#the idea is that she performed surgery on herself and ended up passing out from blood loss or sm idk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

495 notes · View notes

a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 3 years

Text

some (not new) ideas I’m throwing at the wall vis-a-vis gender and star trek (esp in ds9)

Note: We’re eeeeever so slowly moving into times in which “transgender” - as useful a phrase as it is - isn’t the catch-all it’s been for the past 15 or so years, mainly with an understanding that gender is an infinite, fascinating playground that is affected by culture and time. I’m partially using transgender/trans here, and partially terms like nb, genderqueer, femme, and masc as well as “gender transgressive” which is useful to describe, well... transgressive gender.

However I wish I could jump into the future to see what terminology exists then...

I do think there’s something interesting in certain transphobic media, esp the kind that deals with crossdressing-for-laughs (vs drag, which is ofc community-based), because even though it’s usually done mockingly by cisgender heterosexual guys, it reveals how undeniably queer certain ideas are, even if that queering is done in a punch-down sort of way

surprise, this is about Profit and Lace, specifically in how it introduces the idea of transgressive gender in Quark and in Rom, accidentally building off Pel’s story in Rules of Acquisition.

surface story is yeah: Quark makes an ugly woman, with a dose of misogynistic haha women and their hormones amirite (and that opening *shudders*), but what is fascinating is how easily Quark is able to access what we’d today call gender affirming surgery in a future where you can be altered to look like all kinds of different species.

all this handwringing about regret and “staying in your gender” (which isn’t how it woooorks for a lot of us) and not allowing consent over our own bodies and the patronizing, ahistorical, unscientific, slew of unwanted commentary from everyone and their mums, it’s just... not there. they know Quark is going to reverse the surgery the second the jig is up and Julian still just does it, because sure, got a moment to spare.

you wanna have boobs? yeah, go on. you wanna have boobs and still be considered a man? uh-huh, that’s cool - wow, Rom makes a wonderful “woman,” don’t you think? (and Leeta’s.. kind of in support of that!)

I’ve argued a fair few times that Rom is trans/nb/femme/genderqueer by Ferengi standards (that is, gender is measured by business-sense/lobes and is its own kind of binary -- also on that note... their mother is trans/nb/genderqueer by that measurement too). It’s a really fascinating overlap between financial class and gender as a caste system (which affects both Ishka and Rom in different ways), which also exists on earth irl today, even though that intersectionality doesn’t get discussed enough outside of queer circles.

I think Quark fits that standard as well, but he’s fighting it a lot harder than Rom is. The central tension of Quark’s series long arc is his attempts to be A Good Ferengi Male and failing over and over and when he occasionally succeeds, how he doesn’t often feel good about that. He blames a lot of this on the Federation, but by all accounts it was in him to begin with, although he used to be able to cover it up more easily.

Quark desperately wants to get it right, but a lot of the time he’s clearly masking. Sometimes he really enjoys it though, it’s not like with Rom where he has no sense for business, so much as it takes effort.

meanwhile Pel (whom I HC as masc) doesn’t have access to the kinds of surgeries that are so easy to get in the Federation, which puts her in danger - much like not having access puts us in danger today. I'm sort of torn on the headcanon that she either gets her lobes enlarged via the same surgical procedure (which, again, is so no big deal in the future) or because she’s in the gamma quadrant, she’s able to reimagine gender without having to change herself physically - which many trans/nb/genderqueer or otherwise gendered/non-gendered people also don’t want to do.

I also think it’s interesting that Quark-as-a-woman who is dressed in clothes (gasp) is fetishized, because she’s oh so transgressive -- exactly what happens to us today and one reason why so many trans people end up in sex work (of any kind - here’s me adding: get that money however you can and want to, siblings, much love and support).

I bet there are underground sexual “deviancy” shops that sell fake lobes to imagine your female is actually the man of the house, or even lobe-enhancement that some females take to “pass” although they were actually designed for helping out your small-lobed son “perform business better”

(all of my talk of lobes: here’s the reminder that lobes in Ferengi culture are sexual characteristics)

bottom line, the tension between cisgender (heterosexual) people trying desperately to maintain a binary system of understanding gender and how they play in genderqueer sandpits is always interesting for me to watch.

on the one hand they’ll argue there are innate social behaviours that exist in women (and they exist across species) - the way Quark has to learn to walk for example, or even - interestingly - that when Ishka starts dressing, her style is very different from men’s dress (maybe inspired by an older version of Ferengi culture where females weren’t so oppressed? - Ishka as transfemme? She could notice that she and Rom have the same likes and she buys him - gasp buys with her own money!! - a lovely dress and one of those massive lobe-earring/necklace things (lobe-lace?), so they match) - and innate social behaviours that exist in men

on the other hand they will unknowingly present a future in which the distinctions between woman and man are so immaterial that you can access any kind of physical surgery you want - in the Federation that is, and differently defined throughout different species on different planets. I always liked the idea that the further away from the “paradise” of earth you get, the more diverse the gender distinctions become but in a lot of these places they also practise rigid systems, like on Ferenginar. I can imagine some majority-human planet worshipping the old ways of the 20th century and enforcing that colonialist gender binary, urgh, can you imagine....

You wonder what things like “assigned gender and sex at birth” might mean in a future where there’s no social capital involved in assigning those kinds of things, if anything.

And so, Profit and Lace is -- still not a good episode. I remember one of the DS9 writers talking about how unexpectedly well it’s aged and it absolutely has not. It’s misogynistic and transphobic, but I think also very important in the canon of Star Trek’s accidental gender-exploration (Star Trek’s accidental gender-exploration sounds like the title of an article....)

sometimes you find the best gold nuggets in the trash.

and on that note: time to spin the wheel and headcanon that O’Brien was (using today’s terminology) assigned female at birth and decided he liked the sound of being a boy when he was thirteen (his parents like: “for your birthday we got you gender reassignment! and you can always change your mind.”)

also I wrote it above, but Rom and Ishka wearing matching outfits and it being equally shocking is *chefs kiss* (esp with Rom as Nagus)

#quark #rom #ishka #pel #ferengi #profit and lace #rules of acquisition #ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #ds9 meta #my writing #be prepared for Rambles

72 notes · View notes

qitwrites · 3 years

Text

|| 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 ||

Momo is 13 when she gets her first period.

Her parents had talked to her about it of course, told her it was completely natural and normal and healthy, and to come to them when it happens.

What nobody was prepared for was the pain.

She’s in the family garden creating some Lego blocks for herself when a bout of cramps, sharp and intense, roils through her abdomen and up her left leg. It’s so sudden she can barely call for help, and by the time the guards reach her, she’s on the ground sobbing, clutching her stomach and shakily taking in gasps of air.

They tell her it’s a combination of her diet and her genes. The high-fat diet has consequences, no matter how much she uses her quirk to balance it out and her father’s side of the family has a history of debilitating period pains. It’s just really bad luck, or so they tell her.

Of course, this doesn’t deter Momo from her plans of becoming a pro-hero. It’s all she wants. So, it’s what she chases and works for and earns.

The period pains get worse.

Class 1A doesn’t notice for the longest time. Momo is good at hiding it, at hiding how often she uses the loo for the first two days, how much pain she’s biting back in class, how badly she’s performing in training. She practices her smile in the mirror, sits through hours of class and training and socializing with a smile plastered on her face, and screams into her pillow at night. She spends those nights on her bathroom floor, alternating between throwing up and enjoying the cool feeling of the tiles underneath her.

Nobody realizes until Momo doesn’t show up for class one day.

Of course, everyone is immediately concerned- Momo isn’t one to skip. She takes the best notes, has perfect attendance, submits her assignments on time, the works. First period passes like that, and Aizawa even brings it up but nobody knows where she is. She hasn’t messaged a soul or called anyone about anything.

They’re on break after second period when Todoroki finds her on the staircase landing between the first and second floor.

Momo is on the ground, laying on her side. Her hand is in her mouth, blood dripping down her skin as she clenches it tightly between her teeth. Her other hand is wrapped around her abdomen, squeezing tightly. Tears stream down her face continuously, like an endless river. She’s muffling her screams, and it’s almost like she can’t even see Todoroki, her gaze piercing straight through him.

Todoroki is immediately alarmed, getting to his knees in front of her. He looks over her and can’t see any physical injuries, any signs of trauma.

‘Yaoyorozu,’ he says urgently, ‘what’s going on?’

Momo blinks at him, some of the tears dispelling. She finally sees him, recognizes him, and gasps. She pulls her hand away and the tears spill again.

‘I can’t-‘ she starts and sucks in a sharp breath ‘-I can’t breathe. I can’t- there’s too much pain fuck.’ Todoroki raises his brows- Momo never curses. Never. Not even when she stubbed her toe against the dining table and broke it.

‘We have to get you to recovery girl,’ Todoroki says, moving to help her up.

‘Wait,’ she groans. ‘I need- dammit, Todoroki let me borrow your left hand for a moment please.’

Todoroki complies without question, and watches as she takes it and places it on her abdomen above her uniform.

‘As hot as you can go,’ she says, ‘without burning my uniform. Please.’

Todoroki has no idea what’s going on, but he does as she asks. The effect is almost immediate- her breathing evens out, her eyes focus again, her body stops jerking in pain. It’s almost like she’s been sedated.

After nearly 2 minutes of sitting in silence, she gently takes Todoroki’s hand and places it on his own knee. She sits up gingerly and wipes away her tears, smearing some of the blood on her cheeks instead. Todoroki watches her carefully, ready to step in if she asks for help.

‘What happened?’

Momo looks at him with sad eyes. ‘It’s just my period cramps Todoroki. I’m ok, I’ll be alright.’

Todoroki quirks a brow. ‘You’re not ok Yaoyorozu, even I can tell just by looking at you.’

Momo is about to voice another protest when the door to the stairwell bursts open. Bakugou and Kirishima walk through with vending machine drinks in their hands and stop when they spot the pair on the floor.

‘Yaomomo?’ Kirishima shouts, running towards them. Bakugou trails just behind, eyebrows furrowed.

Momo plasters a smile on her face, trying to hide her bloodied hand.

‘What happened?’ Kirishima yells, crouching down with a concerned look in his eyes.

‘I-‘

‘She said it’s period cramps,’ Todoroki interrupts. In all honesty, he never grew up around his mother or his sister, so he has limited knowledge of periods in general. But with that limited knowledge also came the lack of a stigma towards periods in general. He doesn’t think anything of talking about it.

Kirishima’s concerned look melts into one of sad understanding.

‘Oh man,’ he says, ‘that sucks Yaomomo. They’re that bad, huh?’

Momo keeps her smile in place. ‘Really, I’m fine, it’s nothing I cannot handle, I’m ok-‘

A hand, absurdly gentle, pulls her bloodied one away from where she’s hiding it. Momo startles when she sees Bakugou holding her hand, giving her a tight look. He drops it gently and sighs. With a grunt, Bakugou sits down next to her, back leaning into the wall. Kirishima sits cross legged in front of her while Todoroki sits on her other side.

‘My old hag,’ Bakugou grumbles, ‘has period pains. More like period torture, I guess. She threw up every month on the first day. She’d have dark circles from the lack of sleep, and she’d slap hot water bags to her stomach 24/7. She even burned the skin there a few times. Painkillers didn’t do shit, there were no surgical options, not even birth control made much of a dent. She’d just grit her teeth and bare it every month.’

Momo listens silently, her hands slowly unclenching.

‘My moms,’ Kirishima pitches in, ‘are pretty chill with it. Well, Mama’s get really bad sometimes, but mom is usually ok. I’ve seen them bring each other ice-cream or squeeze each other’s shoulders. They sync up a lot too! Mama would always tell me to be nicer to mom, and mom would always tell me to give mama a kiss. They’re both so manly when they battle their periods every month.’ He offers Momo a gentle smile.

Todoroki hums. ‘I admit, I don’t know much beyond the biological part of it. But from what I can see, Yaoyorozu, this isn’t very normal, is it? This level of pain?’

Momo sighs, brushing away the fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

‘I, between my quirk and my genes, I have received the shorter end of the stick. Of course, I have looked into treatments. There’s nothing I can fix with surgery, and painkillers are usually ineffective. I have tried birth control measures, but they interfere with my quirk.’

Momo looks up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t think we talk about this enough, about heroes that menstruate. I can’t stop being a hero on the days I have my period, but sometimes, I’m in so much pain I can’t see straight. I-‘ she sucks in a stuttering breath ‘-I don’t know what to do sometimes. I want to stand on equal footing with my peers.’

Bakugou scoffs. ‘You shitting me? You’re top of the class, your quirk can make fucking canons, you tutored our fuckwit classmates into not failing miserably, and you did it all through this shit? What part of that is not equal with your peers?’

Kirishima nods in agreement. ‘I mean, Mina has some cramps too, so I usually bring her hot water bags when she asks. I read somewhere that spinach is great for period health, so I make us both protein shakes with spinach and banana! She says it helps.’

‘The iron in spinach must be beneficial,’ Momo muses, her face breaking into the first genuine smile of the day. ‘I usually up my iron intake as well. It does help.’

‘You’re right though,’ Todoroki adds, eyebrows furrowed, ‘we don’t talk enough about heroes that menstruate. Plus, the fact that you can’t seem to find a way to manage your pain without it affecting your life is proof that they haven’t put much thought into it, isn’t it?’

Bakugou grunts in agreement. ‘My hag volunteers at women’s shelters and tries to raise funds for pain meds and hygiene supplies and shit. It’s ridiculous. All of that shit should be free. No one asks to have a period every month.’

‘We can change that though,’ Kirishima pipes in, always the voice of positivity. ‘Look at the four of us, talking about it! Yaomomo, I’m sorry.’

Momo blinks, ‘What for Kirishima?’

‘For not noticing! You must’ve been in so much pain all this time, huh? I’m sorry for not noticing and doing more.’

Momo feels something cold press against her arm. She looks down to see Bakugou pushing his unopened drink into her elbow.

‘Take it, staying hydrated helps with the cramps.’ He stands up and brushes his pants. ‘Think you can stand?’

Momo takes a sip of the drink, relishing the cold fizzy burn as it slides down her throat. She takes a deep breath and stands, stumbling a little before catching herself. Todoroki steadies her around the elbow.

‘Can we take you to recovery girl?’

Momo smiles warmly. ‘I’ve been already. We’ve been working together on some remedies. It’ll take time, but I hope we can come up with something.’ Momo hums. ‘I should put more work into this. I can’t be the only hero that faces such bad period pains.’

‘That’s so manly Yaomomo!’ Kirishima beams. ‘I’m kinda dumb so I don’t think I can help with the research but let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’

Momo giggles into the back of her hand and they start moving towards class together. As they reach the top of the stairs another bout of cramps settles into her gut, and she clenches the railing with a white knuckled grip.

The boys stand around, guarding her, supporting her, giving her small smiles and reassuring nods. Todoroki offers her his hand again, and she quickly makes a heating pad and hands it to him, so she can continue to use it during class. Bakugou urges her to drink more water, and Kirishima keeps telling her how manly she is.

When they get to class, everyone crowds around her and she laughs softly, promising to explain everything later. The rest of the day passes by with little incident, and throughout it all, Todoroki takes the heating pad from her, heats it up and hands it back, hour after hour.

They talk about it in the dorms after class, and recounting her episode opens the floodgates for all the girls.

‘I get really bad migraines,’ Uraraka sighs, rubbing at her temples as if in anticipation. ‘It makes the nausea from my quirk even more unbearable.’

Jirou nods. ‘I get you. I have leg cramps, makes it impossible to use my legs during heartbeat surround. The speakers are too painful to use, and I’m never as stable as I’d like to be.’ She gives Kirishima a pointed look. ‘I’ll join you at the gym next time, teach me some leg moves. I want to get stronger.’ Kirishima gives her a huge thumbs up and a blinding grin.

‘My back gives out sometimes,’ Mina says. ‘I have this pain that burns in my lower back on a few occasions, it’s the worst.’

‘I don’t have a lot of physical symptoms,’ Hagakure pipes in, ‘but I do have PMS and depressive episodes. I’ve been trying to figure out a good med balance to fix it.’ All the girls nod at that, squeezing her arms and shoulders in silent support.

The teachers are brought into the loop too, and Aizawa gently berates Momo for not coming to him sooner.

‘We’re here to help,’ he says, eyes the gentlest she’s ever seen. ‘Learn to rely on your teachers more, will you? Such troublemakers , the lot of you.’

Momo makes hot packs for the girls after that, and the teachers don’t blink when one of them passes it to Todoroki in the middle of class as the boy just heats it the appropriate amount before passing it back without so much as a hiccup in his work.

Bakugou sends Momo articles and tips from his mom about pain management and dealing with cramps. He says it’s because he wants her to be in top condition when he beats her for #1, otherwise it won’t, in his eloquent words, mean jack shit. Momo tries some stuff out, happily surprised when her symptoms are even the slightest bit reduced. Kirishima offers to make them all spinach shakes, and they take him up on that every so often, complimenting his limited cooking abilities.

And on the days Momo is back on the bathroom floor heaving into the toilet, Jirou holds her hair back. Mina cuddles her on the couch when her hands are clenched as she bites back tears, and Ojiro sits by her feet, a reassuring presence to depend on if she ever needs something.

They’ve still got a long way to go as a society, but it’s a start. And a damn good one at that.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha: thicker than blood #momo yaoyorozu #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #class 1a headcanons #so today in thicker than blood #lets talk periods!#there's no talk of blood or anything #it's more about period cramps #and how period pain manifests in different but very painful ways #i've thought about this a lot you know?#like the female heroes can't just take a few days off every month on their period but they'd still be in so much pain #and in my country period products are still taxed as luxury items which is a load of fucking horsecrap #i have feelings about this because my own periods are pretty shite tbh #i just wanted to write about the boys actually caring #and having an open discussion about this #and give momo some love because she's actually great???

140 notes · View notes

tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

A Little Braver - Chapter 4

So, chapter 4 is finally here.

It has a few funny moments but it also has angst.

This fic has so much more angst that i originally planned.

Anyway... enjoy it.

-----------

The drive to the hospital did not take long but once inside they noticed the waiting room was swamped.

“Whitethorn, this is pointless,” she said when he placed her on an empty chair “we’ll be here for hours.”

“I don’t care, we are getting that knee checked.” His tone did not admit any protest from her.

Aelin grunted “I hate you.”

“Is that news? Tell me something I don’t know.” Rowan took a seat on the empty seat beside her then took her injured leg and lifted it on his lap. Aelin winced.

It was three hours later when Rowan started to loose his patience “that woman came after us and she went in already.” He protested a bit too loudly for Aelin’s taste. Why was he caring about her wellbeing all of a sudden?

“Maybe she is worse than a busted knee.” She shrugged but he glared at her.

“She walked into the A&E on her own two feet. You just dealt with that damn inferno with that busted knee.” He protested and the hint of pride in his voice moved something inside her.

“I don’t need the red carpet.”

“Some fucking attention for people who bust their asses to save other people lives would be appreciated.” His tone got a bit louder still. Rowan did not seem the type to cause a scene but he seemed a bit too annoyed and to be honest she did not know much about the guy. She just hoped his military training would kick in and restrain himself.

“Doctor save lives too.”

He grunted and stood and Aelin braced for the worst. She saw him walk with purpose to the reception desk with perfect military stride. She would have laughed if it wasn’t that she was scared of what he would do.

She saw him talk to one of the nurses behind the nurses station. A few times his arm pointed at her and she made herself small and invisible.

Then she went back spying on him and studied his posture and gasped. The man was flirting with the nurse. Stick up in the arse captain was flirting with the nurse to get her in early. She was dumbfounded. She could not believe that he had it in him.

He came back five minutes later with a smug face “Someone will come for you soon.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open “Did you just flirt with the nurse to have me seen earlier?”

“I did not such thing,” and he looked away, scanning the waiting room.

“She is looking over here. I think she is interested in you and is now wondering how it would feel to bag an airforce captain.”

Rowan huffed “not interested.”

“She is pretty.”

“Not my type…”

“Oh come on grampa, she could even play sexy nurse with you.”

Rowan rolled his eyes “you really are a menace.”

She was about to add a snarky remark when a doctor stopped in front of them “Aelin Galathynius?”

Aelin’s head snapped up “I am here.”

“I am doctor Yrene Westfall. Follow me.”

Westfall? Was she Chaol’s wife?

“Did you say Westfall? Is Chaol your husband?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Aelin nodded “I am a firefighter, we work a lot with the police. He was at the embankment fire tonight.”

“He told me, apparently it was hell. His own words.”

“It was bad.” Aelin stood and swore as sharp pain shoot from her knee up her leg.

“Why did you do that?” Rowan protested and lifted her again in his arms.

“You are making the nurse jealous.”

“Shut up and let’s follow the nice doctor.”

“Put her down here,” Yrene pointed at an empty bed.

Rowan placed her gently on the bed and stepped at the bottom of it. His hands behind his back.

Yrene lifted the leg of her trousers and had a look at her knee “This look quite bad, why did you wait this long to come to the hospital?”

