#useless burnt thing from my childhood nightmares | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bearly-writing · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! I absolutely loved "Bite the Bullet!" If you are still taking requests for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, could you possibly fill CPR with Dick Grayson/Nightwing receiving CPR from someone in the Bat family - preferably Bruce/Batman or Jason/Red Hood? Keep up the great work :D

Thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really glad you enjoyed Bite the Bullet! I can only apologise for how long this fill has taken 😅

All of my prompts have been requested! I know it’s been a very long time since I last filled one of these, and I’m not sure if any of the prompters are still interested in these (or even remember that I was supposed to fill one for them 😂) but I am definitely going to finish these, including the Voltron ones!

Pale Reflections

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: CPR

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Warnings: Near death experiences, Drowning, Past character death, blood and injury

Summary: Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Read it on AO3 here!

Bruce doesn’t actually see Dick go into the water. There’s a shout - Jason, Bruce thinks - the confused sounds of a struggle, the splash of something heavy disappearing into the river. Bruce doesn’t have time to worry about it, not with the horde of Joker’s goons he’s trying to keep from overwhelming him.

So he doesn’t see his son hit the murky water. Doesn’t see his muscles seize at the shock of icy cold. Doesn’t see the dark gape of his mouth or the flash of black hair as Dick struggles to stay at the surface, his arms rigid and useless at his sides, his face tipped up to the dark Gotham sky and then, abruptly, not.

By the time Bruce has dropped his final opponent and turned around, Jason has already pulled him out. They’re both soaked, filthy water running in rivulets over Jason’s leather jacket, dripping off the curly ends of his hair. There’s a small puddle of it under Dick, who’s lying motionless against the concrete of the docks.

For a moment, Bruce doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. There’s Jason, kneeling on the ground, his helmet gone, face tight with fear. There’s Tim, standing over them, mouth wide, eyes gleaming in the dim light. There’s Dick, lying still underneath them, so still, the lenses of his domino flipped up, his eyes shut, wet strands of hair plastered to his pale forehead.

Bruce’s heart seizes in his chest. Thuds to a stop behind his ribs. Around him, the night is cool and dark but Bruce feels suddenly too warm, flushed with phantom heat. He blinks, lashes rasping against the lenses of the cowl and it’s somehow still there - that morbid plateau, his children blocky shadows in the darkness.

Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Jason glances up when Bruce reaches them and his eyes are wide and white and he snarls as Bruce reaches out towards Dick, hunching over his brother, getting in the way. Bruce ignores him. Kneels. Close up, Dick looks even worse: pale and shining damply like some water-logged corpse.

Bruce has to swallow against a surge of acrid bile. He yanks off his gauntlet, tosses it across the dock. Presses fat, nerveless fingers against the crease beneath his son’s jaw. For an aching moment, he feels nothing. No thrum of blood beneath his skin. No sign of life. The sun is hot against his back. Sand shifts beneath his knees - or maybe it’s ash, thrown up by the smouldering debris. The smell of blood is heavy in the air.

Then, weak and thready, but there - a struggling pulse.

There’s a ringing in Bruce’s head so loud that he almost misses Tim crouching beside him, the three of them lined up on their knees like men at prayer. Bruce tilts Dick’s head back and his face is like a mask, waxy and unnaturally blank and it looks so wrong. Bruce drops his own head and stares intently at his son’s chest instead. No puff of air against his cheek. No steady rise and fall of Dick’s ribs. Bruce yanks his cowl back with a shaking hand and presses his face right against Dick’s lips. Still nothing.

The world drops out from underneath Bruce.

“Is he breathing?” Tim asks. He sounds very far away, as if he’s the one who’s underwater. The air is thick as jello and just as hard to breathe,

Bruce’s throat is too tight to speak, the words sealed inside his chest. All he can do is shake his head.

He’s not breathing. Dick isn’t breathing. Bruce’s son isn’t breathing.

Remember his training: CPR, one of the first things he had learned. Clear the airways - Bruce has already tilted Dick’s head back the way you’re supposed to. So: rescue breaths. Bruce gently presses Dick’s mouth open, using his other hand to keep Dick’s head tilted back. Then he seals his mouth over his son’s.

One. Two. Three.

Check for breath. Nothing. Time for compressions, then. One palm flat on his sternum, the other curled around his own splayed fingers. Arms straight to keep the force behind the movement. Don’t worry about breaking ribs, right now, it’s more important to get his chest moving.

There’s a rhythm to the whole thing. A song: Nelly the Elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus.

Dick - Dick has a little stuffed toy elephant. Zitka, she’s called rather than Nelly, after the actual elephant he had known, back when he’d been part of the circus. Bruce has seen it a hundred times. Dick used to cart the thing everywhere - out on family walks on the grounds, cuddled in his arms during movie nights, tucked under his chin when he’d snuggled against Bruce after sneaking into his room at night, seeking comfort after nightmares.

Does he still have it? Bruce doesn’t know. Maybe it’s back at the manor, safely tucked away in a closet in his old room. Maybe it’s in Bludhaven, sitting proudly in the middle of a messy bed. It’s not like Dick is ashamed of that sort of thing - of needing comfort, of his fond nostalgia for his childhood.

Bruce should find it for him. Bruce - he needs to find his little boy’s elephant, he needs to make this better, because Dick is hurt and Bruce needs him not to be.

How many compressions has that been? Dick is still and silent under Bruce’s hands. When Bruce pulls back, he half expects Dick to be watching him, eyes bright, but his lids are still closed, pale and waxy in the dim light. The only eyes on him are Tim’s and Jason’s, burning heavy against the side of his face.

More rescue breaths. Dick’s chest rises a little beneath Bruce’s palm, but it’s only his own air forcing his child’s chest to move. More compressions. Tim is saying something, sounding like he’s speaking from the other end of a very long tunnel, and Bruce can’t hear him over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. Something about an ambulance, maybe? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Dick to breathe again.

Something cracks under his palm. Bruce falters. His ribs. His little boy’s ribs are cracked and broken under his fingers. A jut of jagged bone, slick with blood and viscera presses against him. Bruce snatches his hands back like they’ve been burnt. Stares at them blankly in the dim light. There’s - they should be soaked in blood, gloves torn by debris, but there’s only the slight shine of water against the black.

There’s a roaring like distant thunder. Like desert wind. The air is so dry. Bruce can’t breathe. His chest is so tight. Like iron. Like his own ribs are caved in. His vision blurs like the whole world is spinning around him.

Someone pushes Bruce out of the way. He tries to plant himself in front of his son, his little boy. No one deserves to touch him. No one should have a chance to hurt him. But Bruce’s muscles don’t seem to be responding to him and he’s too weak to fight against the forceful shove.

Broad shoulders block his view of his son, brown leather stretched between them. Bruce stares blankly at the man’s back as he takes over compressions. Muscles ripple beneath his jacket. The thud of each push echoes in Bruce’s ears.

It’s Jason, Bruce realises, as slowly as if he’s swimming through treacle. It’s Jason pressing down on his son’s chest with measured, forceful thrusts. But that isn’t right, because it’s Jason on the floor, his body broken and ruined, his chest still.

Or - no - it’s not Jason. It’s not Jason lying shattered on the desert sand. It’s Dick. This isn’t a memory of the past. A painful ghost of a horror that Bruce couldn’t stop. This is real and this is happening. To Dick. To Bruce’s eldest son.

And Bruce is sitting helplessly at the side as his son dies.

No. No. This isn’t - this isn’t happening. Not to Dick. This isn’t possible.

There’s a strange disconnect in Bruce’s mind. It keeps him frozen as Jason bends down and forces Dick’s shattered chest to rise. As Tim shuffles closer, pale hands fluttering, brushing damp locks of hair from Dick’s still face.

In the distance, a siren wails. Bruce hears it as though it’s coming from another planet. How many times has Dick been on another planet? How many times has Bruce worried himself sick over the danger his boy might be in, where Bruce can’t protect him. And now Dick is dying right under Bruce’s nose and he hadn’t even noticed.

The breath feels caught in Bruce’s throat. If Dick isn’t breathing, then Bruce doesn’t see why he should. Please, he begs, please let him take Dick’s place. Bruce can’t bury another son. He can’t.

