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yong-bokk · 4 years ago

Text

all in ¹

pairing: special agent ! han jisung x reader

genre: frenemies to idiots to lovers fluff with a dash of sad

warnings: mentions of drug dealing and someone got shot

u are !! angry !!

scratch that

u are ヽ(｀⌒´メ)ノFURIOUS!!! ヽ(｀⌒´メ)ノ

ur pen magically disappeared from your pen holder. AGAIN

and this time it’s the new carrot-shaped one you just bought

٩( •̀ㅇ•́ )۶ ٩( •̀ㅇ•́ )۶ ٩( •̀ㅇ•́ )۶

u don’t need to be a detective to figure out the culprit behind this

bc it’s who else other than,,,,

“HAN JISUNG”

hyunjin, putting on his earphones: “here we go again”

“yes, love?”

GOD u wish u could wipe that cute stupid smile off his cute face

“STOP. STEALING. MY PENS.”

(○｀д´)ﾉｼ Σ(っﾟДﾟ)っ

u’re going to sue chan

why chan, u ask

bc “bickering with han jisung daily” was definitely not part of the contract he gave u when u decided to join the skz criminal investigation division

but here u are

shooting glares at the special agent sitting at his table across yours, filling in paperwork with your carrot pen

and that’s just how everyday is

he teases you all the time and takes ur things

you take revenge by stealing from his ‘secret’ lollipop stash

“STOP. STEALING. MY CANDIES.”

you, popping one into your mouth: “i literally don’t know what you’re talking about, love”

(ง •̀_•́)ง “u come near my babies again and i’ll FIGHT u”

he says that

but jisung always buys more of your favourite flavour

he'd rather quit than admit that to you though !!

the two of you bicker 24/7

and everyone else just wants you two to shut up and kiss

i mean

it’s not like u two hated each other or anything

hate is a strong word

and deep down the two of u know it’s all just friendly banter

and u know this because

there was this one time

u had to stay up late to catch up on the biggest pile of paperwork u’ve been procrastinating on

at god-knows-what-o’clock u decided to rest ur eyes

just close them for a couple of minutes,, right? (◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍)

wrong!

u ended up closing them for a good HOUR before waking up and realising that u

one: did NOT finish the pile of work u promised chan u’d hand him that day

and two: overslept and is most definitely very, very late to a very important meeting

u wanted to cry but fuck u didn’t even have the TIME to cry

just when u thought ur day couldn’t get worse

it suddenly rained hard when u were just 5 minutes away from the office

( ◞‸◟)

sorry reader

that day was just /not/ ur day

u stepped into the office shivering like one of minho’s kittens after a bath, drenched from head to toe and creating mini puddles wherever u stand

u barely sat down when jisung threw something at u

honestly u were about to yell at him but then u saw

?????

he threw u his hoodie

and sweatpants

and also the warmest towel

and u just sat there staring at him bc ur last half of a braincell was: surprised

“hurry up and go change before u catch a cold, dummy”

u would’ve smacked him for calling u a dummy on any other day

but u made ur way to the restroom and changed

jisung’s hoodie felt way better than the soaked dress shirt you had on

it he smelled nice too

u’ll never know how chaotic his heart became when he saw u waddle back to ur desk looking like the absolute love of his life in his clothes

han jisung on the outside: ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎

han jisung on the inside: ⁄(⁄ ⁄>⁄ ㅅ⁄<⁄ ⁄)⁄ AKJSDFSDFASKDJ

u also don’t know this but han went to chan that day and asked him to let u off the hook for being late that day

he also asked for half of your paperwork

but this one u found out

bc u bumped into him walking towards chan’s office holding a stack of paper with a bright yellow post-it on top of it

and your name written on said post-it

“is that,,, my paperwork?”

…………

“,,,,no?”

“han jisung”

“alrightyeahmaybe…..”

“u-u did my paperwork for me?” (˃̣̣̥^˂̣̣̥`)

“don’t think too much of it, i was uh- i was just bored WAIT WHY ARE U CRYINGKSJDF”

that was a one-time thing

but yeah u definitely don’t hate jisung

and u’re pretty sure he doesn’t hate u too

even if u purposefully annoy each other on a daily basis

“i hate paperwork”

“yn if u say that one more fucking time i SWEAR-”

“u’ll do it for me?” (◕ᴗ◕`)

“U WISH”

:(((((

hyunjin: “okay shut up lovebirds. i have good news and bad news, which one do u want to hear first”

“good….?”

“good news !! you don’t have to do paperwork”

＾ワ＾) “and why is that?”

“bang chan is assigning u on another undercover case”

“that’s not bad news hyun-“

“-with jisung”

＾ワ＾) ?????!?!???!?!?!WHAT

u physically can’t even be together with jisung for longer than 2,5 seconds without start bickering with each other

what does he MEAN chan is assigning u two on an undercover case

“which part of ‘i’m assigning u and jisung on an undercover case’ do u not get”

“IT’S LIKE U DON’T EVEN KNOW US CHAN”

“listen . it’s a one-shot mission and i’m sure the two of u won’t fuck up. me assigning two of my best agents for this case is a well-thought decision”

( ´•︵•` )

ok so the case

a new club recently opened in town

and it’s currently the most popular one bc the owner is a very famous millionaire and has his famous guests over all of the time

however

there has been a couple of reports asking the officials to check for some suspicious activities going on inside

the reports seemed valid considering how details from different sources matched with each other

but the police can’t just barge in and do a thorough check

bc the one who owns the club is kind of a big deal

so ;—;

u and jisung

dressed up in the prettiest fanciest celebrity-like fits u own

in u go

it didn’t take the two of u long before u gathered up information

all u had to do now is catch them in the act and get rock solid evidence

it was supposed to be a simple fishy drug trade in a very fancy club’s private bathroom

from one of the stalls u got clear view of everything happening

but u weren’t paying attention

one second u were done sending the pictures to hyunjin

the next second u heard jisung yell ur name and suddenly someone’s on the ground ( ｡ _ ｡ )

turns out that someone barged in, attempting to shoot u but jisung got to him first

but they both didn’t miss

jisung took a bullet to his shoulder instead of u

from then on

ur body autopiloted and everything else was a blur

u helped him apply pressure on the wound as u requested help

guilt swallowed u whole when u saw him wince a little bc he thought u weren’t looking :((

the ambulance came and chan and hyunjin followed not long after

u just let them move jisung onto the stretcher and followed silently, not letting go of his hand

:(( jisung thinks seeing u like this hurts more than his wound does

“it’s okay, i’m okay. it’s not ur fault, yn”

he gave u a smile and squeezed ur hand but u know he’s just saying that bc he doesn’t want u to feel bad and worry

if it weren’t for bang chan asking u to stay for a couple of statements,

u would’ve gotten into the ambulance with jisung

(๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑)

but u went to the hospital right after

u waited outside during the surgery and u saw him for a little while when he was still asleep

u haven’t seen him again since then

the next few days jisung was in the hospital, everything felt so… empty

the office felt so empty without jisung

u didn’t even know why u kept staring at his table

it wasn’t like he was going to pop out of nowhere

but (´•̥ ᵔ •̥`) u wish he would

hyunjin followed u everywhere and made sure to drag u away from paperwork for breaks and lunch

felix made u ur favourite batch of cookies in hopes u’ll cheer up

lee know even came in with two bags full of ur favourite snacks

“he’s not dead, yn”

but u know he was worried too

the office was just so gloomy without jisung

u can’t believe u’re saying this but u miss him

u miss bickering with him

u miss his stupid laugh when u yell out his name

u’d even let him steal all ur good pens if it means he’s going to be okay and come back

by the end of the week, chan finally had enough

“yn u know u can’t keep doing this to urself”

“do what”

“come on, if there was one thing u hate the most it’s paperworks and u've been throwing urself into that without a single complaint.. it’s honestly quite concerning”

･o･ “u… called me in bc i wasn’t complaining about paperworks?”

“we both know why u’re here >: and i’m not talking to u as ur chief, i’m talking to u as a friend >: ”

……..

“i just miss him so much…. and it’s my fault, chan, it’s my fault he got hurt like that and he kept saying that he’s okay but-“

u felt bad for bursting out to chan like that but he was the one who cornered u first so >:

u walked out of chan’s office eyes puffy and although the others probably heard, u still hoped they don’t see u like this

u were about to dash for the restroom and hide there until ur eyes de-puff but

“i didn’t know u’d miss me this much”

???

?!@#$*(!@#$)!&@#%

u whipped ur head so fast and there han jisung was wearing his cute stupid smile

normally u would’ve thought of a snarky comeback already

but seeing him there right in front of u after a whole jisungless week

and after ur little breakdown session with chan

u couldn’t help but burst into tears again and hugged him like he was going to disappear if u didn’t hold him tight enough ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

jisung bit his lip to hold back a wince but couldn’t help and let out a little hiss when u bumped into the bandage on his shoulder

“i-i’m sorry”

u pulled away a little feeling bad for hurting him but he had u in his arms once again, holding u just as tight

“i’m perfectly fine, see? i’m not going anywhere, u can’t get rid of me that fast”

(´ •̥◡•̥ `) jisung smiled so wide when he heard ur tiny giggle

his babey ! no longer sad !

god knows how long the two of u stayed there hugging

until u heard someone clear their throat

that someone being chan

“i’m sorry but can u hug somewhere else, i really need to go”

bonus:

“wait u’re already discharged from the hospital?” (• . • ?)

“i heard u missed me and i can’t let my baby miss me any longer”

“han jisung-“

“i mean, i can’t say i didn’t miss u too-“

“U STILL HAVE UR HOSPITAL BRACELET ON U DID U RUN AWAY?????!!!!”

“……..i? discharged? myself?”

hhhHHHHhhhhh

128 notes · View notes

a-singleboat · 4 years ago

Text

I Need A Hero

Word Count: 4.5k

Request: i am formally requesting an emily fic 😌 i dont want to be needy but em being lowkey but then super protective of you 🥵 angst with a happy ending would be amazing - anon

A/N: Let me know what you think! This is my first emily x reader so :D

Content Warnings: Blood, Reader getting hurt, Reader getting assaulted, kidnapping, swearing, alcohol, drugs

You should have listened to Emily. You really should have listened to her.

Emily was always just a tad bit overprotective of you, sometimes going as far as to asking you to wear a GPS device to clubs especially if she wasn’t going with you. You understood, of course. With her past and her current job, she had to make sure all her bases were covered. You were just one of them.

Though you rarely agreed to the GPS deceive, it was still flattering that she thought of you as important enough to keep track of. Usually, you’d just stick to texting her to let her know where you were. That was good enough for her.

But when she told you to stay home today, you thought that was her just being overly cautious, overly protective, as usual. You should have known better.

Turns out a serial killer with an affinity for women visibly similar to yourself was on the loose, details kept from the public due to the fact that the man was a flight risk. That being, it was painfully obvious why the “unsub,” to use Emily’s terminology, was a flight risk.

He flinched at every sound. At first, you tried to call out for someone--anyone. Well, that gained you a bloody gash on the side of your head. You didn’t make that mistake twice. Instead, you tried to remain calm and complacent--two things that Emily once said would ensure that you’d survive in a situation like this.

“Annie,” the man, Stephen, crooned. He picked up a doll from the table of toys and brought it over to you. From what you could tell, the doll was dirty and half-rotted away, as if it had been buried for a good while. He pressed it up to your face, the side coated in blood, and cooed at you. “Annie, I have Mrs. Buttercup here. Don’t cry, she’ll make it all better.”

You tried not to wince away as he rubbed the doll against your face. If Stephen wasn’t going to kill you, infection just might.

“Th-thank you, Mrs. Buttercup,” you whimpered, hands grasping the end of the armrests. The chair rocked backward as he put pressure on the doll, forcing you backward. You panicked as your feet left the ground, struggling to at least get a toe back on the solid concrete.

God, you should have listened to Emily. If you were going to die, you’d spend the rest of your immortal life regretting the choice you made to leave the house today.

Stephen looked into your eyes, searching for something. You knew all he’d find was fear so you tried your best to wrestle down your emotions. You held back the tears threatening to spill, holding your breath as he leaned in closer.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, the one not wet with your blood. You grimaced at the feeling of his chapped lips against your skin. “I-I didn’t mean to earlier, Annie. You were just being so loud and… you understand, right?”

You nodded, lip quivering as he brought the doll to your chin, tilting your head upward. He forced you to look at him, smearing blood along your jawline as he did.

After a few moments of deliberation, he let you go, the rocking chair swaying back and forth until it settled back into a resting position. “You must be hungry,” he decided, dropping Mrs. Buttercup back into the piles of toys. “I’ll go make you your favorite.”

He flinched as a loud sound came from outside--a car alarm going off. The sound made you relax, however. The sound of a car alarm meant you weren’t in an abandoned factory somewhere. You were most likely in this guy’s basement, or something similar.

Stephen gripped the sides of his head as the alarm continued, only letting go when the alarm finally shut off. He collected himself, fists clenching before relaxing at his sides. His smile returned though you can only really see his teeth in the low light.

“I’ll be back, Annie,” he said, waving at you. “Don’t move.”

The last two words were more threatening than anything he’d actually done, true menace seeping into his voice like a poison. You waited for him to disappear around the corner before allowing yourself to cry, a few tears rolling down your cheeks and mixing with the blood.

You gasped for air, struggling to keep your breathing steady. It wouldn’t do you any good to hyperventilate now. You looked around for something--anything--that could possibly be used to alert someone that you were down here.

God, how long had it been? You lost count after the first thirty minutes. There were no windows so you couldn’t even tell if it was still day. Emily was probably freaking out by now. No doubt she had somehow gotten the entire United States Military involved by now, your safety being the only thing on her mind.

Another ten or so minutes passed without Stephen. You wondered how the other victims had died. Blood loss seemed to be the only thing on your mind, unsure if your head wound had clotted yet. All you could feel was the wet of your own bodily fluid on the side of your face, which didn’t help much. Everything else just seemed numb.

Your head lolled to the side as you heard footsteps approach, unable to lift your head as flashlights combed the ground. You barely reacted as the door got kicked in, eyelids closing as two blurry figures approached you. One of the figures shouted something behind them while the other came to you, patting your face lightly in an attempt to get you to stay awake.

Unable to remain conscious, you allowed sleep to claim you as the person above you shouted more words, all unintelligible as your consciousness faded from reality.

_____

Emily never did like hospitals.

Ever since her “death,” she tried to avoid them as much as possible but now, for you, she would make an exception. She waited in the waiting room alongside her teammates. None of them knew you personally, but they all knew about you. From the stories Emily would tell to the snippets of various phone conversations they accidentally overheard, they could tell that you were something good for their Unit Chief.

She propped her elbows up on her legs, holding her head up as she struggled to stay away. You hadn’t needed surgery but had lost a lot of blood as well as suffered major trauma. The doctors weren’t allowing anyone in as they observed you for any possible signs of infection as well as any withdrawal symptoms from the drugs the unsub had used to knock you out. It was all very dramatic, the extent of your actual injuries being minimal compared to what could have happened.

“Stop worrying.” Morgan reached over, putting a hand on her knee. She hadn’t even realized she’d been bouncing it up and down, too worried about how you were doing. It had been a few hours at that point, nurses going in and out of your room but none of them saying anything about your state of being.

“She’s fine. You know this. Everything they’re doing is just precautionary,” Morgan continued. He patted her knee twice, lifting his hand to point at a white-coated doctor exiting your room. “Look, the doctor’s here now. He’ll tell you that everything’s okay.”

“Y/n Y/l/n?”

Emily stood, smoothing out her blazer. “That’s me. I’m Emily Prentiss, her fiancée.”

A little white lie wouldn’t hurt, especially not when it would get her the answers she needed.

“Well, Ms. Prentiss, Y/n is expected to make a full recovery. The trauma to her head won’t have any lasting effects. She has some bruising on her side, we think from being dropped. We want to keep her overnight to watch for infection and, of course, the withdrawal effects from the xylazine. You may see her now but you won’t be able to stay overnight with her.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Emily said, shaking the man’s hand before he departed. She turned around to face her friends. “You guys can go home, I’ll call a cab back home later. Thank you for being here for me.”

Morgan gave her an incredulous look, standing from his seat. “Emily, if you think we’re just going to leave you then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Yeah,” Garcia piped up. “We’ll be right here for you. None of us are leaving.”

“You would do the same for any of us,” Reid backed her up.

Now Emily wasn’t one for tears but upon hearing the support she got from her friends, she could feel herself starting to tear up. She took a stabilizing breath, thanking them before turning to head into your hospital room.

It was quiet. That was the first thing she noticed. Instead of your infectious laugh filling the void space, it was the steady beeping of the machine connected to your finger, ensuring that you still had a heartbeat. It broke Emily’s heart to see you like this, bloodied and bruised.

She dragged one of the hospital chairs over to your bedside, hesitating before taking your hand up in hers. It was all her fault that you were here. If her job was less dangerous, you’d have still been in your hometown rather than following her all the way to Quantico, Virginia. You probably would have already been married with five adoptive children like you always wanted.

Instead, you're here. In a hospital in Washington DC recovering from being kidnapped by a psycho that Emily most likely unknowingly brought back to your home. If you didn’t hate her after this, she’d consider it a miracle.

_____

The first thing you saw when you came to was Emily’s face full of worry, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she thought long and hard. Your hand was in hers, still limp as you slowly regained feeling in your extremities.

Very gently, you squeezed her hand, letting her know you were awake.

“Hi baby,” you whispered, your throat a bit scratchy from the lack of lubrication. As if reading your mind, she handed you a cup of water off the hospital bedside table. You took a few sips, keeping your eyes on your girlfriend as she looked deep in thought.

You set the water aside, groaning as you realized your entire side was sore. You couldn’t remember if you hit it against something. From what you knew, the only injury you suffered was your head wound, which was newly wrapped.

You looked her up and down, squeezing her hand slightly to gain her attention. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Emily bit her lip, carefully picking her next words. “Y/n… I think we should take a break.”

This came out of nowhere. Her words slammed into you harder than a football quarterback would have, stealing all the breath from your lungs as you processed her words.

“What?”

“We should take a break. It’s just--I put you in more danger than you asked for and you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve not knowing when or if I’ll come home. You don’t deserve me dropping plans for a case or forgetting your birthday because I’m working. You deserve someone who can be there and I’m sorry, but I’m not that. I-I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Emily, no. First off, you don’t get to decide what I do and don’t deserve. Second, none of this was any of your fault. I knew what your job was from the very beginning and I chose to stay because I wanted to. So what if you forget my birthday, there’s always next year and so what if you cancel plans, we’ll just make new ones. Emily, please don’t--” Tears pearled in the corners of your eyes as your voice caught in your throat. “Baby, where did this come from?”

She shrugged, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. She let go of your hand, pulling away even as you tried to keep her there. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

You couldn’t do anything as she walked out. You called for her, hands shaking as you tried to think of something--anything to say to her as she left your life. The worst part wasn’t even her leaving, you later decided. The worst part was that Emily Prentiss didn’t even bother turning around for one last look. She just left you with your broken heart scattered about the room, leaving you to pick up your own pieces.

_____

You wanted to hate Emily Prentiss. You really did.

The way she just left you leaving you numb until you were forced to feel everything as you underwent twenty-four hours of withdrawal. Xylazine wasn’t something to mess with, you knew that even before you have been drugged with it. But now, two months after you and Emily split paths, you stayed in Virginia.

Why would you move? You’d already built up a life in the state. All your friends were there and so was your job, which you had grown to love despite the overbearing mother that neighbored workspaces with you.

You knew Nancy meant well, that she just wanted to make sure you were adjusting to work well after you’d been kidnapped, but sometimes you just wanted the woman to take a long walk away from you and never return. Right now was one of those times.

“It’s been two months,” Nancy said, looking up from her computer screen. She had been finalizing her schedule for that week, boxing off the times she needed so she could go visit her son in college. “You need to move on with your life. Find yourself another girlfriend or at least go out with your friends. I hate seeing you all mopey like this.”

Nancy had a point. You did need to make an effort to go out, to go back to “normalcy” or whatever. Even your therapist was pushing you to socialize, saying that it could help you get over the recurring nightmares.

“I don’t want to go out tonight, Nancy,” you replied, trying to focus on the work in front of you. The numbers were starting to blur together but you persevered. You didn’t have much longer until the end of work. As soon as you finished the spreadsheet on the screen in front of you, you were home free.

“At least try, Y/n,” Nancy insisted. “Call up some of your friends, hit the club. Even if you don’t drink, at least try to have fun again.”

“But I have fun talking to you. Why do I need to go have more fun.”

Nancy wasn’t taking any of your shit. She packed away her things, powering down her computer. She lowered her standing desk and pulled her purse over her shoulder. “Hopefully you’ll be telling me all about your night out when I see you tomorrow morning. Good night, Y/n.”

Grumpily, you replied, “Good night, Nancy.”

You stayed at the office thirty minutes more and after a solid five-minute debate with yourself, you gave in and called up your friends. Lyndsey and Brenna both said they’d be down while Brent replied with utter regret, saying he had been roped into working the night shift.

And so you drove to Lyndsey’s to get ready, agreeing to be the DD seeing as you didn’t exactly want to get pissed drunk--especially not with Emily still on your mind.

You drove the three of you to the nearest club, showing your IDs to the bouncer and entering without a problem.

“I’m gonna get us shots,” Brenna shouted over the music, disappearing a moment later. You and Lyndsey stumbled over to a table, claiming it for the three of you as the music seemed to grow louder.

Brenna pushed through the crowd to get back to the two of you, two shots balanced in one hand with another in her other. “Y/n, I know you said you weren’t drinking but one drink can’t hurt.”

“Yeah, Y/n,” Lyndsey ganged up on you. She took the two shots from Brenna, holding the second one out to you. “Besides, Brenna already paid for it so you have to.”

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly, giving in to their peer pressure. You figured you were already out, what was one shot gonna do? You took up the little glass, counting down with your friends before knocking back the alcohol. You made a face at the taste, coughing a little as it burned a trail down past your lungs.

“Let’s dance!” Brenna cheered, pulling both of you out onto the dance floor. Laughing, you allowed her to drag you along. She pulled you both on either side of her, jumping up and down as the music pounded into your eardrums, the rhythmic beat coursing through your body.

I made a promise to you, to never let you go.

You swayed to the music, holding onto Lyndsey’s hands as she sang along. She twirled you around, causing you to giggle. Brenna serenaded you from behind, grabbing your hips and making you sway.

But now I see you're moving on and I'm still all alone, oh oh.

From across the club, your eyes connected with a familiar pair. Emily Prentiss stared you down. Around her were her work friends, all drinking their cares away. None of them realized that you were there.

Every time I say I'm happy for you I just lie, oh oh. I made a promise to you and I'm still holding on, oh oh.

You forced yourself to look away, suddenly not in the mood to be dancing. Still, you forced a smile, sticking it out for the rest of the song. As All Mine faded into the next song, you excused yourself for water. Not thinking much of it, they let you go, continuing to dance with each other.

You stumbled off the floor, accidentally bumping into a guy who looked like a frat boy from one of the colleges in the area.

“Sorry,” you apologized, stepping away. Instead of going back to clubbing on his own, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him.

“No need to be sorry, baby,” he drunkenly slurred, hands already moving down your body. “I’m Chad. What’s your name, princess?’

“None of your business,” you spat, trying to break free of his grip. Your attempts were futile, however, his grip tightening instead of loosening like you wanted it to. Memories of your abduction flashed through your mind as he placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, the feeling of Stephen’s chapped lips pressed against the same cheek causing you to freeze up.

“Please let go,” you whimpered, though your pleas were drowned out by the music. Tears started to fall as he kissed down your neck, your body frozen as he took advantage of you.

It seemed you had an angel on your side that night because Chad was ripped off you not even a moment later, your savior having torn him off your body and thrown him back a good few inches.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Emily said, placing herself between you and your assailant.

Chad squared up to Emily, cocking his head sideways as if to intimidate her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Emily whipped out her badge, shoving it into the poor fool’s face. “FBI,” she said with authority. “Now scram.”

Chad paled at the badge, most likely never having had a run-in with law enforcement before. He scrambled backward, almost knocking over a dancing couple before disappearing back into the crowd.

Emily turned back around to face you, tucking her ID back in her pocket.

“Are you okay?” she asked you with a gentleness you could almost mistake with care. You scoffed. You weren’t going to fall for that again.

“What the fuck, Emily?” you raged. “You think you can just swoop in and save the day. Newsflash, I don’t need you. I don’t need your help and I most certainly don’t need your pity. You can take your false care and shove it.”

You stormed off, not even letting her respond. You went to find your friends, who had both migrated to the bar.

“We need to leave,” you said, your voice thick with tears. You probably looked like a mess, tears streaking down your face and your body still shaking. You didn’t know if it was anger or fear.

Lyndsey must have sensed something happened because she jumped to your side the second the words came out of your mouth, urging Brenna to finish her drink so that the three of you could leave. You made your way out of the club, collapsing into the side of the building as the tears started to pour.

“What happened?” Lyndsey demanded, yanking a pack of travel tissues from her clutch and handing you one. You dabbed under your eyes, trying to salvage whatever makeup you had put on that night.

“I saw Emily,” you blubbered, accepting another tissue from your friend. “And I said something terrible. Oh, my God. She probably hates me now!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Brenna comforted you, rubbing circles into your back. “But didn’t she break up with you? Baby girl, you don’t need her.”