“I was going to… but then city emergency and all and it slipped my mind.”

Rowan snorted and Aelin glared at him.

“And you walked all day on it?”

“Kinda…”

“You might have made things much worse.”

Aelin leaned back on the pillow and sighed. She knew and with the performance review on its way it had been very stupid of her.

“How did it happen?”

“We were in the middle of a drill this morning. The explosion happened, the shockwave made me loose my balance and I fell down the ladder face first and my left knee took the impact.”

“You might have broken your kneecap. I need to send you for an x-ray and see what is the situation.” She went away and came back five minutes later “Someone will come and get you soon. You captain, can wait here until she is back.”

Rowan nodded and pinched her big toe when he noticed her worried expression “Do you want me to come in and hold your hand?”

“Screw you, Whitethorn.”

He pinched the toe again and his lip quirked up in a tight attempt at a smile.

Aelin wondered if she’ll ever see him smile or even laugh.

The porter came and rolled her bed away. She snatched a last look at Rowan and saw him standing where her bed had been I’ll be here. She saw him mouth to her.

Rowan began pacing back and forth in a very nervous state. His phone pinged and saw a text from Lorcan asking for an update on behalf of her squad. He texted back saying she was getting an x-ray.

He sat down on the chair near where the bed was and took out his phone to scroll through the news of the fire at the warehouses. In one of the articles he saw a great picture of her. She was staring at the inferno in front of her and with her hand she was pointing at something, maybe giving an order. He saved the picture on his phone then went on reading the article flushing with pride at how the journalist had praised her for handling such an emergency with professionalism and doing a great jobs at keeping the victims to a very low level. Turned out they only had lost two workers. Considering what he had seen he was impressed because it could have been far, far worse. He read a few more articles and almost seethed with rage when a journalist had the courage to criticise the TFD for having a young girl in charge of such an emergency.

It was an hour later when Aelin and Yrene came back. Aelin’s face told him that the news was bad.

“Her kneecap is badly fractured. She will need surgery. I have contacted the orthopaedic surgeon to see if he can squeeze her in tomorrow. Then she will have to stay in the hospital for a few days. Once she gets home she can move around with crutches but it might take up to a month before she will be able to do rehab. The whole thing should last around three months if she cooperates.”

Rowan stared at Aelin and he saw her heartbroken expression.

Once Yrene excused herself saying she was going to get her a room, Rowan moved closer to her.

“Don’t. Don’t you even try and say what you are about to say. I do not need your pity.”

He knew that the idea of not being able to participate in the performance review was killing her. Gods he wanted to hug her again like in her office and offer comfort. But that was a skill he had always been bad at.

“Do you need anything?”

“Yes, being less fucking stupid.” She growled through gritted teeth “I knew that explosion was coming. I knew we had fucked up the exercise and let it run longer than meant to. Aedion and I had planned that explosion. I knew it and I still let it knock me off like a blasted newbie.”

She breathed deeply “I am too stupid to be a captain.”

No, he was not having that.

“Now you are talking shite.” He snarled back. He was not having her accusing herself os something like that. He took out his phone and opened the first article he read. The one with the great picture.

“Captain Galathynius has showed nerves of steel while handling a double fire that could have had catastrophic consequences. She masterfully deployed two teams to tackle emergency after emergency without ever backing down from the constant challenge. And when it seemed that the situation was taking a turn for the worst, she pulled a rabbit out of the hat and convinced the stiff necked airforce posh boys to join and help tackle a raging fire, far too big for three fire engines. Captain Galathynius and the two teams deserve more recognition for their incredible job. Far more than a pat on the back.

All the firefighters involved tonight had showed great heroism and excellent skills. Every day these men and women place their lives on the line to keep our city safe. The government should keep it in mind at his next budget review and find in itself to invest in money in services the city deeply deserves like firefighters, the police and the health services instead of flushing it down the drain to fund fancy planes built for destruction.”

“Uh…. He really does not like you guys.”

“I don’t care,” said Rowan quickly “What matters is what she said about you. She doesn’t think you are stupid. And I don’t think it either. This stiff necked posh boy thinks you are amazing.”

“Liar.”

“I am not lying. Why would I? I agree with this woman. You were fucking amazing tonight. All of you. And yes, you deserve far more credit than what you will get.”

His eyes glistened with pride and his words had helped a bit ease her anger.

“So you think I am amazing?”

“I do.” His voice much softer all of a sudden.

Yrene came back in that moment and broke the spell. She had a feeling she and the captain were about to have a moment but the magic had passed.

“I have a room for you.” And she had a wheelchair with her.

Rowan grabbed Aelin again and lifted her into the wheelchair and offered to push her.

“Chaol was my saviour tonight,” she giggled while Rowan rolled the wheelchair along the corridor following the doctor.

“How so?”

“He knows I hate reporters. So as soon as he saw a few coming at me he came and saved me before I could punch them. Plus, he and his men did an outstanding job at crowd control. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but when you have people running terrified from a building on fire it can end badly. And they also kept an eye to all the curious monster who come and have a peek and film it to post it social media for a five minutes of glory. Police let us concentrate on the emergency without worrying about what’s happening in the background.”

“Thank you for telling me.” The woman smiled at her.

“Make sure you give him an extra cuddle tonight.”

Both Aelin and Yrene burst out laughing.

“I will reward him accordingly, captain.”

They finally reached the elevator and the three got in. Not long after they were in the room and Rowan lifted her in bed. Yrene left them to get her settled in.

“You need clothes, damn it.” He looked around him as if to find an answer in an hospital room.

“My house keys are at the station.”

“Fine I’ll go and get them and grab some clothes for you from your house. Give me the address.”

“No.”

His face turned confused “why? You can’t stay in your uniform.”

“I am not having you in my house, going through my drawers and my clothes.”

Rowan sighed “tell me where you keep t-shirts and shorts and I will just go straight to that one. I am not a creep I swear.”

“Fine.” She texted him the address “my keys are in the black messenger bag in my locker. There is a small pocket at the front. They are attached to the hook. Actually take the whole bag with you. I have a charger and other stuff in there that I might need.”

“Ok, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and before leaving he turned once more “you could start calling me Rowan, by the way.”

“Thank you, Rowan.”

He left thinking that his name on her lips was the most beautiful sound ever.

He reached the fire station not long after. He met Ress in the corridor.

“Captain.”

“Ress, isn’t it?”

The man nodded.

“How’s Aelin?

“She will need surgery. She is not happy as you could imagine.”

“Damn.”

A tall man joined them a moment later. His uniform was white.

“This is chief Havilliard.” Said Ress.

So that was the young Havilliard.

“You must be captain Whitethorn.”

Rowan nodded.

“Thank you for your assistance tonight.”

Rowan shook his head “it was Aelin’s idea. The credit goes to her. I just follow orders.”

“How is she by the way?” And Rowan could see concern in the man’s eyes.

“She will need surgery. Her knee is busted pretty badly. They are trying to book her for tomorrow. I am heading to her place to get her some clothes.”

“I will update the squad.” Dorian said “I will also try and beg the board to postpone the review. Aedion will be home tomorrow but he will be off for a week and Aelin looks like she will be out of commission for a while. And I need them to train the team. They are my golden duo.”

Rowan took an immediate liking to the chief.

Once Dorian took his leave, Ress took Rowan to their changing rooms and pointed to Aelin’s locker.

“Tell her that the team is behind her and that she was awesome tonight. Also let us know where she is in the hospital so we can come and visit.”

“Room 252 in the orthopaedic ward.”

“Thank you sir.”

Ress left him. He grabbed Aelin’s bag and his eyes spotted the pictures attached to the door and the walls. He saw some pictures with a man and he had a feeling his face was familiar. The photos portrayed a couple in love and for a very brief instant a very strange emotion he could not decipher set into him and then it quickly went away with the same speed it came.

He ignored it. Slammed the locker shut and left the station.

Fifteen minutes later he reached her house and let himself in. The house was gorgeous and very modern. He stepped into the living room and noticed the wall were painted a light yellow giving the room much more brightness. He smiled at the insane number of bookcases bursting with books. So, she was a book worm. Good, something to talk about if they had a chance to have a conversation that contained less insults and vitriol.

He walked to the door she had indicated and reached her bedroom and froze for a moment. He knew he had her permission but for an instant he felt as if he was invading her privacy.

The room was painted a pastel blue and a huge bed was was in the middle. At one end he noticed the drawer and walked to it and froze when he noticed there were two middle drawers.

Shit, she had said the middle drawer but which one. Damn, he had promised.

He opened the top one and slammed it shut when he saw the content. That was her underwear drawer. He turned and leaned against the piece of furniture. Bras… 38A she had said and now his treacherous brain was picturing the piece of clothing filled by…

“Damn.”

He opened the other one and breathed relieved when he noticed t-shirts and shorts. Good. He grabbed a few of her TFD t-shirts and placed them in the duffel bag at the bottom of her bed.

His phone went off. It was Aelin.

“What?”

“Gee, you sound grumpy.”

“What do you need m’lady?” His voice dripping with fake pleasantness.

“I am giving you permission to open the second drawer from the top and grab me some underwear as well, please.”

“You are kidding me.” Aelin could clearly hear the panic in his voice.

“Ro, I am not. I have an emergency and I will soon need new knickers. So yes, get in that drawer and grab me my underwear.”

His hand ran through his hair in a nervous gesture.

“Also, there is a small convenience store around the corner, could you please buy me tampons?”

Rowan almost choked.

“I am sorry what?”

“You heard me. I assume you had been with other women before. You know we get periods, right?”

“Fine, I will phone you back once I am in the shop. I have no idea what to buy.”

“Just don’t blush too much.”

And he could hear the grin in her voice.

He hung up and breathed deeply and opened the drawer. The selection was… incredible.

He picked a few sports bra thinking that for an hospital stay they would be the better option. Definitely the lacy one were not proper. He rummaged a bit and looked again for something more sober when all of a sudden he found in his hands something that had little or no use as underwear but his treacherous mind painted some very sexy pictures.

Damn, that was torture. He grabbed a nice selection of the sober pieces and closed the drawer from hell in relief. He stuffed everything in the bag and walked out, in desperate need of fresh air.

Next stop he drove to the convenience store and braced himself for the next task. He walked in and sneaked to the correct section feeling like a perv for lingering in a section where he clearly did not belong to. He looked at the boxes and he had no idea that there were so many choices. He phoned her.

“Oh, you are still alive.”

“I am in the shop. Which one do you need?” He almost growled.

“Tampons.” She said matter of factly.

“I am a bloke, Fireheart. I have no idea of what you are talking about.”

He heard her sigh “the ones that looks like bullets.”

“Ok, which type?”

“At the bottom they have guidelines with drops. One with two drops and one with three. Actually make it two each.”

“Does the brand matter?”

“I am not fussed.”

“Okay. I got it.”

“I owe you another one.”

“That’s two now.”

“Fine, fine, Buzzard.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later, get your arse back here.”

“So bossy.”

He hang up and had a look at the brands. She had said she was not fussed but he had decided to get her the expensive ones, hoping it meant they were of a better quality as well.

He walked to the counter to pay “For my wife,” he muttered embarrassed, paid and got out quickly.

She owed him big time. Not for the water drop but for this.

When he got back to the hospital he went to her room and dumped the bag on her bed and moved away from her.

“Gee someone is on edge. Did my underwear scare you? The fearless pilot got frightened by lace.”

He scoffed an ignored her.

“Seriously man, never had a girlfriend or a date wearing sexy lingerie for you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, so what’s problem?”

He sat heavily on the chair “I was probably dating the person at the time, which implies other things.” She could still see the embarrassment in his features “you and I are just work partners. It was very weird.”

“Well, at least now you know how big is a 38A.”

The top of his ears turned red. She loved so much to rile him up.

She had look at what he had brought her and was very happy when she noticed he had picked sports bra. He had actually put some thought in it. Then her eyes caught the boxes of tampons “Rowan, these are very expensive.”

“I just thought… you know… better quality, perhaps? More comfortable? I don’t know. Again, I am a bloke.”

She wished she could stand and kiss him. He had been amazing. She never had put Sam through such torture. He would have probably died at the idea of buying her feminine products.

“I am very grateful. For everything.”

He gave her a smile. It never reached his eyes but the effort was there her heart fluttered at the precious little show of emotion.

He stood “I’ll let you change.” He made to walk away but stopped when he noticed her face.

“You need to use the facilities I guess.”

She nodded.

He lifted her in his arms and walked into the bathroom and deposited her on the loo.

“Let me know when you are done.” He left the room and walked to the corridor and sat on a chair. He took his phone and started browsing some old news about firefighters. He was still thinking about the man he saw in the picture in her locker. He had seen that face in the news.

He searched for a while until he found an article about a fireman called Sam Cortland. He opened and began to read. Shit. Sam and Aelin had been an item for five years and according to the article they had been engaged. He had been a captain at west station. He got killed while fighting a fire in a warehouse. Shit. His hands shook. They had in common more than just books. He pocketed the phone and walked back to the room.

“Are you okay?” He called through the door.

“Almost ready.”

He leaned against the wall and tried to calm down. It had been just over a year. Was she okay?

“I am ready.” He shoot off the wall and opened the door of the bathroom and saw her in her TFD t-shirt. He lifted her in his arms and he never would have wanted to let go of her.

“Back to your bed.”

Her arms were around his neck and it felt as if she lingered like that a bit longer on purpose.

Or maybe he had just imagined.

“Do you need painkillers? Something to eat?”

Aelin shook her head “I am officially fasting. My surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow at 9.”

“That’s great.”

“I am a bit nervous.”

He sat down on the bed, just in front of her. Her hands were on her lap. He took her hand by grasping just the tip of the fingers “I can stay with you. I can be here when you wake up, or I can call someone else whose company you enjoy more.”

Aelin squeezed his hand back. She wished she had the strength to tell him that somehow she had enjoyed his company very much in the recent hours. But things were still very weird between them and she was positive he still did not like her.

Then she looked up and saw his eyes staring at her and realised that maybe she was wrong. In those beautiful green eyes of his she had noticed a spark of emotion, albeit for a fleeting moment.

“Keep me company, please.” He nodded and sat back on the chair.

They chatted amicably. She had told her about the station and her friends, then he reported that Lorcan was officially smitten by Elide and the two started making plans to set up the two of them.

At her first yawn, Rowan ordered her to go to bed. He tucked her in and went back to his seat.

When he woke up the next morning it was pretty early. He stood and stretched his back, sore from a night asleep on a chair. Aelin was still asleep so he sneaked out of the room and went in search of the cafeteria for a coffee. Then he had a look at himself in one of the doors and noticed he was still in uniform, now a mess, and a shadow of stubble on his face. His academy CO would have his head for walking around in such horrible state while in uniform. He shrugged, got his coffee and went back to the room. Jotted down a note for Aelin. He needed to go home, take a shower and get fresh clothes. He would be back by the time she returned from surgery.

On his way home he phoned Lorcan to give him an update on his whereabouts. He asked also for a few days off to help Aelin and the man agreed. Rowan snorted. Being in love was doing miracles on the old bastard.

He got home, relaxed, took quite a long shower and eventually he had breakfast and caught up with the news and saw that the big fire was still making the headlines. Then a photo caught his attention. Apparently the community had turned in support of the fire stations. They had flocked in front of the government building protesting in light of the new spending budget. Many of signs called for a cut in military spending and to give due value to corps such as firefighters and police. He realised that he would have probably been there as well if it wasn’t that his presence would guarantee him being kicked out of the force immediately. He had been disgusted when he saw how much the airforce got for the repairs. So much more than asked and then Aelin and the guys had to beg for a second engine. Yes, he was in the airforce but he did not agree with the amount of money that often got thrown at them. He eventually got dressed and headed back to the hospital but once he arrived he spotted a few reporters.

“Bloody leeches.”

He tried to walk unnoticed, but alas, his silver hair was not the most inconspicuous of traits.

One woman blocked his path and flung the microphone at him “Captain, how does it feel to save the day?”

Rowan looked at the woman puzzled. How on earth did they know who he was? He had been on a plane the night of the fire.

“You and your team stopped the fires. Without you, the firefighters would have failed.”

Anger. Fiery anger surged through him in a savage wave.

“I think you have read the news wrong.” He tried to calm down “The real heroes are the firefighters,” he shouted for all the reporters to hear “They are the ones who put their lives in danger. They are the ones who jumped into an inferno saving as many workers as possible.” He looked at all of them “over an hour. They were at it for over an hour, with no break, no one to cover for them or take their place. Captain Galathynius supervised the whole thing while injured and barely being able to stand. And you give all the credit to us?” He roared “We showed up because the captain had the amazing idea of using us. We swooped in at the end of the game, when one of the building was almost off. We just dropped some water and you call us heroes?” His hand were now in tight fists “I flew one of those planes and I do not want glory. I do not deserve glory. East and west station do. The police do.” And he walked away furious. Bastards. He hoped that someone passed the interview live, so his real words would pass on. He did not trust reporters.

He ran upstairs and when he arrived he noticed Aelin in bed and half asleep. He gave her a big smile.

“Hey you, tight-pants.”

He chuckled and sat beside her “how do you feel?”

“My hand moves funny.” She said moving her hand in front of her face and Rowan realised she was still quite drugged up from the surgery.

She was quite funny.

“Your hair is white.”

He brushed his hair with his hand “do you like it?”

She gave him a goofy smile “you are sooooo pretty.”

“Oh thank you. No one has called me pretty in a very long time.” He took her hand in his.

“I have a secret” she said and placed a finger in front of her mouth.

“Can I hear it?”

“Yes. But don’t tell the captain.” Who did she think she was talking to?

“I won’t, I promise.” He played along.

“I think I like him. A lot.”

For a brief instant something flashed in her eyes and Rowan had a feeling she was quite lucid.

He jumped off the bed in terror.

“I like him a lot, but he hates me.”

Sadness. That was definitely sadness in her voice. He took a step back.

She turned her head to the side.

“I really, really do.” And he saw her close her eyes.

He took another step back and walked out of the room. Once outside he ran to the car and leaned against it closing his eyes. Her words kept ringing in his ears. And her voice. It had changed so much when she uttered those words. It was her. She was fully lucid when she said it. He placed a hand on his heart and found it racing. He wanted to go back to her and say that he did not hated her. That he… he had no idea what he felt. He groaned and jumped in the car and decided to go for a drive. He had to clear his head.

Lysandra found Aelin with her head turned to the window and she thought she had heard her friend crying.

“Hey you…” Lysandra sat at her side and caressed her friend’s head “what’s wrong?”

Aelin sniffled loudly “I think I have said something stupid.”

“More than usual?” But when Aelin did not laugh she realised it must have been real and bad.

“I woke up from surgery and I felt funny for a while. I think captain Whitethorn was here. I am not sure. And I think…” she stopped, sobbing a bit more “I think I told him I like him.” She finally turned her face to Lysandra “I remember his terror and then he left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think the drugs were wearing off and I felt a bit more lucid. I think it was him.”

“Oh darling.”

“He hates me so much that he ran away.” Aelin resumed sobbing heavily “am I such a horrible person?”

Lysandra hugged Aelin tightly and cursed the man. If she got her hands on him he would be a dead man. Or she could unleash Aedion on him. He was just as protective of Aelin.

“He is an idiot. A big tall idiot.” Lys brushed Aelin’s cheek “you need to rest now. You just had surgery.”

“How’s Aedion?”

“At home. Sore and bored already. The doctor gave him a week off but he is not happy. Well, you know him.”

“I heard Dorian mentioning that he might try to get the review postponed. It’s not fair on you guys.”

Aelin sighed “I will still be out.”

“I know, but at least Aedion will be there. One of you at least.” Lysandra reassured her.

Aelin put the tv on and gasped when the tv showed Rowan. It was just outside the hospital.

“What the fuck?”

“Put the volume up,” said Lysandra.

“They were at it for over an hour, with no break, no one to cover for them or take their place. Captain Galathynius supervised the whole thing while injured and barely being able to stand. And you give all the credit to us?” She heard him raise his voice“We showed up because the captain had the amazing idea of using us. We swooped in at the end of the game, when one of the building was almost off. We just dropped some water and you call us heroes?” His hand were not in tight fists “I flew one of those planes and I do not want glory. I do not deserve glory. East and West station do. The police do.” Aelin saw him walk away and she had a feeling that it was when he came back to her. He had normal clothes on. When he took her at the hospital he still had the uniform on.

“That is definitely not the speech of a man who hates you.”

“Lys, not helping.”

Aelin flipped through the channels to see the interview again.

“Don’t think too much about him.”

“Yeah,” Aelin stared at the tv “no worth it, right?”

“Totally.”

Lys kissed her head “Babe I need to go home and tend to Aedion. I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. I know the guys are planning to come as soon as they are off shift, which will be tomorrow morning.”

“Go, I will be fine.” She patted her hand and gave her a tight smile “go and look after Aedion.”

Once Lysandra was out of the room she grabbed her phone and texted Rowan. She waited an hour and tried to phone and realised his phone was off.