He barely notices the ambulance arrive. It only registers when Jason pulls away, making space for the paramedics to take over saving Dick’s life. A desperate possessiveness rises in Bruce’s chest then. These people don’t know Dick. They don’t remember when he messed up sliding down the bannister and skinned his knee. They’ve never tucked him into bed with them after a nightmare, feeling tears soak through their cotton shirt. They’ve never held him in their arms after he took a bad tumble on patrol and felt how small he is, how fragile.

When he lunges for his son, not even entirely sure what he’s planning to do, strong arms catch him. Bruce fights against them without any finesse. Snarling. Desperate. But the grip holds firm. Someone is murmuring low in his ear but Bruce can’t hear them over the pounding of his heart and his own frantic noises.

“B,” the voice growls. “Stop. They’re trying to help him. You need to let them.”

Bruce hears the words, but doesn’t register them. All he can think is that Dick is hurt and someone is keeping Bruce from him. Someone is stopping him from getting to his son.

“B!” A different voice. Less growly but no less desperate. “Listen to Hood. Calm down.”

It’s Jason’s vigilante name that finally breaks through the static in Bruce’s head. It’s Jason’s arms around him, his voice in his ear. It’s Tim standing in front of them both, face pale beneath his domino.

Bruce slumps. Jason takes his weight with surprising ease. When did his boy get so strong? So big? Bruce had missed it. Missed Jason growing from the skinny little teenager he’d been to the vigilante he is now.

Tim closes the distance between them, blocking Bruce’s view of the ambulance and whatever the paramedics are doing with Dick. His face is so pale he’s almost glowing. His dark eyebrows are pulled low over his eyes in concern.

“He’ll be okay, B,” he says, shakily.

Bruce shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the fear on his face or the ambulance as it pulls away, taking his son with it.

***

Dick is fine, Bruce tells himself. The heart monitor is beeping softly and steadily in the background. Dick’s hand is warm in his own, fingers limp but soft and dry. They’re only keeping him in the hospital to monitor for dry drowning and to let his ribs heal up a little. The worst danger has passed.

Jason is fine too. And Tim. They’ve gone to get coffee and snacks from the vending machine down the hall. They were in here just a few moments ago. Jason is here. Tim is here. Dick is here.

Bruce hasn’t lost anyone today.

As if spurred by the thought, Dick’s fingers twitch in Bruce’s grip. Bruce squeezes them in his own almost automatically. Then he shifts to lean over the bed, brushing Dick’s hair back from his pale face. Dick blinks, dark eyelashes fluttering. He groans.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, lowly. He hadn’t meant the name to come out so tentative, so broken, but his throat feels like it’s been torn to shreds.

Dick’s head lolls against the pillow. Bruce shifts to cup his cheek and hold him steady. Blue eyes peek out at him from beneath heavy, waxy lids. Bruce’s mouth feels so dry. Like a desert.

“B?” Dick murmurs. And if Bruce had sounded bad, Dick sounds as though he’s been gargling glass.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. “I’m here, Dick. You’re okay.”

Dick frowns. He blinks but his eyes are still glazed and unfocused. “What,” he manages, “what happened? Where am I?”

Bruce strokes a trembling hand over Dick’s cheek. Why is he shaking? Batman’s hands are supposed to be steady. And Dick is fine. He’s here. He’s talking, even. Perfectly okay.

“You’re at the hospital, sweetheart. You were thrown into the harbour during patrol.”

Dick swallows dryly. His throat clicks. It sounds like it hurts and Bruce can’t stop himself from wincing.

“The hospital?” Dick whispers.

“Gotham General.”

“Why?” Dick asks, dark brows low over shiny eyes. “Why not…the cave?”

Bruce’s throat is thick, his words unwieldy. “You nearly died,” Bruce croaks. “You were…you weren’t breathing. We needed an ambulance. Otherwise…”

He can’t bring himself to finish. Stupidly, Bruce feels quick heat rising behind his eyes, the threat of tears. Suddenly, he can’t breathe. His hands are shaking so badly. To try to stem the trembling, Bruce clasps them close to his chest. Then he bends over them, pressing his face to Dick’s sternum. His son’s heart thuds beneath his ribs.

“B?” Dick asks, again, voice small and unsure. A hand touches Bruce’s head, nimble fingers threading through his sweaty hair.

“You nearly died,” is all Bruce can manage, muffled against the hospital sheets.

Dick makes a soft sound. He pets at Bruce and a swell of painful affection crashes through Bruce’s chest.

“I’m here,” Dick whispers, voice rough. “I’m still here, B. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bruce whispers back, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head. The thud of Dick’s heart is too reassuring. He remembers it weak and thready against his fingers. He remembers pressing his face to a shattered chest and hearing nothing but hollow silence.

Dick doesn’t reply, but his hand continues to move against Bruce’s hair. Bruce appreciates the reassurance - the way Dick implicitly understands that Bruce needs to know he’s awake. He’s alive.

They sit like that for long enough that Bruce is surprised Dick doesn’t fall back asleep. Eventually, Jason and Tim return. If they’re surprised by the scene they stumble on - Dick awake but not fully aware, Bruce bent over him like a man at prayer - they make no comment.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Jason says, gruffly. “You nearly gave the old man a heart attack.”

Dick hums. Bruce wants to defend himself, but he can’t seem to dredge up the words.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dick says, softly. “All of you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Jason says, dismissively.

Bruce remembers the wide, wild look in Jason’s eyes. The way he had snarled at Bruce when he’d first reached Dick’s side.

He doesn’t remind Jason of that.

“Still,” Dick says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce says, finally lifting his head. He cups Dick’s cheek again, fondly. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

Dick swallows again. Bruce will have to ask Tim or Jason to get some ice.

“Me too,” Dick says. “I’m not going anywhere, B.”

#badthingshappenbingo #bthb #dc #batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #my writing #fanfiction #drowning tw #blood tw #injury tw #prompt: cpr

31 notes · View notes

rexnihilis · 3 years ago

Text

Dream in one's waking hours

Special thanks to @psychomurderz! _________________________________________________________ They stood here to finally help their friend. They stood here and summed up how they would get it back.

"So the plan is this, idiots: We are looking for Nerd in places of maximum fucking for civilians, like the places where villains of A and S rank appear. As soon as we find him, you immediately drink the antidote and bring him down to the place where his ass will stick out. There is our first the task will be the final breakdown of his suit, doing this, first of all - Raccoon Eyes, and secondly - all the others, after which you throw the entire area around with Smoke-aerosol grenades, which will be given to you by Ponytail."

Bakugou was rude as always, but now they realized that his rude behavior was due to the fact that he was just as, if not more, worried about his best friend. A childhood friend and a friend at school.

"If Сlever Сlogs is not mistaken, then after he inhales, or will be covered with these substances, he will slowly but surely fall asleep. We will need to keep him in the gas as long as possible, and also not let him go far, in any dangerous place, where he will smash his fucking Nerd head after falling asleep. All Jackasses understand? This primarily concerns you Half n 'Half bastard, Round Face and Four Eyes!"

They were ready. They were ready to do anything to help Izuku. They were ready to fight even with All-for-One, even with Shigaraki. They were to challenge God himself in order to help those who are dear to them.

"Yes! "

"Great! Now: Let's bring this fucker back to UA!"

They are not prepared.

____

And if the burning of the skin and lungs can be tolerated, if you have already endured them eleven years before, when each time you were burned with nitroglycerin fire and forced to breathe with your own burnt flesh and dreams, then the heart never burned so much with pain before...

You left them so that they would be safe... So that HE would not hurt them, ruin their smiles and kill them...

But they came, knowing that death itself, destruction and madness itself is on your heels...

And Katsuki brought them... He brought them to stop you... To burn your skin and lungs again...

As always, as always, as always, as al...

Ways...

And this is when you sleep...

Sleepy.

And when you get sleepy… stuffs that’s not moving comes to live…

You start hearing things that aren’t there…

All this unnecessary input… it’s total sensory overload.

It’s like yours whole bode is glitching. And you know this feeling well…

But the worst of it all... Memories...

Memories of eleven years of pain, hatred, fear and rage... Eleven years of blockade of all feelings and emotions. Eleven years that always haunt you...

When you smell burning... When you see flashes of light ... When you hear screams of rage near you... When someone touches you... Always… And especially now...

How do you want to...

Sl...

Sleep…

____

"Finally! He falls asleep!"

You giving up. You realize they thought, about your worthlessness.

It was this moment that they all were waiting for. The moment when you finally fall asleep and they can return you to UA.