You were quiet. You didn’t need Emily, but God did you want her. Not a moment went by that you didn’t miss her. She was everywhere. In the dress that you kept in the back of the closet to the little clay tray that the two of you bought together that held your keys. She was everywhere.

“I just miss her,” you muttered, sniffling a bit as you calmed down. You felt ridiculous crying over a woman who made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with you.

“Well, you could always talk to her,” Brenna suggested, her hand leaving your back. She pointed to the side where Emily was exiting the club, looking around for something… or rather, someone.

At that moment, she noticed the three of you crouched by the wall. She hurried over, Lyndsey and Brenna getting up to form a protective barrier in front of you.

“Lyndsey, Brenna,” she greeted your friends. “Can I please talk to Y/n?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now,” Lyndsey said, her voice stern. You almost laughed at the thought of Lyndsey using her teacher's voice on Emily. You crumbled the used napkins in your hand, shoving it into your pocket as you collected yourself off the ground.

You put your hand on Lyndsey’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “We can talk.”

“Are you sure?” Lyndsey’s brows knit together, concern showing quite obviously on her face. You nodded, handing her the car keys. “You guys can go wait in the car. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Lyndsey looked between you and Emily cautiously.

“Don’t worry,” Emily said, “I’ll make sure she gets back to you safely.”

With one last look, Lyndsey took the keys and disappeared off to the car with Brenna not too far behind. Brenna turned around last minute, doing the ‘I’m watching you’ movement in Emily’s direction.

The two of you stood together in silence, unsure of what the first move should be. You bit your lower lip, rocking back onto your heels nervously as Emily didn’t meet your eye.

“I’m sorry,” both of you said at the same time, awkwardly laughing as you realized what had just happened. You pulled at your fingers, a nervous tic you had developed after your abduction.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. You looked up at her. “I’m sorry I went off on you back there. You didn’t deserve any of that, you were just trying to help.”

Emily shook her head. “No, you don’t have to apologize for anything. If anyone owes an apology, it’s me. I shouldn’t have done anything. You don’t deserve that and you don’t deserve any of what I put you through.”

You swallowed harshly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Emily said, chuckling as a way to diffuse some of the tension. “I’m a terrible person for what I did to you. I knew exactly what you had just gone through and I still went through with it. I made the choice for you without you even having a say and I regret that.”

“No,” you shook your head. “You’re not a terrible person. Emily, for the past two months I have done nothing but miss you. My goddamn therapist even suggested I reach out to you despite what you did. Breaking up with me while I was in the hospital was a shitty move, I’ll agree, but it doesn’t make you a terrible person. I promise.”

“You miss me?” Emily asked, her voice small. It was a change from her normal confidence. Her vulnerability and insecurity showed through her normally strong front. You couldn’t help but smile at her, taking a step closer to her.

You hesitated before taking her hand in your own. You brought a hand to her face, caressing her smooth features.

“I did--do miss you,” you admitted. “And before you ask anything else, I forgave you a long time ago.”

Emily’s head dropped against your hand, her eyes closing in an attempt to block out the tears that threatened to fall.

“I don’t deserve you,” she muttered.

You ran a thumb over her cheekbone, memorizing her features. “Bullshit,” you said, your voice low. You pulled her closer, standing on your toes so that your lips could meet. It was slow and passionate as you tried to convey all the emotions you felt for her through that simple action. Your arms looped around her neck as she reacted, pulling you in closer by the waist.

The kiss turned desperate as Emily tried to make up for the last time, tears rolling down your face as you realized everything into the abyss. You felt yourself relax into Emily, pulling away as you sobbed.

She put her hand under your chin gently, lifting your face so that your eyes met hers.

“Why are you crying, baby?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She kissed underneath your eyes, most likely tasting the salt of your tears. You couldn’t help it, the tears weren’t stopping.

“I just really missed you,” you admitted, wiping the tears away with the heel of your hand. Emily took your hand in hers, bringing them up to her mouth so she could place a kiss on your knuckles. It was the same gesture she had made two months ago before she broke up with you but this time, the message that came with them was different.

“If you give me another chance, I promise I won’t screw it up,” she said, running her thumb over your knuckles.” I-I promise I’ll work harder on being the woman you deserve.”

You hummed, resting your head on her chest as she drew her arms around you, protecting you from the world and all the evils within it.

“You already are.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@beautiful-holland @toms-order @starlightfound @lemirabitur @grandmascottlang @positiveparker @bippity-boppity-boopa @caswinchester2000

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.

1,878 words

Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.

“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”

“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”

“I am a doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”

“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.

“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.

He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”

You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.

“Did you bring the laptop?”

Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”

“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”

You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.

“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”

Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.

He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.

After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.

This was not one of those times.

As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.

You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.

It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.

***

Thirteen days.

High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.

As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.

“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”

You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”

“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.

A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.

The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.

He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.

The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.

You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.

Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.

“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.

You had barely been there for half an hour.

***

Fourteen days.

“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.

“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.

“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.

“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”

Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.

“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.

“It isn’t… pointless.”

“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”

“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”

“Stop!” he hissed.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.

“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.

“Wh-what?”

“Just… go,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”

You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.

“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”

It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.

You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.

You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.

“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”

The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #hannibal #Raúl Esparza #angst #recovery angst #hospitals #here have your daily serving of pain #my writing

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maritimeericandersen · 4 years ago

Text

Lost And Found

Grim and Max, finally, come to Swynlake.

Benedict Grimsby was awoken in the middle of the night by the piercing ring of his telephone. Normally, he would have let whatever telemarketer it was leave their shoddy voicemail about how his national insurance number had been released and go back to sleep.

But then the phone rang again. He let out a huff which then prompted Max to reply with a low woof from the other end of the bed. (That had been a war unfought. As soon as Max had stopped trying to scratch down Eric’s door and come to whine in Benedict’s room the invitation onto the bed had been a reluctant, Fine! But only for tonight.)

A hand reached across the sheets toward the harsh source of light sitting on the bedside table. He squinted at the phone screen when he had managed to pull it free of the charger. The area code was unfamiliar. Swynlake? Who would be calling him from there?

Benedict would have not bothered usually but it was the middle of the night and perhaps there was a bit of bitterness he wanted to get out for them having woken him up. “Hello?”

“Hello, sir, we’re sorry to call you at this hour. Are you Benedict Grimsby?”

“Yes.”

“We are calling about an Eric Andersen who was admitted here at the Swynlake General Hospital earlier tonight. It took us awhile to get his medical files forwarded to us, but you’re listed as his next of kin.”

He sat up slowly, pressing the phone closer against his ear. “I’m sorry, who’s there?”

“Eric Andersen?” There was the sound of papers shuffling before the woman spoke again. “White male. Born January 7th, 2001.”

“That can’t be right.”

“What?”

“I said that can’t be right,” he told her a little more forcefully. “Eric Andersen has been missing for over a year and a half. I don’t know who you have in your hospital, but it can't be him.”

“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you, sir. He was brought in by a Henry Charming who identified him.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Two years ago he would have simply trudged down to whatever hospital, knowing full well that those two boys (but mainly Eric, since the Charming boy had always seemed to have more sense to him) had gotten themselves into trouble. But now, it just couldn’t be possible. Eric was dead. Not officially, but there had been no other survivors. Everyone had told him that there had been no chance. They were too far out for anyone, even an Olympic athlete in the best shape of their life, to have swam back to safety. He was gone.

If Eric had survived he would have called. He would have come back at some point— if not for Grim than for his dog.

“Sir?” the woman’s voice called him back from his thoughts. “Uh, Mr. Grimsby?”

“I’m here.”

“Right.” A beat. “Just in case this is your Eric Andersen, he’s in stable condition now. If you would like to see him, you can.”

“Could I speak to him?”

“He’s actually still under the anesthetic from surgery, but we can always call you back when he wakes up.”

“How long will that be?”

“There’s really no telling. Everyone responds to it differently and given the extent of his injuries it may be a while. A few hours at minimum.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” He started to pull the phone away but she spoke again. “I’ll see you when you get here. Drive safe.”

The drive from Plymouth to Swynlake was supposed to have taken around 3 hours. For Benedict Grimsby, in the early hours of the morning when hardly anyone else was on the road and going well over the speed limit, it took him around 2 and a quarter.

There had been no time for him to think clearly about this whole ordeal— something that being the guardian of that wretched boy had taught him oh too well. He had packed a back blindly, hooked the harness around Max, and shoved them both into the car.

When he arrived at the hospital he didn’t know what to do with Max. He couldn’t very well leave him in the car. It may have been early morning before the sun had risen but it was still summer. So he took him on his harness into the building.

Luckily Henry Charming was there, accompanied by two girls that Grim did not recognize and didn’t care to at the moment. He put Max in their care and turned to find a nurse gesturing for him.

“Mr. Grimsby?” she asked as he approached, voice familiar. It took him a moment to place it.

“The nurse from the phone?” he countered and she smiled, nodding.

“Yes. I’m glad you’re here. Eric’s finally awake.” She turned to motion down the hall. “Would you like to go and see him now?”

The walk to the room had been all too short. He’d spent the whole drive there trying to convince himself to not get his hopes up. Benedict was a practical person. All Grimsby’s were.

But the Andersen’s had not been.

His friendship with Aiden had been forged out of a strong grip and obnoxious stubbornness to win Benedict over. It hadn’t been a miracle or an act of fate or some such nonsense people like to spin poetry around. They had been friends because Aiden had willed it into the world and Benedict had no choice but to grow fond of him.

Isla was not, by blood, an Andersen. When he had first met her she had been a Harrington. There was a steadiness to her that Aiden sorely lacked. Where he was made up of impulses and moved where he wanted, she had always been a pillar. She knew what she wanted and how she was going to go about getting it. And Aiden had followed her, all the way to the end.

That had left Eric, a product of both parts, with Grimsby.

Their will had been a shock to him. The lawyer had told him if he didn’t want to take responsibility then someone else would surely take the child. The Andersen’s had all passed, Aiden’s brother having gone long before him, but Isla still had family. He had contemplated the decision for a few days. It had been the practical thing to do, just as it would be to allow Eric to grow up among his family.

He did not know why he accepted custody. Perhaps because it had been his friends’ last wish and the knowledge that they had entrusted the life of their son to him.

There had always been doubt in the back of his mind that he was ill fit for the job. Every bruise and broken bone Eric had come back with had been allusions to this. What made it fact was when he had not come back at all.

A grand total of three Andersen’s had died on his watch. Now, one had returned and hadn’t even had the decency to call for the score to be settled.

In the time it took to get from the lobby to the hospital room he had not been able to really believe that he would find Eric inside.

But then the door opened and there he was, looking up from where he had been staring out the window. That ridiculous grin bloomed across his face, elbows moving clumsily against the cushions to help him sit up.

“Grim! You’re here!”

Benedict turned his attention to the nurse who was already making her way out of the room. The door shut behind him with a resonating click. He took slow and measured steps over to the bed.

“Look, I know you’re probably seething— and you’ve every right to be angry. I wanted to tell you. Every day! Every day I thought to myself, I need to call Grim, I need to tell him but I couldn’t.” Eric shook his head, the dark curls on his head bouncing. “How did you know I was here?”

Benedict didn’t answer, simply turned to focus on the leg that was wrapped up in bandages and sitting on a stack of pillows.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Eric waved a hand at it. “They’re making a bigger fuss of it than necessary.”

His eyes traveled up to the various tubes attached to Eric’s arms. There were the usual suspects, an IV and medication. But the one for blood told him that the boy was lying, even if he didn’t realize it.

Whatever had happened to him had been serious.

And to think, he never would have known had Eric not been brought to a hospital.

A whole calendar year had passed and then some, and Eric had not bothered to say anything.

“Grim?” Benedict blinked, eyes meeting Eric’s. He looked uneasy. An unusual emotion to find on the boy who was always so sure, so confident, so stubborn. “I know it’s bad. I know. But— say something? Even if it’s only anger.”

It was true that Benedict felt anger but there was so much more there, too. Relief, hurt, happiness, utter devastation. He did not know which one to lean on first, which one could possibly hold control over all the others in order to choose the words in which to react. They were all so loud, so demanding, he could barely think with ease.

A hand rose and reached forward to touch Eric’s shoulder. It was solid. The corner’s of Eric’s mouth quirked upward and he brought his hand up to lay on top. It had always been so easy for him. He had constantly taken Benedict’s hand or thrown his arms around the man in a hug. It was always something, that constant line of unspoken communication that he was there.

Its absence had been staggering.

Its sudden return felt worse somehow. Like a mended bone needing to be broken again in order to heal correctly this time over.

All this time Benedict had been in mourning, trying to deal with the grief of the boy he thought to be dead. It had been killing him, slowly but surely. That reassuring touch seemed to be the reminder that the both of them were still alive.

His grip on Eric’s shoulder tightened, no doubt painfully so, and he leaned forward to capture the boy in a hug. It was only then that he felt Eric’s hesitation, how it took him several seconds to bring his arms up and around to return it. But once they were there and met with no resistance, he seemed to relax, clutching on just as tightly.

“I’m sorry, Grim.” His voice was quiet now, thick with emotion.

He pulled away, hands coming up to clutch either side of Eric’s face just to look at him. Alive. Breathing. Not dead, lost in the sea like everyone had said he was. His eyes were glassy and skin pale, but it was still the Eric he remembered.

Grim shook his head in disbelief, laughing until it tapered into a sob and he had to hug Eric to him all over again. “You really delight in these sadistic strains on my blood pressure, don’t you?”

Eric laughed then too, the sound of it watery and surprised. “Are you mad?”

“Oh, I think what I’m feeling goes far beyond the scope of the English language. Enjoy it now because in several days when I get over you not being dead, I will have plenty of anger left.” With a sigh he pulled away. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You say that as if you’ve never used that excuse before.”

And so Eric told him everything. From top to bottom. About the wreck, getting saved, coming to Swynlake, getting a job, going to uni, telling Henry, avoiding Philip, Tom, and John like the plague, and getting attacked by a creature earlier that night.

“Or should I say yesterday?” Eric glanced over to the window where the sky’s dark inky blue had lightened. The sun had not come up just yet, but it was only a matter of minutes.

Grim didn’t say anything for a long time, having to mull all that information over in his mind. Again, there was too much emotion to deal with. He couldn’t remember a time he had felt so much and so many all in the span of a few hours.

“Grim?” He looked up to find Eric squinting at him. “Did I lose you somewhere?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno— like you’re the one sitting in the hospital bed with a leg that’s just been used for a chew toy.”

Grim let out a breath through his nose. With one last look at Eric he sat up, getting ready to stand. “Thank you for telling me. It seems you’ve made quite a new life for yourself here.”

Eric watched, confused, as Grim stood. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“But— you just got here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Then why’re you going? I don’t understand.”

“Eric, had the hospital not called me tonight, would you have?”

Eric’s eyes drifted away from him then, falling on his hands that were fiddling with the blanket. “I don’t know.”

Grim nodded because he did.

“But—! You’re here now! Can’t you stay?”

“Why?”

“What’d’ya mean why?” Eric scoffed. “Because I want you to.”

“You didn’t want me here before.”

“Oh my god.” He rolled his eyes, arms lifting and falling heavily against the mattress. “Is that what you think? That I ran away from you?”

“No. But you seem to be doing just fine here all on your own.”

“I’m not! I wasn’t! I would’ve cracked a long time ago if it weren’t for other people. My boss, for one. My friends, too. I wouldn’t’ve gotten where I did if it weren’t for all of them.” Eric shook his head, one corner of his mouth raised up in a half smile. It disappeared after a moment when his eyes turned back on Grim. “And you. I wouldn’t be anywhere if it weren't for you.”

“That’s not true.”

“‘Course it is. What? You think 10 year old me could have done it all on his own?” Eric snorted. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Eric—”

“I’m sorry. That was rude, I know. Shouldn’t have said it.” He sniffled, swiping the sleeve of his hospital gown under his nose and making Grim cringe. “I know you’re the one who gets to be angry here and that I’ve no right to it since I hurt you but— but you can’t just go around saying that.”

Grim blinked.

He had seen Eric upset before. Several times over and in many different ways. Frustrated over his school work. Humiliated over something that had happened at training that had gotten him yelled at. Heart broken. Grieving. Name it, he had seen it— or he thought he had. But he had never seen this.

“After I didn’t say anything those first few months I knew that when I did tell you I had to have done something. Otherwise it would have just been like every other time I called you to come get me out of something. I wanted—” Instead of finishing his sentence a shuttery breath left him and that alone stretched the moment into eternity.

Finally Grim found enough courage to ask, “What did you want?”

Eric turned to look up at him, jaw working itself for a moment until he finally relented. “I wanted to be someone that you could finally be proud of. Not just some idiot kid who ruined your life when my parents made you take me.”

Grim understood then that all those other times, all those little moments when he thought he had failed Eric, this past year and a half he had thought there was nothing worse he could have done then allowed him to walk right to his own death— it’s absolutely nothing compared to the sound of those words.

“Oh, Eric. They didn’t make me do anything. It was my choice and I’ve never regretted it, or you, for a moment.” He stepped closer to the bed again. “And I’ve always been proud of who you are.”

Eric stared at him, searching. “Really? Even— even though I barely graduated from secondary?”

“Yes.”

“Even after I broke your client’s fancy vase that one time?”

“Yes.”

“Even after I brought home that pig?”

“I do hope you’re not referring to Max.”

“And—” Eric hesitated but eventually continued. “And even though I didn’t tell you I was okay?”

“Of course I am. I may not be happy about it and I may want to wring your neck for what you put me through this past year. And you may have gone about your pursuit for the truth in a very— unorthodox way, but, if what you’ve told me is true and you have accomplished all of this here, then, yes. Yes, I’m proud of you. I always have been.”

A familiar grin blossomed over Eric’s face that transformed it into something like the sunrise about to take place outside. It was so earnest and bright Grim could not help but smile in return. “Ah, Grim, I always tell people you’re a big softie, and no one ever believes me.”

“Good. I’d rather like to keep it that way.”

“So— this mean you’re staying?”

“If you want me to.”

“Always.” Eric reached out to clasp Grim’s forearm. He turned his head, a shoulder lifting. “And I mean, if you’re not going to disown me over this then there’s really nothing worse I can do, is there?”

“Don’t test it.”

“Believe me, Grim, I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.” He tugged on Grim’s arm until he was seated back in his chair. “You’re going to love this place! Don’t worry, it’ll be great.”

Grim nodded. Odd how easy it was to slip back into their respective roles. How Eric made even the most complex of situations such as this one sound so simple. For now, Grim supposed he could believe him. “I’m sure it will.”

A pause.

“Hey Grim? Did you bring Max?”

#lost and found #the gangs all here

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doc-pickles · 4 years ago

Text

things just happened (and so did you)

I told you guys I was finishing this up! Even though it took me foreeeever, I really enjoyed writing this piece! I used to kinda hate writing pieces that follow canon episodes, but this was a fun project to work on. Hope you guys enjoy!

xoxo Nina

Her breath caught in her throat as time seemed to freeze around her, Jo forgetting about Alex and Frankie, her baby, everything that had happened today as the world around her shrunk down to her and the man in front of her.

Paul. Paul had found her.

Jo barely registered Arizona and Paul speaking, her blood pumping loudly in her ear as she tried in vain to process what was happening. Her day had been so normal, well as normal as any day at Grey Sloan, and now… Now her ex husband was standing in front of her and her boyfriend was waiting for her down the hall and she was pregnant and she had a patient that might be dead by the time she got to his room.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Jo made her leave from the tense environment she’d found herself in while Arizona was still there, but that didn’t stop Paul from grabbing her arm and staring her down.

“You go, we’ll meet up later,” Paul met Jo’s eyes and that twinkle that she’d always feared was lingering there. “It’s okay, I’ll find you.”

Her legs were the only thing keeping Jo afloat right now, her body seemingly knowing exactly where to go as she navigated the hallways of the pediatric ward. Her heart was beating out of time and her breathing was staggered, the all too familiar signs of an anxiety attack creeping up and through her body. She needed to get to Alex before she let her emotions overtake her, she needed to make sure that Frankie was okay.

“The Heparin should have helped by now,” Alex’s voice rang through the hallway as Jo approached Frankie’s room, making her heart drop. “I think I made the wrong call.”

“Wait. Heparin? No. I texted,” Amelia and Alex both turned to look at Jo, eyes wide with frantic expressions painted on their faces. “They didn't reverse him.”

A brief silence fell over the three doctors as they watched Frankie lying helplessly in his mom's arms. Jo could feel the bile rising again, begging her body to cooperate for just another minute as she settled her hand onto her stomach again, pressing a bit harder than she had before. She’d failed at the one thing that she’d tried so hard to accomplish, the thing that had driven her to run around the hospital like a chicken with it’s head cut off in search of solid answers.

“Damn it. We can't access the reversal agent,” Alex looked to Amelia, who nodded at him as they moved into the room. “Prep him to move.”

“What is it? What's wrong,” Frankie’s mom sounded desperate, Jo’s heart aching as she listened to the pleading mother.

“Frankie's AVM might be bleeding. We've got to get him to the O.R. now.”

“But the medicine you gave him,” her hands were brushing Frankie’s curls back now, staring forlornly at her son who laid pale and weak on the bed. “It was supposed to help.”

“I'm sorry. We need to go,” Alex ushered Frankie’s mom, Helm and Amelia out of the room, eyes drifting to Jo who stood in the doorway, face blanched as she stared helplessly at the scene before her.

“Hey. I'm so sorry,” Jo’s eyes flitted from Alex to her feet, the overwhelming feeling of guilt and anxiety climbing to new heights as she felt his glare. “I texted. It didn't go through. And then…”

There was a pause and Jo could feel the tension between her and Alex. It didn’t seem real that they’d just been hugging and kissing only hours ago, elated over the new journey they were about to embark on.

“And then what,” Alex’s voice was dripping with venom as he stared Jo down, waiting for an answer from her.

“Nothing. It can wait,” Jo finally looked up from her feet, teary eyes meeting Alex’s angry ones as she sucked in a deep breath. “Just go help him.”

Staring at her only a second more, Alex turned and left the room. Once he was out of sight, Jo let the sob she’d been holding back take over her body as she rushed into the bathroom and emptied her stomach into the toilet. She was almost certain she wasn’t going to make it through today.

Alex felt bad, but only a little bit. He knew that he had pushed Jo to the side as they’d rushed to get Frankie to an OR, but the combination of the rising heat and the cyber attack had begun to drive him insane. He’d apologize later, his guilt would eat him alive in the meantime. And he really did need to focus on helping Frankie right now.

Pulling his scrub cap and shoe covers on, Alex sighed as he thought about the day he’d had so far. All he wanted was to curl up in bed with Jo and hold her close, forgetting about the day they’d had and enjoying the excitement of their new future. As he let his mind wander, Alex’s gaze hovered to his right, visions of Jo vanishing from his head as his blood ran cold at the man he saw sitting next to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi. Paul Stadler,” the man’s cheery tone didn’t distract Alex from the fact that he was sitting next to a complete monster. “Orlando Medical.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Alex spit the words out, watching carefully as Paul’s jaw tensed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” Paul’s tone had an air of amusement to it and Alex had to clench his fists to hold back from punching the man. “Have we met before? You know, your face looks kind of familiar.”

Everything fell into place now, Jo’s late arrival to Frankie’s room, her skittish behavior, the sorrowful look on her face. The feeling of guilt settled heavily in his stomach now, realizing that Jo had run into Paul and he had treated her like absolute shit right after.

“You… you absolute fucking piece of garbage,” the words are out of Alex’s mouth before he can reign them in, his eyes ablaze as he stares down a confused looking Paul. “I know what you did, I know why she’s the way she is. And if I were you, I’d be halfway out the door right now because if I didn’t have Jo to think about then you’d be in a pile on the floor already.”

“Doctor Karev,” both Alex and Paul looked up as Helm’s voice interrupted their heated conversation. “Doctor Shepherd said Frankie's angio shows a bleed.”

“Yikes,” Paul smirked at Alex, his eyes alight with a devilish expression. “Don't let me keep you, Doctor Karev.”

Alex stared down Paul, not moving until Helm beckoned him again. He made his way to the scrub room, hands under the water and scrubbing harshly before he could verbalize how angry he was.

“Intern, what's your name,” Alex knew his tone was harsh, but he couldn’t hold back.

“Helm. Like ‘Hellmouth’ without the ‘outh’,” the blonde girl was tying her scrub cap and mask into place, watching Alex cautiously.

“Don't scrub,” Alex ignored the confused looks of both Amelia and Helm, continuing on. “I need you to find Dr. Wilson and bring her here.”

“You want me to call her?”

“No, I want you to find her and bring her here,” Alex stopped scrubbing to stare pointedly at Helm, eyes meeting her with a serious expression. “And don't leave her side.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. Now!”

Helm ran off then, leaving Alex and Amelia alone and in the middle of an awkward silence.

“What's going on,” Alex wanted so badly to answer Amelia’s question, to let everything that had happened that day out and into the open, but he couldn’t. He knew that once he started talking that the words would never stop. He needed to focus. Focus on Frankie, on Jo, on their child. All of them were innocent in this and all of them were now at risk if he blew his lid like he so desperately wanted to.

“Nothing, let’s get in there.”