“Fine, message received.”

Rowan had driven all the way to the coast to Ilium. It had taken him two hours but it had been worth it. He had spent the afternoon sitting on the beach, his phone switched off. He lay down in the sand and closed the eyes, enjoying the peace of the beach. He almost thought that he’d love to take Aelin there but as soon as his brain said the name he had been ignoring for the past two hours his mood was soured again.

He had fled. Like a coward. She just had surgery and he had left her on her own because he had an issue dealing with his feelings. He was the worst human being ever existed.

Was it so wrong if she was in love with him?

His mind flashed him a name. A name he had tried to bury in the depths of his mind.

He groaned in frustration and stood and started walking on the sand along the beach. The place was beautiful.

He wandered until it was late then decided to go and find a room for the night. He was not in the mood to go back to Orynth. Then he went for dinner and finally dragged himself to a pub. Alcohol. He definitely needed a drink. Something that he hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. Damn he was so boring. How could anyone be in love with him?

He had a few whiskies in one shot and the liquor burned his throat. He was not used anymore and the booze already started spreading a welcomed numbness through his body and mind. Good, oblivion is what he wanted.

He ordered two more whiskies and chugged them down again in one single motion.

He looked at the tv behind the counter and he discovered the news were passing his interview. He lowered his head and realised straight away it was a stupid idea. His silver hair stood out like a sore thumb.

“I think you look prettier in person.” Said a voice at his side, then he felt a pair of hands on his arm.

He turned his head and there was a woman at his side. Smiling sensually at him.

“Well, you need glasses.” He turned his head again and kept watching the tv ignoring the woman.

“I am Remelle.”

��Good for you.” He ate a couple of the peanuts on the small plate on the counter.

“Why is such a good looking man all alone in a place like this, drinking whisky shots?”

“None of your business.” She moved closer and her hand traced the length of his arm. He had a t-shirt on and his tattoo was on display.

“I love your tattoo.” Her fingers traced the lines of it.

Rowan got off the chair “I am sorry, but I am not interested. Not in the mood and you are being very rude.”

“I can help you make forget about her. You look like pining about some mysterious woman”

Rowan had enough. He stormed out of the pub and ran all the way back to the beach and fell on his knees. He looked up at the dark sky and then closed his eyes.

He had feelings for Aelin. Somehow his treacherous heart had decided to play tricks on him and make him feel again. Something he had forbidden himself from doing for a while. But Aelin had struck him dumb since day one with her big mouth, her defiance. The woman had fire in her and a part of him felt irremediably pulled to her, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He confessed to himself that he had enjoyed fussing over her, looking after her and even try to cheer her up when she had been down. He had told her the truth, he was in awe of her, of what she had done and he hadn’t been in awe of anyone in a very long time.

He had feelings for her, big damn feelings and all he could do was flee instead of facing them. But he was not ready yet. That was his biggest fear. That’s why he had ran out of the room, because her admission had touched a part of him that hadn’t healed yet. Just like her he had loved and lost everything. His feelings were just budding. He had better repress them before it got worse. It was better for both of them. He was positive she deserved someone better than him.

Rowan sighed and sat in the sand in silence, staring at the sky until the fog in his mind started to clear. Eventually he dragged his pitiful arse back to his hotel and crashed in bed fully clothed.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp

@jlinez

@swankii-art-teacher

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #Lysandra #aedion x lysandra #elide x lorcan #fanfic #Throne of Glass series

75 notes · View notes

coldvampire · 3 years

Text

few thoughts rattling around in my brain beyond re8 oc vibes

i kinda just copied over my ideas for lasombra abilities for her lmao but to be fair i dont think the shadow stuff is entirely canon there? whatever we can reuse them fgfhgjh

im tossing around some names in my head currently and i seem to be liking myrcella/marcella a lot sound wise but im not sure if its whats going to end up being the final choice. i also kind of enjoy Florence as a nod to florence nightengale bc of the medical themes connecting with the whole mortician thing but that’s a pretty loose reference and im not sure it would be obvious enough. p set on Blackburn as the surname tho, i think that has a good ring to it & also sounds like it fits with the rest of the character names. i recognize that doesnt make a lot of sense but im sure you know what i mean lmao. i did throw together a look for her in the sims but ofc i dont have a screenshot on me and its too late to boot up my pc, but she’s pretty creepy & cute.

i also like the idea of her being instrumental in the ‘everyone lives/is revived’ au bc her background as a mortician/embalmer means shes almost definitely performed autopsies before & knows how the body works. i think her cadou would be left alone since its Very internal and we’re not about to do self surgery gfgjhkj heisenberg’s also has to be pretty well hidden? and imo i think he’s probably attached to his metal powers? like he’s legitimately human passing he’s probably just quasi-immortal or at least very sturdy and long-lived. alcina & her daughters are some others i can’t see any post-revival changes being made to, she seems fairly comfortable with her stature and bela/cassandra/daniela also see like they’d miss their abilities. donna might want some cosmetic partial removal just based on where her cadou implant is on the face & ms blackburn would be very much accommodating. moreau is. a whole other story gfhgjhj like im sure blackburn is just very much of the ‘yeah no we’re not bringing him back unless i can remove at least Some of the implants from him i feel like thats just inhumane at that point he has Four’ but also lowkey she probably gfhgjhk finds him annoying and since no one is even going to remotely approach the topic of bringing back m*randa, he would be. so much worse. (we’re also just like. gonna completely ignore what happened to the village itself or! perhaps the blast radius wasnt as large as we assumed? idk regardless the post-crystal-revival place of residence is still a village in the ass end of nowhere)

anyway onto fgfhgjh self indulgent relationship ramblings lmao. this is all still pretty fluid in my head & im just playing with ideas.

so like. karl heisenberg yeah? (are we surprised this is the one i went for i think not if you know my history). it’s 100% a tedious slow burn lmao i mean years of buildup. she’s fairly quiet and mostly keeps to herself however she also used to abide by the ‘keep your head down and obey’ strategy of dealing with miranda and i suspect that would probably? chafe with heisenberg a bit? because on one hand she clearly has no love for the woman but she’s also not doing anything about it. so they don’t exactly fight because it’s not like he really knows her well but there’s a long feeling-out period before she finally gets approached with the request of providing more of the organic components to his army. once again it’s a pretty neutral response & at first she’s more motivated by curiosity instead of anything altruistic but other time you know, conversations happen, there’s a nice little routine they’ve built up. he even walks her back after family meetings a few times without realizing because he’s focused more on whatever they’re talking about. i also keep going back to the glasses thing because its sweet & he can brush it off as something practical. the low-light vision is very much still an issue for her and while the factory is usually okay, some areas are still no good. same with a lot of the indoor areas in the village actually, to the point where her usual eyewear is basically a somewhat translucent blindfold to ‘muffle’ light (outside she’s got a parasol with a black veil on the edge of it too). so he just like. makes a pair with an appropriate lens but probably doesn’t mention they were made by him until years later lmao. but they’re super useful and she wears them often which i think he would kind of love & probably get weirdly bashful about. they probably don’t actually for real get together until after the game and things have more or less settled down & everyone is trying to figure out what they do with their lives next but i think seeing him again is probably one of the most blatant displays of emotions she’s ever had lmao. like as fun as the idea of a secret relationship going on while miranda is still alive is, i just don’t see either of them being receptive to the idea with everything thats happening. but after? that’s another story. feral looking man and woman who looks not feral but is actually just as unhinged inside, we love to see it.

also have some picrews why not

link link link link

#oc tag #im not deep into this fandom nor do i rly dgfhgj want to be for no reason in particular lmao buT i also need to vocalize thoughts #without having to stop to explain the canon or getting that weird half enthusiasm when one person isnt familiar w the source material #and it shows in the conversation despite best efforts dgfhgj #so im just dumping words mostly so i dont forget #also my gf is hyperfixating on encanto rn and our brains could not be on more different tracks fdgfhgjh

5 notes · View notes

wanderinginksplot · 4 years

Text

Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 01053: Hardcase (Yet Again)

Kix kept a clean medbay. Not only was it a necessity, but he took pride in cleanliness. He tucked starched sheets under the last medbay mattress and took a step back to admire his handiwork.

The beds were neatly made, sheets and blankets folded to crisp GAR standard. Every medical tool had been sanitized and tucked back into its proper place. Kix had even found time to organize his medical cabinet and desk - as long as one ignored the stack of uncompleted paperwork. The floor shone so uniformly that it almost served as a mirror to reflect the perfection of the rest of the empty medbay.

"Hey, Kix!"

Kix's shoulders immediately shot toward his ears as the peace of the medbay was shattered by a too-familiar voice, and the medic immediately started making his way toward his desk by the entrance.

"Hardcase," he groaned on the way, his view of the hapless trooper blocked by one of the privacy curtains separating the beds from the medbay entrance. "If you come in here any more often, I'm going to start charging you rent for a bed."

Hardcase laughed, but the sound ended in a pained wheeze. Kix stepped around a privacy curtain to find that the trooper was being held up by Appo and Fledge, both of whom were trying to support as much of Hardcase's weight as possible. Kix would have to make a full exam to be sure, but it looked like Hardcase was suffering from what was at very least a severely sprained joint in one leg.

"Put him on the bed, men," Kix ordered, motioning toward the first bed in the neat row.

As they did as Kix had said, Hardcase's eyes closed, his tattooed face tense. When Appo accidentally jostled the leg that seemed to be damaged, Hardcase let out a curse so loud that his voice broke before he could finish it.

With a quick scan, Kix found that Hardcase had a broken leg, a sprained elbow, and no fewer than four fractured ribs. Worse of all, one of the fractures had released miniscule bone shards that were perilously close to reaching one of Hardcase's lungs. If a clone's lungs were injured, there was no attempt at healing them. They were marked for immediate transport to Kamino for reconditioning.

After stifling the urge to throw the datapad that showed the results of the scan, Kix snapped, "What the kriff were you doing that caused this many injuries? Of all the shabiir, or'dinii, jare'la things you've done, nothing's ever been this bad-"

"It wasn't his fault!" Fledge argued, flinching back slightly at Kix's glare. "It wasn't, though!"

Kix turned to Appo for confirmation and the trooper nodded. "We were in the gym and Hardcase was working out on the overhead chest press machine when the cords snapped. All the weights tipped the machine over and they fell out onto him."

Kix shook his head and rested a hand on Hardcase's shoulder. "Sorry, vod. I'll get you something for the pain before we do anything else."

Hardcase nodded, but didn't say anything. Kix couldn't blame him. Judging from the panting he was doing, he was minutes from vomiting or passing out entirely. Though he was grateful, Kix honestly couldn't believe the trooper had avoided doing either so far.

Considering the pain level he was working with, Kix opted to inject pain meds rather than wait for pills to dissolve and enter the trooper's bloodstream naturally. When Hardcase's breathing had slowed, he relaxed into the bed, eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.

"Let go, vod," Kix encouraged softly. "I'll take care of everything."

Hardcase nodded again and slipped into something between sleep and unconsciousness.

"What are you going to do?" Fledge asked.

Kix's answer - when it came - was blunt and grim. "There isn't much I can do for him. I'll try using one of the onboard medical droids, but Hardcase might need to visit a hospital on Coruscant."

Appo paled. "Will the Republic pay for him to be treated, or will they just send him back to Kamino?"

"It depends on how much he can heal in that time," Kix answered with a helpless shrug. As the two left the medbay, he could see that they weren't happy with his answer, but Kix was equally unhappy. There was a good reason he didn't use the medical droids that were intended to staff the medbay. Not only did the men respond better to treatment by an organic, but the droids also had a 55% chance of correctly diagnosing and treating a problem. It didn't inspire confidence in anyone, least of all Kix.

He went to the closet that stored the droids and, after the first medical droid had powered up, said, "There's a patient with a broken leg and a sprained elbow. I need you to set the leg and put a wrap on the elbow."

The droid nodded at him and made its slow, plodding way over to the unconscious Hardcase. Kix watched it for a moment, wondering idly why anyone had bothered making a medical droid look so much like an organic when it obviously struggled to move around.

However, he had bigger problems. Kix could loosely bind Hardcase's ribs to help them heal, but the shards were the biggest concern. Even if they didn't continue toward his lungs, they could pose a risk to his heart. Kix was no surgeon and, even if he was, there was danger in performing a surgery on a Republic ship in the middle of the Outer Rim. The 501st was traveling with General Unduli, Commander Offee, and several companies of the 41st Elite Corps, but that didn't make them safe from threats.

Abruptly, Kix had an idea. He left the medical droid treating Hardcase's leg and made his way to Commander Tano's cabin. She opened the door at his knock and stared up at him curiously. "Kix?"

Kix saluted. "Commander Tano. We have a situation in the medbay. Do you know where Commander Offee is?"

"I'm here, trooper," Commander Offee said, stepping up behind Commander Tano.

"What's going on?" Ahsoka asked, retrieving her lightsabers and fastening them to the belts crossed at her hips.

"Medical situation, sir," Kix told her, turning to Commander Offee. "I've seen you Force-heal. Can you do it without supervision?"

"It- it depends on the injury, I think," Commander Offee said slowly.

"I have a trooper with broken ribs and bone chips near one of his lungs," Kix reported. "Could you do anything about that?"

The young Mirialan commander paled to a sickly-looking jade. "Moving solid objects is a challenge. Normally, Force-healing is a gentle internal nudge to speed and guide the body's natural healing processes. Moving bone chips would be dangerous, if not impossible."

Kix pondered that. "Could you build up the cells of the lung to keep it from being penetrated by the shards?"

Commander Offee shook her head slowly. "It would stop the shards from piercing his lung, but it would also put undue stress on it. He would likely find it difficult to breathe and, depending on the severity of the build-up, could cause his body to react in unexpected ways."

There was another thoughtful pause in the conversation until she offered, "Perhaps I could assist while you perform surgery?"

"That's a negative, Commander," Kix refused flatly. "Surgery is too dangerous until we get to the Inner Rim. By then, the Republic may have decided that it's more cost-efficient to replace him."

"Kix!" Commander Tano reprimanded sharply.

Kix shrugged at her. "It's the truth, Commander. The GAR won't put too much money into clone health; we've seen that time and time again."

From Commander Tano's frown, she accepted his explanation but not the practice behind it. "Why don't you just heal the tissue behind the shards and let his body push them back toward his ribs? Then you could fuse them back in and heal his ribs at the same time."

Commander Offee and Kix stared at her in shock until Commander Tano grew visibly uncomfortable. "What?"

"Commander," Kix said slowly, "I could kiss you right now."

"Excuse me?"

Kix turned and saluted in one motion. It had been a good reflex since Captain Rex was walking down the hall toward them, his expression dark.

"Nothing, sir," Kix answered quickly.

"Hey, Rex," Commander Tano greeted cheerfully.

"Commanders, your generals need you on the bridge," Rex told them.

Both Jedi nodded and Commander Tano drew Rex away while Commander Offee murmured, "I'll report to the medbay as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Commander," Kix said fervently.

Rex stayed behind while the young commanders made their way to the bridge. "Trooper, do you have inappropriate feelings for Commander Offee?"

"No, sir," Kix said simply, fighting back a grin.

Rex's face grew, if possible, even more foreboding. "Commander Tano, then?"

This time, Kix chuckled aloud. Ignoring that it was a terrible idea to fall for a Jedi, the entire 501st would cheerfully de-spine the first brother to get inappropriate with Ahsoka. She could take care of herself, but the 501st had seen what General Secura and her men had to put up with and had sworn that no one would speak that way about their commander, not while any of them were around.

Realizing that Rex was still waiting for an answer, Kix said, "No, sir."

Rex relaxed minutely. "I'll be on the bridge, then. How is Hardcase?"

The weight of responsibility crashed back down on the medic's shoulders. "He's out for right now. We'll have to see how well he heals before we get to the Inner Rim."

Rex clapped a hand on Kix's shoulder and left for the bridge.

When Kix got back to the medbay, Hardcase was just beginning to stir.

"Kix?" he asked softly.

Kix was by the bedside immediately. "I'm here, vod."

"Are they gonna send me back to Kamino?"

"No," Kix growled, knowing that the ferocity in his voice was too intense for the situation, but unable to help himself. "We'll find a way to fix everything, Hardcase. I promise."

"Good," Hardcase said with satisfaction, closing his eyes again like he didn't have a care in the world. "I want to die in battle."

Kix laughed dryly. "With your grasp of strategy? I'm sure you will."

With a weak, faux-wounded smirk, Hardcase fell asleep once more. Kix stayed until Commander Offee appeared, Commander Tano in tow.

He gave Hardcase a mild sedative so he wouldn't move too much during the efforts to heal his ribs. It was a slow process, one that left Kix feeling frustrated and helpless as Commander Offee strained and sweated to heal the trooper in ways Kix never could.

All of those ugly feelings disappeared when she stepped away and shot him a weary smile. "His ribs are intact. I helped repair some of the minor fractures in his leg and started the recovery in his elbow. I would like to do more, but I must rest first."

"His ribs are completely healed?" Kix checked, and Commander Offee nodded. "Thank you, sir. I can't tell you how much this means to me. To all of us."

"It was a pleasure to be of assistance," she replied gracefully.

She and Commander Tano left the medbay as Kix offered his thanks once more. He was alone with a sleeping Hardcase and a veritable heap of paperwork, but Kix couldn't bring himself to do anything more than sit by Hardcase's bedside, filled with gratitude toward the Jedi.

---

A/N - if you want to believe this comes after Umbara and Hardcase is still alive, feel free. If you want to believe that Kix mis-numbered his files and Umbara is still exactly as it was in canon, feel free. Whatever works best for you!

#Nobody Listens to Kix #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone trooper kix #clone trooper hardcase #commander barriss offee #commander ahsoka tano #captain rex #clone trooper appo #clone troopers deserve better #more to come

75 notes · View notes

anotherbeingsworld · 4 years

Text

Fly High

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Casey Valentine)

Characters: Bryce Lahela, Casey Valentine and Teresa Martinez.

Summary: The small moments with Mr.s Martinez were playing in their mind a year after the inevitable happens.

TW: death.

A/N: hi! I am sorta-back in the writing game? This idea has been living in my mind as OPH is coming. Its somewhat a tribute to Mrs. Martinez, and with a small touch of backstory between Bryce and Casey. I’m so sorry for not writing as much as I did before, uni is almost coming to an end for the 2nd semester which i am quite excited for. But, this story is dear to my heart. Idk why I love to write death, as i somewhat resonates it with life, but...this really is something I am very proud of. I like to dedicate this to those who wants to catch their dreams but, they couldn’t. Mrs. Martinez really gave us good advice, and...I’d like for it to stay in our minds. Also, I’m dedicating this to those who have leave a mark in my life. Its something that still blows me away everyday. Thank you, and enjoy! <3

MY MASTERLIST

"I would take a 99% chance of dying over spending the next ten years in this hospital. To have even a 1% chance of exploring the world... of finally standing on the steps of Sacre-Coeur... I would give everything."—Mrs. Martinez.

---------

365 days ago.

“Teresa Martinez were found dead at her hotel room in Buenos Aires.” was the topic in the hospital that day. The news of Mr.s Martinez leave the hospital devastated, as the world seems to stop for Casey.

It doesn’t feel real. It’s not real, she is living her life happily in Paris...visiting the Sacre-Coeur. She can’t be...

The thoughts were interrupted by the sound of ambulance coming in, a trauma case distracting her thoughts. She quickly joined in the other interns in the scene, but her mind falls onto Mr.s Martinez; the advice she left. A wisdom, as her passing is similar to a shooting star finally burns out. A light that has to be left behind. The days went by quicker, a trial, law-suit occurs in a blink of an eye.

---------

PRESENT DAY

It was a day of remembrance today, as Bryce and Casey make their way to the hospital in a slow pace. It was an emotional day for all of them, as all their memories were playing. All the laughter and joy, it was one of her favorite things about her. Her cheery persona was the heart of Edenbrook, and without her; a light has been burn, but a star has obtain someone special to keep on shining them from a far.

Bryce was awfully quiet as well, as they walked down the road after spending their night together. Words were unspoken the night before, as the comfort was worth more than a sentence, a word and even a rhyme.

Casey found herself to a stop, at the entrance. A distance away, trying to calmed herself down. He broke the silence by placing his hand on her cheek, caressing it with a small smile on his face.

‘You cam do this okay, we are all here for you.’ He said before pulling her into a kiss, as they melt into an embrace before going their separate ways. He stops in the mid of the hallway, his eyes fall onto her as they were met with a pair of emeralds that is already looking at him.

They both resume their day, as the memories followed them throughout the hour. A reminder that she had left a mark to everyone in Edenbrook including one Casey Valentine and Bryce Lahela.

----------

C A S E Y

The voices around her fades, as she sat on the empty bench, letting out a sigh as she was dismissed by Dr. Mirani upon her mistake today in the patient room. She remembers the embarrassment as the other interns let out a chuckle upon her mistake, moments before she was chewed. It was her second week as an intern, and she has made mistakes; what happened to her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone occupying a seat the opposite of her. It was Mrs Martinez letting out a breath with her I.V stand on her side, looking at her with concern. She smiled upon her arrival as she remembers the events on their first meet which involves herself being lost in the hospital during her first day with Elijah.