Don't let you save anyone else from yourself...

The moment when they can save you from yourself.

The moment they finally make you stop...

"Well, Nerd, tired!? I finally realized that you can't be the Carbon Copy of All Might?! Do you finally understand that you also need to be saved ?!"

Do you realize that he can stop you at any moment, Deku?

"And we won't let you go alone, Nerd, if only not without us! For we can only be heroes together!"

Now you will never be a hero while you are among theme, Useless Deku.

"Get out…"

____

He’s falls.

Falls after being defeated by his classmates.

Those who came to stop him. S

top the way they stopped him for eleven years.

Stopping him, knocking the shit out of him. And at that moment his mind…

Split.

Split under the influence of this feeling. Influenced by fatigue, stress and hunger. Under the influence of that sea of emotions and memories that has been accumulating in it for eleven years.

And when the dam that held it, all cracked...

His whole world was drowned in this black-red wave.

A wave that reversed reality and dream itself.

Reality has become ephemeral, ghostly and flowing away like fog through one's fingers.

But dream was in one's waking hours.

Dream was in reality.

And for many that dream was a nightmare.

____

Izuku was falling.

And the closest to him was Kirishima.

"I'll catch him!"

Kirishima ran to the place where Izuku would fall. He will run up and help him, as he helped Bakugou in this place before, and then they will return to UA and help each other, because the manliest thing a person can do is to accept the outstretched hand of hel…

Suddenly, Izuku flashed white-green lightning and a black-green whip and turned in the air and…

____

Nikuiwa. Quirk: Stone flesh.

It allows a human to turn his body into a hard stone. Usually it transforms hair and hands, but now it has transformed the entire body. There is strange information that he can further hardened himself, but it is unknown where this information came from.

The best option of confrontation is to deliver a heavy crushing blow to the head, which will cause a severe brain concussion and take him out of the fight.

How I dreamed of hurting you when you bullied me in Aldera.

____

... while Kirishima did not have time to become Unbreakable, he hit him in the head, throwing him 30 meters away.

"Shitty Hair!"/" Kirishima!"

Classmates hurried to him after such a heavy blow. He was unconscious, and his jaw was cut to the bone, which was all covered with cracks.

"Nerd, what are you doing… What the fuck is this?"

Bakugou said his last words with a sinking voice, because this was not what he expected to see.

Izuku's entire skin was black. No, not from the blood and dirt, or the powdery substance that was in the grenades.

Izuku's entire skin was covered with a Black Whip, like a second skin, which in some places rolled with unnatural bundles, like worms or, more likely, snakes. Several tips of the Black Whip behind Izuku's back were stretched out in the likeness of spider legs ending in sickles.

His face was also covered with a "second skin", but his hair was developing in the air, although it was black, in place of his usual green. From his mouth and the corners of his eyes flowed a black-red substance, somewhat resembling oil, mixed with blood, and in place of the tongue was another tentacle of a black whip. The teeth were not white, but were black, from the whip that transformed them into the sharpest fangs, transforming his mouth from an ordinary human, into a terrifying toothy mouth.

But the eyes were the worst. Since his sclera was not white. The iris was not green.

The eye was almost black, with only a dark crimson sclera.

And this horrified Bakugou.

But it didn't matter how much it scared Bakuguo.

Only one thing was important.

"Bird Brain, Frog Eater, Octoass - detain him! Soy Sauce Face, Snow White - take Shitty Hair to a safe place. The rest-regroup and collect grenades from Ponytail! We must save him!"

Direct and clear orders were what was needed to bring classmates out of their stupor and inspire them again. To bring them back to the only necessary thought.

"Let's save him!"

Try it, young heroes.

____

Kotei. Quirk: A glowing body.

It can dramatically create a large light flash for a while. From where, that is, there is information that his quirk depends on the stomach and he can shoot a laser from the stomach area.

The best option of confrontation is to quickly get close and hit the solar plexus, thereby stopping his breathing and limiting his use of the quirk.

Buruhiji. Quirk: Double elbow.

Two pairs of his arms grow from his elbows, but there is unconfirmed information that he is physically stronger than an ordinary person, that he is able to grow additional limbs and turn them into mouths, eyes and ears.

The best option of confrontation is to break his humerus or the shoulder itself, in order to disrupt the use of his quirk.

Kyuyami. Quirk: A Dark Ball.

It can create balls of unknown dark matter around itself. There is a strange information that this substance is the more in large volumes, the less around the world, as well as the fact that this substance is very strong, able to take the form of not only a ball, but also a reasonable one.

The only option for confrontation is to create a powerful light flash, then send she to a knockout.

The battle tactic is to force Kotei to create a flash in the direction of Kyuyami, after which he causes her weak injuries so that Buhuruji helps him. At the same time, neutralize Kyuyami, who did not move away from the light flash and returning to Kotei, break Buhuruji's hands and finally neutralize Kotei with a strong blow to the stomach.

You have always been waiting for me to take what you like for yourself, leaving me with nothing. Neither with my favorite things, nor with money, nor with a quiet time!

____

When Yaomomo was handing out grenades to classmates, she saw Izuku creating a smoke screen. Because of the smoke, Yaomomo could only guess what was happening, she saw a bright flash of light and a strangled scream from Aoyama, along with a powerful roar of a Dark Shadow.

"Aoyama - hold on!"

It was shouting Shouji, who seemed to be heading in his direction, after which she heard his second scream.

"Tokoyami, be careful!"

And then anyone could hear Tokoyami's scream of pain, and his flight out of the smoke screen, made not by his will, followed by the crunch of broken bones, Shouji's scream and the further scattering of the veil behind which he was hiding…

A battlefield in which the living embodiment of a nightmare hung in the air, just as it had been many months ago when she was here.

It was a living monument to the monster that they felt then and feel again now…

Only instead of her own death, she saw her broken and quirkless body. A nightmare that haunted anyone who had ever seen All for One.

And there, three bodies were already lying there, which were terribly reminiscent of this nightmare of hers.

Tokoyami, whose feathers were covered in blood, Aoyama, lying unconscious and Shouji, looking at his broken arms.

But that wasn't the only thing that caught her attention. It was Izuku, or rather his lips.

They moved so fast, but not enough that it might seem that they were constrained by a spasm, but those who knew him understood what it was. Izuku was muttering.

Momo, studied lip reading and watched Izuku for a long time, because he was the most difficult example in her environment, on whom it was possible to hone this skill. And what she read put her at a loss.

"Kyuyami, Buruhiji, Kotei, I hate, it hurts… What does this even mean?" she said aloud, not noticing it.

And only then, she saw a change in the reaction of Bakugou, who had just approached. It was as if he was shackled.

He was shackled by pure horror, directed, apparently, inside himself.

"Bakugou, you clearly understood something! Tell…"

"Shut up Ponytail, it's none of your business. Better take the Raccoon Eyes, the Frog and the Tail, then drag these three away."

Momo immediately realized that there was some secret hidden here, but decided that it could be stopped for later, when her wounded classmates would be safe.

"Half n' Half bastard, Round Face, Four Eyes – you are next! Get through to the nerd's head and make him stop raving."

The class was in an even greater stupor than before, but these three were always the closest to Izuku. They had always been his friends.

He had saved them, and they would save him.

You are becoming more aware of the despair of your situation, young heroes.

____

Juzai. Quirk: Temperature guns.

She is able to turn her left hand into a Flamethrower, and her right hand into a Frostthrower. From the same unconfirmed source, she is able to create spheres and rays from fire, and huge icebergs from frost. From there, it is also known that she uses fire and frost all over her body.

The best option of the confrontation is to send she to the knockout. It can be easily used against allies.

Hizume. Quirk: Bull.

She has the strength and speed of a bull. From an unknown source, she is faster, but less weak and maneuverable, as she should be. For some reason, she does not use her horns, preferring to use a kick instead, as if she has a jet accelerator in legs. From the same source, it is known that there are strange growths from the back of the lower leg, the removal of which will cause her hellish pain.

The best option for confrontation is either breaking the legs, or tearing these growths out.

Kanyubi. Quirk: Levitation Telekinesis. She is able to lift objects into the air with the help of a certain movement of the hands. From the same unknown source, to do this, she needs to touch objects with all five fingers, making it strangely weightless, and then again touch the fingers of one palm to the fingers of the other, in order to regain its weight again. There are pads on the fingers that are responsible for this.