Jo couldn’t breathe, she was gasping for air and clutching her chest by the time she made it outside. How had this happened? How had such a happy day turned into a living nightmare for her? She’d pissed off Alex, possibly killed a little boy, and her abusive ex husband was running around Grey Sloan right now.

Trying to contain her emotions Jo took a steadying breath before heading back inside. She needed to focus on something, anything else, before she drove herself to insanity.

“Heat getting to you?”

Jo hadn’t made it more than 30 feet inside the hospital before running into Doctor Webber. She probably looked like death, she’d been crying and throwing up for the past half hour.

“Yeah.”

“How is it I never knew you studied under Paul Stadler,” just the sound of his name sent Jo’s mind spiralling again, one hand coming up to wipe the sweat collecting on her forehead.

“Uh, it's a... long story,” Jo’s head was swimming now, her vision spotty as she reached out for the counter of the nurses station.

“Wilson,” Webber’s hand was on her arm then, the feeling of another person bringing Jo back down to earth and calming her slightly. “You feeling okay?”

If only you knew the half of it. Jo had to restrain her word vomit explaining her pregnancy and her past with Paul and the horror and fear climbing up her throat at an alarming rate.

“Yeah I just need to sit down,” her voice was weak, her body was weak, and all Jo wanted was Alex, who was angry with her and in a complicated surgery, to come and hold her. She’d never had another person to turn to when she’d been with Paul before, but now that she did Jo found herself craving his presence.

“Let me help you, come on,” Doctor Webber led Jo to a chair, watching carefully as she settled her head between her legs. “You want me to page Karev?”

“No! No, he’s in surgery,” Jo was quick to push off the suggestion of Alex, not wanting to bother him while he was working on Frankie no matter how much she wanted him there with her. “I’ll be okay, I swear.”

“Doctor Wilson.”

Jo’s head popped up nervously at the sound of Helm‘s voice. She’d been with Alex and Frankie, what the hell was she doing here?

“What is it?”

“Dr. Karev said I had to find you and bring you to him,” Helm wrung her hands awkwardly as she looked between Jo and Webber “And I'm not allowed to leave you alone.”

Helm’s words made Jo’s stomach sink as the realization that Alex had seen Paul floated into her mind. Alex knew he was here and he hadn’t killed Paul and all he wanted was for her to be with him. An odd combination of fear and relief flooded Jo’s chest then, her breaths coming out quietly as she met Helm’s gaze.

“Oh shit…,” Jo nodded and stood, Webber’s hand coming to help her. “Okay let’s go Helm. Thank you Doctor Webber.”

Jo walked behind Helm, hand cupping her stomach gently as she felt a small wave of relief rush over her. She would be fine facing Paul now because she knew that she had Alex by her side.

Alex was radiating nervous energy as he and Amelia worked on Frankie. They’d gotten him into the OR fast enough that there was no major damage, calming Alex only slightly. He’d sent Helm out over 45 minutes ago and she still hadn’t returned.

“Shunt's in,” Amelia's voice brought Alex out of his reverie, their eyes meeting momentarily. “Nice work, Karev.”

Alex’s eyes flitted behind Amelia, finding Helm in the scrub room as she motioned towards the door. She’d found Jo.

“Can you finish this up,” Amelia fixed Alex with a pointed look, her blue eyes begging him to explain what was going on with him today.

“Alex, what’s happening?”

“Nothing, family emergency,” Alex looked to Helm again, her nervous energy doing nothing to calm his frayed nerves. “I’ll explain later. It’s just… I have to go.”

“Then go. Frankie is in very capable hands here.”

Alex thanked Amelia once more, knowing he’d have to explain to her later exactly what was happening. Ripping off his mask, Alex began to scrub out, eyes flitting to Helm.

“Where is she?”

“The on call room down the hall,” Helm watched Alex as he scrubbed, waiting for him to say more. “Anything else sir?”

“No no, you’ve been great,” Alex eyed Helm then turned back to his hands. “Scrub in and see what Shepherd needs for the rest of the day.”

Heart pounding, Alex left the scrub room and let his feet pound loudly down the hallway as he raced toward Jo. He burst into the first on call room he found, finding Jo pacing nervously across the small room. He didn’t miss the involuntary flinch of her body as her eyes darted up to look at him.

For a long moment, Alex and Jo stood across from each other saying nothing. Jo’s features were clouded with fear, her brows furrowed as she wrung her hands. Alex could feel the tension radiating off of his own body as he finally broke their brief silence.

“Hey.”

“I ran into Paul, before Frankie’s surgery,” Alex watched as Jo’s face remained unchanged. Instead her eyes focused on him and his demeanor.

“Yeah I figured.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine, I’m okay,” Jo stumbled over her words as her eyes met Alex’s for the first time. That seemed to break Jo’s trance, her tears finally beginning to fall down her face as she shook her head. Her fingers clutched at her scrub top, her hand resting uneasily on her abdomen as she began to sob in earnest.

“Come here babe,” Alex moved forward and pulled Jo into his arms, her body falling weakly into him. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to either of you.”

“He’s here and he’s going to ruin me again and I-I… I can’t do it again. I have this baby and this life and and you. ” Jo’s desperate cries grew louder as Alex tightened his grip on her shoulders, pressing her closer to his chest. “I can’t fight him again. I have too much to lose.”

Alex pressed his lips into Jo’s hair, working to calm her cries as his hands rub her back slowly. He’d seen her cry before, hell he’d made her cry before, but the distraught sobs coming from her now were different from any of that. Jo had never told him exactly what had happened with Paul, only sparse details here and there. But he’d held her when her nightmares got to be too much, he’d seen the way she reacted to the domestic abuse victims they handled, he knew that today was her worst case scenario.

“You’re not alone, I’m not letting you do this alone Jo,” Alex kept his voice low and calm, Jo’s face still pressed against his chest. “We can do this however you want, but I’m not leaving you no matter what. You’ve got me and Mer and dozens of other people in your corner, okay? Nothing is going to happen to you or our baby.”

Alex’s hand slid from Jo’s back to her stomach, a mirror of his actions earlier when he’d looked at the pregnancy tests she’d handed him. Just hours ago, things had been so good for them and now… well now Alex could only pray that the day ended well.

They stay in each other’s arms for a while longer, not exchanging any words but just taking time to rest in each other’s embrace. When they finally leave the on call room, Alex and Jo bump into Meredith, who drags them into an empty patient room and gives them some unfortunate news.

“I just operated with Paul Stadler,” her eyes instantly flit to Jo, who’s face blanches as she turns to lean over the waste bin in the corner to vomit. “Well I’m assuming you already knew he was here.”

Alex’s hand is on Jo’s back in an instant, fingers gently rubbing circles as she continues to vomit. Meredith eyes the two for a second, taking in Alex’s unfazed expression before gasping in shock.

“Oh my god! You- oh god,” Alex looks up at Meredith, whose eyes are wide as she takes in the sight before her. “Oh we’ve gotta get rid of him, this is not good.”

“Yeah no shit Mer,” Alex turns back to Jo, who’s standing upright now and leaning into his embrace. “How do you want to handle this? We’re playing by your rules.”

“I want to be divorced,” Jo settles her head on Alex’s shoulder. “I want to never see his face ever again.”

“Well then, I'm coming with you for that,” Alex insists.

“No, you are not going anywhere near him,” Meredith interrupts, both Jo and Alex looking at her. “Alex, you nearly killed a man you thought was hurting Jo. I don’t think you should be near Paul again.”

Jo’s eyes move from Meredith up to Alex, a silent conversation happening between the two as Meredith stared on. Finally Alex spoke up, looking pointedly at his friend, “I’m not leaving Jo’s side until that bastard is out of this hospital. And that’s final.”

“Okay fine, but I’m coming too,” Meredith glances between the two before letting out a sigh. “Someone has to make sure you both make it out of this ordeal.”

Alex hesitantly leaves Jo to round on Frankie, leaving Jo and Meredith to keep themselves busy while trying to avoid running into Paul. The last thing either of them want is an awkward confrontation, especially one that might set Alex off.

“Today was so good and then everything just… crumbled,” Jo groans as she lays back on the couch in the resident’s lounge, eyes closing as she settles a hand onto her still flat stomach. “The last thing I imagined was him showing up and now it’s my reality and I just don’t think I have it in me to fight back this time.”

Meredith stares at Jo for a moment, eyeing the young resident as she takes slow steadying breaths. She lays her hand on Jo’s shoulder, speaking in a steady tone, “You are amazing, you’re brave and resilient and you haven’t come this far to just come this far. You are Jo Wilson, I know exactly who you are.”

Jo peaks her eyes open to look up at Meredith, tears glistening in them as she stares at the woman who used to kick her out of bed. Her heart warms a bit at the thought of Meredith thinking so highly of her, but she pushes it down and offers up a thank you instead.

“Hey, he’s down the hall,” both Jo and Meredith look up to see Alex standing in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at Jo. “I uh, saw him when I was leaving Frankie’s room and Arizona’s with him… He’s got the divorce papers and everything, just waiting for you.”

A sudden wave of fear washes over Jo, the certainty she’d felt regarding her impending divorce now leaving her as she looks up at Alex. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wanted to be done with Paul and that chapter of her life, but facing him, even with Alex and Meredith by her side, still scared her shitless.

“Come on, I’ll be right next to you the whole time,” Alex steps forward and extends his hand towards Jo, waiting for her to grasp it before pulling her up and into his arms. “In just a few minutes, this will all be over and you’ll never have to see him again.”

Jo nods, knowing Alex was right and that once she signed her name on the papers that she would finally be free of Paul Stadler once and for all. She would be able to move on, to finally accept Alex’s marriage proposal and take his last name like she’d wanted to since the first time he’d asked her to. Jo would finally have control over her own life, that thought alone pushing her out of the room and down the hall towards the room that Alex led her too.

“Ready?,” Alex asks, squeezing Jo’s hand once more.

“As I’ll ever be.” Jo and Alex walk into the room, Meredith standing outside the door to keep watch. Arizona smiles at the duo, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Jo takes a breath and settles herself into the chair across from Paul, eyes meeting his in an act of unexpected bravery as she spoke, “You have the divorce papers?”

Paul’s eyes move from Jo to Alex, his throat clearing as he looks up at him, “Uh, if you wouldn't mind, Dr. Karev, I'd like to have a moment alone with-”

“Actually, I do mind,” Alex’s voice came out harsh and cold, taking on a tone that Jo hadn’t heard since she was an intern. “I'm gonna stay right here.”

“Okay then,” Paul sighs, turning back to Jo and gesturing towards the papers between them. “Let's get this done, shall we?” Jo reaches for the stack of papers, grabbing a pen and signing the pre flagged pages before passing it across the table. Her eyes flit up to Alex, who met her with a small smile. She could feel the relief already coursing through her as she watched Paul signing the same pages she had. When he finishes and folds the pages back, Alex reaches forward and grabs the stack of papers.

“We've got it. It's faster this way.”

“I'm really happy for you, Jo,” Paul meets Jo’s eyes as he stands, fingers drumming along the table in a way that makes her heart clench. “I hope this brings you... some real peace. You deserve it. We both do.”

She almost leaves it at that, almost lets him walk away with no words said, but she couldn’t. Jo stands, eyes blazing as she speaks to Paul, “You don't deserve anything good. You're a monster.”

“Glad to see nothing has changed,” Paul spit, turning around with an all too familiar glint of anger in his eyes. He twists towards Alex, voice still dripping with venom. “You better watch out, she can be a real piece of work.”

“I know her well enough without your twisted view clouding my judgment,” Alex spat back, taking a step towards Paul as he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side.

“Okay, walk away, Dr. Stadler,” Meredith walks into the room then, standing right inside the doorway as she watches Alex and Paul stare each other down.

“No, no. She is a liar. She is pathological. I mean, what kind of woman changes her name and disappears on her husband without a word,” Paul’s bitter tone carries through the room, echoing the nightmares that haunted Jo as she stares at him in horror. “Do you know what that did to me? What that did to my reputation, to my career?

“You are... torture. You are hell. You walk around and you ruin lives, and no one ever stops you. They... they just believe you. 'Cause why? 'Cause you're pretty? 'Cause you're sweet,” Paul slams his hands onto the table, Jo involuntarily jumping as he leans towards her. “Your looks will fade one day, Brooke. Your looks will fade, and you'll be left with the truth. And you point fingers at everyone else around you, but you're the monster.”

“Okay that’s enough you need to leave,” Meredith’s stern tone finally gets through to Paul, the man leaving the conference room without another word. As soon as he ‘s out of sight, Jo collapses into a fit of tears, Alex wrapping his arms around her shaking body as she sinks to the ground.

“You did great, it's over now,” Alex whispers, eyes watching Meredith exit the room again. “You did good babe, you never have to see him again.”

Jo nods, but can’t stop the trail of tears flooding her cheeks. She thinks that maybe she’s crying in relief, her body finally coming to terms with the fact that this is well and truly over.

It’s over.

Almost ten years on, Jo finally feels the relief and comfort of writing Paul out of her life. Her mind flashes briefly to the night she’d finally left, the fear that still gripped her heart as she made the decision to walk away and never look back. She wishes desperately that she could tell that girl, scared and alone and bruised Brooke, that things would be okay. That she’d find a man who loved her, who cared about her and gave her the stability she’d been deprived of for so long.

She knows she’ll never be able to turn back time and console herself, but Jo takes a small amount of comfort in the fact that the little life resting in her womb will never have to worry or fear like she had for so long.

#alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #jolex #jolex fic #jolex fanfic #jo x alex #greys fanfic #greys anatomy #nina writes

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years ago

Text

Beautiful Mess Part 9

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @mrs-jack-murphy, @not-john-watsons-blog, @simmisblog, @mirkwoodshewolf, @assembledherethevolunteers, @thosequeenboys, @lv7867, @maymacca, @rethought, @brianslittlepet, @jinxy93, @stephydearestxo, @mrcleanisthicc, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @readinghorn, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @reedusteinrambles, @borhapqueen92, @1204-moonchild If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: I’m so sorry this update took so long! Things have been crazy between dance, my niece being born, my grandmother getting surgery, and then I got sick! I hope you all enjoy this next part :)

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

Part 9 here we go!!!

AIDS.

Your head spun with how hard that hit you. You didn’t know much about it, only that it was essentially a death sentence. There was treatment, but no cure. How? How had this happened to Richard?

Several emotions went through you. Shock at the news that Richard was gay. Hurt that he had this diagnosis. Anger that he was cursed with this. Devastation because you were going to lose him. Sooner or later, he would succumb to it. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, at a complete loss for words. What could you say?

“I’m so sorry,” Brian said.

That didn’t feel like enough.

“Thank you,” Richard replied. “Y/N, I...I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry. I’m still going to take care of you.”

You found your voice at last.

“Jesus Christ, Rich,” you said, barely audible. “You come in here, tell me you’re dying, and you’re worried about what’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, there’s no use worrying about myself,” he said. “I know what’s going to happen to me.”

You heard bitterness and anger in his voice as he said it, though it bubbled just below the surface. Richard was not an emotional person, so even if he wanted to scream and cry about this, he never would.

“What do you mean you’re going to take care of her?” Brian wondered.

You were hit with a wave of gratitude for him. He was moving the conversation where it needed to go instead of lingering on this terrible news. His lack of emotional attachment meant he could be logical and get the information. You, meanwhile, were still frozen with shock.

“I’m leaving everything to her,” Richard explained. “My entire share of my inheritance will go to Y/N upon my...departure.”

This snatched you out of your daze of grief.

“What?”

Richard looked at you.

“You have been the one person who really cared about me, Y/N,” he said gently. “You saw me as a person, even more than my mother and father, who looked at us as pawns. Means to an end. Everything I have would have been yours anyway.”

You blinked back fresh tears.

“Hold on,” you said. “You’re talking like you’re going to die tomorrow. There’s treatment and -”

“I’ve turned down treatment,” he said.

Your hand snapped to Brian’s. You needed something to hold onto or the continuous blows from Richard were going to knock you on your back.

“W-why?” you breathed.

“I don’t want to prolong anything,” he began. “I don’t want to drag out my life when there’s no point. I’m going to meet my fate head on and with dignity.”

You weren’t quite sure what to make of that. Did he think that was some sort of bravery? You felt like he was being selfish. But it also felt like it was selfish of you want to keep him here when he could be at peace. What was the right way to feel right now? Too much was happening all at once.

“That’s not all,” he said.

“Don’t tell me anymore,” you winced, and you felt Brian squeeze your hand. “I’m about to fall apart as it is.”

“This isn’t too terrible,” he said and a small smile flashed briefly across his face. “I’m going to the estate in Switzerland to live out the rest of...well, the months I’ve got left.”

“Months?” you questioned.

He nodded. “I want to have some peace and quiet and...solitude. I’ll get word to you when I think it’s close, and I hope you’ll be there with me when…”

The thought of it made your heart feel like it was being clawed to bits.

“I’ll be there for you, Richard,” you promised.

It was the last thing you wanted. But you felt you owed him that much. He cleared his throat and got to his feet.

“I’m sorry to have utterly ruined your morning,” he said. “Especially after the recent events. I’ll let you take all this in.”

“When do you leave for Switzerland?” you asked quickly.

“In a month,” he answered. “That gives me enough time to get my affairs completely in order.”

“Alright…” you trailed off.

A surge of emotion was brimming up inside you.

“I’ll see you, Y/N,” he said, getting to his feet and striding over to you. He leaned over and kissed your forehead. “Please don’t be sad for me.”

You could only nod. You could hardly even look at him. You heard the door close, and he was gone. Part of you wanted to call him back. You needed every moment with him you could get because soon enough he wouldn’t be here.

Brian’s voice pulled you back.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You shook your head as your lower lip began to tremble. Then, you completely broke down. You fell into Brian, who just gathered you up in his arms and whispered comforting words to you while you sobbed. He held you tight, stroking your hair, and showing you the utmost love and support. All you could do was wail and soak his shirt with your tears.

It was several minutes before your breathing evened out enough where you could talk. Even then, it took you a while before you could get any words out.

“I’m sorry, Brian,” you whimpered. “I’m such a mess...everything is such a mess.”

“Dove,” he began, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “You’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.”

You half smiled at that.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He leaned forward and kissed your lips sweetly.

“You’re not a mess,” he said simply. “You’re human. A lot has happened to you lately. You’re allowed to cry and be upset. This is a lot to take in.”

You tried to smile, but it faltered. Then you let yourself rest in his embrace. You remained on the couch for hours, holding tightly to Brian because he felt like the only solid ground left. Everything else was crumbling beneath you.

The next day, Brian returned to the studio. You went with him, not wanting to be alone. Cat came along too, which delighted Freddie when you all arrived. They were also thrilled to see Brian, and embraced him warmly. Freddie and John greeted you, but Roger still seemed to be holding a grudge. You understood it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Roger was one of Brian’s best friends, and you wanted him to like you.

“Welcome back, mate,” Roger said warmly to Brian.

“Thanks,” Brian returned, same as he had with John and Freddie. “Have I missed much?”

“You’re going to love what we’ve done with Roger’s song, darling,” Freddie began, and he led Brian away, leaving you alone with John and Roger.

“How are you, Y/N?” John asked politely.

“Alright,” you replied.

You were still reeling from everything Richard had told you.

“Look, I wanted to apologize to you both,” you said, deciding to just rip the metaphorical band aid off. “I know I’ve put Brian through a lot, even physically - he could have died that night - and it’s hurt you guys as well. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” John said. “But to be clear, Brian May will die when I’ve killed him out of petty malice and not a moment sooner.”

You both chuckled.

“Thanks, John,” you said, and he nodded. You looked at Roger.

“I…” he began. “You hurt him really badly, Y/N. I’ve never seen Brian this...I dunno, this affected by someone.”

You looked down. If only Roger knew how deeply you felt his words. You still had some of that guilt placed on yourself.

“I understand,” you said. “I know I acted selfishly. But please believe me when I say I will do everything in my power to keep Brian from getting hurt again. I love him so much. Honestly, Roger, I’ve never been this affected by someone. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Brian and I plan on spending the rest of my life showing him that.”

Roger heaved a sigh as he looked at you. He ran a hand through his blonde locks and bit his lip.

“Just...take care of him, okay?” he said. “He’s the most absentminded fucker in the world, and he needs someone to look out for him.”

“I’ll guard him with my life,” you promised, a smile slowly forming across your lips.

Roger stuck out his hand, and you shook it. He was hesitant, but willing to accept you for Brian’s sake. That was the best you could hope for right now.

The band got to work, and you watched them. For a moment, you were transported to a place where you had no worries. No Richard, no store, nothing. It was just music. Before meeting Brian, you had never had an appreciation for rock music. But he showed you now and during the show you attended that it could help anyone escape for a time. Seeing them all work together and create such a sound was a pretty incredible thing to watch.

As the hours passed, you became more restless. The urge to occupy your mind with your own work was overwhelming, but you had not seen the shop in days. When the band took a break for lunch, you told Brian you were going for a walk.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he wondered.

For the first time in days, you wanted to be alone.

“I’m alright,” you said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you but he didn’t argue. You slipped your coat on and disappeared down the hall before popping out the door. The frigid air felt refreshing on your face. It was crisp and sharp. You walked down the street and saw the shop before you normally would have. There was still police tape around the window and glass littered the sidewalk. The window was covered by a large piece of wood. It looked like it was shut down permanently.

Your heart broke at the sight. It looked so...sad. Standing alone, dark, and empty. All those books with no eyes on their pages. You took your keys from your pocket, unlocked the door, and went inside.

This sight was even worse. Glass was still all over the floor. The spot where Brian lay was still stained dark from where he bled. There was also spatter from the confrontation by the counter. And drops leading from where Brian was laying to the front door, showing the path he’d stumbled when the intruder let him go.

You also noticed that the place was still decorated for Christmas. The holiday had passed nearly a week ago, when you and Brian were still hiding away from the world. You hadn’t even realized. You normally loved Christmas, and spent it with Kimballs, caroling and opening presents. Would you ever find that kind of joy again? You hoped so.

Without really thinking about it, you began to take the Christmas decorations down. Although, you found yourself avoiding the back of the shop. As painful as it was to look at the ruined front, a fear of another ambush plagued you and it was as if an invisible wall confined you to the front half.

You packed all the Christmas decorations into a box. Then you retrieved cleaning supplies from the bathroom and started to wipe away the stains. The police had given you the go-ahead for this, since they had already collected the evidence they needed. You started over by the counter, wiping up the intruder’s blood first since it was easier. You tossed the rags in the bin. You took a brush over to the place where Brian lay.

As you knelt down, you tried not to picture the way he looked that night. How the color slowly drained from his face and each time he winced with pain. You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head, forcing the image away. You began to scrub. Back and forth and back and forth. The suds turned red, and yet there was still more stain.

You dunked the brush back in the soap bucket and started again. The brush swished over the wood, soaking it with warm soapy water. Still the stain remained. No matter how hard your pushed or how many times you scrubbed that spot, it would not come out.

Tears of frustration stung your eyes. Just when you were ready to start screaming, the bell on the door tinkled. You sucked in a terrified breath and whipped around to see who it was.

“Sorry,” said Brian. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You…” you trailed off. “You didn’t. I just...how did you know I was here?”

“Well, you were taking so long, I figured there was nowhere else you could be,” he said. “I just...knew you wanted to be at the shop.”

You sniffled.

“I can’t get this stupid spot up,” you confessed.

You dropped the brush and it clattered loudly to the floor.

“Well, it’s had some time to soak in there, hasn’t it?” he replied.

A beat of silence passed between you.

“What’s the usual turnaround rate between everything falling apart and when you need to start picking up the pieces?” you wondered.

“I think that depends on the person,” he answered.

He sat beside you on the floor.

“I wish I wasn’t so…I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know what I am right now. I feel sort of numb.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “You’ve lost a lot. And you’re going to lose another big thing, you just don’t know when.”

“I can’t even clean up my shop,” you said.

“You don’t have to right now,” he told you.

“I want to,” you insisted. “I want to start feeling normal again.”

“You mean you want everything to go back to the way it was,” he said.

“Yes, exactly.”

“It won’t ever be that way again, dove.”

You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I know,” you said quietly.

He kissed the top of you head.

“I love you very much, Y/N,” he said.

“I love you too, Brian,” you returned.

You looked up at him and he kissed you properly.

“Come on,” he said when you broke apart. “Come back to the studio. Cat misses you.”

You smiled. “Well, I can’t very well leave him alone, can I?”

Brian helped you to your feet and you left the shop, locking the door behind you.

Over the next few days, you returned to the shop for short periods of time, getting it back together in small doses. That way, you didn’t get overwhelmed again. You arranged to have it open again after New Year’s, when the new window would be installed.

Brian helped in any way he could, but you insisted he prioritize the band. He had surely missed a lot, and you didn’t want his work to suffer for your sake. Besides, now you had your whole lives to be together. Two days before New Year’s Eve, you had just put the final touches on the shop, when someone walked in. You turned, expecting it to be Brian, but your great surprise, Charlie stood in the door.

“P-papa!” you gasped. “I...It’s good to see you.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so absent, Y/N,” he said. “But as you know, Susan and I have had quite a shock from what Richard told us.”

You looked at the floor.

“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t -”

“I’m not here for an explanation,” he said. “What’s happened has happened and we cannot undo it. Even more important, Richard cannot change who he is.”

You waited for him to go on.