Weeks later, she became close to her as she learns upon her love towards travelling, visiting new places around the world; from the Bright Lights of Paris to the city of Madrid. And, the thought of the postcards hanging in her room bring joy to her, as a reminder of her own dream to be a doctor.

“Casey dear, what’s with the long face?” She spoke, as Casey lets out a sigh.

“I just, I messed up again. It’s been a month, and I tend to get distracted with everything; friendships, the competition, dreading patients, and everything feels too overwhelming.” She burried her face in her hands, trying to hide her expression from the woman in front of her.

After a few moments of silence, she opened her eyes once more to be met with a concerned looking Mr.s Martinez.

“Dear, you are not human if you never messed up. If I ever got a dollar for every time I took a wrong turn in life, I believe I can afford a mansion in the city of Stars.”

Casey lets out a chuckle upon the mention of it, as the smile slowly appear on her face.

“I think I’d be able to pay up my student loans that way.”

There was a ripple of laughter between them, lighten up the mood releasing a knot on her shoulders that has been there for the day.

“Indeed, but I saw you work that day; and I believe you are going places dear. You are unique, and the world is not ready to see the light in you dim. For the last decades of living, I made a huge mistake of not pursuing my dreams; and I don’t want to see you give up this dream Casey.” Her voice is demanding yet calm giving her a sense of hope.

They were interrupted by Danny who is in the midst of a scavenger hunt for one Mr.s Martinez who apparently has left her room once again.

“There you are Mr.s Martinez, its time for your medicine once again.” Danny said as he smiles upon their interaction.

“I guess my time is up. I had fun chatting with you dear, I’ll see you soon.” Mr.s Martinez left with Danny leaving her alone with the wild thoughts once again.

But, this moment; she received a sense of hope. Maybe it will be okay after all.

----------

B R Y C E

The first day as a surgical intern at Edenbrook. He was finally a surgeon, all those years of bartending was worth it. His confidence somewhat pushed people away, as he shrugs the feeling off. He came here to be the best, and not to find friends.

“Welcome interns. Today is the start of your careers as a surgical intern, and I am ecstatic for what all of you could bring to the table.” the Dr. Harper Emery exclaims happily, as she eyed the crowd of surgeons.

There was a round of applause, as the energy in the room was accumulated.

“I will introduce you to Dr. Tanaka who is one of your surgical residents. He will be guiding you through this journey. Some of you will fall, quit, but some of you will rise and it will be worth it in the end.”

After the introduction was done, the crowd was dismissed as the first rounds of the day begun for the surgical interns.

His heart was filled with excitement, a new beginning. A new slate, and a new chance to not become known. That is the whole reason from the beginning. He is Bryce Lahela, a surgeon. Nothing else more.

As the days go by, he has been able to witness the procedures that were taught during his years at medical school. His gaze was equivalent to one who looks at their favorite food which is filled with awed and joy. As someone who would fixed up the problems at home, surgery made him feel fulfill once again. It is giving him a purpose even after everything that has happened.

“Dr Lahela, earth to Dr. Lahela.” A voice called for him brought him back from his subconscious.

“Yes, I’m here.” He replied as the other interns were found laughing silently at the back.

“What is the first step to perform a Laparoscopic appendectomy?’ Dr. Tanaka questioned him with Dr. Emery on his side observing. All of the eyes fall on him.

It was his moment to show that he is worth it today, and everyday for the rest of his life.

We will access the appendix through a few small incisions in the abdomen as a cannula which is a small, narrow tube will then be inserted. It is used to inflate the abdomen with carbon dioxide gas which allows us to see the appendix more clearly...” He paused, as he took a deep breath before resuming his explanation.

“Once the abdomen is inflated, a laparoscope will be inserted through the incision. It is a long, thin tube with a high-intensity light and a high-resolution camera at the front which will display the images on a screen, allowing us to see inside of the abdomen and guide the instruments. When the appendix is found, it will be tied off with stiches and removed. The small incisions are then cleaned, closed, and dressed.” His final words fall as somehow equivalent to a mic-drop earning both smiles from the two doctors, as they resumed with rounds for the day.

He took a minute to be proud of himself, as it is a reminder that he is here to stay.

After rounds was over, he is officially a surgeon. He was assigned under Dr. Tanaka as he was his resident along with a few other interns. It was really happening, the suprised dream he had that was meant to be an escape; has came true today.

“Dr. Lahela, I would like you to scrub in with me to perform your very first appendectomy in the O.R” Dr. Tanaka said, as his smile was wide filled with joy which was taken away by the growling voices of the other interns behind him.

He ignored them, as he started to scrub in. The looked that was dedicated to him was somewhat a deja vu moment, a moment where he was known as the son of a criminal. The hatred eyes that is coming to him, attacking him slowly as it was disguised by the confident exterior.

He shake the thoughts away, getting himself prep in the O.R for his first surgery, but some demons never left as he tried his best.

After they were dismissed, he took a turn to the cafeteria as a distraction. It wasn’t the best, maybe he hoped it would be like the movies; he would be the protagonist, the hero. Instead, it was the joker.

He decides upon a snicker bar from one of the vending machines, as the line piled up. He took a seat at the edge of the room, with his pager present on the table. A breath was taken, calming the rage and expectations in him.

The occupied thoughts were interrupter by a woman, looking at her once again with concern.

“You should try this, it’s the cafeteria signature.” The voice was soft, comforting as she passed a pudding cup his way. Chocolate to be specific.

“It’s just a pudding cup, mr.s” He chuckled upon the small cup, as Mr.s Martinez joined him on the empty seats.

“It’s more than a pudding cup, it’s the cure of sadness actually.” She gestures upon him, as realization hits him.

“I didn’t hide it hard enough didn’t I?”

She just shake his head, as he held the pudding cup in his hands.

“You must be one of the new interns aren’t you, the outfit reminds me of a young Harper Emery during her own residency.” She gestures towards his green scrubs.

“She was the legend, and you have seen her work here before??” His eyes shine upon the name.

“Son, I have been in this hospital for the last decade. I have known all the residents for some times now, there was a lot a person can go through for the last 10 years.” She stated as Bryce was filled with awe.

“So, tell me what’s with the long face; I thought it was supposed to be an exciting start.”

“I woke up today feeling on top of the world, but coming here feels like the past haunting me once again. The eyes, the look, and...it reminds me of something I always wanted to forget.” He lets out a small sigh upon the statement, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it feels go to have someone to listen.

“The past, its always going to be there to haunt us. Sometimes, history repeats itself to prove how strong you are. You have been through a lot and you survived, you are a doctor today dear. This chance is bigger than any doubt, any pain, any memory that you have been through. I have seen the doctors here grow, some had left to pursue something easier, some even crack under the pressure, but some also thrive in excellence. Those people have fought to survive, and that’s what life is about dear. Fighting to survive, I am fighting too. It felt like a long journey for the past 10 years, but some adventures are worth to take to get to the final destination.” She ends the speech with a smile, as she left him with his thoughts once again.

It feels like a fever-dream, but it is true. Maybe, he will make it after all with a pack of chocolate pudding by his side.

Suddenly, his pager starts to beep. A new chance to start again, a new hope was in-stored. He took a final bite before leaving the room, feeling okay for the first time that day.

----------

PRESENT DAY

The day passes by quickly, as the reminders and memories kept on replaying in their minds. A sign from her, a message possibly, a lingering gift from the beyond.

Casey met up with Bryce at the entrance, they have plans that evening. Both of them are already dressed in black which replaces the scrubs from the day; Luis invited them that day to pay their respects for Mrs. Martinez. The whole gang followed, as it is better to face the inevitable together- making it less scarier.

The evening was peaceful, it was beautiful even. The leaves started to fall, its a start of a new season; some would say a new chapter. They met with Luis to pay their respects to the woman who had changed all of their lives, as they changed hers even for a moment.

They paid their respects together, as Casey lets out of her silent wishes for Mrs. Martinez. It took a few moments before she was met with his comforting gaze once more, as she nods in completion. Their reunion with Luis was a pleasant one, as he thanked them once more; despite everything. It echo’s in her mind, word-by-word.

‘You give my mom her happiness, the one thing I couldn’t. I will never thank you enough for the little miracle that had happened. I was pissed when I found out, but...you manage to give her the signature Martinez’s smile once more. Thank you.’

Luis excused himself from the group, as they were pulled into a group hug. Mrs. Martinez gave each and everyone of them a purpose. Something that she couldn’t see before.

After they bid their farewell, Bryce and Casey walked hand-in-hand making their way back home as they talked about life, memories, and even happiness. It was a beautiful ending for their day, as the sunset was their backdrop, it was what life is all about.

She finally started to live life, as he continues to pursue his dream. Maybe even found himself a new dream as well.

----------

‘Life to one Teresa Martinez ; it was an unforgettable journey. She believed in the impossible, she took a risk that wasn’t mean to be taken by any other. She trusted me, and that was everything. But, the news - it was a tragedy. Death is a tragedy, as life was taken away from us. But, Teresa Martinez’s death reminds us of the dreams that we wanted to catch. The dreams that were left behind, the dreams that were abandoned in the dust. It was a dream that is worth following for, even if it ends upon your death bed. She believed in me during my dark times, and the reminder of one Teresa Martinez, is something we can’t turn back from. But, the advices and love she has left behind is a reminder that those who are gone...will always be with us, we can’t see them, but there are always there guiding us, cheering us on even after they have left us behind. Teresa Martinez lived a good life, and she will never be forgotten as she is flying high at somewhere better.’

THE END.

Tags: @bitchloveskcbaseball , @storyofmychoices , @mvalentine , @princess-geek , @lahellacute , @annekebbphotography , @mrsbhandari , @dcbbw , @choicessa , @fantasyoverreality98 , @baltersome , @ofpixelsandscribbles , @thundergom @starrystarrytrouble, @kelseaaa , @choicesficwriterscreations , @lalizah , @drethanramslay , @eleanorbloom , @openheartfanfics , @brycesgirl , @freckles-spangledvampire , @agentnolastname , @robintora , @adriansbiss (comment if you want to be tagged or removed 💜💜)

#playchoices #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #casey valentine #open heart #anotherbeingsworldwrites #choices fic writers creations #alya writes #teresa martinez #tw: death

43 notes · View notes

kaimelia · 3 years

Text

Here Alone (Link)

——————

Link had no idea what was happening.

One moment, he was waving goodbye to his son, who eagerly skipped into the school; the next, he was watching his body being pushed into the hospital on a gurney.

He found himself wandering the halls of the place he'd work for nearly ten years, watching as people scurried past him without giving a second glance. He assumed they couldn't see him.

Was he dying? That was the question.

His feet carried him towards O.R. 3, where he knew his wife was operating. He stood in the scrub room, watching as she performed surgery with perfect technique. He grinned to himself, knowing she had doubted herself and spent the past few nights up later than she should've, laying scans over their bed and waking him from sleep to ask an occasional question.

The door to the scrub room was pushed open, and Link was surprised to see his best friend come through it. Her face was much more solemn than usual, and if this was a normal situation, he would've poked fun at the way she was wringing her hands out. It took another moment, but then he realized the look on her face was probably about him.

He didn't want to know if he was dead. He'd always assumed that it would be obvious, but right now, he wasn't sure. It felt like some awkward middle ground, and there wasn't a clear path out. His brain was searching for the cliche bright light he was meant to walk towards, not that he wanted to.

The door to the O.R. slid open, and his wife walked through, discarding her mask into the waste bin and stopping as soon as she noticed Jo standing across from her. Link desperately wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around her, whisper that everything would be okay, that he was by her side and that no matter what happened, he would remain there. Amelia's hands were shaking as she turned on the water, and Link could see the motion she always made between her fingers when she was nervous.

"It's Link," Jo finally spoke. Amelia shoved past the woman, not even bothering to dry her hands, running out of the scrub room. He moved to follow her but placed a hand on Jo's shoulder quickly, pulling it away as the woman flinched.

"Can you hear me?" He asked, standing in front of his friend. No response. Jo turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her, which almost hit Link in the face. "Crap," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. "I think I'm dead."

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

His wife had settled in the attendings' lounge, on the painfully uncomfortable couch that everyone hated yet still used to relax.

He remembered during her second pregnancy with their daughter Charlotte when she had collapsed onto that same couch and thrown her feet on his lap after a long surgery, complaining about how much she despised him and his penis. Link chuckled at the memory and felt the sudden urge to rub her feet now. Not that she would feel it.

Meredith came running in and threw her arms around the neurosurgeon, and Link felt a moment of relief. He knew that if he really was dead, she wouldn't be alone. At least she would have people by her side to comfort her and help her through whatever happened.

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

He eventually wandered up to the daycare to see Charlotte playing in the faux kitchen they had, pretending to cook food for some of the other kids present. He grinned, observing how much her features mirrored her mother's.

They had visited Amelia's mother in New York once, and he had demanded to see baby pictures. There weren't many, but their daughter looked exactly like her mother with a lighter hair color from what he had seen.

"She's beautiful. Looks just like Amelia," another voice spoke. Link turned around to see a man standing behind him.

"Derek?" The neurosurgeon stuck out his hand, and Link shook it firmly.

"It's nice to finally meet you. Even if these circumstances aren't ideal," Derek muttered, walking to stand next to his brother-in-law. He leaned his hands against the wooden railing on the wall.

"Am I dead?"

"Do you want the real answer?" Link paused for a moment, looking down at his hand. He twisted the silver wedding band on his ring finger.

They'd almost chosen gold bands, but Amelia felt that the silver was more elegant and simplistic. Link had smiled toothily at her and told her they'd get whatever she wanted. After all, they'd be wearing the rings for the rest of their lives, and Amelia was the one to coordinate outfits and jewelry. "Even if you hate it, you probably won't have to wear it for too long," she whispered, "everyone around me dies. You'll only have a few years of marriage." Link had laughed in the moment, but the thought of it wasn't nearly as funny now.

"Whatever it is, I wanna know," Link responded, nodding his head firmly. "I'm assuming that means I'm dead, though."

"Amelia doesn't know yet. They're going to tell her now."

"I thought I would get some sort of choice," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was too long. In a perfect world, he would've gotten a haircut before he died.

"Some people get a choice, and others don't. I didn't," Derek crossed his arms over his chest. "I would've stayed." He began to walk away, his hands in his pockets and his stance so casual that it angered Link. He thought this would be a bigger deal; he was dead, after all. His gaze remained on his daughter for another moment as she pretended to sip tea from a plastic cup, sticking her pinky high up in the air as she did so. He followed Derek down the hall.

They ended up in the O.R., and Link assumed this was where he died. The air was freezing cold in the room, and the only noise came from his wife. She was hunched over his body, sobbing as she traced her fingers up and down his colorless face.

"I thought being dead would be a larger issue," he muttered, glancing back at where Derek had been. He was gone. "Derek?" There was no response, but when he turned back around, he saw Derek standing behind Amelia, his arms wrapped around his sister tightly. "Can she feel that?"

"Not really. But, it makes me feel better to make some sort of gesture," the man stood up straight. "You'd think I would have everything figured out by now, but I don't." Amelia laid her head against the chest of the body on the table and cried harder.

"Time feels so much slower right now," Link muttered, walking towards where his love had rested her head. He kneeled down beside her and placed his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb up and down in soothing patterns. "You'll be okay, Amelia," he whispered, kissing her temple. "I'm right here."

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

His ring was gone. At some point, while he was watching Amelia sleep, it disappeared. Derek had left after their moment in the O.R., and Link didn't know where he went. His stomach felt as if it was twisting back and forth as he watched Amelia pass out onto the O.R. floor, and now he couldn't leave her side.

The door to her room was pushed open, and Maggie walked through with Charlotte in her arms, whispering something about cuddling with Mommy. The girl was placed down, immediately curling into her mother's body and her tiny eyelids fluttering closed.

"How is she?" Maggie asked, her voice soft. Meredith glanced up.

"Seems fine. I'm not worried; I fainted after Derek died." Maggie sat on the couch next to her sister, sitting on Link's hand. He stood up quickly before remembering they couldn't see him.

"I can't believe he's gone," Maggie whispered. "I don't want to believe it."

He thought of when his mother died. At the time, they hadn't had as strong of a relationship as Link would've liked, but he was still heartbroken. Amelia had spent far too much time staying awake, helping him feel everything out and dealing with his grief. She understood him so perfectly, and now he just wished he could do the same for her.

A part of him felt guilty. For having to make his wife lose another person, for leaving her and their children alone, for dying too soon. A flash of anger pained him, and he punched the wall without thinking, cringing at the pain in his fist. After he shook it out, he looked to see no impact on the wall and everyone in the room acting as if nothing had happened. "This is crap," he muttered, massaging his knuckles.

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

The guilt grew stronger, and he couldn't be in the same room as Amelia anymore. That alone made him feel guilty, the fact that he couldn't stand to be in the room with his grieving wife.

Part of it was the feeling that his children would grow up without a father. Amelia had often recounted her grief as a child after her father had died. He knew she wouldn't be like her mother and shut out their children, but he still felt terrible. Charlotte was almost the same age as Amelia was when her father died.

Nico walked up to the door and stood in front of it. Link frowned at the sight and watched as his friend pulled a ring out of the pocket of his scrubs. It was Link's wedding ring, and he now assumed Nico had taken it from his body. Nico pushed open the door, and Link followed behind him, noticing that Amelia had woken up. Her eyes were red and swollen, and Link wanted nothing more than to hold her as she fell asleep. He knew Derek had said making the gesture helped; Link even did it earlier, but it felt selfish to do something only he would benefit from. Nico placed the ring on the table beside Amelia, where she had also laid the necklace with hers. Link always wore his, but Amelia was paranoid about losing it during surgery or the diamond getting snagged on something, so she always wore it on a chain around her neck. When she'd proposed the idea, she mentioned that she could always have it close to her heart. Link made a joke about it getting caught and choking her and received a playful smack on his chest in response. He would do anything to see her smile and get annoyed with him right now.

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

Amelia was still at the hospital, but he had followed Maggie and Winston, who picked up Charlotte and Scout and headed to the house. He watched as they picked up fast food on the way home, which the kids squealed excitedly at the mention of.

The kids loved eating junk food and had always been able to convince their father to get it for them. He'd spent more than one night sleeping on the couch after his wife proclaimed he'd fed them too much sugar and needed to stop giving them processed chicken nuggets.

Maggie was silent during the drive, and Winston attempted to entertain the kids, but Link could tell the couple was drained. Another wave of guilt passed over him. His children didn't know yet.

Scout pulled his sister up the pathway to the front door, and the children hurried to the kitchen table, taking out the containers of fries and chicken nuggets. The boy rambled about his day at school and pulled a paper out of his backpack, pointing at the different stick figures. "That's Mommy and Daddy," he showed Charlotte, "and that's you and me. Under the big tree in the backyard." Maggie's head darted over at his mention of his father, and tears filled her eyes. Winston quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulder and escorted her out of the room. Link was grateful that the kids were too interested in their food to notice anything abnormal around them.

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

Over the next few hours, he watched as Winston picked up around the home, making beds neatly and folding the excessive amount of throw blankets Amelia insisted on owning.

When they bought the house, she dragged him to about a hundred different home stores, insisting that everything needed to be perfect. Scout was a toddler at the time, and her fantasy of the elegantly decorated house was destroyed by his fascination with crayons. Link traced his hand along the wall they had to repaint, where Scout had taken a purple crayon and scribbled his name in giant, messy letters. "Mommy's color!" He'd shrieked while pointing at it, knowing that it was his mother's favorite color. Link had laughed and subsequently spent that night on the couch, too.

He walked into his and Amelia's bedroom, the one room that Winston hadn't altered in any way. The blankets on her side of the bed were thrown over since he'd practically dragged her out of bed that morning. He smiled and felt that the bed's appearance represented their relationship pretty well, his too perfect and hers too realistic. He laid on his side of the bed and pressed his head into the pillow firmly, attempting to make it known that he was there.

Link's eyes wandered to the photo on his nightstand. It was from their honeymoon when they finally went to Paris, as Amelia had been dreaming of for years. He'd snapped a cheesy photo with her in front of the Eiffel Tower; Amelia kissing his cheek as his face displayed a grin so wide it almost looked photoshopped. When she had seen the framed photo, a blush spread across her face, and she tilted the frame down. It turned into some odd competition between them; Amelia would face it down whenever it was up, and he would make a point to face it properly. She hadn't put it down before she hurried out in the morning, so the photo was looking out at their dark bedroom. He hoped she would leave it that way.

The man paced around the bedroom. If he was alive, he would take out his favorite flannel pajama pants and one of his Mariner's shirts she loved to steal and set them out on the bed for her to wear when she returned.

If he was alive.