The best option for confrontation is to damage the pads on her fingers.

You hated me especially much. You played with my feelings in order to take away the hope that appears again, at your whim. You set me up in front of the school and the teachers just to have fun, and how you loved to set Kacch... Katsuki on me. It's my turn to bring you pain.

The tactic is to first neutralize Hizume and Kanyubi, then give them hope of victory, and then provoke Juzai to her strongest attack, under which to substitute these two. Finish everything by eliminating Juzai.

____

Shouto didn't believe it was Izuku. Izuku has never been so cruel and apathetic. And it is impossible for him to fight with friends, not for the sake of helping them. During the Sports Festival, he paid with his body and a chance to win in order to help Shouto overcome his hatred and become a hero who completely gives himself for the sake of people. He fought Bakugou after Kamino in order to help him with something that you are sure of because of the change in their behavior. He did not finish the training battle due to the awakening of his Whip in order to help Shinsou with the transition to the hero’s course.

Right now, Izuku was definitely under someone's control or the effect of someone's quirk. Since the Dictator was frozen and shackled, and Izuku got out of control of Shinsou during the festival – he can only be under the effect of some kind of quirk.

Whether this could be a quirk of someone from the crowd or there is another villain here, Shouto did not know, and since it is unknown whether eliminating the villain or neutralizing a civilian will help, there is only one thing left.

Defeat his friend and bring him to UA.

And with the first part, huge problems have already arisen. Izuku has always been one, if not the strongest student of Class A, and everyone knows about his analytical abilities – it would not be an easy task to defeat him. What can he say about the fact that it will be extremely difficult to defeat him when he is ready to inflict serious injuries on his classmates? Nothing.

Thinking this, Shouto continued to zone Izuku with the help of ice walls, allowing Uraraka to carry out suppression attacks from the sky, and Iida to get closer to the strike distance, occasionally retreating for the duration of his fire attacks.

But Izuku obviously didn't care, because he dodged any attacks and demolished any of Shouto's obstacles, and even if something hit him, it had no effect on him…

He got too close to Iida, and Shouto shot a fire ray at him, but…

He grabbed Uraraka by the leg, with the help of a Whip, and put him right under Shouto's attack!

"Iida, help Uraraka!"

Izuku threw Uraraka aside, but it is clearly visible that her hands are burned. Damn!

Shouto throw another glacier at him, but Izuku dodges it and rushes straight at him!

"Todoroki!"

Iida runs up, clearly trying to stop Izuku, but he dodges behind his back and pulls out one of the exhaust pipes!

"No!"

Shouto's scream is accompanied by a shot of four fiery rays from his fingers at once, as well as two glaciers.

Izuku dodges the first glacier, passes all the rays, but falls on the second glacier!

Todoroki get closer in order to help Iida and Uraraka, but he sees how a cat hook flies into Izuku, partially frozen in the glacier, entwining his hands. Looking at the place where it came from, he sees Uraraka, from whose support object the hook flew out, as well as Iida, who helps her hold and pull the rope that immobilizes him.

"Come on!"

Even before Shouto have time to hear this scream, he is already going to use his strongest and fastest fire attack on Izuku when smoke does not start coming out of his mouth, completely blocking Shouto's view, but he remembers where he is and make his strike!

"Prominence Burn!"

YES! YOU HIT RIGHT ON THE BULL'S-EYE! NOW YOU CAN RETURN HE TO UA, WHERE ALL OF YOU CAN…

When the smoke cleared, shock was reflected on Shouto's face, because he did not see Izuku unconscious in his front, but…

Iida and Uraraka were hanging limply in Izuku's arms. Smoke was coming from their burnt bodies, but it was clear that the same smoke was coming from Izuku's other hand, with which he took most of the damage.

His mouth was twisted in an evil grin, and he himself was not frozen in a glacier, but stood on the top, like a king, stands on the top, where he demonstrates to his army the defeated enemy generals.

Just looking at this picture makes Todoroki sick�� He is remembering something that Shouto have been suppressing so hard.

Memories of less than a year ago, which took place in this very place.

The memory of the illusion of his own death.

But he doesn’t have time to think about this thought, as Izuku releases the hand of Iida and Uraraka, sending them flying fifteen meters long.

Shouto's body moves by itself, and only at the very end do he manage to catch them and, although hard, but safely land them, when he already sees the shadow of a living nightmare falling on him from above.

The last memory Shouto have is the metal sole of Izuku's shoes flying straight at him.

____

"Fucking Deku! Everyone, take these idiots and get as far away as possible! I take it completely on myself!"

"But Bakugou!"

"I said get out!"

And Bakugou rushed forward.

To his childhood friend.

To the source of his nightmares.

To the source of his guilt.

____

Bakugou Katsuki. Quirk: Explosion.

His sweat glands secrete nitroglycerin, and also create sparks to ignite them.

He is the source of your pain.

On his hands he wears gloves in the form of grenades, which reduce the recoil on his hands, as well as accumulate his sweat, for a powerful directed explosion.

With which he almost killed you. Twice.

He has a huge experience in using quirks, a number of super techniques and natural combat skills.

He honed a lot of this on your own skin.

The only option for confrontation is to BREAK ALL OFF HIS BONES!

____

"WELL, WHAT'S A NERD?! ARE YOU SATISFIED?! ARE YOU HAPPY THAT YOU BROKE THE BONES OF OUR CLASSMATES?! AND I'M NOT EVEN TALKING ABOUT THESE STUPID EXTRAS, BUT YOUR FRIENDS AND CLASSMATES? EH?!"

As much as Bakugou was not trying to show his courage right now, he was afraid. He was more afraid than he had ever been before.

He was afraid that his thoughts were flowing in the right direction.

He was afraid that it was he who led to such a result.

After all, if think about it, what was this situation like for Izuku, with his fatigue and pumping chemicals that Bakugou used to put him to sleep?

To their old class from Aldera. For many years, when he suppressed Izuku. When he was beating him up.

How he destroyed Izuku's mentally and physically. How he indulged only his Ego, which demands to destroy all those who are above him.

But how could he not be indulged, when this Nerd did not value his life not a bit to give up his dreams.

And of course, we'll forget about who made him like this, right Katsuki?

But now he has to pay for what Katsuki are guilty of. Fight him. Let him vent his emotions.

Like after the Kamino. And then beat the shit out of him and return him to UA.

"WELL, COME ON, NERD, SHOW WHAT YOU CAN DO!"

In the next second, Bakugou could already see Izuku's fist flying at him.

"Too fast!"

Only on pure instincts did Bakugou manage to escape from the attack, but the shock wave still touched him.

The shock wave was so strong that it destroyed a piece of asphalt and threw him into the air. He has to maneuver with the help of explosions and realizing that the best defense in this battle is an attack, he flies higher and prepare to attack Izuku with his strongest mass attack.

"AP Machine-Gun!"

But before he can react, Izuku grabs the statue of All Might with a Whip and throws it right at him!

Seeing the approach of his idol's face, Katsuki concentrates and with a pain in his heart unleashes the entire attack directly at him, destroying the statue into dust.

But suddenly, Izuku appears to his left, who makes an impossibly fast dash in his direction... and stops right in front of him. At first, he does not understand why he is doing this...

Does he want to look into his eyes? Is there something he wants to tell him? Why did he stop?

... until Bakugou begins to feel the air that received his momentum and hit him with the speed and mass of almost his entire body.

He is sent flying straight into the moat that was dug by his first attack.

He's in pain. All the air has been knocked out of his lungs, his back hurts, and the ribs on the right side, on which he landed, are clearly cracked.

And then he sees it right in front of him again. Him, ready to destroy Bakugou with his last attack…

When the black whip falls off his body like scales, and the lightning of OFA does not disappear, leaving Katsuki in front of his glass eyes, which clearly say that he is not here right now.

____

"Ninth, stop what you are doing."

The First was unhappy. It is a unique situation among the Vestiges that the First is dissatisfied with something. And even more surprisingly, the discontent of the First towards the Ninth. The one for whom he has an amazing amount of love and warmth. The same amount of warmth and respect, received only the Eighth.

"You're going too far, Nine. The Second is absolutely right. You need someone to complement you."

Many other Vestiges did not agree with everything that the Second has said lately, but on this they are in solidarity.

Izuku needs a partner. Someone to complement him.