“I…” he took a deep, shaky breath. “I know that my son is going to die and I know the reason. I also know he still plans to leave everything to you.”

You swallowed.

“Is that alright?” you wondered.

His eyes watered as he gazed at you. “Oh, my darling girl. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You both stepped forward and embraced. Relief washed over you. So, you had not lost as much as you thought. Charlie forgave you. You still had your family.

“You really forgive me, Papa?” you asked.

He stepped back and looked at you.

“No,” he said with a chuckle.

You frowned, brow furrowing at him.

“Because, Y/N, there is nothing to forgive,” he explained with a soft smile. “It’s me who should be doing the apologizing.”

“What?” you wondered. “What on Earth for?”

“Because we forced you and Richard into something neither of you ever wanted,” he said. “And in doing so, doomed you to a life devoid of happiness. We were so desperate to appear like these great lords with their old money, that we forced some archaic tradition onto our own children. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Oh, Papa,” you sighed, hugging him again. “There is nothing to forgive.”

You held each other for a long moment. A lot of unsaid things went into this embrace. With his arms, he showed you that his love for you was unconditional. You did not have to marry Richard to be Charlie’s daughter. You already were. You had been for years.

At that moment, the bell chimed again. This time it was Brian.

“Y/N, I couldn’t find the -” he stopped dead when he saw Charlie. “Oh. Hello.”

Charlie smiled. “Hello, Brian. I’m glad you’re here.”

Brian looked confused. “Are you?”

“I am,” Charlie assured him. “I wanted to invite both of you to me and Susan’s New Year’s party. If you’re sticking around, Brian, we’d like to get to know you better.”

Brian’s precious smile claimed his lips.

“Well, I plan on being around for Y/N forever,” he said. “So, I’m pleased to hear it.”

They shook hands and started talking. You watched, feeling steady on your feet at last. It wasn’t just you and Brian on a little piece of land by yourselves. There was a way forward. A clear path that was forming in front of you. Now, you were stepping into your future together. Despite all the terrible things you’d experienced and heard the last few weeks, you had that to look forward to.

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #brian may x you #Queen #queen imagine #queen fanfic #queen x reader #queen x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x you #beautiful mess series

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years ago

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Fic: Together Again (3/3)

Summary: Woven Beauty. When Detective Weaver is shot in the line of duty, the hospital calls his estranged wife, Belle. As she waits for news, listening to the messages he left her that night, she reflects on what drove them apart and wonders if they can reconcile.

Part three written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt: “Scars are just another kind of memory” (quote)

Rated: T

Together Again: Part Three

It was the perfect hour of stillness and dark, and Belle smiled. Tilly was sleeping soundly in the room next door, giving the occasional squeak or sniffle, but never stirring. The moon through the half-open venetian blinds cast silver strips of light across the bedroom, and John’s fingers were tracing pictures and patterns over her bare skin as they lay in the cooling, the bedcovers kicked off onto the floor and their nightclothes discarded along with them. It had been the first time they’d made love since Tilly had come into the world, the wait lengthened by Belle’s recovery from her surgery, but the months of abstinence had most definitely been worth it.

She smiled as John ran his fingertip along the pink line at the bottom of her abdomen, usually hidden under her waistband. Tilly had steadfastly stayed the wrong way up, and nothing the doctors had tried could make her turn head downwards. Like both her parents, she was a stubborn thing. A c-section had been the best way for her to be born safely, and Belle could still remember the fear and trepidation she’d felt as she stared up at the operating room ceiling, numb from the waist down and holding John’s hand so tightly that she was certain she was cutting off his circulation. He hadn’t complained, though, just squeezing her hand whilst telling her that it was all going to be all right. It had taken her back to when he’d been recovering from surgery himself and she’d been the one in the chair by the bedside, offering hands to hold and soothing reassurances.

Belle rolled over onto her side to face her husband, reaching out to touch his own scar, just below his ribs. He’d been lucky; the bullet had managed to miss all his major organs.

“Matching war wounds,” she whispered. “The marks of life.”

“I think we wear them well.”

They were like memories, in a way. Like memories they were stark when they first appeared, and over time, they faded, the pain and trauma becoming more and more bearable until it was all in the past, but never entirely forgotten.

“Sometimes I can’t believe how close I came. To losing you forever.”

“I know.” John took her hand where it was still resting on his scar and brought it up to kiss her fingertips. “Sometimes I can’t believe how close I came, to losing everything forever. If I’m ever having a bad day, all I have to do is think about this scar, and it reminds me of everything that I have that makes it all worthwhile. A gorgeous wife, a beautiful daughter. In the end, I don’t need anything else. Well, a pay rise would always be nice, of course.”

“Yes. Now that our little one’s finally here, I think that we’ll be needing every spare bit of cash we can get. We’re going to spoil her rotten, you know.” Belle slipped her arms around John, throwing her leg over his hips and pressing in as close as she could, never wanting to let him go.

“No, we won’t.” He ran his hand down her back. “You’ll be sensible like you always are. I’ll spoil her rotten.”

“She’s going to be such a daddy’s girl; I can tell already. She’s got your nose.”

“I know, I feel I ought to apologise to her now for that. At least she has your eyes to make up for it.”

“I’ll have you know that I happen to think your nose is very attractive. Don’t put yourself down.” Belle nuzzled her nose against his, and she was about to go in for another kiss when Tilly began to cry in the room next door. Belle laughed, burying her face in John’s shoulder.

“Who was it who said that a baby was the most effective form of contraception?” she mumbled.

“A wise, wise person.” John kissed the top of her head and unlatched her limpet hold on him. “I’ll go.”

“She’s probably hungry.” Belle looked over at the alarm clock. “It’s coming up for her normal time to want a feed. You’ve kept me up, Detective Weaver. I should have been asleep hours ago.”

“Ah, that may be, but you can’t deny that you enjoyed being awake at the time.” John grabbed his pyjama pants out of the mess of sheets and nightwear on the floor and put them back on, giving her a wicked smile as he left the room. Belle turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as she listened to her husband crooning softly to their daughter. Her fingers found their way back to her c-section scar, still so fresh, a permanent link to Tilly tattooed on her skin more effectively than ink could ever match.

A chill ran across her, although whether it was the cooling temperature, or the memories of the surgery, was up for debate. As happy as she would have been not to move, she got up and started setting the covers to rights, finally getting everything straight just before John brought the still grizzling Tilly into the room. She was nuzzling against his chest, and John chuckled.

“No, I’m the wrong parent for that, love. But it’s ok. Mama’s here.”

Belle took Tilly from him and offered her breast, and Tilly latched on greedily. John got back into bed beside her and Belle leaned back against him, reminded of her thoughts when she had first seen him in his hospital bed after the shooting - he was not particularly tall or broad, but he’d always been solid, grounded, like a sturdy tree that someone had planted that no-one would budge. He’d always had a presence that made her feel safe and supported.

Perhaps that was why she had been so very afraid when she had come so close to losing him forever; although she had always known that his job was unavoidably dangerous, he had always been so strong and stoic, he had always been there, and she simply couldn’t imagine a world in which he was not. Even though they had been separated at the time, she had at least known that he was around, and she’d always had the hope that they would reconcile eventually.

She moved Tilly to her other breast, stroking her daughter’s cheek as she nursed. Everything about their daughter was perfect, but Belle knew that she’d get her own set of scars as time went on. As much as she wanted to wrap her precious child up in cotton wool and keep her safe from everything that the world could possibly throw at her, she knew that it would be impossible. Maybe she was worry-mongering, but even now, she could foresee grazed knees and elbows from falling off bikes and climbing frames. Even only a few months old, Tilly was outgoing and precocious, fascinated by the world around her outside of her pram. Whoever said that taking babies for walks got them off to sleep had never met Tilly Weaver, who would stare for hours on end in rapturous wonderment at birds and butterflies and even just the clouds above her. Oh, to be so young and in awe once more, able to see all of life’s beauty and none of its darkness.

Tilly finished and gave a tremendous yawn, but Belle didn’t want to put her down just yet. Somehow, she always felt like she could never hold Tilly enough. John had been the first to hold her after she’d been born, and Belle’s feelings had always been mixed about that. She would never want to admit that she was jealous of her husband getting to hold their baby before she did, because he’d tucked Tilly in beside her just a couple of minutes later whilst they were still stitching her up, but before plans had changed and they’d had to go for the c-section, she’d always envisaged holding her as soon as she was born.

Now that she was here in the world and they were all together and not in an operating theatre, Belle wanted to make up for those two minutes of lost time. John sometimes joked that he never got to hold the baby now.

It was all right now. He was holding her, and she was holding Tilly, so it all worked out. She looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled; he was as mesmerised by Tilly as she was.

“Did you ever think that we would make it this far?” she asked. “I don’t just mean when I got pregnant and all the fall out that came from that. I mean when we first met. Did you ever think that four years later, we’d be sitting here in our bed in our apartment with our daughter?”

“I’m not sure. Not from the moment we first met. It was more gradual than that. But soon enough I knew that you were going to be the one I would spend the rest of my life with.” He paused. “I never expected to be a dad, you know that. I never expected that I would be a good dad, at least. I still don’t know whether I am one.”

“You’re doing fantastically so far. We’re never going to be perfect. We’re both learning. But we can make it work, I’m sure of it. We made us work, after all, and now that we’re both working together to make parenthood work, well, I don’t think that there’s anything we can’t do.”

Snuggled in against Belle’s chest, Tilly gave a squeaky yawn and smiled as if in agreement. Yes, they would all be all right, and the scars that they gained along the way would only make them stronger.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #woven beauty #Belle French #Detective Weaver #Tilly Weaver #Fic: Together Again

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disappearinginq · 5 years ago

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New Bingo Card

Crankiness is apparently a powerful motivator, but so are awesome people randomly swinging by with words of encouragement.

Currently, the fandom is Magnum, PI, but I plan to add in some from Prodigal Son over the break.

Fic can be found on AO3: Found Family

and FFN.net: Found Family

and below the cut:

Rick tugged at the stiff collar of his dress blues for the umpteeth time, stretching the starched material a little further every time. The fabric no longer lined up to make an even line, and the top button was in danger of popping loose. His face was starting to itch from his five o’clock shadow, and the colonel had made it abundantly clear that he was to shave before they were picked up by their escort, but after 18 months and 11 days of no shaving, he just felt naked without at least some scruff.

Besides.

Clean shaven he looked like he was 12.

Well, used to. The rounded features he’d had almost his entire adult life that had bartenders carding him well into his thirties – a source of never ending amusement for Nuzo and TC and a shared affliction for Thomas – were gone. They’d been out of the Valley for almost four months now, but weight and muscle were slow to return.

“Why in the fuck do we have to stay in our dress uniforms for this bullshit?” he grumbled. The uniforms were never what one would call roomy but now they just felt like woolen weighted blankets slowly suffocating him. With the high collar, it felt like a really weak guy trying to strangle him all day. It didn’t allow for slouching or raising arms or even stretching, and Rick had to resist the urge to gnaw on the collar that jabbed uncomfortably at the underside of his chin. “Why do we even have to do this bullshit?”

TC heaved a long suffering sigh of someone who’d had to explain to a whiny toddler one too many times already – “because we’re a big deal. People want some good news for a change, and we’re it.”

“If people want a happy story, they can fucking watch the Hallmark Channel,” Rick growled. “This is the last of things I want to do on my To Do list.”

TC played along. He looked utterly unbothered by his uniform, the new Major insignia gleaming in the midmorning sun. “Oh yeah? What’s above it?”

“Chug a bottle of bleach, for starters,” Rick said.

The abrupt bark of laughter at his shoulder was worth the dark scowl from Nuzo and TC.

Thomas looked better than he had, but that was a pretty low bar. The same missing baby fat from Rick’s cheeks hollowed out Thomas’s entire face, making him look gaunt and worn. His hair was still too long for regs, but the admiralty let it slide, if only because Thomas wouldn’t let anyone close enough with a pair of scissors to cut it. He still wasn’t talking much, and rarely strayed any further than a few feet from any of them, but at least he was mobile. And alive.

He fidgeted with his pristine white uniform, pulling absently at the sleeves every few minutes to cover up the still healing skin graft scars.

“That’s a corker of a To Do list, brother,” TC said easily. “Anything else?”

“Well, if we’re still talking ‘Things I Would Rather Do Than a Press Tour’, then I’m going to have say eating a nest of spiders, getting kicked in the teeth by a mule, having recreational surgery to remove a testicle,” he animatedly counted off on his fingers as he prattled off worse and worse things, ignoring Nuzo’s eye rolling and TC’s look of abject disgust while watching Thomas’s smile grow to the point it crinkled the corners of his eyes. Worth it, Rick thought.

“Is there anything actually fun on this list of yours?” TC interrupted before Rick could come up with worse things.

“Food,” Rick said. “I plan to eat myself stupid now that we’re out of that godforsaken hospital. And I’m sorry, but German food is not my thing. I want an Americanized pizza, with something gross for toppings. I want whatever the hell that thing is,” he pointed to a six foot tall advertisement for something pink from Starbucks. “I want an all-American hot dog made from kangaroo meat and old boots.”

“That is not what hot dogs are made of,” TC sighed, making a face. “Shut up before you ruin all the things I’ve been looking forward to.”

They were sitting in the VIP lounge of LaGuardia, waiting on a ‘personal escort’ to some talk show – Rick honestly hadn’t been paying any attention when the general spoke. Fallon? Kimmel? SNL? Something that was supposed to impress him, and instead all Rick heard was ‘the first time you’ve been on American soil in over two years, and for the next six weeks, we have your entire lives mapped out for you – where you eat, where you sleep, who you talk to’ and he couldn’t shake the feeling it sounded suspiciously like they were still prisoners.

Just fewer bars and indoor plumbing.

They hadn’t been home in over two years – Rick hadn’t been state side in almost three. He’d been in the middle of back to back tours when they were captured. He almost forgot what it sounded like to hear people speaking primarily in a language he understood.

But his nerves were far from soothed just stepping onto American soil. They’d spent weeks in Germany recovering, trying to undo the damage done in a year a half, and Rick felt like it was like slapping a new coat of paint on rust – looked pretty on the outside, while everything still rotted away underneath.

They were flown first class from Bagram. Well, first from Bagram to the UAE, and then to the USA. The comfy seats didn’t mean much when he had to sit in the most uncomfortable uniform ever made for thirteen hours, with the military escort reminding them they weren’t allowed to drink in uniform.

When Rick had threatened to strip down then and there, the escort had relented, but he’d caught the exaggeratedly disappointed looks from the stewardesses. He’d smiled as they refilled his drink when out of the blue the thought struck him so hard he’d flinched, almost spilling it – would they still smile if they saw the scars?

He’d avoided any further attempts at conversation with them, just the general pleases and thank yous for service and tried not to throw up.

Nuzo laughed, interrupting the dark line of thoughts. “You idiots are gonna be the one doing the junket, not me.” He elbowed Thomas with half his usual force and tried not to let the hurt show when Thomas still noticeably flinched. “I guess married man, father of one doesn’t interest the people like three singles ready to mingle.”

“Don’t be hatin’ ‘cause we have the celebrity looks,” TC joked, fussing with his own dress blues that were still pristine.

“Yeah,” Rick piped in, slinging his arm around TC’s shoulders. “Look at these mugs. We’re gorgeous. And you somehow still have a bald head despite being stuck in a cave for 18 months and 11 days without access to a razor. Who would you want on camera?” He smiled broadly.

“It’s because Lara said no,” Thomas said quietly, before Nuzo could reply. He barely met Nuzo’s gaze, dark brown eyes looking away even before they connected. “And everyone is afraid of Lara.”

Nuzo stared for a moment. They all did. It was the first attempt at humor – actual humor, not dark, gallows jokes that made the therapists scribble madly in their notebooks to up his meds – since the Valley.

The ghost of Thomas’s former grin faltered, those same dark eyes that spoke more than the man did himself these days shifting away suddenly as he bit his lip, suddenly unsure if he’d overstepped an imaginary line.

It was more than a little crushing to see someone who once spoke so freely stop and second guess almost everything they said. Even to their friends.

Rick saved him.

Seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. But it gave him a purpose – a mission. And isn’t that what the counselor kept saying returning servicemen struggled with? A lack of purpose in the absence of mission?

Guess they were saving each other still.

“Thomas has a point, Nuz,” Rick said. “Lara is a lovely and terrifying woman. No fair getting her to spring you.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Lara, love of my life, sun in my sky, to whom the angels pale in comparison, is intimidating enough that she can bully an Admiral into letting her beloved husband out of an unwanted assignment?” Nuzo put a hand over his ribbon rack, mouth opened in feigned shock before shrugging one shoulder in agreement. “Damn right she is.”

The frightened rabbit look faded slowly from Thomas’s expression as they continued to banter back and forth, the familiar rhythm of their teasing soothing frazzled nerves better than any therapy. It worked in the cave, it worked at the airport.

TC and Nuzo were still talking, Rick occasionally butting in with an opinion that no one asked for or needed, just to keep things lively. But mostly he kept an eye on Thomas.

Thomas, whose attention waned easily these days, and more often than not, drifted back to less pleasant times. He fidgeted in place almost constantly, clenching and unclenching his hands, only following the conversation when voices were raised and even then, only to make sure it wasn’t a danger loud, before staring off into space again. The press conference they’d already had in Bagram was a nightmare – everyone wanted to talk to Thomas.

And Thomas held his own for a while. He really did. But the questions started to get a little too personal. Once he’d answered about finding something that let him help people, now that they were being early retired from their military service, the reporters took it as an invitation to ask him more invasive and personal questions that somehow also still made political statements out of it – like “Does that mean you don’t agree with the US’s involvement with Afghanistan?”, or “Do you believe that the military presence isn’t helping people?”

Rick was all ready to come to his brother’s aide, but TC beat him to the punch with a solid, rumbling: “You’re gonna ask a man who went through hell to solve a war that’s been going on since before we left Africa as a species?”

The following “get fucked” that even had flustered Thomas laughing because TC rarely ever swore, even in the Cave, probably had more to do with the abrupt end to the questioning, but…eh. It was worth the ass chewing from the higher ups.

Now he was starting to fidget again, despite the familiar bantering, pulling at invisible threads on his uniform as he tried not to make the constant rolling of his shoulders obvious.

“I’m bored stiff. You wanna come take a walk around the airport?” he asked, already heading for the door to the lounge. “Get some air? Stretch these legs? I think I’m losing circulation to my feet in these things.”

“Sure,” Thomas agreed, practically jumping out of his seat at the invite. “It’s stuffy in here.”

It wasn’t, but Rick let it slide. He held the door open for his friend, sending a quick ‘okay’ sign behind his back towards Nuzo and TC, letting them know he had this one.

The airport was crowded, but not claustrophobically so. The concourse was packed with people waiting for food and flights, the enormous floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the tarmac for people to watch incoming and outgoing flights making the crowd tolerable.

Except for the part where people stared at them as they walked around.

It had nothing to do with who they were – Rick doubted that many people really watched the news. But the military dress uniforms were eye catching. Something that he never minded in the past, but now felt like he was under a microscope. He found himself walking closer than necessary to Thomas, studying the ceiling with closer intensity than it probably warranted.

“I don’t think I can take this for another six weeks,” Thomas said, so quietly Rick almost missed it. Rick hadn’t been paying all that much attention, preoccupied with his own feelings of being under a microscope, but now that he actually looked at Thomas, he wasn’t looking so hot.

The damage done by the Taliban was a slow recovery. Damage done by raging infections and Thomas’s own recklessness was even slower. Long walks winded him still, but now Magnum was looking positively gray.

“I know…I know what we did was important,” Thomas said softly. “But…I don’t want to keep reliving it. Letting people ask us like it’s some part of a movie, or somehow entertaining. And the more I try to convince myself that these people…” he gestured absently with a flick of his hand that made him wince. “They’re the reason why it should be worth it, the more I keep thinking of that press release, and the more…the more I hate it.” The more he hated them.

Rick considered it for a long moment before replying, trying to channel his inner TC to find something that might actually mean something. “We took an oath to stand against all threats, foreign and domestic. We signed up to fight for them. Not to suffer for them. You don’t owe them more than you’ve given.”

Thomas shrugged like he didn’t believe him but was too tired to argue. The higher ups made the press tour a non-optional request. As long as they were still in, they were supposed to ‘obey the orders of those appointed over them’.

What was irritating was that Thomas used to have no problem telling the chain to get bent when needed. Or just pretending like he didn’t hear them in the first place. He even said some unpleasant things to the Taliban holding them prisoners, but now…now he just didn’t seem to have it in him to complain.

Like someone had snuffed that spark.

“But first things first – I’m getting out of this monkey suit.” He veered abruptly into the clothing store, boasting hoodies with ‘I heart NYC’ in every color imaginable and Yankees and Mets gear stacked to the ceiling. He almost gagged when he saw the outrageous pricing, but hey – he had back pay for a year and a half of hazardous duty coming his way. He could afford it.

They were supposed to stay in uniform while traveling, according to the military.

Well, they could go fuck themselves, Rick thought darkly. If he was gonna be gawked at, it was gonna be because people thought he was an overcompensating tourist – not a Marine who just returned from hell.

“Here,” he tossed Thomas an overpriced t-shirt. “Take that. I’ve never been more appreciative of airlines catering to the idea that at least half their customers have lost all their stuff in customs, but I am getting out of this uniform, and so are you.”

Thomas stared blankly at the plain black shirt in his hands. Rick watched as he carefully traced scarred fingertips over the soft fabric, touching at the collar before fingering the sleeves that would only come to just past his upper arm.

“It’s softer than dress whites,” he conceded. He almost headed for the changing room before he stopped, glancing back the racks. “I need something with sleeves,” he pointed out hesitantly.

Rick nodded his chin towards the display of hoodies. “Take your pick. Personally, I dig the pink one, so if you’re not down for looking like twinsies, pick a different color.”

Thomas laughed at that. Rick had never been ‘conservative’ when it came to civilian clothes – mostly because it annoyed everyone else, but as more than one woman had told him – ladies liked a daring man with more color in their wardrobe than that of Johnny Cash.

Their obscenely expensive clothing bought and tags ripped off, they headed back towards the lounge where TC and Nuzo were probably beginning to wonder where exactly they wandered off to.

Rick’s stepfather once told him ‘clothes make the man’, and for the most part, Rick flatly ignored him. But the change in Thomas was…tangible.

Dressed in jeans which cost more than a car rental, shoes better served for a teenager on a skateboard but were the only ones soft enough to accommodate sensitive scar tissue, and a hoodie two times too big for him, Thomas actually looked…relaxed.

No one was staring at him. No one even batted an eye as they walked past them – not even the ones who’d openly stared at the dress uniforms not twenty minutes earlier.

It was like they were invisible.

For the first time in a year and a half, no one paid any attention at all to them. Not to demand questions of them, not to decide who they were going to take away to the Pit, not to mock from behind bars, not to question whether they’d followed the doctor’s advice or if they’d eaten anything that day.

Nobody cared.

And.

It.

Was.

Marvelous.

“Like a magic cloak,” Thomas half whispered in awe. He still tugged at the long sleeves of the sweatshirt, but they were long enough he could actually pull the ends over his hands, hiding the scars completely.

It also made him look like he was fifteen.

But there was a kindling light in those dark, expressive eyes, and that was all that Rick cared about.

“Told you,” he teased gently, opening the door back to the lounge.

There was an indignant squawk of abject betrayal when TC saw them in civilian clothes.

“Really, guys?” TC gaped, a hand of mock betrayal going to his chest. “You gonna do a brother like that?”

Rick huffed. “Like we would leave you hanging.” He tossed a bag of clothes at the pilot, who caught them deftly in one hand before peering suspiciously inside. “No, I didn’t get you pink. We decided yellow was more your color anyway.”

“What in the hell is this?” TC demanded, yanking out a bumblebee yellow button up. “TM, is this your doing?”

Thomas shrugged innocently. “There’s a limited selection in the big and tall in an airport.”

TC scowled without anger. “Sure.”

“Nah, the kid’s right – you had your pick of that or lime green. I don’t know why they think a 6’2”, 240 pound man needs to be more noticeable, but it’s what you get,” Rick defended, even as Thomas shot another scowl his way at the mention of age.

“Nothing for me?” Nuzo asked. “I see how it is.”

“Your wife and kid are coming to pick you up in like an hour – don’t pretend like Lara and Jake aren’t going to have a change of clothes,” TC pointed out. “Watch the youngin’s – I’m getting out of this clown suit.”

Before Nuzo could protest, TC was out the door with a speed that belied his size.

Nuzo shook his head, then quickly darted his gaze back to Thomas who was looking out the floor to ceiling window at the parking lots, not paying them any attention. He met Rick’s gaze, cocking his head to one side, questioning.

How’s our boy?

Rick held a hand out and teetered it back and forth. Not great. But not terrible.

“Any word on our hurry up and wait status?” he asked aloud. Their flight had been bumped back in Dubai – they arrived two and a half hours ahead of schedule, and Lara and Jake had to drive up from Virginia Beach to pick Nuzo up. The others were left waiting – as per usually with the military – until someone filed paperwork to get them a ride. Their escort was supposedly off conversing with the USO representatives, but that was over an hour ago, and Rick not so secretly hoped they’d been forgotten.

“No news yet,” Nuzo answered, glancing at his phone.

Having phones again was just weird now. How fucking handy would it have been to just reach into a back pocket and call for help?