It was a ridiculous thought. It still felt wrong to even think that he was dead, that he was gone and wouldn't get to tell his wife that he loved her again. He wouldn't ever get to hug his children and tell them how proud he was of them.

"It's quite tragic." Link flinched at the voice, looking over to see Derek standing in the doorway.

"Where the hell did you come from? Is this some weird dead person teleporting thing?" The neurosurgeon shrugged.

"Amelia and I lost our father. And now, our kids are all growing up without a father." Derek stepped into the room and picked up a baseball from the dresser, tossing it between his hands. "I've always wanted to say thank you. You've been the most constant male figure in my kids' lives. I mean, you raised them for a few months a while ago," Derek set the ball down.

"Do they know yet? That I'm dead?"

"I doubt it. Mer's been staying with Amelia at the hospital." He sat down on the bed. "Some good things can come out of death. I mean, if I hadn't died, Meredith and Amelia wouldn't have the relationship they have now." Link nodded.

"I'm glad Amelia has Meredith." Derek sighed in agreement. "So, do you just get to tune into their lives whenever you want?"

"Pretty much. I only really come into family events; I've made the mistake of walking in on people having sex far too many times." Link breathed out a laugh and flopped back onto the bed.

"Can't wait."

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

Amelia came home in the morning with her head held down and her eyes swollen from crying. He watched as she thumbed through different items Maggie had brought home from the hospital; his I.D., bag, scrub caps, and various pens from his lab coat. Link stood on the opposite side of the table as she stared at his I.D. badge, and he picked up a pink pen.

Charlotte had asked for colorful pens for her birthday the past year, the same day he'd gotten his I.D. photo taken with puke on his sweatshirt. After the girl felt better, she gave her father the neon pink pen after seeing him discard the sweater he had been wearing that day. He'd kept it in his white coat for the past year. Amelia never knew why he had it, but she assumed it was from their daughter.

"I can't do it, Mer," Amelia cried out, placing his blue scrub cap back down on the table.

"Yes, you can," he whispered, watching Meredith console his wife before she headed up the stairs towards where their children were happily reading.

"Oh god," Meredith muttered, placing her hands on the table. Link glanced over at her. "Why did you have to die?" For a second, he thought Meredith knew he was there yet dismissed the thought when she picked up the I.D. tag.

He ran up the stairs at the sound of a loud sob to see Amelia hugging their children. He leaned against the doorway and stared as she kissed both of their foreheads before informing them she'd be in her bedroom. She left the room with a hand covering her mouth as tears streamed down her face. Charlotte and Scout were holding onto each other tightly, both crying. Link so desperately wanted to hold them and comfort them as he watched them attempt to do so themselves. "I want Daddy," Charlotte wailed, leaning into her brother.

"Daddy's right here," Link kneeled in front of them, feeling tears pool in his own eyes. "I'm right here," he placed a hand on Charlotte's knee, and she flinched suddenly, almost kicking him in the face in the process. "Char," he stuttered, sitting down away from the bed. He placed his face in his hands.

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

"You ready for your funeral?" A different voice. Link turned around suddenly and somehow managed to smile despite everything going on.

"DeLuca-"

"I was trying to give you some space. The whole dying thing is a lot at first." Andrew shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the hallway. "I remember my memorial. It was nice, but seeing Carina so heartbroken crushed me."

"Did you get a choice? To stay or go?"

"I think I did. But I didn't understand it at the time." He took a seat at the kitchen table. "I saw my mother, and I ran towards her. I regret it a lot." Link joined him at the table, drumming his fingers over the stained wood, knowing that his family was on their way to his funeral. "Are you gonna go?" He shrugged.

"I don't know. I never expected to have to decide if I want to go to my own funeral," he joked, placing his head in his hands. "This past week has been terrible enough on its own."

"I would go. Everyone's going to something nice, and it'll just be a reminder of how many people care about you." There was a loud bang from upstairs, and both men darted their heads.

"Come on, Scout, we have to go," Amelia pleaded, walking down with Charlotte on her hip. "We're going to be late, buddy. Please just do this for me, okay?" Scout came stomping down the stairs a moment later.

"I hate my suit. I don't want to say bye to Daddy!" Amelia stood at the bottom of the steps, watching as her son banged his foot on the stairs.

"Scout, Daddy's gone, and there's nothing we can do to change that," she held out her hand. "Let's go say goodbye to him, okay?" Andrew made eye contact with Link and shrugged sympathetically.

"I wish I could scream that I'm right here."

"You get used to it. I mean, eventually, you understand that you can't interfere with things, and you're just spectating." Link stood up from the table and walked towards the door, his eyes following his wife as she attempted to strap Charlotte into her car seat. "Your kids are wonderful. I'm sad I didn't get to be a part of their lives."

"They know who you are. We tell them about Uncle Andrew and how brave he was." Andrew grinned. "I don't think I'm going. I'll wait here for them." The other man nodded.

"You want company?"

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

Amelia was walking through rows of graves, her hands folded politely and a container resting under her arm. She'd come to visit his grave multiple times since the funeral, and every time she would bring a donut. He would always grin when she shoved it into her mouth in one bite; it made him think of how far their relationship had come since their trip to New York.

After she found out she was pregnant again, she had woken him up at three A.M. in the morning, whispering about how the baby was craving donuts. He'd driven nearly twenty miles to find an open shop, and when he returned, she was sitting on the couch with her feet up and perked up as soon as he pushed the door open. "I love you so much," she'd nearly yelled, sitting up and grabbing the box from him. After devouring three donuts, Amelia remembered he was there and proceeded to shove a donut into his mouth, laughing after she caught him off guard.

She always brought a plain glazed donut to his grave. It was his favorite type, and he'd received some teasing from her for being 'basic,' but he knew that she secretly loved them, too.

"Scout's birthday is in a week," she spoke, setting the container down. "I remember you wanted to get him a guitar. Meredith and I are going to the mall soon, but I have no idea what to buy." He watched as her eyes wandered around the nearly empty cemetery, her gaze finally settling on the bright blue sky above her. "I say it every time I come to visit you, but I miss you so much, Link." He sat down on the grass on the other side of his grave, tempted to place a hand on top of hers, but knowing the reaction he would gain, he refrained.

"I'm here, Amelia," he whispered, leaning his head against the stone. "I promise I'm not going anywhere. Even if you can't hear when I say that." She continued to speak to him, and Link took some pleasure in responding as if they were having a normal conversation. He'd nod his head and occasionally hum in response to whatever she said, laughing as she told a story of how Charlotte had gotten ahold of her phone and called Eric.

"It was good to talk to him; I haven't kept in contact as much as I thought I would since it happened; I just didn't expect to hear her yelling that Grandpa was on the phone," she laughed, wiping her eyes. "This happens every time. I laugh, cry, and shove a donut into my mouth like a complete slob." Link stared at her in adoration as she proceeded to do just that, her hands gently wiping her lips and rubbing her fingers on the napkin she brought in silence. He took a moment to really look at her, noticing the bags under her eyes and the messy appearance of her hair.

He continued to sit and listen as she relayed the events of the past few days since she had last visited, her hands moving excitedly as she spoke, and Link's face contorted in response to everything she said. The conversation slowed, and she brushed a hand over the top of the gravestone, whispering, "I love you," before walking away, her feet dragging behind her.

"I love you too."

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

He watched as his wife and sister-in-law walked into the music store, and he couldn't help but grin childishly. It had always been his dream to teach his son guitar, and even if he wasn't there to do it, he knew that Scout would still learn.

Once, when Scout was a toddler, he climbed on the couch next to his father, who was strumming chords, his pudgy hands reaching out to touch. Link grinned and helped to press his fingers against the fingerboard, not knowing that Amelia was standing in the doorway taking a picture. She framed that picture and stuck it on the mantle with their family photos.

When he left his thoughts, he saw the two women standing in front of a wall of guitars. He couldn't recall ever seeing his wife look so wholly confused.

His feet brought him over to the wall as he examined the different instruments, eventually finding one he liked. It reminded him of his own guitar, just kid-sized. "This one," he whispered, turning around to see her walking towards where he was standing. "Amelia?" She pulled the guitar off of the wall and glanced it up and down, looking awfully confident for someone he knew had no knowledge about guitars.

"This one," she spoke.

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

When Amelia woke up on Scout's birthday, he could tell she wasn't feeling well. She looked as if she was going to puke any second while she rolled over in bed, groaning into her pillow and slamming her hand down on the beeping alarm clock. "I don't want to," she moaned, sitting up in the bed.

He watched as she stood up and walked to the closet, pulling out the neatly wrapped presents and bringing them into the living room.

She had always been the one to wrap presents for any holiday or birthday. Link loved to say that his gifts were just wrapped with love and that sometimes love was a little bit messy. Amelia wasn't a fan of that and insisted on him entertaining her while she did it.

Link watched from afar as his son tore open presents, various action figures, and toys that he'd been begging for. When it came to the last gift, Amelia paused before giving it to him.

"This one is very special, Scout," she whispered, "Daddy wanted you to have this." The boy took the box more gently, carefully unwrapping the paper as to not damage anything.

"A guitar!" His son ran over to Amelia and threw his arms around her neck, hugging her and thanking her profusely.

"Don't thank me, Scout." He pulled back with a look of confusion on his face. "Thank Daddy."

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

The 6-month-anniversary of his death seemed to come awfully quickly. Somewhere among their family traditions, half-birthdays had stuck, and the kids had been running around the house saying that it was the half-birthday of their Daddy's death. He could see Amelia's slight cringe every time they shouted it.

She spent the day going through old boxes, most of which were never even unpacked when they moved. He grinned knowingly when her hands landed on a thick book, and she pulled out his high school yearbook, her eyes lighting up as she flipped through the pages.

"Look at you," she whispered, tracing the outline of the photo with her finger. Her head shook in amusement as she flopped backward on the bed while turning pages and grinning at the sight of her husband.

She closed the book hurriedly as tears began to drip from her eyes, not wanting to stain the pages of the nearly 30-year-old book. Amelia hugged it close to her chest and curled up, crying while laying back.

Something in him pulled him to lay down beside her, and he did so, wrapping his arm around her. Amelia flinched at the contact, but after a moment, her body seemed to relax, and her cries began to subside. He laughed softly, reflecting on how odd this situation was and how he probably seemed like a creep. "I've got you," he whispered, placing a kiss on her temple. "I'm here, and I love you."

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

The next six months passed in a complete blur. His wife's visits to his grave were less frequent, only about every other week, but she continued her tradition of bringing a donut. He could tell from how she spoke that she was healing, yet it was still rare for him to find a day where she didn't end up with tears in her eyes over a stray thought of him.

On the first anniversary of his death, he watched them pile into a heap of cuddles and love on the couch, switching on different movies as background noise.

He sat beside them, wanting so desperately to be present at that moment and tell them all how much he loves them.

He knew that one day, Amelia would move on. She would find love again, and he wasn't necessarily upset by that fact. He knew that he would check in less often; the thought of her falling in love with some other man was not something he was particularly keen on observing, but he wanted her to be happy.

Link watched her stand from the couch and place her empty mug in the kitchen sink, her fingers grabbing at her necklace chain, which held their wedding rings. He moved to stand behind her, making sure he didn't actually touch her body as to not disturb her but imagined himself wrapping his arms around her waist and whispering softly into her ear how he's been here the whole time before kissing the spot under her ear that always made her grin.

His fingers moved to her arm, and he lightly dragged them up her arm, noticing the goosebumps that arose as he did so. "You're gonna make me go insane," she whispered, laughing quietly.

"You're not insane. I'm here."

#amelia shepherd #amelink #amelia x link #amelink fanfiction #atticus lincoln #grey's anatomy #amelink fanfic #greys abc #greys fanfic #scout lincoln #derek shepherd #andrew deluca #maggie pierce #winston ndugu #nico kim #meredith grey #my fics

24 notes · View notes

prorevenge · 4 years

Text

He Ruined My Sister's Only Birth Experience So I Made Sure He'd NEVER Forget Her

Kinda my revenge, kinda my sisters, both of us really proud. This is gonna be long so TL;DR at bottom. Here's our cast:

My sister - we'll call her "Sara" for the story Sister's Ex-BF - "Paul" Ex-BFs New Wife - "Jane" Ex-BFs Parents - "Mr. And Mrs. Doe" Oldest brother - "Zeke" Our parents And Me :)

When I was 14 and my oldest sister, Sara, was 22 we found out that she was pregnant with Paul, her boyfriend of 4 years. They immediately got engaged and they were really happy. For a time. Sara had a horrible pregnancy, about 16-18 weeks in the "wonder of creating a human life" evaporated within her. She developed hyperemesis (which if you don't know is really bad morning sickness), she was constantly in pain, she developed gestational diabetes, and just all around hated the experience. Around this time Paul, the then-fiance, started getting sick of the complaining. I believe the argument was "your body is built to do this, it can't be that bad".

Sara was due around Valentine's Day and Paul's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Doe, were very excited, both about the grandkid and the fact that he could be born on a holiday. She was very against that and really really hoped that her son wouldn't be born on a holiday, even one as small as Valentine's day (her birthday sometimes falls on Easter and she hates it) because it might make him feel that "his day" isn't very much about him. Well, Mrs. Doe says something like "Well if you name him Valentine or Valentino then that'll make the day even more special to him!" Again, sister HATED the idea. She thought it was tacky, he'd be bullied for it, and just really didn't like the name Valentino. Paul loved it, but agreed to go with a more average name like Daniel or Jared.

Fast forward to February and she was ready to Get This Over With. Sara had officially been put on bed rest because while standing or walking her blood pressure took unexpected spikes and dips. I look back now and goodness do I feel bad for her. She was doing her best to avoid giving birth on Valentine's day because, again, she didn't want him born on a holiday. Unfortunately, births happen when they happen and that baby was going to come on Valentines day whether she wanted him to or not.

I remember waiting out in the waiting room with my dad, brothers, and Paul who couldn't stand to be in the delivery room because it was "gross". I was so mad that he could have gone in but wouldn't because he thought my sister was "gross" while giving birth, whereas I had to stay outside because I was "too young" to go in with my mom and other sister. Dad went home with the youngest two brothers while the oldest, Zeke, stayed to watch me because I refused to leave. 16 hours after Sara went into labor my little nephew was officially part of the family on the evening of Valentine's day.

Unfortunately, Sara was not okay. She had to have an emergency cesarean section and while doing the operation discovered that the back of her uterus (facing her spinal cord) had a very large and very severe (thankfully non-cancerous) tumor. When I say large I mean it was twice the size of a standard uterus. The doctors were shocked and didn't understand why nobody had noticed it on an ultrasound. It accounted for her severe backpain and blood pressure issues. The doctors immediately went in for more surgery to remove the tumor, but sadly ended up having to perform a full hysterectomy. This meant that my nephew would be Sara's only child.

Now while Sara was in for surgery Paul was taking care of everything baby related to make sure his son was okay. In my 14 year old self's memory I remember him being suitably distraught, but I didn't really pay him much mind and spent my time in the waiting room with my mother and other sister. Zeke, however, wanted to be a good future brother-in-law and make sure that Paul was okay. He found Paul filling out the baby paperwork on his own looking (in my brother's words) "like he had not a single worry in his mind". Zeke asked why Paul didn't wait for Sara to fill out the paperwork as she should have been put of surgery within the hour, and Paul said that he just wanted her to get her rest and heal. That checked out with Zeke, as he was 16 and didn't know any better at the time.

Now I know what you're probably thinking. "No, he wouldn't. He knows how much she hates that name. And still, she'd need to sign the paperwork too!" My fellow peoples of Reddit, I regret to inform you that Paul forged Sara's signature on the paperwork and waited until she was out of surgery to hand said paperwork over. My sweet nephew, that was born on Valentine's day, was named "Valentino" on his first official birth certificate. I still to this day don't know why Paul and his family were so insistent about the name. He had even picked out a different one with my sister! And before you ask, no he was never brought up on forgery charges because his parents were "witnesses" to her signing the papers, even though they only got there at the last minute.

So Sara dumped him and got her son's name changed a month later. She was willing to do split custody with him because that's her son's father and she wants the kid to know him, but Paul vanished and she never heard anything back, which seemed weirdly out of character to us. Until a mutual friend on Facebook was tagged in his wedding pictures 6 months later. Paul had apparently started cheating on her not long after she got pregnant. Sara was livid but there wasn't much she could do so she filed for child support and continued to liver her best life.

Until 6 years later. This is where the revenge starts, my friends. So Sara has been a single mother for the past 6 years and has been amazing at it. At this point in my career I've been a hairdresser for about 8 months at our local GreatClips. I'm working one day and who is seated before me but Jane, Paul's wife, herself. I take her back for a trim and she clearly has no idea who I am. That adds up because a mutual friend that still keeps in contact with Paul said that Jane doesn't know a thing. She has no idea about Sara, that she was the other woman, or that Paul actually has a kid that he's been (infrequently) paying child support for. She's in the dark on it all.

I told myself not to be an ass and treat her like a normal customer, which I did. Now at this point, Jane was heavily pregnant, so a lot of our conversation was about that. She loved being pregnant but it was hard, her husband was so unsympathetic (big shocker), and she was due in 10 weeks and they still hadn't picked out a name for their baby girl.

Ladies and gentlepeoples, this was my chance.

I asked what kind of name she was looking for and she said "I want something unique and unusual, but not ridiculous like Brayntleigheigh" (you know the ones I'm talking about) and Paul had suggested so many already and she didn't like ANY of them. So I, conniving little weasel I am, said "what about Sara?"

My sister's name isn't actually "Sara" she was named after an older family member that passed not long after she was born, but there was no female equivalent for his name so our parents created one. It's a beautiful name and just what Jane was looking for.

She loved it, she stuck by it, and I found out by stalking her Facebook months later that she had put her foot down about it and that was their daughter's name. Now Paul has a daughter with his ex's name to remind him every day about her (and to also remind him to pay his ******* child support).

Little nephew is 10 years old now with a new name and no contact with his biological father, though we do still sometimes call him Val as a family nickname. He likes it but doesn't want to bring it to school so it's staying a family nickname. Sara pretends to hate when we call him that, in a joking way. As long as he likes it she doesn't have a problem with it. And she's seeing a new guy who's really great and like a father to Val. :)

TL;DR: My sister's baby daddy forged her signature on paperwork while she was in surgery to name their son a name that she had been avidly against from the beginning, then broke all contact when she dumped him and married the girl he was cheating on her with while she was pregnant. 6 years later I meet his wife and convince her to name her daughter my sister's name because the wife has no idea my sister and her son exist.

(source) story by (/u/AngelGuideIndi)

#prorevenge #by /u/AngelGuideIndi #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

254 notes · View notes

ahnsael · 3 years

Text

Last night I got an update on the guy I found unresponsive with a purple face, slumped over a slot machine last Monday.

I had received two prior updates. One was later that morning, when I was told he was breathing on his own and speaking. on Wednesday, I was told that he was ambulatory and in good spirits, but still in ICU. So the update I got last night hit me kind of hard.

His brother and the brother’s wife came in to pick up the scooter and the money he had on his slot machine when he went down (I haven’t been able to so much as glance at that machine without thinking about this guy).

He’s still alive. For the first time, I found out that it was a major heart attack.

But three of his aortas are 90% clogged, and he doesn’t want open heart surgery to unclog them. He’s going to let nature take its course, and say some goodbyes and apparently also tell a few people off before he passes. But he’s not long for this world with his refusal of surgery.

Part of me gets it. Maybe he just feels that it’s time. And he was really nice to talk to when he was in the casino and...you know, still breathing. Not so nice to talk to when I was shouting “Sir, are you still with me?” while shaking him to try to wake him up and just realizing he wasn’t just asleep.

And part of me is angry. That was a rough situation for me. I got emotionally involved, which I can’t help -- that’s just who I am. I got him down to the ground from his scooter without dropping him (and he was a fairly large guy -- thank you, adrenaline rush). I performed CPR on him with 911 walking me through it. The deputies took over (several of them, working as a team). Then paramedics took over (at least six of them, I forget exactly how many). He was still unresponsive when he was wheeled out of the casino. Paramedics must have done something even more amazing than they did when I was watching, because they brought him back.

And now he’s just...giving up. And I don’t know whether “angry” is the right word. I’m definitely upset. I haven’t been able to process whether that means angry, or just sad, or...just a feeling of “it was all for nothing.”

There’s definitely sadness. There’s also happiness that, if this is his choice, at least I was a part of giving him time to say the things he wants to say to people before he dies.

Before his scooter was picked up yesterday afternoon, it was a reminder every time I saw it. The machine he was playing will always be a reminder.

Tangent time. Because I need to put my head a little bit straighter by remembering a time there WAS a happy ending (as far as I know).

Just like I can never visit the Hungry Bear Restaurant at Disneyland without thinking of the time I was a lead checking on an ice cream cart outside of the restaurant and heard a radio call that First Aid was responding to the restaurant for a child not breathing. I went up to assist with crowd control only to find that the only cast member around was the Custodial cast member who had called it in, and I realized “I’m the guy wearing a tie, and everyone is staring at me, so I guess that means I’m in charge until First Aid gets here. Crap.”