And they saw the ideal candidate in Bakugou Katsuki.

And in response to Izuku's attempt to kill him or inflict serious injury on him, they could no longer stare blankly.

They intervened and took Izuku's blessing for using their quirks.

And now they just need to explain it to the Ninth.

"Understand, Ninth, the hero should not be alone. The hero always has friends to support him. Batman always has Robin. Superman always has Lois Lane. So you have to stop and ..."

The first did not have time to finish, because the Ninth finally turned in their direction. And in his eyes, they saw their death.

"Even so, Yoichi?"

There was so much rage, hatred, disappointment and poison in these words that everyone immediately understood. Izuku is not the same person they saw before.

Not the boy who wanted to save Tenko Shimura. Not the kid who came to Kamino to save his opponent. Not the baby Eight met.

Before them stood their revived nightmare.

And the way he pronounced the name of the First caused the nonexistent blood of each of them to freeze tightly in their veins.

"So when I, working to finally end this eternal confrontation, when I work to the bone, so as not to allow him to kill more people..."

Every word he spoke was like the blows of a hammer. And every gesture he made was like a hellish cold that spread over their bodies, like dendrites and trichites spread over glass in winter. Like snakes crawling over their prey. Like ivy, twisting and destroying old ruins.

"... when I separate myself from everyone, literally leaving them and banish away all the people dear to me in order to protect them from his attention, which is focused on me, like Sauron's attention is focused on the Ring - you deprive me of my only advantage and expose people dear to me the greatest danger of all?"

His words were slow, verified, with a well-placed accent, which even more reminded them of the measured work of a blacksmith, and the aura of cold bound them, and at any attempt to do at least something, it only squeezed them even harder, finally becoming their anvil.

"Ninth, you don't understand..." said First, making the biggest mistake of his post-life.

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND?! OF COURSE, I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW I HAVE BEEN ENDURED ALL THIS! I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW I CAN TRUST YOU!"

These words were no longer a hammer, but a sword that pierced each of their hearts.

The shadow of the Eighth tried to calm the Ninth, but he only brushed it off, scattering it in space and continued.

"You do not have the right to tell me, you do not have the right to command me, demand or even somehow interfere in my life!"

These words were so destructive to them that all the space they had was covered with cracks and almost fell apart.

But then Vestiges nightmare not only came to life, but became a reality.

The Ninth grabbed the First by the throat and said: "Now GIVE ME MY QUIRKS!"

And then all the Vestiges, and especially the First, recognized their Death in those eyes.

Death that visited each of them. Death, that wanted to take what it considered its own and nothing could stop it along the way.

And the Vestiges could not refuse this demand ...

____

You returned to reality again and once again felt the power of One for All flowing through you. The power that belongs only to you.

Along with this, you felt the stance in which you are standing. A stance ready to strike from top to bottom there, and where you were going to strike, you see...

You fly off to the side, running away from what you see here. And then, right behind this you are overtaken by the memories of everything that happened.

How you annihilated your UA classmates, seeing them as classmates from Aldera. How you broke their bones and exposed them to their own attacks. How you hurt your best friends. How did you not hesitate to use the symbol of your teacher's triumph as defense and as attack. How you hurt, your childhood friend, who only brought you pain. How you chained and demanded the Vestiges inside the quirk.

How you dispelled your teacher's Shadow.

It makes you feel sick.

You vomit right on the ground.

You cough up blood, bile and chemicals that put you to sleep.

But right after that you realize that your mind has cleared up a little and you... You don't feel anything.

A state of passion, your brain tells you. You realize how terrible all this is a little later, when you either wake up after passing out, or after you find some safe place. And now your brain only thinks about one thing. You need to save your classmates from yourself. And if most of the class is afraid to follow you, and your friends got serious injuries that will put them on the bed with Healing Girl for a long time, then here is Bakugou...

In whatever condition he is, he will follow you.

In for a penny in for a pound.

Since you have already committed so many terrible deeds, then stopping now means turning all your previous sacrifices into nothing.

And that means you need to commit your last act, which will make all previous sacrifices at least in some way valuable.

You need to stop Bakugou now. Once and for all.

But how to do that?

And then two thoughts run into your brain at the same time.

First, Bakugou blames himself in front of you. He blames himself for all these years of your personal torture chamber that you couldn't escape from until you got One for All.

And second, Bakugou is afraid of AFO and You. He fears AFO for being a tool for him. Afraid that it was he who became the final cog that set in motion the plan to destroy All Might. And to be afraid of You, because you remind him of AFO. By your quirk, by your mumbling, by yourself.

You are like AFO...

And then the most disgusting plan you have ever imagined is born in your brain.

The plan is so terrible that only now, when you do not feel anything, when your mind is clear, and nothing but pure rationalism is capable of guiding you, can you fulfill it ...

Well, it's time to play the role of the Emperor of the Underworld.

There really is a small question...

"What's so white in front of my eyes? And hey, using the whip in this way removes all the dirt from me?"

____

Bakugou lay there and did not understand what was happening. He did not understand why Izuku abruptly turned off the OFA, and then turned it on again and flew away.

And even more, his body did not understand why it was still alive? Why does it still hurt, if, in theory, it should now take off to the halls of the Almighty?

Bakugou continued to lie, trying to grasp several things at once, until he heard a shout.

"Will you lie there for a long time, Great Explosive Murder God Dynamight?!"

It was Izuku's voice. A voice that sounded funny and even cheeky, which is unusual for him, but the main thing that surprised Bakugou was that Izuku was talking.

The mad beast created by Katsuki's efforts was silent and could only mutter silently.

Katsuki rose abruptly from the crater to see what had happened and saw Izuku with white hair and black and red lightning whips flying around him, naked to the waist and clean of dirt.

It immediately seemed to you that something was wrong with him, but you did not fully understand that...

"Is it really you, the one to blame for the fall of All Might, decided to arrange a minute of inactivity because you destroyed his statue?"

Those words pierced Bakugou like an arrow. Because Deku couldn't say that... He couldn't say that, because Bakugou is not guilty...

"Or maybe you want to give at least some hope to the pitiful extras so that you seem more heroic against their background?"

All this was said in the tone of someone who was superior to you. Izuku's face wore a crooked grin that resembled sharks.

"Oh no, I know, you came up with a plan for the best way to win? No, no, no... You already knew how to induce, but you just decided to take a little rest, in order to show your dominance later!"

There are no words left in you, only pure rage.

WHAT IS THIS NERD DOING AT ALL?!

With a quick explosion you approach him...

... only to be bound by the branches of the whip that have escaped from the ground.

"You know, it was always interesting for me to try out one funny combination, but I couldn’t get it, this requires an experienced viewer, and it would bring too much destruction, but now... Now I don’t care. Fa Jin is 100% charged and OFA is 100% Smash. Great Shockwave."

Izuku spread his arms in the direction of the area where the AFO hit the last time and...

He clapped his hands...

... further in the direction of the clap, a shock wave went. It crushed the earth into small crumbs and picked it up, transmitting its impulse, turning it into such a small, but so fast shrapnel, whose cloud pierced the building like shelling from a large-caliber machine gun, after which the building was demolished by the shock wave itself, I turn it not into shrapnel, but into the huge shells that demolished the buildings behind them, row by row...

When the smoke settled, there was nothing ahead but a huge crater, in which there was not even stone dust...

This was the second. Second Ground Zero. Second Disaster in Kamino, but this time there was no one to stop Kamino Scourge. This time the Kamino Scourge was the one who was his enemy.

"Even the AFO hasn’t brought so much destruction..."

These words escaped Katsuki as he was shocked. When he lost the connection between the world that he knew and the world that was now before his eyes...

"Oh, thank you very much! This is a very good combination, but next time I will need to tweak it a bit, otherwise I didn't really like the penetrating damage, and the crater doesn't stretch that far. But I want to go further, deeper, more deadly!"

Bakugou didn't know what to think, he didn't know what to do. The only thing he could do was say, "Why?"

"Why, Katsuki? Because I'm sick of it all. I'm tired of your playing as a hero. And yes, I say Game because I can't say with even 1% certainty that you are not playing. Who are you? You are Great Explosive Murder God Dynamight, the one who always wins! The one who is always ahead and always knows everything for everyone, because you were born with such a magnificent quirk."