TC practically kicked in the door when he returned, grinning like an idiot, holding his arms above his head like the statue of Adonis. “I can move my arms again,” he crowed. He rolled his massive shoulders, relishing the freedom of movement out of the restrictive uniform. He pulled at the hem of the large shirt. “You know what, I ain’t even mad about the color. I look fantastic. I’m getting more of these when I get…”

The word they all dreaded died in his throat.

Home.

The only one who even had one was Nuzo, and even that came with its own perils. Trying to readjust after deployment was hard enough on married couples. Readjusting after…everything…seemed like an unwinnable purgatorial task.

“I guess this is just a temporary patch job, huh.” TC faltered. He glanced down at the bag that now held his carefully folded uniform. “We’re going to have to get changed again as soon as the guards – escorts – come back.”

Thomas flinched at the word guards, his shoulders coming up quick and sharp as he ducked his head, automatically making himself smaller than he already was. Somehow, it was made worse by the oversize sweatshirt – perhaps because it made him look even younger than he already did.

Nuzo had mentioned going to Hawaii back in Bagram, when Thomas quietly admitted he wasn’t ready to go home. But none of them had anything set up in Hawaii, either. Not for another six weeks, at least. The older man had reached out to Robin Masters, hoping the former journalist would be willing to help out the man who’s life made him a millionaire that owned half the island, but he’d only reached a very polite but very firm assistant who informed him that Mr. Masters was very busy on world tour, but she would pass along the message but couldn’t guarantee when he would be able to return the call.

“First of all, if they want me back in uniform, they’re going to have to wrestle me back into it,” Rick declared, crossing his arms over the Yankees emblem on his shirt. “And I plan to go out like a honey badger on meth.”

TC raised a questioning eyebrow at the metaphor but shrugged one shoulder in agreement. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“What if…”

All three heads turned to Thomas.

The younger man had one palm up against the window, fingers splayed out on the cold glass as it fogged around his hand. But he wasn’t looking up. He was looking down at the parking lot. At the rental car return lot.

They waited patiently.

“What if…we ran away?” Thomas asked, voice hesitant and barely above a whisper. “What if we didn’t wait around for them to decide for us? What if…what if we just left. We could just...go. Anywhere. Anywhere we wanted to.”

He shot a glance over his shoulder back at the group that was so cautiously hopeful, the first real spark back in his eyes since last September – and Rick realized he would’ve agreed to anything that kept that look on his friend’s face.

“I’m down,” he said immediately, before glancing back at TC. “Could use a pilot though.”

“Hell, yeah.” TC tossed his bag to Nuzo who caught it one handed. “Cover for us?”

Nuzo smirked. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll get Lara to do it.”

Fortunately, LaGuardia had an overabundance of rentals available, and while Rick pointed out the flashy sports cars in the lineup, TC argued against being forced to sit in the back seat with his knees up his nose at any point of the trip.

“Then don’t sit in the back!” Rick protested, pointing out the sport car again.

“I am supposed to believe that you and Thomas aren’t even once going to want to both be up front at the same time?” TC shot back and pointed to the SUV that looked like it would be better suited for a drive by or government agencies.

“What about this one?” Thomas asked.

The car had no business being there. It was almost fifty years old and completely out of place amongst the minivans and crossovers, but there it was – a 1968 Chevelle convertible, in mint condition.

“I think someone just parked it in the wrong spot, buddy,” Rick said. “I don’t think it’s a rental.”

Thomas leaned over the passenger side door, fishing into the glove box. “No, look,” he said, holding up a piece of paper. “It is a rental. It’s from Auto Classics Enterprise, apparently.”

“It gets like six miles to the gallon,” TC pointed out. “We’ll need to refill twice before we even get out of the city.”

Rick glanced up at him. “You got somewhere you need to be?”

“Just stating facts, bro. Though…” he considered the front seat and back. “It is pretty roomy.”

“It’s got class,” Rick agreed. “And leg room. Not to mention zero to sixty in six point four seconds.”

“We’re in downtown Queens, Orville. We’ll be lucky to see anything about 13 miles an hour until we get out of the city.”

“Why you always gotta be a negative Nancy, Theodore?” Rick asked, squinting up at the larger man before hissing: “Who hurt you?”

“I’m a realist,” TC corrected. “And one of us has to have at least one foot on the ground while you got your head up in the clouds.”

“There’s no roof,” Thomas interrupted, making both men stop mid argument. He looked sheepish, like he hadn’t meant to say anything aloud, but couldn’t take it back. “I’m just…sick of walls, you know? Of not being able to see out. We can get a different one, I just…” he shrugged, offering a faint echo of his normal Cheshire grin. “Something without a roof?”

Rick and TC glanced at each other. It’d been hard to deny Thomas anything even before they were captured – he was just that kind of guy. He called in a million favors, but he racked them and stacked them the same way some people stacked bodies. Everyone always owed Thomas because Thomas was always, always giving something. Hard to deny became impossible – especially since lately, he asked very little.

Rick sighed, held one hand out, palm flat and his other hand clenched in a fist on top. “On the count of three?”

“Nah,” TC grinned, giving Rick an affectionate shove. “You’re enlisted. I know your ass is broke, back pay or not. I got this.”

“That stings.”

“Not as much as your empty wallet.”

Poor investment or not, the car was what they needed. All of them, not just Thomas.

Rick was always a bit of a car fanatic – he liked anything that’s entire existence could be summed up with a robust vrooooom. And he could find one anywhere – no one was entirely sure how or where he’d drummed up a 1935 Rolls Royce in the middle of the Helmand province and most were afraid to ask.

TC appreciated anything with a solid engine and good mechanics under the hood that could accommodate his large frame.

Even the stop and go traffic of downtown New York couldn’t do anything to deter the animated conversation from the front seat.

“Isn’t this the car from Dukes of Hazard?” TC teased, easing the classic further out of the city while Rick had a minor coronary over it most certainly was not, how could you spin such lies?

He hadn’t been to NYC in decades, and he’d honestly forgotten how quickly the city disappeared once they were across the bridge. It didn’t exactly up and vanish in the blink of an eye, but as they crossed from New York into Jersey, the sky scrapers and towering apartment complexes with convenience stores and neon lights gave way to suburbia, the hill houses of the Palisades Parkway offering glimpses of the Hudson between the billion dollar homes as they cruised along to nowhere in particular. The million dollar homes became farm houses and ranches, vast expanses of green instead of concrete jungle and the rumble of steady traffic faded away to the occasional semi rig or farm truck. The roar of the wind dulled as they dropped from 60 to 30, winding their way deeper into the state forests of upstate Jersey and lower New York.

It was hard to believe that less than an hour from one of the largest cities in the US was rolling farm lands.

Shit, there were even cows.

Rick scrolled continuously through the radio channels, changing the station as soon as an ad came on or he heard someone talking instead of music. “You know, you would think in a year and some change, someone would’ve come along with more talent than Justin Bieber.”

“Talent isn’t what makes that kid famous,” TC argued. “Pop music hasn’t been about the music since the 70’s.”

Rick grumbled under his breath as he continued to tweak the dial back and forth before finally stopping on “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”, cranking the volume several decibels.

TC shot him an incredulous look. “This is what you stop on? This is what says bro trip to you?”

Rick smirked, putting both hands up in ‘white dude shuffle’ pose, the closest thing he could get to dancing while in the front seat of a car. “When men are confident enough to write songs about their friendships, then I’ll put those on – but until then, Cyndi has us covered.”

“You gonna sit there and deny, to my face, Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend’, or Bill Withers’s classic ‘Somebody to Lean On’?” TC demanded. “What about ‘You Got a Friend In Me’?”

“The theme song to Toy Story?! How is that better?”

“How is it not better than an 80’s women power ballad? TM, back me up here!”

When Thomas didn’t respond, TC risked a glance in the rearview as Rick whipped around as if he expected Thomas to have vanished from the backseat while they were driving.

But he was still there, sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Head tilted back against the seat with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses, arms above his head as he played with the wind currents like his hands were paper planes, lost in his own little world.

The dark shadows under his eyes from months of sleepless nights were lost in the bold noon day sun, and his clean shaven face looked years younger without the stubble and lines from worry and illness.

A smile as wide as the sky above them plastered across his face.

For the first time in forever, Thomas looked…well, like Thomas.

“Play whatever you want, guys," Thomas said without looking up. His too-large sleeves pooled around his elbows, and he didn’t seem to care, despite the still healing scars plainly visible. “The sun is warm. The grass is green. Today is a good day.”

#found family bingo #i decided to be nice to my characters #for once

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italicwatches · 7 years ago

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My Hero Academia, season 2 - Episode 24

So last time was…Heavy. Let’s see how things go from here. It’s My Hero Academia, episode 24! Here we GO!

-PREVIOUSLY ON My Hero Academia, Deku finally got through to Shoto and got him to own everything he’s capable of. It just took three of his limbs and all of his fingers to do it.

-Opening!

-PRESENTLY ON My Hero Academia, everyone in the crowds are talking about what just happened, and trying to get their take on Deku…Much to Katsuki’s deep, deep frustration. While Shoto goes to get backstage, and finds his father waiting for him. His father, who wants to see him join up at last…

-Yeah no. He’s still his own man. He didn’t give up anything. He just, for a single moment…Forgot you even existed. It remains to be see how he feels about what that was like for him.

-Episode 24: Fight on, Iida

-To the nurse’s office, where Deku…Deku’s rough. Recovery Girl can’t even properly heal him right now, she has to do plain old fashioned surgery to put things in enough of the right place that he’ll come out of the healing okay. His leg’s in a brace, both arms are in casts and slings…She’s going to have to remove tons of bone fragments and get his body to rebuild the structure for his right arm, and it’s not going to match what was there an hour ago.

-At least No Might is properly horrified, and has no response he can offer to justify…Any of this. Recovery Girl makes one thing clear; this cannot be praised. This cannot be encouraged. Deku is the kind of kid who will shatter himself against the rocks to clear a path for the sea. And that cannot be allowed.

-Which is when like half the class bursts in, all panicked about poor Deku’s condition. And sidenote, they don’t even recognize No Might. And they also get kicked the fuck out so she can work on Deku.

-Who wakes up enough to apologize to No Might. To beg forgiveness for not being able to make the kind of show that his idol and mentor wanted him to put on, the kind of debut he was supposed to…If he hadn’t reached out to Shoto, then…

-…No. Not even that. He was just…He was just so frustrated, and…

-No amount of regret will change what happened, Deku. …But your desire to help someone you saw in pain…Don’t let that slip away. That yearning to help others, that’s what makes a hero.

-Next round. Tenya’s got to get his head in the game, up against plant girl! And he puts on a ferocious RecriproBURST, whipping behind her and then just shoving and shoving until she’s out of bounds! Well that was over quick.

-Fumikage is up against Mina…Who has a panic, and her own slime proves her downfall when she gets knocked right out of bounds while trying to slide and get some speed going…Up in the stands, Ochaco is still deeply worried about Deku, considering they heard the word surgery and all…

-Speaking of, Recovery Girl has knitted Deku up enough to slap a healing kiss on him. Good news, he can walk. Bad news…His right hand is a mess of scars and things not quite looking right. Also, you have officially hit your limit. She is not healing one single more self-imposed injury on you, young man.

-When Deku leaves, he’s…Well, let’s walk through what’s still there. His left leg is covered in bandages and I think he’s got a safety boot on. His left arm is in a cast, and his right is in a sling, and his ribs are bound up. He can’t even wear his uniform shirt, he has to drape it over his shoulders like a tough bad-boy delinquent.

-And as he’s leaving with No Might, he has a question…You came here to find a successor, originally, right? This place, full of all of these people who strive so hard, who…

-You want him to pick someone else.

-…Yes.

-That’s not how it works, Deku. The children here are full of potential, yes. Amazing, wonderful potential. And One For All could enhance any of them. It cranks whatever you have. Someone like Shoto would be…He’d change the world, one way or another, with that kind of strength.

-But strength isn’t all that matters. …He was Quirkless too, you know.

-And Deku just stops, as he takes that idea and processes it…And No Might admits, it wasn’t as rare when he was born, but it was still pretty rare. His own predecessor had a Quirk before One For All, but yet, that man believed in him…Gave him the chance. He saw so much of his younger self in you when they met, Deku…But your heart, your earnest heroism, is like nothing he ever managed at your age. You will surpass him. You will be a hero that will inspire an entire generation! They just have to ensure the rest of you can keep up with that amazing heart.

-…Yes sir!

-Meanwhile in one of the waiting rooms, Tenya goes to call his brother and tell him how things are going…But Tensei’s phone is off and giving his ‘I’m on a mission I’ll get back to you later’ voicemail. …He can only hope his brother is doing well.

-Cut to Tensei, calling out orders as he moves fast…Only to get a vibe. Their target, he felt it…! And he calls the full alert! On his location! He’s found the Hero Killer!

-Back to the arena, where Kirishima and Katsuki fight. Funny story. True story. Being made of solid stone makes air explosions less effective. Also, Steel Guy wants to see Kirishima kick ass for the sake of all of the strong-body Quirk types out there!

-While Deku gets out there to see things going…And also Tenya finds him there. They get to talking, and Deku brings up Tenya’s brother Ingenium…Sadly, his brother’s hard at work. But that’s fine. Tenya wants to be able to surprise his brother with the news of how far he gets…And he can only hope he gets to show the man who inspired him so thoroughly, the 1st place trophy.

-Back down in the arena, Katsuki manages to get a solid blow in on Kirishima, who can’t keep his body solid forever…So Katsuki just keeps pouring on the attacks from different angles, until Kirishima goes down, unable to keep his defenses up!

-Which brings us down to the semifinals…And Tenya’s next match is up! Deku manages to get down to the stands and join the rest of the class. And it’s Tenya versus Shoto!

-Tenya can’t negate any of Shoto’s tricks…But that’s fine. He’ll just have to use raw speed! So as soon as the ice comes, Tenya kicks himself into high gear…Only to get left between two wide walls, only a quarter of the arena to work with… So he pulls a ferocious leap into the air, and then kicks his engines up in midair to redirect! With only ten seconds of engine time, he manages to get a solid, ferocious whipping kick onto Shoto, and put him on the ground!

-Shoto counters with more ice, trying to freeze up the field and catch Tenya in it…But even as he lands, Tenya grabs Shoto up, and kicks his engines on full burn to go for the edge of the arena! Don’t try to draw it out, don’t try to do it clean, just follow the rules and get him out. He gets…Far…But not far enough, as his engines suddenly lock up!

-They’ve been frozen, and then while he’s stilled, Shoto pours on more ice, wrapping Tenya up before he can stop it! And Tenya’s just left with the raw frustration, of not being able to show his brother that victory…

-His brother, who lays still, cut into deep by this Hero Killer, who sees them all as frauds and mockeries of heroism…

-Back in the arena, it’s the next match, Fumikage versus Katsuki. Dark Shadow can barely endure against the bright flames of Katsuki’s explosions, and it’s got him on the backstep…Until Katsuki manages to get behind Fumikage…And figuring out the Dark Shadow’s limits, he kicks off dozens of tiny explosions between his hands for a blinding burst of light, his Stun Grenade!

-The result is a mess of smoke and chaos…And when it’s over, when the smoke clears, Katsuki has Fumikage on the ground! The match is over, and Katsuki has the victory…Meaning the finals will be between Katsuki and Shoto. The reactions throughout the audience is all over the place, but the working heroes especially are super excited…And that’s when Tenya gets a phonecall.

-…A call from his mother…

-THE call.

-The one that every working hero’s family fears.

-His brother was downed, by this blade-wielding villain that we then cut to…And who draws his sword immediately upon the entrance of Kurogiri, the shadow man. Who wanted to meet and have a chat with the Hero Killer, Stain…And in his tiny dark apartment, Tomura watches the tiny bit of footage that they have of this man…

-Credits.

…Fuuuuck.

#where I watch #recap #anime #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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lesbrarians · 7 years ago

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Junkrat/Roadhog: Voyages Ch 14

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

---

Junkrat hurried them along back to their hideout, unwilling to accept victory until he was sure they had escaped pursuit. When they were safe and sound in the bunker, he collapsed on the floor and held the brain out in front of him. “We got it,” he said disbelievingly. “We got it!” He fell flat on his back and positively rolled on the floor in his glee, laughing like a hyena as he clutched the final piece of his project to his chest.

“We got it, and you almost got killed.” Junkrat dropped his arms to his sides and looked up at Roadhog. He looked impossibly tall from this vantage point, and just as attractive as he had been in the heat of battle when Junkrat had forgotten himself entirely. “More than once. What the hell happened?” Roadhog’s breathing was labored, and it only intensified the urge to jump his bones.

“I mean, in my defence, I was just electrocuted.”

“It was more than that.” He wasn’t wrong.

Junkrat couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, look, Roadhog, mate... I really gotta get laid, okay? I keep thinkin’ about ya--”

“Is that why you’ve been shit at everything lately?” Roadhog was as blunt as ever.

“Might be makin’ me a tad distracted, yeah,” Junkrat confessed.

Roadhog folded his arms across his chest and studied him before letting out a huff of amusement. “Come here,” he said.

Junkrat bounced to his feet, hardly daring to get his hopes up. “You mean--”

Roadhog pushed his gas mask up. “If it means you’ll stop fucking up, yeah.” The words were expressionless, but the smirk on his face spoke worlds. Junkrat rarely had the context clues of facial expressions to tell when Roadhog was teasing.

“Ah, go to hell!” He returned the smirk as he leaned up to kiss Roadhog, hands gripping his face.

Junkrat was buzzing with excitement -- he had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever -- and he was in no mood for pretending to be chaste. He kissed Roadhog insistently, grinding against him with needy abandon.

“You weren’t kidding,” Roadhog grunted when Junkrat gave him a moment to breathe.

Junkrat giggled helplessly. ”I toldja I need to get laid! No, no, I know exactly what I need...”

He dropped to his knees, snickering to himself, but Roadhog wasn’t having any of it.

“Stand up,” he said, voice suddenly sharp.

Junkrat straightened out, intrigued in spite of himself. “Okay, suckin’ ya off can wait. What you got in mind?”

The line of Roadhog’s mouth hardened. “Nothing. The mood’s gone.”

All of Junkrat’s levity evaporated instantly. “The mood’s-- what the bloody hell are ya on about, ‘the mood’s gone?’ Not like somethin’s changed.”

“It has.” There was something odd in his voice, but Junkrat was too angry to discern the reason behind it.

He was, in a word, pissed off. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me-- again? What the bloody hell is yer problem, ya son of a bitch!” He didn’t think before he acted. He rarely thought before he acted; his body had a mind of its own, and it ran several seconds ahead of his brain. He snatched Roadhog’s gas mask off of his head so that he could properly glare at him.

He realised that he had gone too far the second it happened, but any regret he felt was instantly replaced by awe.

He had, in some sense, known what laid under Roadhog’s mask. He’d felt the full canvas of his face the first night they kissed, in the pitch black darkness of Ava’s living room. He’d felt burnt flesh, and he saw the corner of a scar every time Roadhog bared the lower half of his face to eat something or to kiss him. But actually putting all those pieces of knowledge together and seeing it as a whole was an entirely different story. It was one thing to know, in theory, that his partner was a burn victim. It was another thing to actually see the damage left behind: the twisted, darkened skin that covered the upper right side of his face, a tapestry of whorls that immortalised the incident that left Roadhog scarred for life.

The left side of his face didn’t fare much better, as Junkrat saw the full extent of the scar he always got a glimpse of -- a nasty gash that curved up Roadhog’s cheek and over his eye, the remnant of some nasty incident that he had never confided about. He looked like he’d been through hell and back.

Junkrat loved it.

His hand automatically drifted up to Roadhog’s face, unable to resist the urge to touch the textured surface of his skin.

He never got that far, however, as Roadhog snatched the mask back from him and pulled it back on, obscuring his face from view once more.

Then Roadhog’s hand was at his throat, fingers just tight enough to remind Junkrat that Roadhog had the ability to kill him at any given moment.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Roadhog growled, his voice low and dangerous.

It was entirely inappropriate, given the situation, but the sound of his menacing voice and his chokehold flooded Junkrat with arousal. He couldn’t help it: a nervous giggle slipped out of him, which only added fuel to the fire of Roadhog’s anger. “I, I won’t,” he managed. “Just thought--” He didn’t know what he had been thinking, but Roadhog mercifully interrupted him before he had to think of an end to the sentence.

“I don’t care what you thought, I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to take this from me unless I say so.” Roadhog’s grip tightened, and Junkrat nodded wildly, entirely aware that he had overstepped his boundaries. Roadhog’s gas mask was his lifeline. Beyond keeping his lungs in working condition, it shielded his disfigured face from the world. It was a part of his identity, and Junkrat knew in retrospect that he had no right to forcibly take it away without Roadhog’s consent. He clearly hadn’t been ready to show Junkrat the extent of his damage, or else he would have bared his face a long time ago. Now, he couldn’t even do that on his own terms.

The regret was back, slightly overtaking how turned on he was at the moment. He tried choking out an apology, but he wasn’t sure how much of it Roadhog could understand through his constricted windpipe.

Whether or not he had heard him, Roadhog released his grip and stormed off, leaving the room entirely. Junkrat heaved a breath, his lungs working like bellows as he tried to replenish the lost air. He sat down on the edge of the iron bed frame, thinking as he fiddled with his hands.

Roadhog didn’t immediately return, so Junkrat got up to search for him. He found him deeper in the bunker, further away from the entrance than they had thus far ventured. Roadhog was sitting on the floor, torch shining on a wall that displayed old street signs.

Junkrat sat down next to him and drew his knees to his chest. “Sorry.” He drew a line in the dirt on the ground with his finger. “Shouldn’t’ve done that. Yknow me, don’t always think before I do shit.”

“No. You don’t. “

“Just kinda snapped, like. Didn’t think I was that disgusting, that you really don’t want me gob anywhere near ya.”

Roadhog’s head snapped up in alarm. He apparently hadn’t considered this interpretation. “No. No, it’s not that.”

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to think? You shut me down every time I wanna go down on ya, y’said it was kinda my fault why. Pretty sure it’s cause I’m all like this.” He gestured vaguely at his body. He wasn’t entirely un-self-aware, he knew what he looked like to others: dirty, freakish, just plain screwed up. He was the furthest thing from conventionally attractive, with bulging eyes, clumps of missing hair, and a concave stomach.

“Sorry.” Roadhog shook his head. “I messed up. Didn’t think about how it’d look to you.”

Junkrat gave a shaky laugh. “Guess we’re more alike than we thought, ain’t we?” At least he wasn’t the only fuckup in the room.

A puff of laughter escaped the filters of Roadhog’s gas mask. “Guess so. But it has nothing to do with who you are as a person.”

“Then what?” Junkrat asked, expression helpless as he looked up at Roadhog. “What’d I do? If it’s not about me as a person, then why ain’t I good enough? Y’like me enough to pash me, but not enough for anything past that.” He averted his gaze, going back to tracing patterns on the dirty floor.

“Junkrat.” He looked back up at Roadhog, who took his face into his hands, solid and warm amidst the omnipresent chill of the bunker. “I don’t just like you. I love you. Even when you’re an asshole.”

Junkrat was at a momentary loss for words. He loved Roadhog -- of course he did, he couldn’t live without him in his life, and it wasn’t an entirely hyperbolic sentiment -- but neither of them had ever expressed it in such plain terms. It had never occurred to him to say it out loud before, truth be told.

Roadhog sighed and dropped his hands. “Don’t know how to talk about it without sounding stupid. I’ll explain tomorrow.” Junkrat nodded numbly. “Get some sleep.” He stood up and left Junkrat alone to collect himself before finding his own way back to their living quarters.

“Love ya too, ‘Hog,” Junkrat mumbled into empty air. He touched his cheek. It was still warm from Roadhog’s touch.

---

Junkrat couldn’t sleep that night. He spent most of it working on the omnic in intervals, not wanting to disturb Roadhog’s sleep with the torchlight. It was an extremely delicate procedure -- akin to brain surgery, he thought -- but after a few hours of on again, off again work, he was able to integrate the Boss’s central processing unit. All that was left was to repeat the process they had began with Yongary by transferring the god program with Jae-won’s code to a hard drive and hooking it up to their newly frankensteined host.

It won’t be long now, he thought, before we’re gods.

That was, if there even was a “we” after the next day’s conversation.

It seemed like he had finally just drifted off to sleep when he felt Roadhog stirring beside him, and then it didn’t matter how tired he was, he was up.

Junkrat anxiously waited for Roadhog to enlighten him.

“You remember when we were in prison?” Roadhog began.

“How could I forget?”

“And you sold your cellie’s cigs to Belmont. Like an idiot.”

“Sure did,” Junkrat agreed.

It was a testament to his occasional thick headedness that he didn’t know what Roadhog was driving at until it was spelled it out for him.

“So you remember blowing him to get them back?” Roadhog said, blunt as ever.

“Oh.” He remembered. It hadn’t been his idea, and he’d desperately tried to make sure Roadhog knew that. “Well, yeah, but -- y’know I didn’t want to do that, roight?”

“That makes it worse,” Roadhog emphasised. “That’s all I see every time you get down on your knees.”