I loudly told the custodial cast member (loudly to snap her out of her shocked state -- she was still holding the radio to her mouth and hadn’t moved since I got up there) to get everyone 20 feet back and to clear a way through for First Aid. She jumped into action and got it done (I think I only got about 10 feet of clearance, but she got an aisle open for First Aid, so she did a great job having to control a crowd that size by herself when crowd control isn’t her normal job function).

I grabbed the kid (and this was back when CPR included mouth-to-mouth) so I reached in to check for obstructions, and had to dig his tongue out of his throat. About 30-seconds of old-school CPR (mouth-to-mouth alternating with chest compressions) and he was coughing and losing the blue tint to his face (it strikes me now how I distinctly remember this kid being blue, but the scooter guy being purple).

Once he came to, his mom picked him up and started to walk away. I asked where she was going, and she said “I promised him I’d take him on Splash Mountain.” I had to stand in her way and tell her she wasn’t going anywhere until First Aid got there and made sure the kid was okay.

A week later, there was a probably 14 year old boy who wasn’t breathing and, once again, I was the closest lead, so I went, thinking “Not again” -- trying to save someone’s life is STRESSFUL -- and found this teenager unresponsive in a pool of THICK vomit. I was grossed out, but...in those situations, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Fortunately for me, one of my managers got there just before I started, yanked me up, and told me to wait backstage (this was by the Kodak boot near It’s a Small World, so I went back to the break room in the Storybook Land boat storage and just...cried). He never told me how it turned out, and I didn’t ask. But he knew how stressed I was after the first one (I had to go backstage to write a statement, but even after I wrote it, I needed about another hour before I was with it enough to go onstage).

Sorry for the aside, but...situations like this stick with you (or at least with me). Knowing that someone’s life could be in my hands and that they may die in my arms is stressful as heck, and those situations (again, at least for me), are things I cannot forget.

I’m sad that it’s going to end this way for the guy we referred to as “scooter guy” while he was in the casino (none of us knew him, and I’d never seen anyone play slot machines in a scooter before -- not that there’s anything wrong with that, and none of us said “scooter guy” in a derogatory way; we just didn’t know him and it was the way we described him so other workers would know who we were talking about -- I worked at Disneyland so I’m used to scooters, just not in this job; we now know his name so we don’t call him “scooter guy” anymore but I don’t want to use his name in a public post), but I know none of it is something to feel guilty about -- I did what I had to do under the circumstances, but I’m just really bummed that there is no happy ending coming. But that is his decision to make (hopefully after discussing it with family, but even if he didn’t, it’s his life/death to deal with as he chooses). But it almost feels like him refusing surgery is tantamount to him committing suicide. And I’m really bummed out by that. I cried a few times overnight. And I’m still not sure which part of what I’m feeling caused it. I think it’s mostly sadness, but there’s also the selfish reason that “in the end, what I did may have made a short-term difference, but in the long run it meant nothing.”

And I’m also upset that I feel that way. What it means to him and his family, I will probably never know. So part of me just wants to just let it go but...I became personally invested in this (which may have been my mistake). Why should I feel bad for someone who is going out the way he wants to go? His body, his choice. I’ve been on tumblr long enough to know this.

But there is that element of “unintentional betrayal,” I guess one would call it. He has no idea who I am. I only know his name, and didn’t know it until after. But it’s his life,and his call to make.

I’ll be okay in the end, knowing that I tried in every way I could, including calling others who were better-equipped to help than I was. But in the short term, this is gonna be hitting me pretty hard.

#work things #tw: death #trigger warning: death #tw: suicide #trigger warning: suicide

7 notes · View notes

stormfall1327 · 4 years

Text

My half of an art for fic trade with the amazing @newvegasorbust! I hope I did your V as much justice as you did mine! By the way, the plot was completely their idea. I only put it into words. <3 Thank you so much for this trade! Your ideas got me out of a writing rut and your art is incredible! If you haven’t seen the art, check out thier blog or my previous post! You can also find the fic here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916810

‘Til the End

Fluff, Angst, Smut, Fem!V/Vik, Nomad V

The sun is beginning to set as V makes her way down the steps to Vik’s clinic. It’s a Thursday night like any other, a meeting of friends to watch old boxing re-runs over a beer (or three). They started this tradition a few months ago after V showed more than a passing interest during one of Vik’s stories about the good ‘ol days. In truth, she couldn’t care less about boxing, but she’d take any excuse to spend more time with the ripperdoc, regardless of what they were doing.

Sliding open the metal gates, she gives Vik a wave and a warm smile and heads back to the worn leather couch to settle in for tonight’s match, letting him finish whatever it is he’s working on. A few minutes later, he rounds the corner and plops down on the couch next to her with a sigh, handing over one of the beers he was carrying.

“Long day?,” V asks as she gratefully accepts the beer and takes a long pull.

“Eh, wasn’t so bad. Just gettin’ tired of these idiot gonks messing with tech they don’t understand and then bringing it to me to fix. Oh, well. Part of the job, I guess. Day’s better now, at any rate,” he says with a small smile, holding up his bottle to her. Her face flushes pink, wide eyes hidden behind her turquoise shades as she raises her own bottle to clink against his.

“So,” she says a little too loudly, “which match are we watching tonight?”

He stands to bring the screen around and set up the program. “Thought we’d hit something a little more recent tonight. Malone vs Hernandez.” Settling back in beside her as the recording starts, he nudges her shoulder and gestures at the screen with his beer. “Pay close attention, now…”

———

The match is full-swing, Vik sitting on the edge of the cushion, yelling at the screen when V feels her holo buzz. She glances down to see a familiar Aldecaldo logo appear.

Panam’s grainy image flickers to life on the screen. “V! It is good that you answered. I need your help. Again.”

V can’t help but laugh. “Of course, Panam! You know I wouldn’t turn down the chance to go on another crazy adventure with you. So, what grand scheme have you cooked up this time?,” she asks, taking another swig of beer.

Panam chuckles warmly. “No, nothing like that this time. I, well, the clan actually, has need of you and your ripper doctor. The one you always gush about.”

V’s face turns bright red and she whips her head around to look at Vik, eternally grateful that he’s still seemingly engrossed in the fight.

“I do not gush,” she hisses, turning her head back to glare at Panam through the screen.

“He is there with you now, yes?”

“Mhmm. Watchin’ boxing re-runs. Kind of a weekly tradition.”

“But you hate—” Panam’s voice is reduced to muffled nonsense as V covers the holo with her hand and quickly stands, smoothing her down her skirt. “Grabbin’ another beer. Getcha one?,” she asks, not quite pulling Vik’s attention away from the screen. He waves a hand at her. “Nah, I’m good, thanks. But hurry back, now. Don’t wanna miss the knock-out.”

“Back in a flash,” she says, making her way over to the mini-fridge across the room.

Once safely out of earshot, she removes her hand from the holo. “Hey! What the hell was that about?,” Panam calls out. V gives her a look over the top of her glasses. “You’re lucky I like you, Panam Palmer. Now what was it that you needed help with?”

“Oh, right! See, our clan’s ripper, Dusty, is being roped into performing surgery on a goddamn Raffen and his life is on the line, V. He’s out of his depth and well, I was hoping that you and Viktor would come out to the camp to help him out.”

“Shit, why didn’t you say so? ‘Course we’ll come. Vik’s the best ripper in NC. He’ll definitely be able to help. When is Dusty suppose to do this surgery?”

“Thank you, V! I knew I could count on you. He’s starting soon. You’ll need to head here right away. I’ll meet you at the edge of camp.” She gives V a nod and closes the link.

Heading back to couch, V stops when she see Vik staring at her, one eyebrow raised. “So, what was that about?”

“That? Oh, just talking to a friend of mine. Say, how would you like to take a nice ride out to the Badlands?”

Vik’s eyebrow just arches higher.

“So, look… I may have told a clan of Nomads about you and I may have also volunteered you to help perform a surgery at their camp. Tonight,” she adds, giving him a sheepish grin and running a hand through her hair.

He huffs out a laugh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I see. And I’m guessin’ I got no say in the matter?” Not that it would make a difference, he thinks. She has no idea how much she’s wrapped herself around his finger. He’d do damn near anything for her; he couldn’t tell her no.

“You always have a say, Vik. I just figured you’d jump at an opportunity like this. And besides, it’ll be nice to get out of the City for a change.”

“Fine, fine. When are we leaving?”

“As soon as you can pack a bag.”

———

It’s nearing nightfall, the desert wind still hot as it blows in through the open windows of V’s Thorton as they make their way to the Aldecaldo camp. Buckled into the passenger seat, much to his initial annoyance, Vik can’t help but marvel at her driving skills. She’s clearly in her element out here, tearing through the desert like it’s an open stretch of highway rather than a bumpy landscape of sand dunes and cacti. Daring a glance over at her, he sucks in a breath at the sight; wind-blown hair skittering across the tops of her shoulders, the low evening light casting her in an almost ethereal glow. She’s smiling again, fingers tapping out the beat of the song on the radio and damn it, if he doesn’t think she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Out here, away from the crushing oppression of the City, she’s vibrant and free and herself and in that moment, he’s smitten. But given everything she’s told him about her past, about her clan and the ultimate betrayal she endured at the hands of someone so close to her, he promised himself he’d keep things professional, for her sake. She needed someone she could trust and if resigning himself to being her ripper and her friend meant securing that trust, then he’d happily keep his feelings to himself.

He’s shaken from his thoughts as they come to a skidding halt at the edge of the Aldecaldo camp. V is out of the car and grabbing his bag before he even has time to unbuckle his seatbelt. Stepping out, he’s met by V and two others, rounding the hood of the car.

The man grabs his hand in a firm shake and lets out a whistle. “Well, hot damn. Didn’t think she’d actually manage to drag you all the way out here. Pleasure to meetcha. Name’s Mitch. This here’s Panam.” He motions behind him and the woman steps forward to shake his hand, as well. “You must be the famous ripperdoc we’ve heard about. V talks about you all the time. It is nice to meet you, Viktor,” she says with a warm smile. Vik laughs, the tips of his ears burning, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Heh, I dunno about famous, but please, it’s, uh, just Vik.”

“Well, Vik, please follow me. You got here just in time.”

Panam leads the way through the camp, V falling in step with Vik as they make their way to Dusty’s makeshift clinic. Climbing the steps, she places a hand on his shoulder to get his attention and mouths a silent, “Thank you,” offering him a small smile as she hands over his bag which he returns with a nod and a smile of his own. Panam introduces the pair and Vik immediately sets to work, his naturally calm demeanor working wonders on Dusty’s nerves as they discuss the details of the surgery and begin to prep for the Raffen’s arrival.

Panam loops her arm through V’s and clears her throat to get the mens’ attention. “Well, it seems like everything is under control here. We will leave you to it. Good luck!,” she calls, dragging V down the stairs with her.

“Hey! Where are we goin’? What if they need help?”

“You did say that Viktor is the best ripper in Night City, yes? They will be fine, V. Let us go sit by the fire while they work.”

Still holding onto V’s arm, she nudges her toward a log in front of the now sizable campfire and takes a seat beside her.

“So… You do plan to spend some time out here with Viktor tonight, yes?,” she asks, nudging V’s shoulder with her own.

The sounds of Saul arriving with the Raffen echo through the camp.

“I, uh, hadn’t really thought about it,” V says, eyes darting to the ripper’s tent as the man of the hour is hauled onto the operating chair. That was a lie and they both knew it.

“I see. Well, should you decide to give it some thought, there’s a little spot north of here with a great view of the stars. Your man could probably use some… relaxation after this.” Panam waggles her eyebrows and laughs, ducking out of the way of V’s arm as she playfully throws a punch in her direction. She knows exactly the place.

“He’s not my man, Panam. He’s just a friend. A damn good one, at that.” Her words are confident, bolstered by her own laugh, but when she looks over to the tent and sees him, completely in his element and patiently guiding Dusty through the procedure, she falters, her laugh fading away on the soft desert breeze.

“You keep telling yourself that, V,” Panam says as she stands and stretches. “Listen, I have some things I need to take care of around camp. By the looks of things, they should be finished soon. Think about what I said, yeah?” Giving V’s shoulder a squeeze, she heads off into the night.

“Christ, V, if you don’t say somethin’ to him, I will. These mushy puppy-dog eyes make me wanna puke. Hell, even Panam sees it and she’s more oblivious to that shit than you are.” Right on cue, Johnny materializes beside her and lights up a cigarette.

Of all the times… “Can it, Johnny.”

“I’m being serious, V. We both know you’re runnin’ short on time. You just gotta decide if you’re gonna grow some balls and actually do something about it before that clock runs out.”

Her retort died on her tongue. He was right, of course.

“So help me, Johnny, if you show up in the middle of-”

“Easy, killer. I’ll leave you two alone. Scout’s honor.” He lifts his arm in mock salute and winks, blinking out of sight as Vik walks over to stand in front of the fire.

V stands to join him, running a hand through her hair as she tries to keep her cool.

“That was faster than I expected. Everything went well, I take it?”

“Eh, he’ll be fine. Dusty’s a good kid. He doesn’t give himself enough credit; just needed a little coaching, is all. Barely had to get my hands dirty,” he says with a warm smile.

“I’m glad to hear it. I know they’re grateful for your help. And so am I. You didn’t have to come all the way out here to help a group of strangers in the middle of the night.”

“You honestly think I’d turn y- uh, this down?” Her heart skips a beat. “I haven’t been out of the city in years. Plus, the view is incredible,” he says, glancing up at the sky. V seizes the opportunity.

“If you think the view is great here, you should see it from the cliffs. They’re not far, if you want to go. That is, I just figured since we’re out here already-”

“I’d love to.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and grins. “Great! You’re gonna love it.”

———

Ten minutes later, V drives the Thorton up over the last rise of the cliff and slows to a stop, heart thundering in her chest. She hopes he doesn’t notice the tremor in her hands as she turns off the ignition and jumps down onto the red rock below. She meets Vik at the front of the car and leads him up a small incline along the rock face, stopping when she reaches a familiar outcropping of stone. “We’re here,” she whispers.

Leaning back against the rocks, still warm from the sun, Vik lets out a low whistle. “Can’t remember the last time I saw stars like this. It’s a damn shame, really.”

“Probably what I miss the most,” she muses, pocketing her turquoise shades and staring up into the sky.

“Would you ever go back? To living as a Nomad, I mean. The Aldecaldos seem fond of you.”

“Nah. As much as I sometimes hate this city for all the ways it’s fucked me over…” Her hand drifts subconsciously to her neck, fingers idly tracing over the chip slot behind her ear. “There’s too much I’d be givin’ up if I just left. Too many people I’d be leavin’ behind.” He nods in understanding but doesn’t respond.

The silence stretches between them for what feels like an eternity.

“Konpeki.”

“Huh?”

She huffs out a breath. “Konpeki Plaza. The… heist for the Relic. That was the last time I saw Jackie alive and all we did was fight. God, I was so mad at him, actin’ like we were going on a damn picnic instead of stickin’ our necks out for that low-life DeShawn. Then after we got blasted, I yelled at him, Vik. He was bleedin’ out and I fuckin’ yelled at him, blaming him for Bug’s death and for getting us in that mess in the first place. It was wrong and it was awful, but I was so angry. And then he died, right next to me, and there was nothing I could do. He died before I could apologize or even say goodbye. Before he knew how much he meant to me.” She reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes a tear from her face.

Vik lets out a breath and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “V… I still have nightmares about those ‘Sake bastards breaking to my fucking clinic and taking Jack’s body right out from under me. I shoulda stopped them. I shoulda fought back. But I was pinned to the floor with a gun to my head and I… I was a coward, V. I let ‘em take him and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish things had turned out differently. That I was stronger. That I’d done more.”

She reaches out to him then and closes her trembling fingers around his own, heart clenching when she feels his hand tighten against her grip.

“It’s not your fault,” she says softly as another tear rolls down her cheek.

“After I died and you told me about the chip, I promised myself that I wouldn’t get close to anyone else without all the cards being on the table. I wanted everything to be up front with no room for guessing or regrets. Panam and Judy are some of the best friends I’ve ever had because of that. But there’s still one person I’ve been holding back from.”

She glances up and meets Vik’s gaze and steadies herself with a breath before turning to face him and reaching for his other hand.

“Vik, I… I just need to you know that I care about you, a lot. I know my time is short, but whatever happens with the Relic, I want you to be part of my life. I’m so damn scared of losing you and I-”

Vik reaches a hand up to cup her cheek and her words catch in her throat.

“V, when I saw, firsthand, the lengths Arasaka would go to recover their “assets”… part of my nightmares were them stealing you, too. Taking you away from me. I’m already powerless to stop whatever’s goin’ on inside your head and that kills me every damn day. I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls her hand away from his and runs her thumb over his cheekbone.

“Then don’t,” she whispers.

Before V even realizes what’s happening, Vik’s hands are tangled in her hair and his lips are crushed against hers, months of pent up emotion flooding into every movement of his lips and tongue, nearly overwhelming her. She meets him with equal fervor, hands roaming over his chest, kneading the taut muscles with her fingers and enjoying the rumbling groan that she can feel more than hear. She works the buttons of his over-shirt free and pushes it off of his shoulders, moaning into his mouth as she runs her hands over his bare arms, muscles flexing under her touch.

Vik returns the favor, divesting V of her jacket as he breaks the kiss to lick and nip his way down the column of her throat. A shiver races down her spine and she tugs the hem of his tank from his pants, sliding her hands under the fabric to feel his skin. She rolls his nipples between her fingers and he bucks against her, erection straining against the front of his pants and a fresh wave of arousal pools between her legs.

Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she pushes him back, just enough to pull his shirt over his head, before pulling him back into another heated kiss. He’s surprising adept with her corset, undoing it in a matter of moments. Her nipples barely have a moment to react to the cool night air before he pulls one into his mouth, assaulting it with tongue and teeth while the other is pinched and pulled by his skilled fingers. The sensation is too much and V leans against the cliff for support, the rough face of the rock a heady contrast to the slick feel of Vik’s tongue on her breast.

He drops to his knees to place hot, open-mouthed kisses down her belly, hands skimming down her sides to toy with the top of her skirt. He looks up at her then, eyes seeking permission, and all she can do is nod. With a smirk, he pulls her skirt and panties down her legs, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of her arousal. He braces his left hand on her stomach and slides the tip of his finger back and forth along her soaking cunt, leaning back on his heels to see her. Her head is thrown back, bottom lip caught in her teeth, and a thin sheen of sweat coats her skin. Her heaving chest accentuates her tattoo, the snake wrapped around her breast almost seeming alive as it moves with her breathing.

He pulls his finger away and V whimpers above him.

“Patience,” he grumbles before pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

In one smooth motion, Vik slides his finger into her and wraps his tongue around her clit. V arches off the rock, a harsh moan tearing from her throat as every nerve in her body catches fire. She bucks her hips forward, desperate for more. He adds a second finger, pushing deeper into her heat and hooking his fingers, catapulting V closer to the edge. A few more strokes of his tongue and she’s flying, orgasm soaring through her body as she shakes against the cliff face, Vik’s hand on her stomach the only thing keeping her grounded. He coaxes her through her high before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous when you cum,” he mutters against her skin.

“Let me return the favor,” she says, running her fingers through his hair. He stands with a grunt and she leans up to kiss him, moaning as he tastes herself on his tongue. She reaches down to undo his pants, palming his dick with an appreciative sigh before sliding them down his hips. He moans as his aching cock springs free and watches as she rearranges their discarded clothes, forming a makeshift blanket on the ground. She sweeps her arm out, gesturing at the pile with a grin. “After you.”

He walks over, lowering himself to the ground and splaying out on his back. V climbs over him, rubbing her wet folds across the length of his dick and drawing a deep groan from his throat. She reaches down, giving him a few languid pumps before lining him up with her entrance.

“I don’t want to lose you, Viktor,” she says, voice shaking as she stares into his eyes.

“Then don’t,” he echoes, grabbing her hips and pushing her down on his length. They moan in unison, finally feeling completed, finally feeling whole. V sets a wicked pace, riding Vik into the sandstone as their sounds of pleasure echo across the Badlands.

The stuttering in his hips tells V he’s close. She’s close, too, that familiar flame lapping at her spine. His head has fallen to the side, but she grabs his chin and forces him to look at her.

“I want you to see stars,” she breathes, angling his head up to the sky. She bears down, her walls clamping hard around him and within a few strokes, he’s shouting at the stars as wave after wave of pleasure shoots through his body. She’s not far behind, crying out in relief as her orgasm crests, riding out her release on his twitching cock.

As their breathing slows, V rolls off of him and snuggles into his side, sighing contentedly when his arm wraps around her waist. They lie there silently for a time, watching the stars sparkle overhead.

“You know I’m here for you, right? Even if I can’t stop the Relic, I’ll always be here to help you, any way I can.”

“I’m here for you, too. ’Til the end.”