The last words echoed in Bakugou's soul with a terrifying wave, frightening his whole being, and this horror only intensified when he heard the muttering and a look that was not looking at him, but at something inside him.

A look and a mutter that you hated and feared all your life.

"But you know what? With such a quirk, you'd better forget about Pathetic and Useless Deku. After all, what a bad luck, it will be easily taken from you if you continue it. And not only AFO, but me too can do it..."

At that moment, Izuku grabbed your wrist and squeezed it, squeezed it until it hurt, and then continued.

"Do you know that if you break your wrists, then your hands will no longer be so good at dampening the recoil from your explosions? On the contrary, they will only lead to more pain, which, sooner or later, will become simply unbearable. And if you endure this and continue to use your quirk, your bones will turn to dust, and you can never use your hands or your quirk again."

Cold sweat covered you all over. You are terrified, because someone you know could not speak like that, but... He did say it. And you saw in this not another person, or the fact that he did it not of his own free will.

This was a man you knew well. The man who never threw words to the wind.

And that makes you sick.

"But do you know why I, a Wicked and Useless Deku, would do that? You understand, Katsuki, that I didn't always think I was that way. That I wasn't always a Pathetic Deku. No, I was Midoriya Izuku. A boy of about four, with a kind heart. But one day, I didn't get a quirk. I didn't become special like the others. But I was still myself. But did it matter to Kacchan who got his dream quirk? Was it important to Katsuki Bakugou, who was praised by everyone, because he is the ideal hero of the future? Is this important for Dynamight, who decided to save the pathetic, stupid, not thinking about himself Deku? Not if you don't look at it from the point of view that Katsuki Bakugou has created the perfect toy for himself. A toy that has been led to believe it is useless. And who took it with all her soul. Which got into trouble, from which you could easily save her, but you know what... I'm tired of this game, Bakugou. I am no longer Deku, and you are no longer Kacchan. Goodbye Great Explosive Murder God Dynamight."

And then, Izuku disappeared...

Bakugou realized himself only when his classmates came to him and they asked only one thing: "What happened?!"

But instead of answering, they saw for the first time that he was crying.

____

Izuku run.

He ran as far as he could, for with every second he acted out the role, his heart filled with pain that surpassed everything he knew before.

He didn't believe a single word he said, but his mind just kept on saying those words. Ruthlessly, with a grin and poison. With fatigue and cold. With what he never wanted and does not want to be.

He spoke like AFO. And when Izuku finally fell, when he could no longer run... He cried.

He cried and screamed about everything he had done. For which only he is to blame, and that it is unlikely that it will be built.

He burned all the bridges.

Now he is alone.

Alone, forever...

____

AFO arrived as quickly as he could. He saw the destruction that the Ninth Owner did with his own eyes, so to speak about the faceless Symbol of Evil.

He went to where the child was waiting for him. A child, almost 17 years old, curled into a fetal position and asleep in it. A child who did not stop crying even in his sleep.

A child with white hair, green eyes and a broken soul.

"You did a good job, poor little Izuku. You are finally alone and finally deciding everything for yourself. Doing everything for yourself. For your happiness. Now sleep. Sleep and gain strength. You still have a lot to go through in this life. So much to endure and so much to learn..."

Isn't it, little one?

#bnha #bnha spoilers #manga spoilers #kinda #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #class 1a #bnha 320 #fic #when Izuku began to crush the vestiges Second hid behind the vault door and kick out AFO from there #Afo did not understand anything but he was glad to see his brother to give up his quirk and understand the pressure he puts on people #AFO took Izuku to a safe apartment where he injected him with a temporary quirk erasure put him on the bed and left katsudon with clothes #Izuku need rest #but before rest he need to beat some asses #No beta we die like a man

22 notes · View notes

otpnessmess · 5 years ago

Text

Daminette December Day 5: “Fire”

Guess who decided to completely forgo studying to write instead :D For those who asked for more backstory on Day 2, here it is! It can still be read on its own, however. There’s also mention of a car crash near the middle, nothing long or explicit but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Now, enjoy!

Ao3 - Masterlist

Marinette had always loved fire. Dangerous as it was, what with being able to consume entire rooms in seconds or entire forests in very few hours when it wasn’t controlled, it brought good memories to her.

When she was a child, her parents used to take her camping during the summer holidays. They would close down the bakery for a week and camp out in the countryside. She would help her papa collect materials to make a campfire, making a circle with rocks, and piling the logs, sticks, and pinecones they had found in the middle of it. Her favorite part was always seeing it lit up. The blue and orange flames hypnotized her, the crackling sound of burning wood lulling her into a calm state. After they finished setting it up, the three of them would sit in front of it at night and sing happily, her dad occasionally adding more wood. They did that until it was time to have dinner or go to bed.

Marinette had fond memories of those times.

She also associated fire with the smell of home. The giant oven where her parents cooked the bread every morning made its wonderful smell spread throughout the whole building, and she loved it when they let her look at it while it was being cooked. The little girl simply found herself drawn in by the intricate patterns of the fire, even if trying to commit them to memory was futile, as they kept disappearing into thin air before she could.

One of the first dresses she had designed, when she was 12 years old, had been a homage to this particular aspect of her childhood. A beautiful gown with several tulle layers that tried to emulate the color range of the flames. Reds and oranges and yellows with very delicate touches of blue made up the skirt, while the top was a deep red corset with an asymmetric neckline. Young Mari had been very proud, and had made that dress as soon as she had been able to save up money to buy the materials she needed.

These were some of the main reasons why Marinette liked fire so much.

But it’s well known that an innumerable amount of good can always meet its demise in the hands of one single bad thing.

No matter how many compliments you receive on your outfit for the day, the one mean comment from that person that doesn’t like you will be the one to stick with you.

You can do several good deeds and favors to people. They will always resent the one time you couldn’t help them.

No matter how many good memories you associate with something, how pure the feelings you attach to it are. One bad experience will bring it crashing down.

And crash it did.

The smell of singed flesh and smoke was making Marinette dizzy. She couldn’t see anything but she could hear screams and calls for help. Was that her maman? She wasn’t able to tell. Where was her papa? He had been driving when a car derailed from the next lane over, colliding straight into the side of their car where Marinette was leaning against the window.

Her body was screaming at her to move, to get away from the intense heat surrounding her, yet it hadn’t been able to.

Mari thought she could hear someone calling for her, telling her to hang in there. She was trying her best, but the smoke was filling her lungs and she could feel the agonizing pain from her burnt skin. Turned out, trying her best wasn’t nearly enough, and the girl lost consciousness not long after.

Only to immediately wake up again with a scream.

Breathing heavily she tried to move her hands around to check where she was and started panicking a little when she couldn’t. She noticed something was holding her down and tried to squirm her way out of it.

“Shh, Angel. It’s okay, it’s just me.”

That voice made Marinette quickly snap back to reality. The something now felt like two very familiar strong arms, and they were gently holding her close in a tight hug.

“Damian…” She finally breathed out and relaxed against him, letting the warmth of his body seep into hers. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s only 2, and you know I wouldn’t let you wake up from one of those nightmares alone.” Her boyfriend was trying to soothe her by running his fingers through his hair. “Was it the same one again?”

Marinette weakly nodded, still burrowing her face on his chest. Her little birdie smelled like home, a mix of his cologne and the baked treats Mari gifted him with every day. She knew she was safe with him.

Damian hated seeing his love like this, terrified and curled in on herself. It made him feel small and useless. Even if living together now let him be there for her every night, helping her settle back down and fall asleep again, he was powerless against the nightmares. They would keep on coming no matter what they tried to do. Provided, they had become much less frequent after she had agreed to start seeing a therapist (she had smacked him with a wooden spoon when he tried suggesting it that way, perhaps he shouldn’t have snickered), but they hadn’t been completely eradicated.

“Stop that. " Marinette could almost hear all of his thoughts spiraling down, as they always did whenever something happened that he couldn't fix. She felt slightly guilty about making her boyfriend so worried, but at least it wasn't as bad as it once was. Damian's reassurances that he didn't mind staying up with her whenever those awful dreams of hers didn't allow her to fall back asleep had managed to diminish the urges to bottle it up so she wouldn't bother him.

Mari carefully cupped his face and used her fingers to ease the lines on his face. "If you keep frowning like that you'll get so many wrinkles before you're 25, birdy. It's not worth it."