Junkrat tried to picture the scene as Roadhog had witnessed it: the sight of him on his knees, Belmont’s hand on the back of his head, forcing him down and gagging him. He had the sneaking suspicion that this was one of those times where his lack of social interaction outside of the Junkers had altered his perception of reality compared to Roadhog’s. It had been an unpleasant experience, but he had agreed to degrade himself for a few short minutes if it meant getting what he wanted out of it. Whether or not he wanted to do it was inconsequential: he had endured it, celebrated what he gained as a result, then promptly dismissed it from his memory.

He plopped down on the edge of the iron bed frame, suddenly boneless. He was almost let down by the revelation, that the reason why Roadhog had been consistently turning him down was because he couldn’t stop thinking of the scene he had walked in on all those months ago. “That’s it?” he said aloud.

“Yeah,” Roadhog said, and the sullenness in his voice made Junkrat sit up straighter. “That’s it.”

“Not-- not that I’m sayin’ it’s wrong of ya!” Junkrat hastened to say. “Just-- big guy, I didn’t think it’d be something y’d get hung up on, y’know? Tell ya the truth, I’d already forgotten it happened meself,” he confessed.

“I didn’t.” Junkrat watched Roadhog’s fist clench into a tight ball. He slid off the bed frame to sit next to him and uncurled Roadhog’s fingers so that he could hold his hand.

“I know. I mean, I know now. So it’s not the grandest of memories! Who cares, I’m all yours now, ain’t I? Not like that’s ever happenin’ again, so y’can just go ahead and forget all about that.”

“I car--” Roadhog seemed prepared to argue against Junkrat’s entirely unprofessional and uninformed opinion on psychological matters, but something inside of him gave way. “Yeah. You’re mine.”

Junkrat grinned. That, at least, was something they could agree on. They were both greedy by nature, an amalgamation of a lust for wealth and material pleasures and a magpie-like affinity for anything shiny or off-limits. It stood to reason that their possessiveness extended to each other. After all, they were all the other had left in the world.

“So why can’t I make some good memories to replace that? So y’just think of me blowing you, not that creep. Reprogram yer brain, like. That seems like a legit thing.” He nudged Roadhog. “Yer all I got eyes for, mate.” When Roadhog didn’t immediately answer, his nudging turned into wriggling, until he was on top of Roadhog and draped over his belly.

Roadhog looked down at him. Junkrat raised both of his eyebrows as if to say how ‘bout it?

“Fine. It’s not like I haven’t wanted to, it’s just...”

“Yer brain bein’ stupid. I get it, y’know me, my brain’s all holey, y’can’t help it. But-- but you just said yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes!” Junkrat rolled off of Roadhog and hopped to his feet, giggling in unbridled delight and immediately undoing his belt. In his haste to pull his shorts down, they got tangled in his boot. He stumbled and would have fallen over had Roadhog not grabbed his elbow to steady him. “Ta!

With the warmth of the space heater to keep the chill at bay, he shed his sweater and reached for Roadhog’s. He wanted to feel his skin pressed flush against his own, and he did so the second he wrestled the offending garment off of Roadhog. Junkrat hugged him tight with an ardent, “Ya won’t regret this, promise!”

He fell to his knees in front of Roadhog, and he could see him tense up, a warning hand automatically reaching for his head. Junkrat paused with his hands on Roadhog’s belt buckle and looked up at him. After a moment, Roadhog relaxed, the stiffness visibly leaving his muscles as he worked his way past the instinctive reaction. He loosened his grip on Junkrat, threading his fingers through his spotty hair instead.

Encouraged, Junkrat went back to undoing his pants, giddily tittering to himself. He moaned when he finally -- finally -- got to see Roadhog’s cock. “Oh, mate, it’s better than I imagined.” Roadhog laughed, and Junkrat’s eyes darted up to look at his mouth. He rarely got to see that beautiful grin, wide and arrogant, with a chipped canine that mirrored Junkrat’s gold tooth.

Even half hard, Roadhog was impressive in size, and Junkrat touched him with a reverence he usually reserved for his newly conceived creations. He stroked him one, two, three times, until he could feel the steady thrum of his dick pulsing with arousal.

“Get on with it,” Roadhog said, his deep, gravelly voice interrupting Junkrat’s mesmerisation.

Junkrat burst into manic giggles, shrill and out of control. “Gladly!” He all but melted on the spot when he wrapped his lips around the tip of Roadhog’s cock. It made his jaw ache, his mouth stretched to capacity, but if anything, the pain made it better. It reminded him that this was real, not some particularly vivid wild dream, a fantasy concocted by his thirsty subconscious. He closed his eyes in utter bliss as he lapped up the precum dripping down the underside of Roadhog’s cock, savoring its faint taste before sucking on his head in earnest. He was physically incapable of taking more than an inch or two due to its sheer girth, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Drool trickled out the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t regulate his saliva when he was compromised like this, but it wasn’t a downside, in his humble opinion. He used it to slick up the palm of his hand and jerk off the considerable amount of dick he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

Junkrat couldn’t help but moan around Roadhog as his head bobbed up and down. He hadn’t so much as touched himself, but he was already hard, obscenely excited, and convinced that he could get off hands-free, as long as he could suck Roadhog’s cock.

But his self restraint could only last so long, and it was mere moments before he was rutting against the metal of his right hand. He had never been very good at controlling his baser instincts.

In his defence, he had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. His enthusiasm was bound to get the best of him.

“Stop.” The hand in Junkrat’s hair tightened. “Junkrat, stop.”

The words dimly registered somewhere in Junkrat’s mind, and he chose to ignore them. He was too eager, too caught up in his rhythm, too overwhelmed by sensation to heed Roadhog’s wishes. If anything, it made him more desperate, more determined to make Roadhog come in his mouth.There was nothing he wanted more than to taste him.

Roadhog involuntarily jerked forward as he came, forcing Junkrat to take more of him than he’d thought capable. His throat spasmed around him before he recovered and pulled off of Roadhog with a hoarse gasp.

“Oh,” was all he managed, shuddering. He tipped his head back with a blissed-out grin, eyes closed and tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“You didn’t listen when I told you to stop,” Roadhog accused.

Junkrat cracked open an eye, his grin turning sheepish. “Sorry, sorry, I knew ya were close to finishing, and I just really wanted it... bit selfish of me, maybe.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Uh. Why didja want me to stop anyway?” He needed to know just how bad he should feel about not obeying.

“I wanted to finish closer to you.”

Junkrat was intensely relieved. “So, not bad at all?”

There was a beat of silence as Roadhog tried to connect the two unrelated sentences. “What?”

“Never mind, never mind, move past it. So, ah, what was that about me finishing?” He smirked, eyebrow cocked knowingly. He loosely circled the base of his dick, his hips canted upwards in invitation.

“Too late.” Roadhog’s voice was dispassionate and calculated. “If you want to finish, you’re going to have to work for it.”

“What!” Junkrat yelped, the smirk vanishing. “Why?”

“You kept going when I asked you to stop,” Roadhog said, as if it was obvious. Maybe it was. Junkrat wasn’t always good at recognizing the obvious. “You violated the cardinal rule of sex. Get yourself off.”

Junkrat’s face dropped. He scooted closer. “C’mon, not even a l’il helpin’ hand?” he bargained.

“No. You need to learn a lesson.”

Junkrat emitted a long, guttural groan of frustration, head tossed back to properly convey his displeasure.

“Not helping your case.”

He shut up. With a scowl, he licked the palm of his hand and stroked himself. Spit and precum made an acceptable lube, but no form of jerking himself off could compare to someone else’s touch. Roadhog wasn’t going to budge on this front. Maybe there was a moral to the incident after all, although he wasn’t totally sure what it was. Listen to Roadhog when he gave him an order, maybe. Still, Roadhog never seemed to mind all that much every other time he ignored him, so he was a little fuzzy on where the line was regarding when he could and could not disobey him. Maybe it was a consent thing? This, too, was confusing from his standpoint -- Roadhog had wanted to be blown in the first place, so wasn’t that consent enough to keep going? -- but it sounded right to him.

With this in mind, he tried asking, “Can I, uh…” Junkrat groped for the right words but came up empty-handed. He figured it would be easier to show than tell, so he straddled Roadhog’s thigh and looked up at him questioningly. “That a thing I can do?”

“Don’t expect me to do anything. But yes. You may.”

Junkrat shot him a dazzling grin. “Don’t need ya to do anything! Got all I need right here.” He patted the meat of Roadhog’s upper leg and chortled.

Roadhog folded his arms across his chest. He was not impressed, which only made Junkrat laugh all the harder. He flung his arms around Roadhog’s neck and rubbed up against his thigh.

“Ooh.” He bit his lip and leaned into the sensation, pressing down harder. “Come on,” he whined, grinding his hips into Roadhog. It was impossible for him to stay still, and he was already unwinding his arms from around Roadhog to reach for his hand instead.

Roadhog didn’t curl his fingers around him like Junkrat had hoped for, but he let him push up against him with shameless abandon. Junkrat thrust up against the palm of Roadhog’s hand, babbling nonsensically the whole time. “Oh, fuck, ‘Hog--” His next few words were indistinguishable even to himself, but he did manage an audible, “Don’t stop!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Roadhog pointed out.

Junkrat wasn’t listening. A stream of curses bubbled from his lips, and he groped for Roadhog’s free hand so that he could guide it to his mouth. Roadhog still wasn’t participating, but he let Junkrat slobber over his fingers. It wasn’t terribly sexy, but Junkrat was so far gone that he didn’t care; he let himself get lost in sucking on one of Roadhog’s fingers while he rutted up against his other hand.

Roadhog, to his credit, humoured him for longer than he normally would have before he gently tugged both his hands away so that he could lean back on his palms. Undeterred, Junkrat went back to rubbing up against Roadhog’s thigh, hands splayed across his chest.

The friction was overwhelming. He panted heavily, tongue lolling. Even with Roadhog’s utter lack of involvement, he’d managed to work himself into a feverishness, his head hazy with a mounting pleasure that threatened to overflow at any given second.

Roadhog’s voice cut through the fog in his head. “Stop.”

Junkrat’s first instinct was to disregard the order and finish grinding himself to completion, but he remembered the displeasure he’d faced the last time he’d ignored a request to stop.

He whimpered but stilled himself. He was a mess, all drool and precum and ragged breathing, and he was so close to the edge that the frame of his body trembled with the effort of containing himself. “I--” was all he managed before his voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “Do, do ya need me to get offa ya?”

He could hear the smile in Roadhog’s voice. “You listened. Good boy.” He wasn’t going to reward Junkrat by touching him where he most desperately wanted to be touched, but Roadhog reached up to cup Junkrat’s face with one large hand.

Junkrat pressed into the contact, rubbing his cheek against Roadhog’s palm. His half-lidded eyes drooped shut. “Y’wanted me to,” he mumbled.

Roadhog sounded pleased, and that was reward enough. “Exactly. And no, I don’t need you to get off of me. But you can get off on me.”

The permission from Roadhog, allowing him to come, was all he needed. All that pent-up pleasure peaked, and he fell apart with a shuddery gasp, his hips jerking up erratically as he spilled across Roadhog’s stomach.

Roadhog patted his head. “Good job,” he said, his voice a low rumble, and the quiet praise made Junkrat shudder from head to toe. The tension of keeping himself in check dissipated, all the sexual frustration vanishing entirely. He was too blissed out to hold himself upright any longer, so he simply sagged wordlessly against Roadhog’s chest.

They stayed like that for a few long, peaceful minutes, until the room’s damp chill became too much for them even with the space heater’s glow. They slipped back into their clothes and under their now fairly dirty mink blankets.

Junkrat nestled against Roadhog’s side, slinging a leg over his thigh.

“Better?” Roadhog asked.

““Mmm hmmm,” Junkrat hummed in bleary agreement.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t be so useless,”

Junkrat snickered and nuzzled his head closer. “Only if we do this on the reg. Can’t promise I won’t get all loony again if ya go back to rejectin’ me all the time for a stupid reason like that.”

“Deal,” Roadhog said.

They fell asleep together, safe and snug and completely content.

#junkrat #roadhog #roadrat #overwatch #origins #voyages #my fanfiction

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heebiejbies · 8 years ago

Text

Limerence - Chapter V

Limerence Masterlist

Characters: Sehun, Suho, and OC (Ursula)

Warnings: This series contains mentions of assault, sexual violence, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.8k

Limerence: The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one’s feelings.

The annoying sound of a ticking clock was the only sound in the room. I had been left in this room for what seemed like an hour at that point. Ever since I sat down my leg had been shaking nonstop. I looked up at the mirror in front of me, knowing that the men outside could see me through it. I looked up even more at the clock to see that it was half-past 2 in the morning. Why am I here? Who even questions someone this late?

The sound of someone banging on the front door woke me from a peaceful sleep. I tossed a robe on and stomped down the stairs, ready to give an ear full to whoever was making such a loud noise at this hour. I opened the door, but my words were halted in my throat when the two gentlemen flashed badges at me. I recognized the officer, officer Bryant. He brings in the police dogs for regular checkups, and he always speaks to me when he is there.

“Hello, Ursula. This is detective Phillips. We hate to bother you this late, but we need you to come down to the station for questioning.”

“I’m confused, what is this all about?” Why would they need to question me? And at 1 in the morning too!

“We will explain it on the way to the station. If you will put some clothes on and come with us, we would greatly appreciate it.”

I scoffed when I remembered the events from earlier tonight. Neither of them said a word on the way down here, nor did they say anything when they took me to this room and left me here. Finally, the detective that brought me here entered the room. When he sat across from me and didn’t say anything, I decided to speak up.

“You still haven’t told me why I had to come down here, detective.”

He placed a manila folder down on the table and then clasped his hands together over it. His eyes met mine before he spoke, “Can you tell me about a coworker of yours? Eric Revlin is his name, do you know him?” He took a picture out of the folder on the table and slid it over to me. “Yeah, I know him. I barely know him, though. Why do you ask?”

“Eric Revlin was found unconscious in his apartment earlier tonight by his sister. He had been beaten severely, he is still in surgery as we speak and we are not sure if he will live.”

I was sure that my eyeballs were going to fall out of my eye sockets because of how wide my eyes became. I saw him nearly every day at work, but we weren’t friends. Why they brought me in still remained a mystery.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Our search showed no signs of forced entry, so we suspect it was someone he knew. Our search also found no missing items from his home, so it’s highly unlikely that this was a robbery. His sister told us that you and he had an argument earlier this week. Do you care to tell me what that was about? What started the argument?”

It’s been a few weeks since that night with Sehun. We have spent more time together, and that unknown feeling I have has gotten stronger. My mom has had a field day with teasing me about him, calling him my lover boy and random nicknames like that. He has been on my mind so often lately, I have been with him during most of my free time. The past three days I haven’t been able to see him much, though. I’ve been pretty busy at the vet’s office. I’ve also somehow ended up in a never ending argument with a coworker of mine. At first, it started out as a few snarky comments here and there while at work, and now it has evolved to him basically calling me just to harass me.

“Listen, Eric, if you have a problem with me why don’t we sit down and actually talk about this instead of you just being a downright jerk to me while I am trying to work?” I pulled into my driveway arguing on the phone with said coworker. I don’t even know how this started, one day this guy randomly just started being really hateful towards me. I’ve only spoken to him a handful of times for Christ’s sake! I barely know him!

“Why should I sit down with you? You wouldn’t listen anyways, you never do!” He said. I had parked in the driveway and was now sitting in the car arguing. How could this guy know anything about me when I have barely spoken to him five times?

“What the hell are you talking about?” I get out of my car, slamming the door in the process, “You don’t know me at all!”

“I know you plenty Ursula, plenty to know that you’re all about yourself and you don’t care about who you step on to get what you want! You ignore everyone else’s feelings and you don’t care about anybody but yourself! Women like you are so disgusting! How can you live with yourself! Your mother ought to be ashamed of you!” I became so enraged at his words, I dropped my keys as I tried to unlock the door. “Are you serious? Okay, listen here, kid. You don’t know a damn thing about me. Why don’t you quit acting like an immature brat and leave me alone? I have never done a thing to you, you have no right to speak to me like you know me. I have no idea what is going on in your head to spark such pointless anger towards me, but I am done with dealing with you! Now, do me a favor and leave me the hell alone!” I hung up the phone and groaned. With the way he spoke to me I know it must have been brought on by something I did, but I can’t think of anything I have done to him to make him have such anger towards me.

I told the detective everything as I remembered it, he seemed to be writing it down on a notepad he took out of his pocket. “So you were angry with him?”

“Of course I was angry with him. He spoke to me as if I had done some atrocious crime to him when I knew I had done nothing for him to be that way towards me.”

“Would you ever hurt Mr. Revlin?”

What?! He seriously can’t think that I did this! Yes, I was angry at him, but I wasn’t so angry that I went and assaulted him in his own home!

“Where were you between the hours of 8:00 pm and 10:00 pm?”

“I was with a neighbor of mine, we were working on his garden in his backyard.” Earlier that evening I had dropped by to help Suho plant flowers in his garden. He said something like Sehun didn’t like messing around with dirt because it got under his nails and he didn’t like getting it all over his hands.

“Has he ever met Mr. Revlin?” Oh, okay so now he is going to try and accuse Suho as well? I replied and told him that they have never met, they probably didn’t even know one another existed. “Can I have his name and number? I’d like to confirm your whereabouts with him personally,” He said, the tone in his voice led me to believe that he seriously thought that I had something to do with what happened to Eric. I gave him Suho’s real name and his phone number, the questioning stopped after that. “We will call you if we have any more questions.”

Officer Bryant took me back home, once again he didn’t say anything the entire way back. Once I got in my house, I dropped my body down onto the couch. I was utterly dumbfounded, to say the least. I could never beat someone until they are almost dead, no matter how angry they made me. I had no idea who would want to hurt Eric, I didn’t know him well at all but I knew him well enough to know that he’s not someone who lots of people want to hurt.

I decided that I should call Suho so I could let him know that Detective Phillips would be calling him. This wasn’t something that I could explain in a text because knowing him he would ask lots of questions.

“Hey, Suho, it’s Ursula. I know you’re probably asleep by now, but when you get this can you come over so we can talk, please? Nothing is wrong, don’t worry, but I think you want to know about this ahead of time.” I left him a voicemail and hoped that he would come talk to me as soon as possible.

I stood up and went upstairs to change back into my pajamas. There was no way I would be able to go back to sleep, so I went back downstairs and decided to watch TV until I finally fell asleep. It wasn’t long before another knock came at the door. I looked out the window and saw Suho on the porch. I let him in and immediately began telling him the story.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that this detective honestly thinks that you can pull off a beating like that? No offense Ursula, but I don’t think you have the guts to do something like that,” He joked, trying to lighten the mood in the room.

“I don’t know how he thinks I could have done it,” I laughed, “Hey, Suho, why are you up so late?”

“Late night work. I was taking a shower when you first called, so that’s why I didn’t answer. When I heard the serious tone in your voice I knew I had to get over here asap.” I could tell that he needed to go to sleep, so I told him to go home and go to bed. I needed to go to bed, but what happened to Eric would keep me up no doubt.

I laid back down on the couch and decided to really think about the situation. I started looking at the situation from an outsider's standpoint. I had watched enough Criminal Minds and Law & Order to understand now that I could be a very good suspect. I did have the motive to do so. I also knew that I had a solid alibi, though. Once Suho confirms that I was with him yesterday, my name should be cleared from the suspect list.

The detective mentioned that there were no signs of forced entry, so Eric had to let them in himself. He also said that nothing appeared to be missing from his apartment, so I highly doubt it was a thief. There was one thing that confused me. Besides his newfound aggression he had towards me, he was a relatively quiet and shy guy. He was also very nice from what I knew. What could he have done for someone to want him dead that badly? If he was beaten so bad that they didn’t know if he would live, that had to be personal. Who would have such a grudge against him?

I woke up around early afternoon, having finally fallen asleep at around 5 in the morning. I decided to go see if detective Phillips had called Suho yet, so I showered and got dressed and went across the street. I knocked on the door but no one answered. I noticed his car in the driveway, and I don’t think he’d still be asleep this late, so I knew he had to be here and awake. I decided to walk around to the back of the house to look for him. I pushed open the gate and finally found him. He had a straw hat and gloves on, and he seemed to be planting more flowers in the flowerbed we had started on yesterday.

“Hey, you started without me!” I exclaimed in a shocked tone. He dropped the shovel he had and snapped his head towards me, apparently I had surprised him. He let out a small chuckle, “Sorry about that! I thought you would want to rest after the stressful night you had in the slammer,” He teased. I grabbed another pair of gloves off of the steps of their deck, put them on, and crouched down beside him. “For your information, there is a big difference between going in for questioning and going to jail.” I bumped his shoulder with my own, causing him to lose his balance and almost fall over.

“Okay, take back what I said last night, you are strong for a girl. Maybe you did have something to do with that guy’s assault,” He joked, reminding me why I came over here in the first place.

“Oh! Speaking of that, did you ever get a call from the detective?”

“Yes actually, at 9 o’clock this morning. He asked me so many questions that I thought had nothing to do with the situation, he was really grilling me. I did tell him that you were here with me yesterday, though.”

I crouched down beside Suho and started helping him plant the rest of his flowerbed. By the time we were finished, we both had tossed our gloves aside and were using our bare hands. He invited me in so I could wash my hands, pointing me in the direction of the bathroom upstairs.

“It’s down the hall to the right,” He said, “Do you want to stay for dinner?” He added before I could walk up the stairs. “You’re not going to poison me, are you?” I joked. “No! I’m not going to be cooking anyway, Sehun is. He’s at the store shopping right now,” He explained. I nodded my head in response, then went upstairs as Suho disappeared into the kitchen.

Once I got upstairs I looked down the hallway and saw three doors to the right. “Gee thanks, Suho, I hope I’m never lost with you in the woods,” I mumbled.

I tried the first door and found a closet. Nope, not there. I went to the second door and it opened into a bedroom. This must be Sehun’s bedroom. My curiosity got the best of me and I found myself walking into his room, shutting the door back. His room looked like what I’d expect it to, right down to the choice of bed sheets. I went over to the window in the middle of the back wall and pulled back the curtains. Wow, you can see into my bedroom window from this window.

“I guess I better start keeping my curtains closed,” I joked.

I turned to my left and went over to his dresser. He had a picture of himself, Suho, and seven other men sitting on it. I assumed they were friends of theirs back in South Korea and scanned over the other things on his dresser. The one thing that stuck out to me was a picture laying face down under a book. I slid the picture out from under it and flipped it over. What? Is this a picture of… Of me?! The picture was a picture from my 18th birthday, my mom took me out to a club and she took a picture of me in my birthday outfit so “she could brag on her Facebook page about how beautiful her daughter was” as she put it. How did he even find this picture? Better yet, why did he have this picture?!

I picked the book up and found two more pictures under it. These pictures made me feel more comfortable. One was of him and me together that he must have printed out and the other seemed to be a picture of him when he was younger. Why would he have these pictures here? Isn’t under a book a weird place to keep pictures? Calm down Urs, I’m sure there has to be a reasonable explanation.

I heard a car door shut outside. I looked out the window and saw Sehun getting bags out from his car. I put the pictures and book back where it was, closed the curtains, and went back out the door. The third door turned out to be the bathroom, of course. After washing my hands I went downstairs to greet Sehun. The moment I stepped off the last step, Delilah came running over to me and jumped up on me.

“Hey, pretty girl! I missed you,” I smiled, patting her head. “Delilah, get down!” Sehun called, standing in the kitchen doorway with an oven mitt in hand. “Oh no, it’s alright. I love when animals get excited over seeing me.”

After dinner, I helped Suho in the kitchen with the dishes. “You have a dishwasher, don’t you?” I asked. “Yeah, but neither of us really like using it,” He said. “Oh, both of you will make such wonderful housewives one day!” I nudged Suho on the shoulder.

“Are you saying I’m spouse material?” Sehun came behind me with a smirk on his face. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” I tossed a dish towel over his shoulder as I said this.

After we finish the dishes, all three of us sat down in the living room to watch a random movie. Halfway through the movie Suho stood up and stretched, “Well you crazy kids, I’m going to turn in for tonight. Don’t stay up too late,” He laughed, then he turned and went upstairs to go to sleep.

“I guess I should be getting back too. I didn’t plan on staying this long,” I said.

“Can I walk you across the street? I have something I’d like to talk about,” He said. I nodded my head and let him follow me outside. He seemed to be hesitant to speak, but eventually, he spoke, “Suho told me about what happened last night… Are you alright? Are you nervous or scared or anything along those lines?”

“Oh did he? I suppose I’m alright. It’s just,” We walked up on my porch and sat down on the swing, “I don’t know who could have done this to him. Yeah, he was rude to me and dragged me into a pretty heated argument, but besides that, he was shy and polite to basically everyone. I thought about it and I think whoever attacked him did it for personal reasons, but what could that be? I couldn’t see him doing anything that bad, especially nothing to deserve nearly being beaten to death,” I sighed and leaned my head against Sehun’s shoulder.

“What started the argument?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is one day he just became oddly hostile towards me. That night he said some pretty nasty things to me. I’d rather not repeat them, but one thing he said really struck a nerve with me. He said my mom should be ashamed of me… I know I act like I don’t care about what other people think of me, and I don’t, but my mom is an exception. I just want her to be proud of me, that’s something I have worried about for years. My mom is the most important person to me, it would break my heart if I disappointed her,” I stopped talking about the subject before I started crying, “I’m sorry to have dumped something like this on you.”