He pulls her close and presses a kiss to her forehead. “’Til the end.”

#art for fic trade #my writing #v/vik #viktor vektor #Viktor Vector #Victor Vector #nomad v

17 notes · View notes

aelaer · 4 years

Text

The Blood in My Veins: Pt 4

Heyyyy I'm back. Now that one of my big fic projects is done/being rolled out I can concentrate on getting this finished (as well as other prompts). Here are the earlier parts if you can't remember what happened in this long-running prompt fic, since my last update was like, the summer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Prompt (via @ironstrangeprompts that I can’t tag for whatever reason qq): Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

The Warnings: Okay guys, I want to cover all bases for this part and all parts henceforth. The bad guy I've written here really really sucks. He's a complete asshole. Part of his assholeness can include behaviors such as racism, sexism, homophobic remarks, religious bigotry, and overall just being a terrible human being. This terrible human being is not a typical representative of his nation/culture and is very thankfully fictional. There's plenty of Canon-Typical Violence around, too. All of the above are not be in this specific part but could be in future parts (I'm writing this as I go so I truly don't know, I just know he’s a dickwad). I didn't know this section was gonna happen until I finished Part 2, for instance, otherwise I'd have put a note at the beginning. I'd consider the fic a heavy teen fic, if you're looking for a rating, so it shouldn't get to graphical violence beyond what you'd see in high teen rated content. Also, there's going to be Medical Procedures in the future, though more clinical rather than graphic. Hopefully that covers everything, please ask me anything if you have a question.

I always put these longer writings on tumblr into "read more" cuts, but the mobile app does not always work correctly if you're looking at the original post from my tumblr, so I apologise for the length if you're on the app and viewing the original and said cut is not working. Still unbetaed, all errors are mine.

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

Part Four: Seeing Red Again

Another three days passed with little change in Stephen’s schedule. He went for his sleep shift at 12:30 a.m. New York time, and was woken up by one of the others between 5:20 to 5:30 a.m. It wasn't enough time for even two full complete sleep cycles, but everyone there—perhaps with exception to Steffen Baar, who was a chemist—had gone through grueling schedules during medical school and residency. So they were, in some ways, used to it.

After waking up, he had fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and change into the clothing about his size, provided for by his captors. From there, he then got to work. His sleep shift ended about three hours before dinner came—about 8:30 a.m. New York time—and a small snack arrived at what he assumed was this place's midnight, but was 2 p.m. according to his watch. Breakfast came twelve hours after dinner, at 8:30 p.m. in New York, and he went to bed again half an hour after midnight. Apparently while he slept, another snack break came for those awake.

The one small blessing in all of this was that the people holding them realized the power of caffeine and provided black tea and coffee every time they brought them food. He didn't think there were any cameras in the showers or toilets, either, which was—hopefully true. There was nothing obvious and, truth be told, he didn't really want to look much further for evidence.

Throughout his waking day, Stephen largely helped prep samples for blood analysis. He tried to strategize with Summer about how to best utilize their resources, should a surgery be required, but they had little to go on. They had yet to receive better X-rays of their patient—of Tony Stark, which still baffled Stephen—so much of their planning was about logistics.

"Doctors in the United States are required to complete a surgical rotation in their third year of med school," Stephen said, "so Jada will know basic surgical procedures. Do you need to do the same in the UK?"

"Yes," Summer answered. "All doctors go through the two-year Foundation Programme which always includes training in general surgery. So Dr Mahajan will be able to assist us as well."

"They can serve as our nurses and techs," Stephen muttered. "But what about Dr Baar?"

Summer pursed her lips together. "No medical training—but I would rather have him on hand than not. If we said we can't use him…"

Stephen grimaced and nodded. "Point. He can certainly hold a retractor." He blew out a breath. "We'll need a heart-lung machine. Those aren't easy to come by."

"None of this machinery is," she pointed out, jutting her chin to the advanced machinery scattered around the room. "I don't think that will be an issue for us. Whoever these people are, they have resources."

He pursed his lips together. "We also need an anesthesiologist."

She paused at that and sighed. "Yes. Yes, we need one of those. Unfortunately, I think we're going to be working with someone on their team if the surgery happens."

Stephen made a face. "What makes you think that?"

"When they first showed me the X-rays, I told them I would need another surgeon for the spinal area—you—and an anesthesiologist. They only spoke about finding me a surgeon, so they must have their own medical team that includes one."

He sighed. "Of course they do. He better be competent."

Summer shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And there's not much more we can plan on this hypothetical surgery until I have better X-rays."

And so that ended that discussion and, three days later, there were no changes on that end. No new X-rays had come in, so both he and the other surgeon were stuck helping prepare samples and input data. And Stephen hadn't been so bored in years.

One wouldn't think that being captive would be boring, especially if one was doing medical work during that time. But when said medical work was repetitive lab work he hadn't done since med school? And doing it for about fifteen hours a day for three days straight with no music, no reading, no nothing to help bring some distraction or variety to his work? It was absolutely mind-numbing. A small part of him wasn't entirely sure if he could survive like this for—how long did Jada said Stark had to live without a cure or intervention? Two months? He couldn't do this for two months. He was going out of his mind after three days.

It was about halfway through his shift on the fourth day that he regretted ever thinking that he was bored.

He was typing up results from various tests performed by Jada when the door to the room was suddenly slammed open. Startled, Stephen immediately turned towards the sound, only to see five men enter, all of them with guns pointed to the rest of the room. Beside him, Jada immediately threw her hands on top of her head, and he quickly followed suit.

"Come quietly! Do not fight!" said one of the men. Stephen couldn't even begin to guess his accent; maybe it was Eastern European? Russian? Former Soviet bloc in Asia? Somewhere in that rather wide region of the world, which wasn't particularly helpful information considering there were some twenty to thirty countries there.

Summer was the doctor currently asleep, though looking over his shoulder, Stephen saw that she had woken up to the sound and was pushing herself up. But he couldn't look at her or the other doctors long as he was grabbed by one of the men and forced to walk. The gun the man carried quickly negated any ideas of retaliation.

They were led down a hall; he could see Steffen, Meera, and Jada in front of him, all being led in the same rough manner he was going through. The walk itself wasn't very long, perhaps a minute, but to Stephen it felt like every second was dragging. Despite his best efforts, his heart was starting to race at this new development.

The man with Steffen finally stopped in front of a door and unlocked it, then shoved the chemist inside. Within seconds, Stephen was at the door and being pushed forward himself. He took a quick look around, as much as he could without moving much: a large room with concrete walls and no windows, just like where he and the other doctors were being kept. Cot in the corner. Table with a computer and covered in bits of wires and electronics that he couldn't begin to label. Two other men armed with enormous guns—some sort of automatic rifles—and then one man who was crossing his arms and staring at him and his fellow doctors with a look that immediately put Stephen on edge. This man, this man radiated the air of a person in charge.

And then there was him. The famous Tony Stark, or Iron Man as he was calling himself these days. He looked like a former shadow of himself, being several pounds thinner and bearing a sickly pallor that Stephen immediately noticed, even during these circumstances.

A look of surprise was upon Stark's hollow face, but even as Stephen focused more upon him, it was quickly replaced by the cool anger of a man biting his tongue.

All five doctors were maneuvered to face Stark in a line before being forced to their knees. Stephen bit his lip to hold back a grunt of pain from his knees hitting the concrete floor.

"You say you are 'calling my bluff' with your medical team," said the man. He pushed himself off the wall and passed out of Stephen's line of sight. "Here they are." He started at Stephen's right as he went through the doctors. "Steffen Baar, chemist." A step closer. "Jada Ferguson, hematologist." Another step, and he heard Doctor Mahajan inhale sharply. "Meera Mahajan, pathologist."

Another step, and the man was behind him. To Stephen's utter horror, he felt cold metal press against the back of his head. "Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon." The metal then left his head and he heard another step. "Summer Weston, cardiothoracic surgeon." Another step, and he could see the man in the corner of his eye again, this time on his left.

Tony Stark kept his lips pressed in a tight line as their captor went through the line. When he finished, the billionaire swallowed and looked at them all. "Good job keeping me alive this long, docs," he said.

"Not good enough, Stark," the man snapped. "Their solution is only a band aid. They give you but a few more weeks. They are called the best doctors in the world, and they cannot yet make a cure?"

Stephen forcefully held back his retort regarding the man's utter ignorance. It was an outright miracle they found any sort of solution as quickly as they did to delay the spread!

Stark, it seemed, agreed with him, and had no such reservations with holding back. "That's insane, Yusifov. It takes teams of doctors months, if not years to create what you're looking for."

He couldn't see it, but Stephen could almost feel the sneer from their captor, this Yusifov. "In that case, you don't need this many doctors, do you?" A couple steps and he was again behind Stephen, further to the right. "I'm no doctor, but as far as I can tell, these two both look at blood and try to fix the problem. Neither of them fixed it, not fully. So who do you want to keep, Stark? The black American or the Indian Brit? One less woman won't make a difference."

Stephen dared a glance to his right when he heard quick breathing. Doctor Mahajan was visibly shaking and starting to hyperventilate; to her right, Doctor Ferguson was quiet, but her lips trembled and tears pricked her eyes.

Stark stepped forward, and several guns rose at the action. He stopped but held his ground, raising his hands. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" the man retorted. "You refuse to work because you are dying. They have failed you and one will pay the price. Perhaps both; they are both from lesser races."

As Stephen processed the fact that he heard a comment like that in fucking 2010, Doctor Mahajan's breathing accelerated into full on hyperventilation. His medical mind noticed it immediately.

But another was quicker to the draw. "Breathe through your nose, Meera," Summer said lowly. "Try to inhale for one-one thousand, then exhale through pursed lips. You can—"

"Shut up!"

Doctor Weston was smacked on the back of her head hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor.

And Stephen snapped.

Now, if one were to ask Doctor Stephen Strange, he would by no means consider himself heroic or noble. His role as a doctor was one of service, but even within his relatively short time as a neurosurgeon, he had already gained a prestige that recognized his rising star and already people in the medical community were considering him in the top ranks of neurosurgeons. Soon, demand for his expertise would be large enough for him to have the option to turn away those who weren't worth his time, and he felt not a lick of guilt for that. His skills were valuable.

But to hear this brute of a man first throw slurs at two of the most brilliant women—no, the most brilliant doctors—in their fields followed by an outright assault on the other caused a protectiveness Stephen hadn't felt since his sister's death to completely overtake him. He saw red.

He leaped up at Yusifov in a fiery anger, no particular idea in mind except stop him from hurting anyone rushing through his head. At this point there was little thought, only adrenaline and a near primal fury running through his veins. It wasn't like him to be so hot-headed; he was a man who kept his cool under the most stressful of circumstances. But perhaps several days of poor sleep combined with the stress of the situation finally got to him. When he thought about it in the aftermath, even he would admit he had no idea what he was thinking.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision he would come to regret.

In one moment he managed to knock the pistol out of Yusifov's hands and punched him in the face. He recognized screaming, shouting, fighting in the noises behind him, but he was focused on his own target.

Stephen hit him twice more before someone threw an arm around his neck and dragged him back and began to choke him. He clawed at the arm, which did nothing, but then he aimed his heel down right to the sensitive part of his attacker's instep. The man grunted in pain and the grip around his neck loosened.

A shot shattered through the enclosed space, causing Stephen to freeze in surprise—and that proved to be his downfall. He saw Yusifov raising his pistol just before he was whipped across the face with the weapon. The hit threw him off balance and he fell to the floor and lay there for a second, stunned. He felt wetness on the side of his head.

As Stephen attempted to push himself up, a kick to his back sent him back to the floor. An involuntary grunt of pain escaped him. He closed his eyes, pausing for breath, but was given little time to recover as he was grabbed by both arms and dragged up to his knees. From his new position, he could see the rest of the room once more, and Stephen's heart skipped a beat at what was before him.

There were several alarming sights: Tony Stark on his knees just like him, nose bloodied. One of the gunmen near Stark with a screwdriver sticking in his neck and very much dead. Summer in the corner of the room, holding a shaking Meera against her chest.

And Doctor Steffen Baar on the ground, bleeding out from his stomach as Jada desperately tried to stem the blood flow with her sweater. The red dripped through the fabric and onto the concrete.

Stephen felt ill. He instinctively reached forward towards Steffen, to try and help, but the grip on his arms tightened and kept him in place.

Stark was the one to speak first. "Let them help him. I won't fight further. I'll do what you ask."

Yusifov came back into Stephen's line of sight as he stepped in front of him, though his gaze was on Stark. He said to the engineer, "You killed one of my men. A life for a life—that is fair, wouldn't you say?"

"He did nothing," Stark hissed, pulling against the hands that held him down. Stephen could see the men pull him back and tighten their grip in response. "And he's needed. You wouldn't have brought him here otherwise."

"He didn't do anything," Yusifov agreed, then turned to Stephen. "This one did." He then sent a sharp kick into Stephen's stomach, causing him to double over in pain as far as the men holding him allowed. He almost missed the next statement. "And I should kill him for it. But the surgeon will be needed. The chemist, though? He failed to make a cure for your ailment with a month of time, and you don't have much longer to live, Stark. The chemist failed, and at this point, he's a waste of medical resources."

Then Yusifov nodded at one of his men, and he grabbed Jada by the arm and yanked her up to her feet.

"No—please, no, don't do this!" she shouted as she was dragged away from Steffen. Their captors ignored her and Yusifov walked up to the wounded man. He aimed his pistol at Steffen's head.

"Don't do this!" Stark shouted.

A shot rang through the room. A loud sob came from the corner before it was muffled. Stephen's ears rang, half deafened from the sound. His stomach churned; he felt like he was going to vomit. He hung his head and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slow breaths through his nose.

All he could smell was blood. He forcefully suppressed his gag reflex.

Stephen missed whatever conversation came next, too busy trying to calm his breathing, trying not to throw up, and not having the energy to make out the words beyond the ringing in his ears. But then the world was moving as he was pulled to his feet and shoved out of the room, leaving behind Tony Stark and the body of Doctor Steffen Baar.

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

I was stuck on what I wanted to do with this part with a handful of ideas and consulted my beta for ideas. She suggested death which I wasn't even thinking of because I'm very bad at killing off characters. I blame her fully :P

Tag list (just let me know if you want to be added/removed with a comment - still not on AO3!): @sobeautifullyobsessed, @tashacumberbitch, @babywarg, @nishtha3012, @ragingstillness, @walkin-in-the-cosmos (I think the reason I can’t tag you is because you’ve flagged your tumblr for sensitive media, possibly), @lafourmii20, @asexualchemist, @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife, @oo0-will-of-the-wisp-0oo, @animefanfreak45, @rulerofthefandomsnow, @killaspyglass, @renlybaratheon-tyrell, @symmetria42, @kay-lock-key-lock

#tony stark #stephen strange #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu #prompt fill #my writing #my fanfiction

29 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 16

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: The Jiang siblings visit the Burial Mounds. Feels are had.

Warning: Involves bugs as food. For Notes, see end.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

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

Lan Wangji is unsurprised, and somewhat relieved, when Wen Qing takes one look at Wei Ying upon their return to the Burial Mounds and tells him to go take a nap with A-Yuan.

His husband had already been swaying dangerously in the Yiling market when they had bought supplies, and had tried to insist Jiang Yanli ride in the cart while he walk, though he had quickly been overruled when Wen Ning, of all people, pointed out they could both ride comfortably if someone had a qiankun pouch for their purchases. Jiang Wanyin had pulled one from his sleeve, one that seemed oddly full, and Wen Ning helped place their purchases in it.

“Get in the damn cart, moron,” the Jiang sect leader said when Wei Ying hesitated.

“A-Xian, come ride with me,” Jiang Yanli coaxed, taking his arm and steering him to it herself.

Wei Ying was exhausted enough to fall asleep on her shoulder, despite the bumpy ride, on the way back, A-Yuan snuggled in his sister’s arms. He doesn’t look particularly refreshed when they have to wake him.

Despite his exhaustion, Wei Ying still tries to argue against a nap, eying his siblings, clearly considering their visit more important than his health. Lan Wangji finds his disregard for his own well-being concerning, but is well aware it isn’t unusual, just something they need to break him of.

“I told them,” he says. “In town. I bet they have questions, and—”

“I can answer their questions, Wei Wuxian!” she cuts in. “I performed the surgery, after all. You’re delegating the task to me and going to take a nap before I bring out the needles—don’t think I won’t knock you out.”

The mention of her needles clearly cows him, but he still seems hesitant.

“It’s our turn to take care of things,” Jiang Wanyin says, not looking at him. “You’ve done enough, Wei Wuxian.”

“More than enough,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, and reaches forward to pull him into a gentle hug. “Let us take care of our A-Xian, hm?”

Wei Ying seems frozen for a moment in the embrace, but relaxes into it. Lan Wangji can see him tremble as he hugs her back, and he knows, for the moment, they’ve won. It’s a small triumph, but at this point he’ll take it.

“Okay, shijie,” he says finally. “Xianxian will take a nap with Yuanyuan.”

She lets him go and pats his cheek in a way that reminds Lan Wangji of his mother when he was very young.

A-Yuan insists on giving his guma a hug before he lets Wei Ying take his hand and lead him toward the cave.

“Go with him,” Wen Qing insists, to his surprise.

It must show somehow, because she sighs.

“I told you when you came: you take care of him. That’s your job. I’ll take care of this—I wrote Jiang-guniang, after all.”

Lan Wangji nods, privately relieved his presence isn’t required for this conversation. He bows to each of them before leaving, including Wen Qing as a thank you even though it makes her huff in embarrassment.

As he takes longer strides to catch up with Wei Ying, he can hear Jiang Yanli speak to Wen Qing in a sweet voice that is likely terrifying up close in how it utterly fails to hide her ferocious protectiveness of her beloved adoptive brother—he mentally wishes Wen Qing luck.

He picks up A-Yuan and gets a startled glance from Wei Ying, who is not quite to the point of barely standing, but close enough that Lan Wangji wraps his free arm around him to steady him as they make their way to the cave.

A-Yuan babbles sleepily about having a new aunt and uncle, having been largely unaffected by the tension in town, and before long they’re both tucked in. Wei Ying doesn’t bother removing his boots, so Lan Wangji does it for him.

Before he can rise, Wei Ying reaches out for him, his eyes half-lidded as he’s already being pulled toward sleep, in what Lan Wangji recognizes as a plea for him to stay, to sit on the bed and let him be close as he sleeps. After the stress of the afternoon on his husband, he is happy to oblige, happy Wei Ying would ask, even silently, for his support.

“I will stay,” he tells him, settling beside him on the bed, letting Wei Ying tuck close and use his thigh as a pillow.

Not to be left out, A-Yuan clambers over them and settles curled between them against Wei Ying’s stomach, his face pressed into the front of his robe as he falls asleep. Lan Wangji draws the blanket up over both of them.

He has used the table near the bed both as a desk and to play the guqin, so it is no trouble to carefully stack the papers next to the bed and slide the inkstone back so he can pull out Wangji.

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh, the tension leaving his body, as he starts ‘WuJi.’ The song has been a comfort to his husband, he knows, when he himself failed to be, and he hopes to soon work on a new song, something that will capture the joy he finds in their marriage. The circumstances in which they and the people Wei Ying rescued live are less than ideal, and he wishes he could take him from this place of darkness and the memories of the horror he still cannot speak of, but they are together, and that is much preferable to being alone in the Cloud Recesses.

Before long, Wei Ying is asleep, and he segues into songs of cleansing and healing. Without a golden core, without Wen Qing’s needles, the latter has little impact—but little isn’t none, and he is still recovering. Every little bit helps, and after the stress of the day, he helps the only way he can, aside from serving as Wei Ying’s pillow.

He loses himself in the music, coming close to a meditative state as he plays. Time passes like sand through fingers before he hears hesitant steps enter the cave.

Lan Wangji pauses in his playing, recognizing two sets of footsteps, one the shuffling gait of Wen Ning, and the other softer. He is unsurprised when Jiang Yanli is the second set.

He is also unsurprised to see her face wet with tears.

Wen Ning offers her a short bow, then hefts the bathtub from their alcove as he does daily, kindly bringing fresh water and herbs for Wei Ying to use at night. He nods to him in thanks.

Jiang Yanli returns Wen Ning’s bow, and his esteem of her rises—many failed to give that respect to him in life, and more would likely refuse to now that he is a corpse, spiritual conscious or not. But Wei Ying’s sister recognizes him as he is: family.

Though the reverberation of the strings has ceased, the motion of stilling them is a comfort to Lan Wangji as he waits for her to speak. She watches her brother sleep for a while.

“Wen-guniang… She said he’s in pain,” she finally says.

Lan Wangji nods to confirm.

“That he’s been in pain since— since the war, and we didn’t…”

More tears spill down her cheeks, and he knows if Wei Ying were awake he would spring to comfort her.

“He hid it,” he tells her softly. “You could not have known.”

She makes a sound that is almost pained.

“I raised him. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t—“

Jiang Yanli presses her fist against her mouth.