"I was frowning 24/7 by the time I was 10, Angel. It's a little bit late for that." He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist, burrowing them further under the covers. Marinette had yet to let go of his face, but he knew what she was trying to do and closed his eyes. "Like what you see, Nette?"

As he received a rewarding giggle, the man felt himself completely relax under her delicate fingertips, her hands tracing the lines of his face in adoration. Mari would do this all the time after she found out it calmed him down.

"Actually yes, even if my eyes have never been able to see you, my hands know you well. You know you're beautiful, mon petit oiseau. Have I not told you that enough?" She ran her fingers delicately over his lips before stealing a sweet kiss. "I love you Dami."

Marinette was aware that uttering those magic words usually made Damian forget about everything else and just focus on fighting her over who could give the other more affection. Lo and behold, this led to a war of kisses that had them rolling around in bed laughing. His favorite spot to leave kisses had always been her neck, and he enjoyed teasing her way too much.

"That tickles! Ahhh, stop!" The giggles and whines echoed off the walls of their shared bedroom and Damian relented and let her go. Though not before kissing her once again on those lovely pink lips of hers.

"Aww, you're no fun, Angel." He settled back under the covers while stroking her hair.

"Don't think I forgot about what happened the last time you had too much fun, mister, Chloé said my neck looked like a murder scene and laughed for an hour before helping me fix it."

"That wasn't my fault, You looked too beautiful and I couldn't resist." He pouted more out of habit than anything. Around the time they had started to become close, he had unknowingly started to mimic Marinette's expressions, at least until one of his brothers pointed it out, and now it just stuck with him.

"Sure you were, you giant baby. I don't understand how anyone could think you're dangerous, you're a softie."

Well, in all truth, she did know how. One of the reasons she loved it when they were alone was because he was so carefree then, he didn't have to cater to any kind of reputation. Damian didn't need to be Talia Al Ghul's son, or Bruce Wayne's son, or even Robin. He was just Damian. A guy a little bit rough around the edges, but devoted to Marinette in every way. Just as she was to him.

"Only for you, Nette. Only for you."

Long forgotten were the nightmares and the fire in Marinette's mind, and as she snuggled closer to Damian's chest, letting his heartbeat lull her back to a (hopefully) peaceful sleep, the last thing she heard was a soft "I love you too Habibti. Always."

That’s it for day 5! Thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought of it! Also, I love all of your lovely comments and I cannot express how happy they make me. Love you all <3

Tag list

@daminette-december2019 @tbehartoo @18-fandoms-unite-08 @vixen-uchiha @thesunanditsangel

#daminette #damian x marinette #damian wayne #daminette december #maribat #marinette dupain-cheng #marinette dupain cheng #ml x dc #liswrites #day 5

216 notes · View notes

meginoi-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Spotlights Will Guide You Home - Chapter 2

Summary: One Month Later - Richie is crying Six Months Later - Richie is drinking One Year Later - Richie is broken

Previous Next

Pairing: Reddie

Words: 1292

Warnings: Mentions of depression, alcohol abuse and suicidal thoughts.

One Month Later:

Richie’s apartment was quiet, too quiet. He had lived on his own for years, the silence, before Derry, had been a comforting blanket, one that was a much needed reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the city outside his window. Now, however, it just felt suffocating.

The last week felt like a really, really weird dream. Had he really gone back to his childhood town to kill an alien clown from outer space? It felt like the plot of Bill’s next book. As much as he tried to tell himself it was, it wasn’t, and he shelved it alongside the many other traumas he’d faced in his life in some deep dark corner of his mind.

He staggered to his bed, kicking his shoes off along the way, and stayed there for two weeks. Of course, he had left his bed in that time, but only when he couldn’t stand the incessant growls of his stomach or the call for the bathroom became too much, but these times passed in a blur, and before he knew it he was buried beneath the covers again.

He had, of course, dreamed in this time. Those hazy moments he remembered consisted of hot humid summers, seven pairs of bike tyres whizzing over asphalt, and a smile, oh god that smile, from a boy wearing tube socks, a fanny pack and a polo shirt.

Then it had always taken a turn for the worst.

They were approaching the neibolt house, bikes skidding to a stop for seemingly no reason other than a foreboding sense of dread. The sky darkened as the clouds twisted and moved, seemingly drawn to the tip of the house as they curled around the spire. The door creaked open ominously, and the group had stood there in silence, watching the frightening tale unfold.

If Richie didn’t know any better, he would have thought he’d watched one too many horror movies the night before, falling into a sleep where the frightening figures follow him. But he knew better.

The ground cracked beneath them, sending each tumbling in a different direction. Richie had been the only one to remain standing, the cracks splintering around him. Gruesome creatures from their nightmares rose out of the ground, taking hold of each of the losers and pulling them back to the earth.

Thick, red blood bubbled out from the crack that Bev stood above. “Oh my god,” She muttered, eyes going wide. Thin strings of it wound around her legs, pulling her down as she screamed and fought..

The voice of Georgie caused Bill to look down. “G-Georgie?” He asked, reaching down into the darkness.

“Billy!” The unmistakable voice of Bill’s little brother cried back. A small hand wrapped around Bill’s wirst, bone-chilling laughter emanating from the darkness as it pulled him in.

The lady from the painting jumped onto Stan, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him backward into the abyss. “No! No no no!” Stan screamed, grappling to keep his grip on the edge of the ground. “Richie, help me!”

Two charcoaled bodies climbed out and grabbed for Mike. “What the hell?! He shouted, fighting against the arms that were wrapped around him. They wrestled with him until they forced him down and out of sight with one last scream.

Henry Bowers jumped out and grabbed Ben, pressing a switchblade to his throat as he forced Ben to stumble back. He grinned grotesquely, “I’ve got you now!” He shouted, laughing maniacally.

“What?!” Ben gasped, his arms reached up to wrap around the hands that held the blade.

The leper reached up and knocked Eddie to the floor. “No! Richie!” He yelled, blindly scrabbling across the dirt. The leper chuckled, a dry, hacking laugh, before grabbing Eddie’s ankle and yanking him away.

Screams of his name echoed from all around him , screams of fear that begged him to move and save them. Richie, however, felt rooted to the spot. His feet felt glued to the floor, no amount of thrashing could get them to move, to run towards his friends and save the day. He was useless.

“Richie!”

“Richie, please! Save us!"

“I thought you were our friend!”

“Richie! Help!!”

“Richie!!”

“RICHIE!”

Richie woke up in a cold sweat, sheets tangled between his legs. He gasped, heart racing as he took in his surroundings. It apartment looked the same as it always did. Moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, and all was quiet. The clock on his bedside table told him it was 4 o’clock in the morning. It was a dream, none of it was real. Only then did he start to cry.

Six Months Later:

“Please welcome to the stage, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier!”

The crowd roared as he stepped out, the sound vibrating through his chest and down to his bones. He pasted on his ‘happy to be here’ smile, yet he felt like he’d rather be anywhere else. If he weren’t contractually obliged to do this tour he would be back at his apartment, watching some nameless true crime show and gorging on takeout.

He loved performing, he really did, the laughs from the audience gave him a shot of adrenaline that zinged through his veins. For one of the few times in his life, he knew people were laughing with him, not at him.

He found the things he said funny, his writers were great at their job, but the jokes just weren’t him. Jokes about jacking off to his girlfriend’s best friend’s facebook page? That wasn’t him. But still, the audience laughed, and he got that shot of adrenaline he craved, but the empty feeling in his chest stayed.

He’d find some back alley bar where he could numb the feeling with whisky later. He’d fall into a drunken stupor and somehow find his way back to the tour bus or his hotel, wherever they were staying that night.

Then he’d do it all again at the next show.

One Year Later:

Richie stood in the corner at the party, smiling softly at his group of friends. Bill stood with Audra at the other side of the room, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, the epitome of a loving couple. Mike sat at a table, nursing a glass of whisky. Ben and Bev stood in the middle of the dance floor, completely immersed in one another as they swayed back and forth to a slow song.

Richie smiled, it was nice to see his friends so happy, they deserved it. Ben and Bev deserved to be the happy, now engaged, couple they were. Bill and Audra deserved the domestic bliss they had. Mike deserved to get out of Derry and live the life he wanted. But Richie…

Did Richie deserve a happy ending?

Because here he was, curled up in a corner at Ben and Bev’s engagement party wishing he was somewhere else, not anywhere in particular, just somewhere that wasn’t here.