“Ursula listen, I will always be here to listen to you. If you ever need to talk about anything, I promise you I will be there. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll be there. I’m so glad that you feel comfortable enough to share something like this with me. I know it isn’t easy talking about your vulnerabilities with other people, and I want to thank you for trusting me with it,” He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, “I know your mom is proud of you. She’s raised such a beautiful, intelligent, and caring woman and she should be proud of that. You’re one of the most amazing people I have ever met, you have no idea how lucky I feel to have met someone like you.”

I wrapped my arm around his waist and hugged him. I’ve never met a man like Sehun before. Something about him makes me open up to him so easily. It’s as if I could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge or change his view of me. He truly is a special guy.

“Can I ask you something personal?” He asked.

“Of course, go ahead,” I replied.

“You always talk about your brother and your mom, but what about your dad?” He asked about the one part of my life I would die to forget about. I really don’t want to talk about the subject, but something is telling me that I need to tell Sehun about it. “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s alright, Sehun. I just haven’t spoken about him in a long time and the question stunned me for a second. My dad, well, he isn’t a positive topic in my life. His and my mom’s marriage wasn’t a healthy one at all, to say the least. I was too young to remember most things but Caspian remembers them well and he filled me in on the years that I couldn’t remember. He never really hit her or anything, but he was mentally abusive. He always talked down to her and treated her like dirt, I don’t know how she put up with it for so long. She finally had enough and left him when I was 9 and Caspian was 17. That was the last time we heard from him until I was 16. He found me on Facebook one day and messaged me and begged to meet up with him. At first, I said no, but eventually I agreed because I thought that maybe he had changed… That was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

The first couple of months were alright. It was awkward trying to get used to him being in my life again, but I went along with it. One day he asked me if I wanted to meet his family. I agreed because I thought it would be a move in the right direction, but I was so wrong. I saw the way he treated his wife and her kids, he never treated us like that. He treated them with such love and affection, something I never knew he could do. Even though he was trying to be apart of my life, he didn’t treat me as if he loved me. I tried to push it off and not think about it, but it bothered me to the point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Have you ever lowered your expectations for someone in hopes that they won’t disappoint you one day? I have… I did it until I had absolutely no expectations and was still disappointed. I was 17 when I started trying to push him out of my life, that didn’t end well at all. He became so moody, I wouldn’t reply to his text for three minutes and he would text back saying things like ‘Oh okay I guess you do not feel like talking to me’ and he would say things to try and guilt trip me into speaking to him. I finally had enough and I blocked him from everything so he couldn’t contact me anymore. Then one day he,” I couldn’t stop my tears as I got to the end of my story. Sehun looked at me with concern, telling me that I didn’t need to continue.

“No, I need to finish this. You need to know the whole story,” I sniffled and started telling the end, “Somehow he found out where we lived and he came here. I didn’t go to the door but he kept banging and banging on the door until I forced myself to open it. I opened it and he started yelling at me and making a huge scene. He said ‘I try to be a good father and reconnect with my only daughter and this is what I get.’ and I told him that he needed to calm down because some of the neighbors had started coming outside to see what was going on. Apparently, I made him even angrier and he started yelling even worse…” I closed my eyes and could see that day as if it was a movie.

“You’re just like your mother! You’re an ungrateful little brat. You should be thankful that I actually reached out to you! What a mistake that was. You’re going to end up just like her, alone. No one will ever love an entitled bitch like you!” I attempted to run down the stairs so I could go to one of the neighbor's houses, but the second I stepped off the bottom step he grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him. “You’re not going anywhere, Ursula!” His grip on my arm tightened, I could see the rage in his eyes. I tried to break away, but he was too strong for me.

“Do you want to know why I came back to you? I wanted to rub it in you, your mom, and your snot-nosed brother’s faces that I never loved any of you. Yes sweetie, you heard that right. I never loved you. How could I ever love someone so worthless? You’re so stupid for thinking I came back into your life because I actually cared about you,” He started laughing, apparently proud of himself for the words that he was saying. One of the neighbor’s husbands had come home and he came into our yard and yelled at my dad. At the same time, I saw my brother’s truck speed up the road and stop in front of our house. I was slung onto the ground and my dad tried to hop in his car and leave, but the neighbor grabbed him before he could leave.

“Ursula!” Caspian ran towards me and held me in his arms. I looked at my arm and saw that bruises were starting to form from how tight my dad’s grip was on me. I wasn’t crying up until that point, but when my brain registered the words said to me I started crying. When Caspian saw me crying, that’s when he lost his cool. He ran towards our father and punched him, making him stumble out of the neighbor’s hold. He punched him again and again until he backed up our dad to the stairs and he stumbled on them.

“I used to be scared of you as a kid but I’m not that scared little boy anymore. You will get what is coming to you one day. I may never see it, mom may never see it, Ursula may never see it, but you will. You will have to answer to someone one day, and he will not be a nice judge. We will sleep peacefully at night knowing that you’ll be punished one day.” He started to turn around to walk back to me, but our dad still had some spite left in him.

“Don’t lie to yourself, son. I’m your father, you care about me and what happens to me!”

Caspian’s face turned so dark, I had never seen him with such an expression. He clenched his fists and he stiffened his jaw, “No, that’s where you’re wrong. You are nothing to me! I don’t care if you live or die. If you died right here, I wouldn’t care. Hell, I’d probably clap and celebrate one less piece of shit on this Earth.”

I could see that Caspian was about to hit him again, but I stopped him. I had to stop him before this went any further. “C-Caspian,” I cried out. His entire demeanor changed when he heard my voice. He rushed back over towards me and held me in his arms. I had never cried in front of him like this before.

“It’ll be okay, Ursula. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

“We found out later that a neighbor had called Caspian when they saw what was going on. I was thankful too, who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t been there. I still have a feeling that part of our dad is mentally unstable and that is why he said and did what he did, but regardless of that, I don’t think I’ve been the same since that day,” I trailed off in thought. Sehun hadn’t said anything while I was telling him, and he didn’t say anything after so I began to get afraid as to what he was thinking. “Sehun?” I lifted my head to look at him, the expression on his face reminded me of Caspian’s that day. I reached a hand up and cupped his cheek, his facial expression immediately softened. He leaned his head into my hand and smiled, then he spoke.

“I am so sorry that happened to you, Ursula… I could never imagine going through that. After hearing that, if I ever see that asshole I will kick his ass. It’s despicable that someone would speak to anyone that way, especially their own daughter… Wait, no. You’re not his daughter, and he is not your dad. He’s everything that a dad shouldn’t be. A dad is supposed to protect you, give you love and affection, and raise you to be the best that you can be. Your brother was right, he will have to answer to someone one day. I know he will, and I hope you don’t feel burdened by the words of such a worthless man. Everything that he said was a lie.” He had grabbed my face with his hands and was staring intently into my eyes. What is it about his eyes that make me feel so at peace?

I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him. I questioned how he seemed to know exactly what to say to calm me down. I was so grateful for him. “He was right about one thing… Who would ever love a girl with such emotional baggage?” I said to myself, or so I thought.

“I would.”

“Ursula, don’t say anything, please. Never think of yourself as unlovable or unloved. You are lovable and you are loved. Anyone who thinks different has to be insane. It doesn’t matter about your past or what weighs heavy on your heart, the right person will love you despite all of that and make you feel like the most cherished and loved person in the world.”

My mind flashes back to those weeks ago when we were at dinner.

“Being scared is a natural part of developing feelings for someone. I don’t expect you to feel much for me yet, but believe me when I say that I care about you.”

“Thank you, Sehun. I’ve never had someone say such a thing to me. I can never express how thankful I am for you. You’re an amazing guy and such a genuine person.” That was the last thing we said on the subject. He insisted on coming inside and making sure I had a glass of water to drink. He rubbed my back as I drank the water, such a simple gesture but it made me feel so happy and safe.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, both of us now sitting down on the couch. “Ask away.”

“How is someone like you… How do you not have a girlfriend?”

“Well… I just don’t. I can’t explain it. I haven’t felt anything for someone in a long time,” He admitted.

“How do you feel about me?” I didn’t intend on actually asking that, but it came out regardless. His eyes widen for a moment before softening. A shy smile came across his face, a slight red tint came to his cheeks. Oh my goodness, he is so adorable. He bit his bottom lip, “Let me show you.” He leaned in and softly pressed his lips against mine. He pulled me closer to him and wrapped his arms around me in a firm embrace. Thoughts began racing through my head.

What is going on? I want to say we shouldn’t be doing this, but this is the one thing I have wanted to do for awhile now. God, Sehun is so amazing. He’s such a genuine person, he’s so sweet and simply… Wonderful. Everything he said made my heart flutter. What is this feeling? How is it that I have had this feeling for weeks but I still can’t put a name on it?

No, wait… I think I know what this is.

-Sehun’s POV-

That man better pray that I will never meet him. He had the opportunity to love Ursula and he took it for granted. She was willing to try and love him and he just pushed her aside. I would kill to have her love me. There’s nothing I want more than to be loved by the only woman I will ever love. I will do anything to make her love me.

She’s not unloveable... I love her, I loved her the moment I first saw her. How dare he say such things to her! She’s the most perfect thing in the world, it hurts me to know that someone didn’t see that. Especially her biological father. If I ever see him I... I don’t know what I will do.

‘If you ever see him you have to take care of him. You must do it. For Ursula.’

‘Sehun, no. You do not need to do that.’

‘You want to protect her, right?’

Of course, I want to protect her... I love her. I love everything about her. She’s the most perfect woman I have ever met. I can’t believe I am holding her in my arms right now and kissing her. This moment is so perfect. I never want it to end. How could I have gotten so lucky?

‘Sehun, you do not deserve to love her nor to have this moment you two are sharing. How can you hold her in your arms and say you love her knowing what you have done?’

Author’s Note: I am SO sorry that this has been so delayed! I hope all of you who waited patiently for this chapter enjoy it. Lots of things happened in this chapter oh gosh. Our poor Sehunnie, he’s gotten himself into some sort of trouble 😢 So many feels right now.

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xfilesnews · 8 years ago

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FanWorks Wednesdays - mimic117

by Keva Andersen

If you’ve ever needed help finding a fic you’ve read but can’t remember the full title or author, chances are this week’s author has helped you find it. Meet mimic117! She’s a wonderful author and also a prolific beta who helped shape some of your favorite stories. Mimic117 also runs The X-Files Lost and Found which is a great resource if you ever need help tracking down a story.

Look through her extensive list of work and you’ll find everything from casefiles, Mulder Torture, and heavy angst, to humor, family fic, and even an X-Men crossover. And there’s a little *ahem* adult activity as well if that’s what you’re looking for. One of my personal favorites is the “Chip Off the Old Block” series which brings Charlie Scully back into the picture shortly after the start of Season 9. But don’t let that S9 throw you, Mulder is still there. If terror is more your thing, “Only Skin Deep” dives into the mind of an obsessive stalker and it may just keep you up at night.

I could offer more recommendations of her work but this week I prefer to let our author do the talking. Mimic117 is a long-time member of the fandom and has done a lot to preserve many of the stories we first read on geocities and other sites that are now long-gone. We talked about writing, fandom, and how fanfiction has changed over the years and I hope you enjoy her perspective as much as I did.

How long have you been a Phile?

I didn't start watching the program until season 4 because Friday was always grocery shopping night. We only had one car so I didn't go shopping until Mr. Mims got home from work. Then we'd eat supper, throw the kids in the car, and not get back home until after 9 PM. I distinctly remember #1 son running inside to watch as soon as we pulled in, which is why he never helped unload groceries because "The X-Files is on!" He kept telling me how good it was and that I should watch. I finally got the chance when they moved to Sunday night and watched all the way through to the bitter end.

What was your first episode?

“F-Emasculata” – the one with the exploding boils. ~gag~ I have no idea why I continued after that but I did. I've always been more of a MOTW fan than the mytharc but I do wish they hadn't written so many with exploding boils and maggots.

How long have you been writing fic?

I actually had to look it up on Gossamer. LOL, I posted my first story in 2000. It seems like I wrote for a much longer time than that but I think overall it was almost 10 years. I just posted the second half of a story last year that was actually five years overdue, but nothing between about 2009 and then.

What inspired you to start writing?

I came to fanfic late too, and read obsessively for a good three years, encountering a lot of frogs in with the princes, before I said, "I can do better than that." I'm not really sure I did considering how out of character Mulder is in that first story, but the fire was lit and I just kept going. I like to think that leaving my oldest immature/flawed stories up helps to show how much my writing has improved but I have to admit it's kind of embarrassing when somebody recommends one of those.

Who is your favorite XF character to write?

Mulder. Always. I love his snarky dialog and the way he views the world. I was a lot less comfortable with Scully early on, although giving her the flu in "Getting By" was great fun, and using her POV in "Unfolding" felt very natural. I became more comfortable with her the older I got. I did a short piece from Frohike's POV in "Bare Ruin'd Choirs," which I really enjoyed, and I've got a decent start on a long piece from Doggett's POV. I've enjoyed being in his head and hope to get that one done some day.

Are there any XF characters you dislike or find too difficult to write?

As much as I like Skinner, I've never tried his POV because I'm not sure I understand him well enough. I'd be too afraid of getting him wrong. I've always disliked CSM and would never even consider writing from his POV. I'm not even sure I want to write about someone else encountering him. ~brr~ There are so many XF authors who do both beautifully that I'll leave these guys to them. I'm not sure I'd ever write Reyes either, for the same reasons as staying away from Skinner. She never appealed to me as a character.

Is there a story you're most proud of or that's a favorite?

Geez, that's like asking which son I like best. In general, I tend to like my original-character stories best. Maybe that's because *everyone* writes M and S and Sk, but only I write my OCs. Out of the stories I've done, I think I'm most proud of "Only Skin Deep," the stalker story. That was a very intense piece to write for many reasons, most of them having to do with getting inside the head of an obsessive psycho stalker. I loved it in there! It also scared the crap out of me. I've always read mysteries/casefiles, both in fanfic and RL novels, and I've wanted to write one for years. This story gave me the chance to try, even in a short format, and I found out how hard it is. I had to figure out all of the mechanics of the casefile, set the pacing, deliver the thoughts and dialog, make sure there weren't any loose ends – it took close to a year to complete. I'd have to say it was worth the work and this is probably my favorite story as a result. I've had a sequel planned for years but now that I know what to expect from getting into Julie's head, I'm finding it hard to commit.

With so many archives to choose from these days, where is the best place to find your work?

I've still got my own site, recently stripped down, renovated, and moved off Wordpress (I HATED the way the stories were displayed there!). http://mimicsmusings.com I decided the overhaul was needed when Gossamer stopped updating and I realized that I'd forgotten how to post at Wordpress. LOL, I know a lot of authors are gravitating to Archive of Our Own these days, but I prefer to keep as much as I can in one place. That used to be Gossamer, but my newest stories were missing from there and my old site, so moving it seemed like a good idea. I may get around to adding my stuff on AO3 when I need a new challenge. I do have a Live Journal but there's not a blessed thing on it. In fact, the screen even says, "Nothing to see here. Move along please."

You've been well known in the fandom for a long time, do you still write for XF or have your skills been focused elsewhere?

As I mentioned before, I haven't written anything in about 6 years, other than to finish something that was due 5 years ago. When I hit my senior level of college around 2008, I started having less time and motivation to write fic. Then I went on to grad school in 2011 and lost what little urge I had left. All of my writing was focused on my thesis, but I often looked longingly at my stash of WIPs and wished I could work on them instead. I've been out of school for almost three years now and have only picked at old stories every so often. I suspect if other things in my life ever settle down, I'll definitely go back to it. I've got a solid dozen WIPs on my hard drive and new ideas aren't gone, just the urge to write them down.

Is there anything in particular that caused you to stop writing?

Grad school, plus Mr. Mims needing two major surgeries in as many years, were the first things to put a real crimp in my fic writing. Trying to come up with ways of earning a living so that he can retire without having to worry about bills. Branching out into photography, which didn't go quite the way I'd hoped but did satisfy my creative urge. Just kind of life, in general, some days. In an old interview that's up on my website, I said I didn't see myself stopping. Ever. Boy, when I get it wrong...!

Have you written your own original characters outside of fandom?

I've had a supernatural mystery/thriller in process for a good 20 years now. The heroine is weak and I haven't even written a hero yet. The best thing about it is the bad guy and the secondary characters. I've written an entire scene with the villain and another with the bit players but other than that, the novel is going nowhere fast. I suspect I'm not cut out to be a best-selling novelist.

Anything you’d like to share about your writing process?

I've never been a very efficient writer, but grad school taught me a lot about what works for me and gave me a couple of better habits. I've only ever written one outline because the research paper I was doing would have been hell to keep straight without it. For most other pieces I write what comes to me, as it comes to me, then stitch it together when I've got enough. Sometimes this means that I've written something good but put it in the wrong place, so moving text "Legos" is a big part of the process. If things get too complicated, I've even printed out a piece, cut it apart, and then taped it in the right order. I often finish the end first, because I have to know where I'm going. Sometimes it changes, most of the time it doesn't. Many stories come to me through the title. The right one will tell me what the story is about, so I usually have the title before I even start writing. Other than that, it's a question of not pushing it. Trying to force myself to write often means not being able to write, so if I'm not in the mood or the words won't come, I do something else unless that changes.

What do you find most difficult about writing?

Getting started. I'm always beginning pieces in my head, then something comes up so that I can't write it down. I frequently get great ideas/lines as I'm trying to fall asleep, which means I either have to get back up and write it down or accept that it'll be gone in the morning. Getting started is a daily struggle when actually in the process too. Our brains are lazy and will find anything to avoid doing what we want. The Internet is great for wasting time so when I'm writing, I can't even go online for a few minutes or I'll be there for hours.

Do you have a favorite author? (fanfic or published!)

Another "pick a favorite child" question! I think I need to split this up a bit. Published authors: Since I'm a huge mystery/thriller fan, right now my favorites are Sandra Brown and Mark de Castrique. I got free books by both through daily download sites and I'm hooked. Sandra does really good romantic thriller characters, and Mark has two incredible thriller series set in NC with amazing characters and settings. I've read every book he's published and I'm jonesing for more.

Fanfic authors: This one is really really tough. For overall quality of plot, dialog, characters, settings, etc. it's gotta be aka "Jake." Her casefiles are so spot-on I can see them as if I'm watching the show. Brandon Ray is right up there, too. He really understands Scully and writes her so well a lot of readers didn't realize he was a guy. David Hearne is the master of humor and quirkiness. dee_ayy, Jo-Ann Lassiter, and Peggy did medical Mulder!Torture that isn't over the top. Yeah, picking one ain't gonna happen. LOL, I've heard of some really good newer authors, too. I need to check out some of them.

Is there any advice you'd give to aspiring writers?

Go for it. If you sit around wondering if you should, you can save time by just jumping in and doing it. Don't try to figure the "right" way to work. Do it your way, and do it whenever you have time, even if it's just a few minutes in between doing something else.

When you're not writing, think about what you want to write. Go over it in your mind, set up the dialog, see the scenes, then consciously put it away. When you sit down to write again, something will be there. It might not be exactly what you were thinking of, but you'll have something. This is what your brain does best. It's often called the "Eureka!" effect, but it's really just your subconscious working in the background. Trust it and learn to rely on it.

Don't fight the story. I think the biggest mistake fic writers (especially) make is asking "What do I want these characters to do?" If you're working with canon characters, the question should be "What *would* these characters do?" All characters have their own personalities, motivations, moral sense, background, especially characters that were created for a show. Know who your characters are, even the ones you create yourself. You'll only use a tiny portion of their background, but you have to know it ahead of time so you'll know how they would react in a particular situation. I found many times that a story I was having trouble with came from not listening to what the characters wanted to do. That usually meant I was trying to go in the wrong direction, and once I listened to the character, the writing became easier.

Do you think fic has changed over the years? You run a popular message board, X-Files Lost and Found, that helps track down missing fic....has the demand for that changed at all?

Oh, fic has definitely changed! For one thing, NoRoMo was the accepted standard back in the early days of the fandom. Shippers were the minority, and not necessarily well thought of. After the first movie, things started to swing the other way until the 'ship was the primary genre for XF fic and UST fell by the wayside. The advent of binge watching the series on DVD/Netflix/whatever resulted in a new genre of fic based on M&S-were-meant-to-be-together-and-have-a-baby (or a bunch of them). The newer writers didn't experience the weekly relationship struggle and sort of just skipped right to doing the wild thing and having William. The fic coming out of this viewpoint is radically different from the previous 15 years or more of Phile fic.

All of the message boards are seeing less traffic these days, although Lost & Found can always count on someone showing up with a description or title for us to hunt down. It appears the action is now on Tumblr and AO3 rather than L&F or Haven, but there's still enough interest to make it worth keeping the board open. My only problem is that I haven't read a lot of the newer authors so my rep as a fic-finding guru is suffering.

Anything else you'd like to share that I missed?

I'd like to extend a challenge to all Philes – help us save the stories. Yes, AO3 is doing a fantastic job of archiving these days, but they can't possibly hang onto everything out there. It seems like it's mostly new stories being added, while a lot of the older fic either languishes in obscurity or disappears into a black hole. Slash and Doggett fiction have always been the ugly ducklings in the fandom, which makes those kinds of stories much harder to find. Something that each of us can do is to create collections of fic on our computers, in a cloud storage device, or elsewhere. If you like a particular story, save it, then track down the rest of what the author wrote and save that too. A few of us are still gathering old sites to rebuild and we always need people who can either find a fic or have a copy to share. Some day the fandom may be mostly on peoples' hard drives, but at least it would still exist. This is one of the longest-running fandoms out there. Let's do our best to keep it that way.

Thanks to mimic117 for talking with us!

