flashes a smile. “Hi, Mr. Universe! I’m okay, thanks.”

“Heh, Mr. Universe, huh?” he chuckles softly, scratching at his beard. “Such formalities! You’ve known me for what, how long? Please, you can call me Greg.”

“Thanks, but my mom says I’m not allowed to call grown ups by their first names.”

“Dr. Maheswaran has all sorts of weird mom rules,” Steven chimes in, nodding.

“Hoo boy, do I know about those,” his dad commiserates in a flat tone. He makes a big show out of mulling this over, humming as he taps at his chin. “Well then, don’t think of me as a grown up, but more of a big kid with, erm… slightly bigger responsibilities.”

“Uh, okay!” Connie says, hesitantly glancing between him and Steven. “If it’s alright with you, then, Mr. Greg!”

Dad‘s mouth turns up in a fond smirk, and then he glances back at him. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know that the Gems have cooled down. I had… a bit of a talk with them, let’s say,” he mutters, clear exhaustion betraying his otherwise content demeanor. “Should be fine to go back when you’re ready.”

“Did Ruby return??”

“Nah, she’s still MIA. But Pearl and Amethyst are on the case.”

He sighs, disappointment flooding his heart. He’s not sure why he ever dreamed otherwise. She’ll come back eventually, of course. She’s gotta. According to Garnet, Rubies are very social Gems, which means they prefer sharing in the company of others over being alone. And even when she’s not fused with Sapphire, she’s still a part of his family. He dearly hopes she knows that.

“I hope her and Sapphire will be okay,” he mutters.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine in the end,” he says with a shrug. “They’ve come apart before, after all.”

Connie hums in agreement. “Yeah, sometimes even my parents need some quiet time away from each other. That’s totally normal!”

Dropping his legs to dangle from the chair again, Steven watches an orange spotted butterfly flutter between the beach umbrellas set up on the patio tables, meeting with its other half before both journeying away in the wind. His cheeks lift at their attempts at reassurance, and boy, does it feel so much more natural than frowning pensively.

“D’ya really think so?”

Smiling softly, his dad affectionately musses his hair. “All we can do is wait and see, bud. Wait and see.” He stands to his feet then, grunting as he uses the table’s surface to help push him up. Gaze growing somewhat weary, he peers with purpose towards the far side of the hill. “Anyways, your old man will be over at the car wash, scrubbing soap scum off the floors. Eughh, right? But hey, if you need anything… a hug, an ear, some classic fatherly advice… come and find me, okay? Take it easy this morning.” Grinning, he turns back to wave goodbye to the girl mirrored on the screen. “Nice seeing ‘ya, Connie. Take care.”

“You too!” she waves in return.

And with that farewell his dad begins his casual jaunt down the sidewalk, leaving the two of them alone once more. Except, he supposes that’s not true at all, is it? Even without Connie, even without Dad, or the Gems. Because if he can take away one good thing from this whole messed up experience, just one hopeful message, it’s that he’s never been alone a day of his life. That’s simply the nature of fusion, you see. Even in the darkest, scariest moments...

I’ve never actually been alone, he marvels. I’ve just been me.

______

Once Steven’s dad leaves to scrub down the floors at his car wash, their conversation evolves considerably from its bleak beginnings. Enough about all this Gem stuff, Steven says, what’s new with you? Besides, uh- folding underwear, of course!

Connie laughs, rolling her eyes at the visible blush on his face as she pushes the aforementioned undergarments out of frame. She eagerly shares some of the finer details of her India trip, telling him all about when she’s leaving for the airport, (late this evening, on a red-eye flight across the Atlantic), what area of the country she’s visiting, (Punjab, where some of her extended family lives), and how long she’ll be gone (just a week!). From there, the topic shifts between a variety of themes, ranging anywhere from her anxiety and excitement at starting school again when she gets back, the pride of finally figuring out a challenging song she’s wanted to perfect for a while on her violin, to this super compelling Unfamiliar Familiar fanfic she found where Lisa discovers she’s secretly heir to the throne of the corrupt society she’s always been vying to escape from underneath the authoritative thumb of.

“Wow, this is the story I never knew I always needed so badly in my entire life,” Steven says, brown irises turning starry-eyed in the sunlight. He’s sitting atop the hill now, resting content on his belly in the grass in front of the lighthouse.

“I know, right?? I’ll send you the link,” she promises, dangling her feet in the air behind her as she lays on the carpet.

He pumps his fist in the air triumphantly. “Woo, free infinite books!”