“I led him to believe I disdained him and wished for him to be punished,” Lan Wangji says.

His failure to communicate had led to the strain of their relationship, to the point where Wei Ying had questioned whether he was still his zhiji, and he will forever regret letting him walk away into the darkness and rain even after that. He empathizes with her completely.

She is silent for a while before she nods.

“Wen-guniang has an idea,” she says. “She said Zewu-Jun pointed out that there is a life debt among our generation. The six of us, A-Xuan, and Nie Huaisang. An auspicious eight. Swearing brotherhood… It could protect A-Xian, and the people here.”

Xiongzhang had hinted at it, and Lan Wangji is glad Wen Qing is furthering the possibility.

“It would tie together the four sects, and the remnants of the Dafan Wen,” he adds, thinking aloud.

“A-Cheng pointed out that the lotus blossom has eight petals,” she says, smiling wistfully. “He and A-Xian used to talk about being the Twin Prides of Yunmeng. It seems almost like a sign.”

Lan Wangji is struck silent at the idea; the eight auspicious signs are almost sacred, and the imagery would be iconic. The imagery was prevalent at temples—the eternal wheel of life, the endless knot, the conch, the parasol, the lotus…

The noble eightfold path, an expansion of the threefold way.

Almost implying an expansion of the Venerated Triad, and associating Wei Ying with the noble path regardless of his cultivation.

“Apt,” he says when he finally finds his voice.

“I’ll talk to A-Xuan,” she says, her voice distant. “I know he and A-Xian didn’t get off on the right foot, but he knows I love my didi.”

“Xiongzhang is bringing Chifeng-Zun and Nie Huaisang to see the settlement after your wedding,” Lan Wangji tells her. “I am certain Wen Qing will broach the topic of a sworn brotherhood with them then.”

Jiang Yanli sways slightly, and he panics for a moment; if he needs to move to catch her, it will jostle and wake Wei Ying, and he needs the rest. But she steadies herself, and he is able to gesture to a chair instead, and she takes a seat.

“Hanguang-Jun, since you are my brother’s husband, I wondered if I might call you A-Zhan.”

The request to use his birth name surprises him—xiongzhang had only requested to call Wei Ying by his courtesy name—but she seems earnest about wanting to welcome him to the family.

“Of course. May I call you… A-Li?”

A smile blossoms across her face, and she nods, looking pleased.

Then Wei Ying murmurs in his sleep and their attention snaps to him. Lan Wangji strokes his hair gently, letting his fingers brush his scalp in a way he knows soothes him. He settles almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations.

Jiang Yanli, when he next looks up, is watching with a bittersweet look on her face.

“I used to do that for him,” she says softly, “when he had nightmares. Until he started hiding them.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say, so only nods. He understands her sense of helplessness, knowing Wei Ying is adept at hiding his pain, would still be hiding it if not for having pulled his wrist away a second too late.

“I wish he was coming to my wedding,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “He belongs there. But they’d try to kill him.”

He cannot disagree with either statement. Wei Ying should be there, as one of her last remaining family members, even if he did not share her blood, but it would never be permitted. Not now. Not until the plan xiongzhang implied to Wen Qing is put into motion.

But by then she will be married, the wedding over, and Wei Ying will not have been permitted to attend.

“You have done what you can to include him,” he tells her, hoping to soothe her. “He did not expect this much.”

It seems to have the opposite effect, tears lining her cheeks again.

“He never expects anything of us,” she whispers. “Mother made him feel undeserving, like he should feel grateful for any scrap. I try not to hate her for it, but…”

Lan Wangji can understand how she feels, has seen the marks from Zidian on Wei Ying, still healing when he gave his core to his brother, something he has probably hidden from his sister even through everything. And he knows Wei Ying feels he deserves those marks, believing the fall of Lotus Pier to be of his doing. The emotional damage goes far deeper.

“We can only assure him he deserves more,” he says after a moment. “And be sure to give it to him.”

He has been trying to do so, but it never feels like enough to make up for abandoning him at Qiongqi Path, for failing to join him on the righteous path, even if it is the single-plank one, for making his zhiji believe he reviled him. He understands how Jiang Yanli feels—though perhaps she feels it more deeply, or at least differently, as the person who basically raised him.

Footsteps approach from the cave entrance, Wen Ning with the tub filled with fresh water, something he has insisted upon doing since it was purchased. At some point during each day, he cleans and fills it, even preparing a fresh sachet of herbs to help Wei Ying recover. Truthfully, even with Lan Wangji’s arm strength he doubts he could lift it as easily as the fierce corpse is able, and he is grateful for his thoughtfulness.

“Than—thank you for waiting, Jiang-guniang,” he says after setting it down. “Popo is waiting to help us in the k-kitchen with preparing dinner.”

Jiang Yanli favors him with a smile.

“Thank you, Wen-gongzi.”

“Ah, you c-can just call me Wen Ning,” he says, looking flustered as he often does when people offer respect to him.

“Then you must call me Jiang Yanli.”

Wen Ning looks like he might protest, but she turns to Lan Wangji before he can, dipping into a proper and respectful bow.

“A-Zhan, thank you for taking care of A-Xian. It is…”

Her voice cracks, emotions nearly overcoming her again. It takes her a moment to recover.

“It is a relief to know someone else is here for him when I cannot be. I entrust him to your care.”

The formality, Lan Wangji realizes, is her approval of their union. Warmth spreads through him at her acceptance.

“However,” she says, a slight smile on her face that is also somehow fierce. “I think you will agree with me that A-Xian deserves a real wedding, at Lotus Pier, as soon as it is possible.”

The image of Wei Ying sitting on a bed in Nightless City in his red underrobes, the joy of his waking mixing with the wish they were wedding robes… that Jiang Yanli wants to ensure they receive that, that their union can be celebrated, if belatedly, in the way Wei Ying deserves to be honored.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I agree.”

She nods, clearly pleased.

“It will happen, A-Zhan; I’ll make sure of it.”

Lan Wangji has absolutely no doubt she will.

She leaves with Wen Ning, and he remembers her intention to cool the soup Wei Ying so loves for the settlement. It will be a welcome meal for them all.

Though he could resume playing, Lan Wangji opts to sink into a meditative state instead, waiting. He doesn’t need to wait long, as footsteps that are almost stomps approach and enter the cave.

He is ready to stare at Jiang Wanyin disapprovingly, but the steps hesitate, becoming uncertain, on the way to the alcove.

“He’s still resting,” Lan Wangji says before he can speak.

Jiang Wanyin’s face does something strange, going soft for a moment as he gazes at his brother and nephew, the top of A-Yuan’s head just visible poking out from beneath the blanket. Then his expression shutters.

“He needs the rest, then?” he asks.

“Mn. He is recovering. He also was giving most of his food to A-Yuan before I arrived. He is finally eating properly.”

The muscles in the Jiang sect leader’s jaw clench, working as though he’s stopping himself from saying something—or, more likely, yelling.

“He always gives too much,” Jiang Wanyin says finally.

Lan Wangji nods; he agrees with that assessment.

“I want to bring him back to Lotus Pier.”

The announcement is unexpected, and he reconsiders his assessment of the man.

“He will not leave these people.”

“I know that. The Wens too, of course.”

“They do not wish to be known as Wens,” Lan Wangji tells him, and watches Wei Ying sleep for a moment to be certain he won’t hear before continuing. “I believe they hope to take on Wei as a family name. They have not broached the subject with Wei Ying yet.”

Jiang Wanyin sits heavily in the chair his sister vacated, sighing.

“He’ll do that thing. Where he belittles himself,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s like he believes all the awful things a-niang said about him.”

Because he does believe them, Lan Wangji is well aware. His anger at a dead woman is unbecoming, but it will likely never fade. She trained Wei Ying to see himself as worthless, as a charity case, when he was one of the best cultivators of their generation. Even without his core, he was still inventing tools to help the cultivation world that slanders and wishes him dead.

“Not that I’m much better. He’s my brother and I fucking abandoned him,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. “And I accused him of abandoning me, on top of it. When—when he left a big piece of himself with me to protect me.”

It occurs to Lan Wangji that perhaps both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli suffered their own childhood traumas associated with bad parenting, that this is perhaps just a variation of that which has led Wei Ying down his path of self-destruction through giving too much, through not valuing himself. His own troubled upbringing led him to value his clan and the Lan rules over his zhiji, to believe his identity must be tied up in being a perceived paragon of Lan virtue above all else. Theirs led to Wei Ying’s isolation as well.

“You had no way of knowing,” he says. “Now that you know, you are trying to help him.”

What they do now does not absolve them of their wrongs, but it is a start.

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw clenches again, then releases when he sighs.

“I can’t undo the shitty stuff I said to him. You’ll come to Lotus Pier with him, right?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, surprised that’s in question. “He’s my husband.”

He receives a nod in response.

“He’ll need bigger quarters, then, for you and A-Yuan. I could give him a-niang’s old quarters, but I don’t know if he’d want to live where she did. He deserves them as my head disciple, so maybe if I remodel them…”

Jiang Wanyin seems to be thinking out loud.

“Wei Ying is still your head disciple?” he asks, having not realized.

“Yeah,” Jiang Wanyin says, then grimaces. “I never took him off the register. Kicking him out was for show, because he insisted. He never stopped being head disciple, but he probably doesn’t realize that.”

He likely doesn’t, knowing Wei Ying. Wei Ying, who still believes himself responsible for the fall of Lotus Pier, for the deaths that were a part of it. Even being head disciple, there will be much he cannot do, lacking a golden core.

“I can help with his duties,” Lan Wangji offers impulsively.

Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, startled, then smiles in a way that makes him look painfully young.

“Appreciated. He’ll… Well, he’ll need help with some of it. At least until Wen Qing figures out a way to help him.”

Lan Wangji realizes the Jiang sect leader is still hoping there’s a solution, that Wei Ying will again achieve the impossible.

“She’s going to make a list of things she’ll need to get started,” Jiang Wanyin continues. “And I’ll work to get ahold of them.”

A-Yuan stirs before Lan Wangji can reply.

“Loud,” he murmurs. “A-Die sleeping, shhhh.”

He wriggles his way out from under the blanket, somehow managing not to disturb Wei Ying as he does, then crawls off the bed.

“Jiang-shushu loud.”

His voice is pitched in an almost theatrical whisper, and Jiang Wanyin snorts in amusement.

“Okay,” he whispers back, also theatrical. “Let’s leave your a-die to sleep and go find guma, then.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wei Ying, then at Lan Wangji, who nods encouragingly. Then he turns back to Jiang Wanyin and holds his arms up expectantly.

Jiang Wanyin stands, pulling A-Yuan into his arms as he does.

“I’ll watch the kid. It looks like everyone else is busy right now.”

Lan Wangji simply nods in response. A-Yuan chatters softly to his uncle as they make their way out of the cave, leaving him alone with Wei Ying.

Jiang Wanyin’s absence is a relief. He finds it difficult still not to resent him for his choice to abandon Wei Ying, for the fact that Wei Ying’s core now rests within him, even for his desperate hope that his brother will somehow heal enough to form a new one. In far too many ways, it’s not enough, just as anything Lan Wangji does now cannot make up for his own failures.

He reminds him of Wei Ying’s mortality, as unfair as that may be.

Resentment will help nothing, may even be exacerbated now by the Burial Mounds, so Lan Wangji works to focus instead on the sensation of Wei Ying’s hair against his fingers, the weight of his head on his thigh, his soft breaths, and he is eventually able to fall into a sort of meditation until Wen Qing comes to fetch them.

“Jiang-zongzhu set up the tablets for the adoption rites, so we can start with those,” she tells Wei Ying once he’s awake.

Wei Ying stares at her blearily for a moment.

“Adopting A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji prompts gently.

Wen Qing gives him a disapproving look.

“He’s very excited, and your siblings can serve as witnesses.”

“Right. Sorry. Been a long day,” Wei Ying murmurs, then glances at Lan Wangji. “It’s still today, right?”

Lan Wangji brushes a lock of hair back from his face.

“Mm. You slept only a few hours.”

Wei Ying melts into his touch, and he leans forward to brush his lips against his forehead. Wen Qing clears her throat and drops a bundle on the bed.

“Your sister also made Jiang-zongzhu go back into town and buy nice clothing for you and A-Yuan for the adoption rites.”

She indicates the bundle.

“So hurry up and get changed. She cooked up a feast, and everyone’s hungry. I think she’s determined to give you a proper wedding banquet.”

Wen Qing, ever brusque, turns on her heel and leaves before either of them can respond.

Wei Ying opens the bundle on the bed, blinking at the high quality clothing. The fabric, at a glance, looks black, but has threadwork in a deep blue and purple. It sends a message from Jiang Wanyin: Wei Ying is of the Jiang sect still. A red underrobe, new zhong yi, a red silk hair ribbon embroidered with little pink lotuses, and even new boots complete the package.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng… How can I wear these?”

“You were not removed from the sect registry. He insists you are still his head disciple.

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes, taking a heavy seat on the bed, clearly overwhelmed.

Lan Wangji wonders if he should tell Wei Ying the rest—that Jiang Wanyin intends to bring everyone at Burial Mounds to Lotus Pier permanently when it is feasible. But he will leave that to the Jiang sect leader.

Instead he opens his qiankun pouch and pulls out the light blue robes he arrived wearing, which he hasn’t worn in days. If dinner is in part for them, he should dress appropriately, as well.

Changing takes little time, though Lan Wangji has Wei Ying sit for his hair to be combed and put back in its crown, as it came loose as he slept.

The entire settlement is waiting for them in the hall when they enter, and though only Wen Qing has seen an official adoption rite, she demurs from describing it.

“It was Wen Zhuliu’s, so it feels like bad luck to copy it,” she says when pressed.

None of them argue.

“We should have seen an adoption rite,” Jiang Wanyin mutters.

Wei Ying seems not to have heard, focused on A-Yuan. He takes the child’s hand and leads him to the space where someone has set up an altar with his parents’ tablets, complete with sticks of incense and food offerings: three cups holding tea, water, and Jifu’s fruit wine, plates with small stacks of oranges and sweets. A fire burns in a small brazier in front of the altar, a stack of joss paper set nearby.

For a moment, Wei Ying is completely silent, looking at the altar as though struck.

Jiang Yanli breaks the silence.

“You’ve never been able to venerate them,” she murmurs.

Lan Wangji understands suddenly: there was no place set for Wei Ying’s parents’ tablets at Lotus Pier, and so his husband has never been able to properly pay them respects—cruel, given their bodies were never found to begin with.

“Thank you, shijie.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, and he kneels and gestures to A-Yuan to do the same.

Wei Ying keeps it simple, first apologizing for being unable to do his filial duty for them, kowtowing before them. A-Yuan copies him dutifully, and this receives smiles from the others.

“A-Die, a-niang, I want to introduce my son to you, Wei Yuan. He may not share my blood, but he is your sunzi. I ask you to help me protect and guide him, if you are able. This one will do a better job honoring you in the future.”

He murmurs something to A-Yuan, who bows as best he can.

“Wei Yuan greets yeye and nainai. A-Yuan will burn joss and incense and clean your altar. A-Yuan promises to be filial.”

They light the incense using the brazier, then burn joss together, letting the paper fall into the flame piece by piece.

Lan Wangji longs to join them, to thank Wei Ying’s parents for bringing him into the world, and Wei Ying turns to him as though hearing those thoughts. When his husband gestures, he steps forward to take his place kneeling beside him.

“A-Die, a-niang, I also want to introduce you to my husband,” Wei Ying says, blushing as though they’ve not been wed over a week. “We completed our bows, but not before your tablets.”

They bow together, three times again.

“Fuqin, muqin, thank you for Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, bowing one last time alone. “I promise to honor him, and to protect him and Wei Yuan.”

They burn the remaining joss together, as a family, before standing.

Jiang Yanli rushes forward to hug Wei Ying, who pulls Lan Wangji and A-Yuan into it. There’s a warmth to it that he isn’t used to, his own family reserved, and it surprises him as much as xiongzhang’s hug did.

“Ah, I have a new didi and an adorable zizhi!” she says happily, then pulls at their arms as she releases them from the embrace. “We prepared a nice meal to celebrate, come!”

The tables are covered in dishes, the serving bowls and platters clearly heated by talismans to keep the food at an ideal temperature.

“The guests of honor fill their plates first,” popo says insistently, clicking her tongue when Wei Ying gestures for her to go ahead. “A-Xian is still too thin!”

Wei Ying startles at the affectionate address and she smiles and pats his arm.

Lan Wangji steps forward first, recognizing the futility of refusing popo’s demand. There is a bowl with chili sauce on the table, likely Wei Ying’s favorite kind. The dishes range from the familiar—the lotus root and pork rib soup he was introduced to earlier in a huge tureen, braised pork belly with mushrooms and bok choy, tea eggs, fried radish cakes, baozi, cucumber salad, sautéed dock root and millet with Sichuan peppercorns that would make his mouth numb—to the unfamiliar. He recognizes noodles cooked with what looks like water spinach and shaved carrot, mixed with, upon closer look, crisp-fried silkworm pupae.

He doesn’t realize Wei Ying is beside him until he makes an intrigued noise.

“Where did we get those? Shijie, did you bring them?”

“A-Ning found a copse of mulberry a few nights ago,” Wen Qing tells them. “He brought the silkworm cocoons to the aunties to unwind so we can sell the silk. He harvested the berries, too.”

“We—we cooked them with d-dessert,” Wen Ning adds.

Though he is aware that silkworm pupae are commonly sold at market when silk is harvested, Lan Wangji has never had occasion to try them. Despite the fact that silk is harvested by the GusuLan weavers and used in robes for the clan, the production is kept out of the Cloud Recesses because the cocoons are boiled to extract the intact silk, killing the pupae in the process, and killing any creature, even an insect, is prohibited within the bounds of the Cloud Recesses. Presumably the pupae are sold in Caiyi, but meat is not a staple in his home.

But he was raised not to be a picky eater, and insects are a viable source of protein, something sorely needed by the people living here. Wei Ying seems content to serve himself and A-Yuan a large helping, so Lan Wangji does the same, placing a wide variety of dishes on his own plate to sample, but avoiding the chili sauce for the sake of his palate.

“I put in fewer peppercorns than I usually do,” Jiang Yanli murmurs to him. “I know you like milder dishes.”

He nods his thanks, and lets her press a bowl of soup into his free hand.

She follows him with two more to place before Wei Ying and A-Yuan, then pinches her brother’s cheek as though he’s a child.

“Eat the whole plate, Xianxian, and then you’ll get dessert.”

He is quietly pleased when Wei Ying plays along with a bright smile.

“But what if Xianxian wants more?”

She leans forward and kisses his brow like a mother might.

“Xianxian can have as much as he wants. Popo and Wen Ning helped me cook plenty. And dessert is mulberry millet pudding sweetened with honey, so I know you’ll like it.”

Then she turns to A-Yuan and favors him with the same treatment.

“You too. Eat plenty so you can grow big and strong.”

“A-Die plants me with the radishes so I will!” A-Yuan says proudly, and those within earshot laugh.

Jiang Yanli’s laughter is not unlike the gentle ringing of the bells the Jiang sect wears at their belts. She turns to him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“A-Zhan as well. Your strength is important. More than three bowls if you want.”

The reference to the rules of the Cloud Recesses is nostalgic, but not in a painful way. It is more a reminder that he will now uphold the rules as he sees fit, now that his home is Wei Ying.

They are surrounded by familiar chatter, the smell of food of a more quality fare than any at the Burial Mounds have had in some time, and the warmth of family.

He hopes this can be the sort of happiness that awaits them for some time.

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

In my culture, generally we don’t eat insects/bugs and often find it intrinsically disgusting. I’ve never eaten insects/bugs. However, my biases are not applicable to the culture I am writing into. My understanding from friends is that there are many insects and arachnids commonly eaten in China. A close friend of mine has eaten ant eggs, grasshoppers, and other insects. Another has mentioned tacos that involve insects as a common ingredient in Mexico. In China, markets often have fried scorpions on a stick, grasshoppers, and many other insects as street food for purchase.

Given life on the Burial Mounds involves a lot of scraping by, I’d imagine some of their meals involve insects, which culturally wouldn’t be unusual. Likely if there were insects in the Burial Mounds, eating them helped Wei Wuxian survive them. They’d be an important source of protein.

While silkworm pupae are often fried in peanut oil and eaten on skewers or like nuts, from my research, my friend believed the dish I concocted in here was believable. (I also researched what the taste and texture is, but decided not to include it.) She also said the dessert of mulberry millet pudding is something eaten in southern China, which I didn’t know—I just knew it sounded like it’d be delicious.

In terms of the millet, meta discussions of MDZS have involved the fact that millet was likely more common (and less expensive) than rice at rough time of the setting, so I included that.

My friend was kind enough to read for cultural sensitivity regarding the auspicious eight, adoption rites, and ancestor veneration, so I hope they read well. This is a chapter I was particularly worried about because of the cultural aspects, and I hope it reads well.

10 notes · View notes