#xfn #fanfiction #fanfic #The X-Files #xfiles #FanWorks Wednesdays

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cosmosogler · 8 years ago

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me and myself

last night i was taking the dogs outside right before i went to sleep so i wouldn’t wake up to any fun surprises (potentially in my bed). or at least, it would be less likely. dad came out with doge and we talked about a coyote he saw once. when i went inside i was trying to corral the dogs upstairs when dad started talking to me about politics!!!!!!!!!!!! with no prompting he started yelling at me about how the us got screwed over by obama signing the climate agreement thing and it was good to leave. i did not care at all and i told him i just wanted to go to bed. he said “no, listen” and kept talking and getting more agitated. i stopped responding but he kept going for several minutes. then he said “i’m just sayin’” for... some reason, i can’t figure out what he was trying to do there. so i said “yep, just sayin” and went upstairs. then he FOLLOWED ME INTO MY ROOM AND STARTED TALKING ABOUT IT AGAIN! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

by then it was 12:30 and i was really annoyed and anxious and the dogs picked up that i was anxious and started barking at each other. there were four dogs in my room. that is too many dogs to fit in a room. three of them were in my bed. eve laid on top of my pillows and growled at me when i tried to squeeze in next to her.

she’s in a lot of pain... she’s got no patience at all these days. i think she is going to keep using that leg until it falls off though. if she’d just start learning to walk without it it would be less painful once we got it off of her... it looks like the tumor is pushing on her kneecap from the inside and is maybe also down into her ankle and also up to her hip. i catch her nibbling her ankle a lot and licking the bulk of the tumor. she’s still got some fur on it. it’s painful to even look at though. her whole leg is just mangled and misshapen and she won’t stop trying to walk with it. but my uncle says she won’t recover from the surgery unless she has already stopped using the leg on her own.

cleo liked to jump out of my bed at the slightest noise and start barking at it and running down the hall. then five seconds later she’d come back to my bed and cry for me to lift her onto it. then at 5:30 after some gnarly anxiety dreams about being chased by a dude with a shotgun and then a demon with a sword who killed my friend right in front of me cleo woke me up by crying directly into my ear hole. i took her downstairs and handed her to mom for mom to feed when she got out of the shower. i closed my bedroom door and fell back into bed. i was woken up many, many times after that by cleo crying and howling outside my door. whiskey wasn’t as bad... he’s a lot calmer. i felt bad locking eve out of my room but i really, really needed the sleep.

i got up at 9 anyway! so i got less than 8 hours of sleep for like the fifth night in a row. i notice myself starting to doze if i sit without some kind of activity in front of myself in the evenings. but i don’t have enough energy to do much more than watch game grumps. i might... have to put that down for a while. it’s really hard to watch them skip the tutorial/opening cutscene and then get lost and not know how the controls work all the way through the game until they get mad and/or give up. especially for games that actually look good if given a chance, or games that i already know and like very much.

i don’t even remember what i did all morning, man. i did look through the therapy handouts and saw that there wasn’t any actual writing i needed to do and i had already read them. then i went to therapy. we talked about politics for a whole hour... i was really unhappy about that.

i mean... i don’t mind talking about politics with people i am already comfortable around. even people i don’t agree with! but lisa kind of, like, asked me about one or two things and then said “do you think your political views due to your previous mistreatment lead you to forgive one candidate more than another?”

look. craig didn’t drastically change my life. a lot of my problems i had before i met him and continued to have after i stopped interacting with him. i already had depression, and nightmares, and antisocial tendencies and a very small friend circle. he didn’t suddenly cause all these problems. in the grand scheme of things, he actually didn’t matter that much...

you know, that feels kind of nice to type out. he didn’t alter my life that much. i mean yeah it was horrible and i don’t appreciate the ptsd-like symptoms and “triggers” and whatever but he didn’t change the structure of my problems or life. he just kind of... put some boxes on top of the pile. or gross moldy cheese on top of the pile maybe. made it hard to want to clean up the problems because first you gotta get through the gross cheese.

i didn’t like clinton, but i recognized that she was a fairly reasonable, average politician, and i thought some of her ideas were good enough to work with. maybe that’s why it was easier to “forgive” the scandals and stuff? because there were pros to go with the cons? the other candidate didn’t have any of those pros to balance out the cons. am i just supposed to not vote at all?

it wasn’t specifically his statements about women that made me not like him. by themselves the statements would have been enough, but the first thing i noticed is that he’s a corporate mogul with apparently very little connection to reality. everything else followed from that. he made those statements after i had already noticed that first thing about him.

anyway. we also talked about religion and that brought up a lot of baaaaaaaaaad memories. i started getting actually mad, which is kind of surprising? i’m not sure why. i talk about religion with christians sometimes and i don’t get mad. i think i was getting that “vibe” that she was looking down on me for some reason. there wasn’t any particular thing she said that made me think that. i guess it was that she spent so long talking about it and referred to “how much” i had said about my views as if i had given her a solid base. i barely said anything, man. is it really that easy to tell what my views are? i don’t even really know what my views are or how to describe them using political vocabulary.

anyway, at the end we were supposed to draw our emotions (but if you were drawing any bad emotions you were only allowed to use “pastel” colors) so i drenched my paper in a blinding monstrosity. “the yellow represents suffering,” i joked to my groupmate. i also said “god this is going to make me go color blind it hurts so much.”

the paper was so wet from marker ink that it actually curled and i had to drop my handout folder on it to try to straighten it out. i shall take a picture of it tomorrow.

i’m the only one left in group now (that attends regularly)... i don’t think i will be able to handle three-hour conversations with my therapist by myself especially if they get derailed into politics every time i mention i don’t agree with one of my family members.

when i got home i hid upstairs for a while and then i dusted/oiled the couches and then mom ordered pizza for dinner. then i took eve to get the mail, and took wiley for a walk, and hung out downstairs with the dogs for a long while because eve had parked herself on the mattress and i didn’t want her to think she had to get back up right away.

tonight i watched a speedrun of super ghouls n ghosts. it’s fascinating to me that these people memorize a game (especially a really difficult one) and make it look almost reasonable to play. even when they screw up and lose a few seconds.

tomorrow i should start looking into free community activities. the therapist said i NEED to meet more people. i think she underestimates how long it takes for me to warm up to new people. group therapy is different because it is a mutually unpleasant experience where you have to get to know your groupmates really well really fast.

even the society of physics students club at nau was a huge struggle for me and i already knew more than half the people there!

i would also like to try to drive diogi over to the park sometime maybe in the morning. the logistics are a little weird... considering there are five dogs here. maybe it would be better to go in the evening so the pavement isn’t baking hot so i can walk the others over and we don’t have to get five dogs into our little honda. dad isn’t really participating at all though. today he had a point because we were also taking care of pearl. but he refused to feed our guest dogs in the morning even if he was already up. even though they are fed portions that require eating twice a day. cool!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so today i guess i made some progress toward letting go of old pain?? just by kind of, putting the craig stuff in perspective. i don’t know how to reconcile that with the idea that no one else is going to care about it, so if it’s going to get cared about, i need to do it myself. no one else is going to feel bad, so if i need someone to feel bad i need to do it myself. no one else is going to remember it, etc etc. and obstacles and stuff need to be insurmountable or else they weren’t *really* a big deal.

i guess at this point, my belief is that depression needs to be difficult to get over, so i make it too hard so that i get the satisfaction of knowing i had/have a hard problem to “solve.” even though you don’t really solve depression...

these are beliefs that i think it might be healthy to invest time into changing. i am willing to consider working on those areas to try and be happier. i can practice healthier thinking habits around these areas without “making a new friend.” i might even feel even less lonely if i feel a little more confident or at least can tolerate my own company.

because when you don’t have any friends you just get your own dazzling personality shoved down your throat every minute and it’s exhausting. i’m not exactly “lonely,” at least, not the way i felt it when i was a teenager up to when i started dating craig. i stopped... really needing company, i guess. like yeah sometimes i feel like i’m going to explode because i have an idea and i just gotta share it, but that’s not the same as loneliness.

when i have an idea i like in my head these days i feel just as comfortable writing it down in a note somewhere or in the journal as i do telling it to one of my friends. i dunno. my anxiety migrated from being based around other people to being based around myself and my prospects for the future. and i get anxious when i think about the fact that i STILL can’t see myself anywhere in the next 5-10 years other than a graveyard.

but even in my most “successful” “fantasies,” when i am working on a team researching whatever, fusion or gravitational waves or anything, i imagine myself with colleagues. colleagues aren’t the same thing as friends.

i guess that could get pretty lonely. i usually feel better about it when i am with eve. but i know eve won’t last forever. maybe another year, if i’m being generous.

i think that’s contributing a lot of substance to my anxiety... worrying about what i’m going to do without eve. worrying about how comfortable or uncomfortable diogi is. thinking about the fact that the medicine diogi is taking is not meant by any means to be taken long-term. she’s already lasted longer on it than we could have hoped. but i feel like every day i don’t take her to the park is a risk i’m taking by my inaction. and when i gamble, i usually lose.

i didn’t do my best to make randi and jake’s last days as not-bad as i could. i refuse to make that mistake again.

anyway, that’s what’s on my mind. i could talk more about the dream but it is after 12:45 and i am very tired.

#i talk about dogs that will be dead in the possibly near future #they are doing fine at the moment #but its hard to watch and i am sad about it

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neuroma-neuroses · 8 years ago

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Repeat this three times fast: translabyrinthine resection for an acoustic neuroma

Here’s the bit of this whole brain tumour adventure I was really dreading: actually getting the bloody thing out.

Reuben and I got married two weeks after I was told my tumour wasn’t malignant, an emotional feat in itself. The statistical improbability of a tumour I’d had for at least ten years becoming symptomatic during my wedding is mind-boggling. The neurosurgeons had given me hardcore steroids to reduce the swelling on my brain, but I delayed taking them before the wedding as they could have nasty side-effects. Gargantuan, messy, vain mistake. I spent my wedding night in the emergency room, vomiting up champagne and hors d'oeuvre due to brain swelling. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to change out of my wedding dress before this adventure.

After a flurry of CT scans and terse conversations with my neurosurgical team, they confirmed my swelling had gotten worse and were unsure about signing me off to travel for my honeymoon. An agreement was eventually reached, whereby I acknowledged the danger of travelling to a far-distant land cast back many decades in medical technology known as ‘New Zealand’. I spent much of my honeymoon guzzling anti-nausea medication, unable to sleep due to the steroids and dreaded the ending of the trip. I knew that as soon as I got back, the cogs would begin to turn and the surgery would be close at hand.

youtube

During our honeymoon, we went to Wanaka’s Puzzling World, which had its own tilted room. As a preface to the room, they had a huge sign saying IF YOU HAVE BALANCE ISSUES, DO NOT ATTEMPT THE TILTED ROOM. Well, I had a tumour on my balance nerve. What transpired was one of the weirdest sensations of my life. It felt like my head was on backwards. Reuben had the foresight to film it.

My mum called me the minute we landed, exalting that we were on Australian, tumour-eradicating soil once more. I steeled myself for the frantic phone call, telling me my surgery date.

Then...nothing.

The insurmountable wait before this huge surgery was harrowing from a mental health perspective, but not for the reason you’d expect. I was told my surgery was category one as the tumour had gotten so big it was pressing on my brainstem, but then faced a solid month with no contact from my medical team. I had cancelled all jobs, so I had nothing to distract me. The wait was excruciating.

I tried to keep myself busy, but by this point my tumour was interfering with my everyday life: I could barely walk, was constantly nauseated and dizzy so was mostly bed bound. As though my physical state wasn’t enough, my anxiety disorder decided life could get a bit spicier too. Anxiety is a physical manifestation of the fear that something bad is lurking off in the distance: sweaty palms, racing heart, shortness of breath, a dark shape moving in the water on the horizon. I knew something bad was around the corner, I just didn’t know when it would strike.

I called the hospital everyday; the admin people got sick of me pretty quickly. ‘No, we’ve not assigned your case yet. WE’LL contact YOU when it happens.’

I just sat at home all day, every day, too sick to move around much, willing that phone to ring with every cell in my body. I just wanted the surgery done and dusted, not as a looming spectral presence on the horizon. The pain of the wait seemed so much more intolerable than what I was about to go through.

Being creative seemed to take all my strength and happiness and I didn’t have any left. My picture book ideas were left half-finished, illustrations half-done. I cried to Reuben every day. I was unsure if the surgery was happening in months or a few short days. The cherry on top was the medication cocktail I had to take. The anti-inflammatory drug I was on, dexamethasone, increases cortisol in the body, so I was in perpetual fight or flight mode, one long, excruciating panic attack.

All of my medications for the acoustic neuroma, artfully placed. I call this piece ‘Having a Brain Tumour: My Pharmacist Now Knows Me By Sight’.

Finally, FINALLY, I got a call to meet the ENT team involved in the procedure.

The consultant was brusque and efficient in the way that people whose time is highly compensated seem to be. ‘Your chance of dying or stroke is 1 in 100,’ he told me point blank.

I had a big, gulpy cry in corridor outside his office, which he happened to walk in on. Reuben later told me that was good, ‘You convinced him you were taking it all seriously’. He was full of these inner workings of the mechanisms of the hospital, which were all highly political and cutthroat.

The cogs were finally in motion. Over next two weeks, I was at the hospital nearly everyday after a month of no contact: MRIs, CT scans, neuro meetings, MDT follow ups, clinic meetings, pre-admission clinic...it was never-ending. I sat in waiting rooms for over 30 hours. Finally, I got given a date: 17th of February.

That morning, I was oddly tranquil. I made a plant watering schedule for Reuben. I dressed in my favourite Gorman dress. My parents met me at the hospital at 6am, having gotten up at 4am to make it from their country house. My dad had died of a head-related cause ten years ago in the same hospital. I had to walk the same steps I had taken then through the hospital atrium, when the doctors had told us he could die at any time and I hadn’t wanted to be in the room for it.

In a waiting room, after barely a minute together with my family, I was saying goodbye to them. I had to change into a hospital gown. My rings were sticky-taped to my fingers. I was calm, joking with the nurse about how I didn’t drink or smoke. The bruque consultant appeared again and drew a big arrow on the right side of my neck, marking out the tumour.

It was only as I was wheeled into a small anteroom and the nurses began to congregate and talk to each other instead of me and I knew it was on. My breathing hitched up. The anesthesiologist misjudged his cannula. My blood was everywhere. He cast about wildly for a common topic to discuss as this all got mopped up.

‘Do you like dogs?’

I felt myself laugh-crying.

The hubbub around me ceased and I realised I was alone in the anteroom. If I were to be praying to a god to spare my life, this is when I’d do it, I thought. But I was too scared even for that.

The anesthesiologists returned and wheeled me into the surgical theatre, chatting about ice-bars. I tried to tell them about the amazing one in Queenstown. The next thing I remember is clasping each of my sisters’ hands as I lay in bed, then being very grumpy that someone had the audacity to take me from my comfy bed into a CT scan. I opened my eyes: everything was skewed 90 degrees anti-clockwise. I slept solidly for two days, finally awakening to be told it took 13 hours, had all gone okay but I’d lost my hearing.

I can barely remember the first fews days after surgery. I recall my mum being by my side always, I recall vomiting a lot (a cut balance nerve will do that to you). On the third day after the surgery, I was sitting up in bed and joking about the hospital food. I was discharged after five days.

Post op two days. So much blood and iodine!

I recuperated remarkably fast. I didn’t have any CSF leaks or major complications apart from them having to leave a portion of the tumour behind. I was particularly worried about the pain associated with the procedure and how wretched I would feel afterwards. Honestly, it was bearable and a lot less horrific than I expected. The wound on my stomach from the fat transfer used to patch the tumour resection has been the most painful surgical site!

My tummy post op week two. SO FLIPPING PAINFUL.

The after effects of the surgery have been more or less what I expected: my dizziness is still persistent like before the operation, but I’ve noticed that I’m not falling over every two steps anymore. Hopefully the dizziness will improve; I’m certainly doing enough physiotherapy! I’m adjusting to the hearing loss slowly, which isn’t helped by the fact that I have raging tinnitus in my dead ear.

I’ve observed the surgical after effects with the detached curiosity of a kid with a science experiment. Oh, I can only taste bitter things on my right side now? Weird! Only the right side of my face is aching like it has been bruised? Strange! I can only cry from one eye now? Cool!

One week post op

Two weeks

Three weeks feat. cat

One month

Five weeks

Apart from intermittent aching which is usually dulled by the painkillers I’m still on, the operation site itself has been numb for five weeks now, which feels very odd. It also feels strangely tight, like they didn’t spare me enough skin when they were stitching me up. I had trouble lifting and lowering my head and mentioned so to one of the ENT surgeons, who cheerfully rejoined that that specific muscle had to be cut the restitched during the surgery. I’d found this to be the most annoying surgical after effect; it feels like I have a painful neck crick if I engage that muscle in the slightest.

The brace that held my head in place for the 13 hours of the operation left painful indentations on my forehead which I’d read about in others’ accounts. In the first few days after the surgery, their pain annoyed me more than anything else. It looks like they may scar now.

One of the brace wounds. Annoying bugger.

I sustained a second degree facial paralysis during the surgery as the tumour was wrapped so tightly around my facial nerve they ended up leaving a bit in there to preserve it. The paralysis has nearly resolved itself! For a few weeks after the operation, my smile was very wonky. Now it’s only noticeable if I’m tired or putting lipstick.

Two weeks post op, wonky smile!

Five weeks post op, somewhat straight smile! Now, I need my dexamethasone chipmunk cheeks to deflate please.

The slow pace of recovery is also very boring to me. I thrive on stress, with a million plates in the air at all times, so having no purpose but to heal has been a very strange experience.Mostly I just feel like I’m recovering from a nasty flu; all wibbly and wonky and fatigued. I’m slowly picking up work again in my fifth week post op, but I’m being kind to myself and not adding too much pressure to get better right away.

#Acoustic Neuroma #Acoustic Schwannoma

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forbiddenwords · 8 years ago

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Stranded (Chapter 2)

Written By: TheHeathenSlave Rating: M for Plane crash, injury, survival, desert island, stranded, drug usage, drinking, alcohol, awkward flirting, voyeurism, watersports, fetish, sexual tension, extreme illness, graphic, puss, wound cleaning, surgery, vomiting, oral sex, fluff, angst, romance, drug usage, assault, near death, happy ending. Fandom: Real Person Fiction (Hours Era But Modern Day)

She never thought that a trans Atlantic flight could end in perfect paradise with David Bowie. Well…almost perfect paradise.

Previous Chapter.

When the raft was on the beach (of which she did most of the work, terrified that if she didn’t, David would open his cut even further) she fell onto the sand trying to catch her breath. David, of course, was well rested. To a point. At least more than she was. Her wrist throbbed with agony and she wanted to scream with the throbbing headache she had. Most likely it was from dehydration more than anything else. David was sitting next to her, picking seaweed out of her hair. The ridiculous long hair that she was thinking about cutting the moment she got energy. It was a nice thought but she also knew she’d never actually do that so instead she just lazily turned to look at him.

“Having fun?” She asked.

“Somewhat.” He said, “Your hair is very long.”

“Thanks?”

“Well it is nice. Well taken care of. How did you do it?”

“I guess I just didn’t cut it for…30 years.” She chuckled. It took another moment but then she was able to sit up and take in a deep breath. “Can you grab me one of the water bottles from the raft? I’m dehydrated.” He nodded and moved to the raft carefully. She could tell he was in pain but he wasn’t saying anything about it. It had to be bad. He still had what counted as a shirt on even if it was also basically ripped to shreds and barely covering him. Mostly, it was covering the wound so she couldn’t see how actually bad it was. She was going to need to get a look at it. He definitely was risking infection right now. She was too but far less than him. Maybe there was medication in some of the bags she grabbed. Painkillers, antibiotics, anything. People carried a lot of stuff with them to travel and they had a lot of luggage.

She took the bottle from him when he handed it off to her and drank from it. Still slow sips as she didn’t want to end up vomiting. That would just make things worse. David went back to the pile of stuff they’d gotten and started to sift through it. She watched him for a moment as she slowly drank. The sun was rising in the sky. Slowly, her freezing and shaking form was beginning to warm up. She wondered where they were, if they’d be found. Maybe, just maybe, they had lucked out and landed on some private island where people would be. It was possible, just not very probable. As soon as she was rested, she’d go to look. She was sure he was going to insist on joining her for that but she wasn’t sure how much she wanted him moving around.

“Find anything good?” She asked him.

“Not yet. Nothing is my color or style.” He grinned at her. She laughed and grabbed a bag to open.

“Well…I don’t know how much you want walk around here naked.”

“You have a problem with the human form?”

“Not even a little. I’m a doctor remember? However, need I explain sand in certain areas, not to mention insects, parasites, and possible things that could wiggled up your urethra?” He was wincing before she even finished that sentence. Possibly having gained and understand about what she was going to say when she started to use the word ‘wiggle’.

“Okay, point taken.” He said making a face, “Don’t say urethra like that again.”

“Like what?”

“You know what.” He insisted. She smiled and shook her head as she began to sift through the bag she had pulled onto her lap. It wasn’t easy with a broken wrist in a horrible splint that was now kind of falling apart because the bandage around it was soggy. She could hopefully direct David how to fix her up later. It wasn’t important in the moment. Mostly because she had just found what she was looking for.

“Jackpot.” She said, pulling out a bottle of pills. It was only half full but it was the best they had. At least for now. “Percocet. Find some food and you can have some.”

“I don’t think…”

“You are under supervision of a doctor, there’s not even enough here for you to get high, and trust me at most you’ll get sleepy and slightly buzzed. It has acetaminophen in it as well. You’ll want it.” She told him. He gave her a weird look, one that seemed to say he wanted to protest but wasn’t going to. Nor was he going to tell her that she was probably right. They stayed in silence for a long while as they sorted out things from each of the bags.

“Hey hey hey, look.” David said excitedly and completely out of the blue. She looked up at him from trying to figured out how they were going to open up some of the cans of food from the emergency survival kit she’d picked up from the plane. It had been part of the first aid kit. There were a few cans of food but no can opener. Other than that, she had found a few bottle of alcohol, some snack foods, some junk food, and a few candy bars. They may not have been healthy but they’d be helpful. It turned out that David was pointing to a tent. Kind of. It was a bag that held a tent. Next to it was a tackle box but there didn’t seem to be any fishing rods around. That wasn’t a huge deal. They only needed to get some strong sticks, perhaps. It would be hard to do in the ocean but maybe there’d be a stream around. They didn’t know yet. She got up and walked to him, handing the bottle of water over.

“Drink.” She told him. He muttered something that sounded like he was mocking her but started to drink from the bottle anyway. She unzipped the bag for the tent and looked inside. It would definitely take two of them to put this one up. It wasn’t small. While he rested she started to pull things out and move them far up the beach where there was more solid ground and she could actually anchor the stakes. It wasn’t long before he joined her.

“You’ll need help.”

“Yes but first of all, I’m going to need you to redo this splint.” She lifted up her arm. She’d be far less useless if her wrist was stabilized and she could work.

“Me?”

“It won’t be that hard and I’ll tell you how.” She said and started to unwrap it. Her movements gingered and slow as she winced trying to ignore the pain. He stared at her in horror and then audibly gagged when he saw how broken her wrist actually was. “Oh calm down…”

“The bone is…”

“I know.” She said, “But you are strong and can force it back into place.” She said then got up and went down to the beach. It took a bit but she managed to get a small bottle of whiskey open. After that she downed two of the percocet with the alcohol and started to binge on a bag of chips. It was the best way to keep everything down. He just stood there, watching, like she was some kind of lunatic. She headed back to him with the first aid kit in her hand and sat down.

“Are you sure I should…”

“Grab a strong branch.” She told him. “Come on, before I’m too trashed to explain this too you.” She continued to gobble down the chips until the large bag was gone. Her stomach wasn’t too happy but it was far more calm than if she had put no food in there. He came back with a thick branch and she directed the length he should snap it in two. Then she got an ace bandage from the first aid kit (she’d used gauze before).

“Uh…”

“Just shift it back into place. I’m going to scream.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He sighed and took her wrist gently. “You can’t get mad at me.”

“I’ll be more mad if you pussy out and don’t do this.”

“I’m going to blame that comment on the…various drugs you just took.” He said. She rolled her eyes and he put his hands over her feeling the bone. “On the count of three.”

“Okay.”

“One…two…” He didn’t wait for three, he did it just then and without warning. As promised she screamed bloody murder and kicked her foot into the stand. He very quickly wrapped up her wrist as she yelled at him to make sure he did it as tight as he possibly could and check her fingernails to make sure blood was still circulating. By that point she was laying on her back trying to control her breath so she wouldn’t vomit. “I fail to see how this is going to make you better with the tent construction.”

“Shut…up.” She muttered, “Just give me a moment…okay?”

“You aren’t going to…die, right?”

“Don’t be a moron.” She whispered and put a hand over her face. Everything was spinning and she knew she couldn’t throw up right now. It would be stupid and wasteful. It was possible to keep it all down. There wasn’t too much alcohol in there. Enough to take the pills and a shot more. Not nearly enough to poison her system. It was more the pills that were tumbling around in there. She needed about ten minutes for it to pass. David paced around nervously, she focused on the sounds of that and the ocean to calm her down. When she didn’t feel like she was going to puke any more she got to her feet.

“You…okay? I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t be sorry.” She said, “Really. It was going to hurt no matter who did it. I appreciate the help. We have to get this tent up. The sun is brutal and I assume the night will be freezing. We need to do this then some how start a fire. Okay? A normal one and a signal one.” He nodded still looking freaked out by all of this but they started to get to work on the tent.

It was not easy because she was mostly wasted and he had clearly never put a tent up in his life but about two hours later they had a two person tent up. It was nice. There were windows and even a divider for the different “rooms”. That was a start. Once that was done she laid down, for a very long time and passed out, more or less. She didn’t know what David went off to do and her dreams were incredibly weird thanks to the narcotics. When she finally came to, her mouth was bone dry and she was shivering. Also, she really had to pee. Fuck.

She made her way out of the tent to see David sitting near by. He had made a fire. Maybe she was wrong about her thoughts that he was useless, at least in way of survival. Not that it would be extremely hard to make a fire with the waterproof matches in the kit that they had but he knew how to build one. The tinder and fuel was all piled up exactly how it should be. Impressive. Part of her, though she admired him as an artist, also figured he wouldn’t have been able to tie his shoes by himself let alone start and maintain a fire. He was cooking some food over it. There was a stone heating on the coals and he had two of the cans open and heating up. They seemed to be soup. Chicken noodle if she had to guess. The labels had been washed off.

“Hey.” She said softly. “Sorry I um…”

“It’s understandable.” He said and picked up a bottle of water to hold out to her. He winced as he turned and she frowned but took the bottle with her good hand. Her other hand was noticeably swollen at that point but only due to the injury. The bandage was tight but still not cutting off circulation. He’d been perfect at that too. She took a few sips of water and then set the bottle down next to him in the sand.

“Have to pee.” She said, “I’ll be…” She looked down at her jeans and sighed, “Can you um…help?”

“What?”

“Look I can’t reasonably get my pants open or even down with this injury I know it’s weird but it’s either that or piss myself.” She told him. He looked her over and then nodded.

“Lets not get too far from the food or fire though.”

“Fine, not sure I can walk that far.” She said.

It was really awkward having to ask for this level of help but it was her best option, honestly. They were only going to have each other for a while, they’d have to help each other. They walked to a more grassy and brush covered area and he stepped up close to her, his hands moving to undo her pants and pulled them down for her, along with her panties.

“Usually when I’m doing this it’s not to help a woman take a piss.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She laughed nervously. Carefully she squatted down, luckily the drugs in her system made her feel a bit less self-concision about this. “You wanna watch? I mean if you are into that…”

“Maybe I am…” He grinned wickedly, “But I guess you’ll never know because I am not going to watch…this time.” He turned and then took a few steps away. Her face got hot and she blushed, she knew that’s all it could possibly be at that point. None of that really should have aroused her. Not really because she found the fetish gross, she totally could get into the whole voyeurism thing, but because this situation was so fucked and there was no reason to get horny. Plus, that was a shitty excuse for a pickup line or even some odd attempt at seduction. She watched him as she peed, which felt so amazing in that moment. When she finished she stood up carefully and somewhat pulled her panties back up, her jeans were more difficult.

“Um…”

“Need help?” He asked then turned.

“Don’t look so happy about it you…weirdo.” She said but couldn’t help but smile at this whole thing. He was very attractive and god, that voice. He sauntered back over to her and helped her with her jeans standing close and looking down into her eyes as he fastened them for her. He leaned in, getting very close like he was going to kiss her but didn’t.

“Weird is my middle name, well, one of them. If you get me drunk enough, I might tell you my others.” He whispered before stepping back and heading for the campsite. She just stood there staring at him somewhat blankly before hurrying after him. She was starving and for far more than just dinner, even if that was part of it.

Next Chapters.

#Real Person Fiction #chapter #smut #submission

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