“Well, keep in mind, it’s not finished yet. Apparently it’s supposed to update bi-weekly, but I think the author got a bit boggled down by life stuff recently.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. I hope they’re doin’ okay.”

“Same… But hey,” she says with a soft laugh, “at least it’s a long fic, right?”

“Y’know,” he interjects the current topic suddenly, rising to his knees. “I wonder if I can see your house from here! D’ya think that’s possible, ‘cause I wanna see if that’s possible!”

He switches his camera’s view from front to back, the image of his face replaced by the scenic vista of the cozy beach town below, ridged by the peaceful waters of the Atlantic and Rehoboth Bay. She can see everything, from the gigantic pastry shaped facade atop the Big Donut, to the water tower clear on the other side of the peninsula. Beyond, lush green grasslands— dotted with clusters of small residences, humanity’s touch on the Earth— stretch as far into the horizon as far as a young dreamer can imagine.

Connie picks up her phone from the bedpost she leaned it against and squints at the screen, trying to map out the precise scale of the countryside between them in her mind. “Hmm, probably not. I think my town’s pretty hidden by the surrounding hills.”

“No silly, not from right here, here! I meant, from up here!”

She yelps as the view of Beach City on her phone screen jolts in a burst of sudden, rapid movement, shrinking smaller and smaller as the seconds tick by.

“Steven!! What are you—“

But internally, she finds the answer to this question before she can even finish asking it. Clearly, he jumped into the sky, so… so he’s using his floating ability. Even though she’s never seen him utilize it to leap to this extreme, it’s the only possibility that makes any ounce of sense. Her mouth falls agape at the picturesque view below, the town beginning to looking more and more like a blurred watercolor painting. Distantly, she wonders what it would feel like to be up there with him, her hands clutched tight in his, the wind dancing through her long hair.

"Consarn it! Your house is too small to pick out. Hmm..."

Or even as Stevonnie, can they float too? she wonders. Maybe one day she can ask!

“Oh my gosh, this is just like I’m on the giant slingshot they used to have at Funland,” she says, averting her eyes as her best friend continues his ascent into the shimmering blue sky. She lets slip a slight grimace, finding the stark contrast between the movement on the screen and the still permanence of her bedroom dizzying the more she watches. “And I’m starting to think there’s a reason they shut that ride down…”

“Hey, my floating powers are way better than The Comet,” he chirps playfully, having finally reached the apex of his leap. “Hah, maybe that means I should start my own attraction at Funland!”

“Doing what?” she says, unable to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the very concept. “Bubbling people on the tracks of the rollercoaster like the day we first met? I’m pretty confident that’d be a major health and safety violation.”

“Aww, but those are the best kinds of attractions!”

She hears him grunt with minor exertion, and suddenly the aerial glimpse of the countryside she’s watching on her phone drops out of sight, replaced in an instant with a sweeping panorama of the boundless sky, the line of the horizon with the sea, the ground looming ominously hundreds of feet below. Rinse and repeat, over and over. Everything is spinning, she realizes in alarm, and there’s no end in sight.

“Whoa-oH, it’s the Stevencoaster!” he cries in childish glee as he somersaults.

His lighthearted joy is so contagious she can’t stop the grin stretching wide across her face.

“Careful, you doofus, you’re gonna make me motion sick and I’m not even there,” she giggles breathlessly.

“Nooo! And the Stevencoaster makes everyone toss their cookies! Words truly cannot describe the culinary carnage left in its wake.”

She rolls her eyes in fondness at his antics, and sits up on her carpet. “No, but seriously,” she reaffirms, “that’s making me pretty dizzy.”

“Oh, sorry!”

Soon enough she watches him level out from his spin, his camera focusing for a moment on the ground a hundred feet below his sandaled feet before flipping to show his face once more, framed by wild dark curls. His irises are shimmering an unnatural pink she’s never seen before. It's enough of an unexpected shock that her smile fades, ever so slightly.

“Better?” he says, beaming at her as he continues on his slow descent to Earth.

They’re still pink. And his pupils… She’s not just imagining it, right? She blinks heavily.

“Y- yes, much.”

“Connie? What’s wrong?” he asks, landing upon the grass. His brow furrows.

Even more notably, his eyes are just as normal and brown as they ever were. Connie balls her hand against her chin as she deliberates this. Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.

She shakes her head, silently mulling over how best to explain this. “Nothing, it’s just… I could’ve sworn your eyes were… different, for a second.”

“Different?” Steven‘s grin stretches so wide he looks like he’s about to burst at any moment. “Eye don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Well, if you become my pupil I could explain it to you,” she giggles.

“I’m listening,” he chimes eagerly.

“Okay, so honestly it could’ve just been a trick of the light, but… it’s almost like they flashed pink for a second. And your pupils were all funny, kind of, uh- slitted! Like a cat’s.”

“Pink?”

“Yeah.”

His face goes shockingly pale. “Connie, when was this?”

“Just a second ago,” she shrugs. “You were still floating.”

“Floating,” he repeats under his breath, seeming haunted by the very thought.

“Steven?” she calls, a sudden twist in her chest at the sight of his clear distress. “Steven, what’s wrong?”

“I, I—“ he stammers, unable to even meet her glance. “I’m really sorry, but I gotta go. I’ll text you later?”

“Uh- okay. Thanks for calling—“

He hangs up.

“...back,” she finishes softly, shoulders sinking.

She sighs heavily, dropping her phone into her lap and sitting back against her bed frame. What did she say? What could be so scary about the idea of glowing pink eyes to make him react like that? Sure, it’s a bit strange, but it’s no more unusual than any of his other unique abilities. She only hopes she didn’t ruin his good mood all over again by bringing his attention to it.

Her mother knocks on the doorframe outside, signaling her presence.

“Come in,” she mutters glumly.

The door creaks open. Mom steps through, and leans against the wall with her arms crossed, glancing knowingly between her and the phone still clutched like a lifeline in her hands.

“Are you still worried about that boy?” she asks.

Connie can almost hear the capitalization inherent in her tone. 'That Boy.’ Even though she and Steven are just friends, she knows full well who her mother thinks he is to her. (Not that she’d complain if that were the case, but that’s simply not a thing with them, and really that’s fine, she’s fine, their status quo is comfortable how it is—)

“Yeah… I just got off the phone with him," she says, letting her head sink into the folds of the covers trailing off the side of her bed. "It sounds like he’s been through a lot lately.”

“Well, when a child spends all day fighting monsters instead of going to school like he’s supposed to, I can’t say I’m surprised,” her mom says under her breath.

“Mom, come on, this is serious!”

“Yes, sorry, you’re right,” she says wearily, pressing her hand to her temple. “Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean that it’s fair of me to say.”

She turns away, and hugs her knees to her chest. Like a storm on a late summer day, her mind brims with so many things she wishes she could admit, so many things that need to be released if she wants to find any peace about this. But how to start? How can she make her mother understand?

“I’ve really been looking forward to this trip, y’know?" Connie says, feeling oh-so vulnerable sitting on the floor just like she always would as a young child, eyes glistening as she calls upon her mother for support. "Really. And I know we gotta leave tonight, but just knowing he’s hurting and I won’t be able to text him at all makes part of me wish… that I could stay here."

Unable to dam it up anymore, a few tears spill over to roll unbridled down her cheek. Her chest quivers uncontrollably as her face screws up and she begins to cry.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, moving to kneel on the floor next to her. She rests her hand on her upper back, gently kneading the stress out of her tense muscles.

"He's always been there for me when I needed someone to talk to, o-or somethin' to feel better," she sniffles, wiping the damp from her eyes and nose. "A- and then- the moment he needs me, I can't be there for him at all, an' it's not fair!"

Upon seeing the trail of snot beginning to drip towards her upper lip, her mother grimaces. She reaches across her for the small square box perched atop her nightstand. "Tissue," she says firmly, passing her the box.

She accepts the gift, pulling one out, and blows her nose hard.

As she's dabbing away, cleaning up the evidence of her tears, Mom's fingers shift to comb through the length of her hair. She twirls through long dark strands and pulls them out of her face. "Even if I don't get all this magic stuff you're both dealing with," she begins, voice brimming with compassion, "believe me, I understand more than most what it feels like to be cut off from the people you love. So... I’ll change your phone plan to international, how’s that? That way, at the very least you’ll still be able to contact him.”

Her eyes light up. “Wow, really?? But that’s super expensive!”

“Says your father,” she scoffs with soft laughter. “We can afford it. And anyways, I’d hate to see you miserable the whole trip.”

“That’ll be perfect!” she says, throwing her arms tight around her mother. And although she can’t see her face, Connie knows from the reassuring solidness of their embrace that every bit of the love she has for her is returned in full. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispers, her anxious heart finally finding a glimmer of peace.

#su #steven universe #connie maheswaran #su fanfic #su fanfiction #crack the paragon #greg universe #lars barriga #sadie miller #priyanka maheswaran #my writing stuff

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