Even though no one else had realised, he had noticed. He wondered how long it had taken them to forget. To forget the events of Derry, to let their friend’s death fade out of their peripheral vision for other, what they deemed more important, things. He wondered how they didn’t realise Eddie had died one year ago today. He’d considered going back to Derry, but it would have only caused the pain that had slowly dulled to a dull ache to flare back up into something hot and sharp, a blue-hot flame of pain that burnt through his chest.

He left the party early, feigning tiredness from his recently ended tour. The streets of Chicago were bustling with life. Cars idled in heavy traffic, their engines whirring with anticipation to move. People passed him on the sidewalk, each caught up with their own lives. Richie wondered if anyone would notice if he walked into oncoming traffic.

That night he dreamed of Eddie. They stood in the Barrens, a slight breeze blowing through as the water lapped around their ankles. It was as hot as it had been that summer all those years ago, and Richie felt himself slipping back into that childhood giddiness.

He held Eddie’s hands in his. Felt his warmth and smelt his cologne as he pulled him close, hands resting on Eddie’s hips. He told him how much he’d missed him, how much had been left unsaid. Eddie had reprociated the feelings, and Richie felt like he could fly. He had bought their lips close, closer still and-

Richie woke up. He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out. To tear the paintings from the wall in his hotel room and just explode, leaving a burning trail in his wake.

Yet, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling as tears slipped down his cheeks.

He was a shell of the person he once was, and it filled him with shame.

#megan's words #Spotlights Will Guide You Home #reddie #reddie fic

21 notes · View notes

animedorks-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Ordinary Boy // Bertholdt x Reader x Armin

Fluff, very Angst

Songfic - Vanessa Carlton - Ordinary Day

•••

Just a day, just an, ordinary day

Just tryin' to get by

Just a boy, just an, ordinary boy but

He was looking to the sky and

As he asked if I would come along

I started to realize that everyday he finds just what he's lookin' for

And like a shooting star he shines, and he said

Watching him just inches away, you sighed in awe. Admiring his form while he sat calmly on the tree stump, head tipped a little watching the yellow and orange skies of the setting sun, as the wind softly blew his short hair in a relaxing breeze. A light chuckle coming from him made your day dreaming come to a halt. "Y-you were staring again." His eyes averted to the side of his to head, a small blush on tainted his face. You found it endearing seeing him still get all flustered around you. It was quite an adorable characteristic about your boyfriend. Yes boyfriend. It was also a surprise for Reiner since he always thought he had feelings for the blonde, stoic woman, Annie. But that didn't bother you, what did was that one time when you caught them in a serious conversation about what you two had. You couldn't recall what facial expression held within Reiner. Sorrow? Guilt? Why was he like that? "O-oh? My bad." You blushed in embarrassment, smiling cheekily lightly scratching your heated cheek with your index finger before walking next to him.

"H-hey...is it okay if I-I ask you a question?" He stammered out. "You already are, Bert." You remarked, earning a yelp and a deepening blush from him. You giggled at his reaction, nodding for him to continue his question. "W-well..let's think i-in a hypocritical situation..where we have to be apart.. What would you do?" He asked, awaiting for your answer. The corner of your lips formed into a small frown. Why was he asking something like this? "Why would I be apart of you, Bert? That won't happen." You laughed lightly, trying to ease off the sudden change of mood. His lips were formed into a thin line, "S-still... What if hypothetically one day. Just think. We have to be a-apart because it's b-bad for you. What would you do?" He asked again, eager to know your full and honest answer.

Take my hand, live while you can,

Don't you see your dreams lie right in the palm of your hand

Placing your small hands on the corner of his face, tipping his head to meet with your eyes. "Don't be silly. Like I'd want to part from you, Bert. I love you, and I want us to be together. Together in and out of this hell of a world we live in." You smiled at him, his eyes shimmering with tenderness. How lucky he was to have someone like you in his life.

"But even if we were apart, hypothetically, I know we both have a place on each others hearts."

If only you knew what he meant

And as he spoke, he spoke, ordinary words

Though they did not feel

For I felt what I had not felt before

And you'd swear those words could heal and

As I looked up into those eyes, his vision borrows mine

And I know he's no stranger

For I feel I've held him for all of time, and he said

Gasping deeply for air, your body jolted up from your bed. Beads of sweat sliding down your face while some sticker to your hair. Another nightmare...another death scene. A heated one.. But why did it felt so real? Glancing around the dorm, you sighed in relief, no girls were disturbed during their slumber. Feet padded against the wooden floor board before leaving the girls dorm. You needed to see him. Striding to the boys dorm, you lightly cracked the door open, enough for your eyes to peek quietly. "(Y/n)?" Eren asked, thank the walls it's him who noticed you. Seeing your shaken form he grew concerned. "Hey, are you alright?" placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You nodded meekly, "C-can you ask him to co-come here? Please." You pleaded. Immediately knowing who, he turned his head upward to a certain bunk. There sat Reiner and your lover, talking whatever they were discussing about. "Oi, Bertholdt." Eren called, luckily no one paid attention to them making the situation awkward. Hearing his name get called, he and Reiner turned their heads to Eren, instinctively his eyes saw a familiar figure hiding behind the door. Reiner patted his back, gesturing for him to go. Bertholdt climbed down the bunk before walking towards you. He gave Eren a short thanks, pushing the door open to go out with you.

He flinched when he saw you all shaken and sweaty. "W-whats wrong?" He pulled you out in the open and sat down, arms wrapped around your shivering body. "I-I had a nightmare..." You sniffled, gripping his long sleeved shirt, remembering the horrible, realistic dream you had. "I-If you don't mind... What was it?" stroking your hair in comfort. "Promise you won't get upset?" Your teary orbs peeked from his chest, nodding at your question. "I-it was about Armin.." You began, not noticing a small frown from him. It's not that he hated the blonde male, the fact that you two were childhood friends along with Eren and Mikasa was fine, but knowing he was also in love with you was what he didn't like. Eren had told him the day you and him were official, not knowing how heartbroken Armin was that day.

"T-the Colossal Titan... He was there.." His eyes widened. "I-it was so hot...scorching hot..that's why I was sweating so much." You said. "A-armin.... He..." Your knuckles turned white from gripping his shirt. "He was..just laying there... Like he was dead and.." feeling your body shook in fear, he cooed sweet nothings into your ear to soothe you. "Shhh...You don't have to continue." he said, stroking your hair, cradling you in his embrace. "It was just a nightmare.." oh how he wish it all was. "It's not real." or so it was. "Why did it felt so real.." You muffled against his shirt. "I'm scared, Bert.." You cried, staining his shirt with your tears. Gently pushing you, he cupped your face, wiping away your tears, "I'm here, (Y/n)." His eyes locked into yours, filled with so much love and...sadness?

Before you could ask what was wrong, he pulled you in for a soft, passionate kiss. Gasping softly from his sudden out of character doing, you gave in and kissed back. The tingling feeling now dominating the the shivers of terror. Pulling away, softly panting, "W-what was that for?" You stuttered. "I just wanted you to know what's real and what's not." feeling his hand pull your head into his chest again, this time his hug was tighter. "I love you, Bert." You snuggled deeper. Little did you know he too, had tears forming in his eyes as a million apologies echoed in his head.

"I love you too...."

Please come with me, see what I see

Touch the stars for time will not flee

Time will not flee, can't you see

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE, BERTHOLDT!" Armin shouted, across the roof there stood your lover in all his glory. Now with a different aura. "What more do you want to talk about Armin!?" he shouted back, feeling a new strength from within himself. "Whatever it is you're plotting. It's useless. You yourself is weak." Clenching your teeth, you flew towards them, landing next to Armin. "Bertholdt please." You whimpered. Hearing you whimper, he felt his strength forming into weakness. "Why? JUST WHY!?" You wailed, catching both males off guard. "Is someone threatening you to do all this!? Anne!? Reiner?! Are they part of this!? Please, tell us honestly, this isn't you guys!" your hands fisted your your aching chest— aching from your heart being broken. "You still have a chance, Bertholdt! You're a good guy! Let's talk things through!" Armin shouted next. "We're not being threatened..we.. This is our mission. To erase this horrible history. This nightmare. This awful race." Bertholdt explained. Looking at you, feeling his heart shatter completely when he saw you crying for him. "I'm sorry..." raising his blades, "But you all have to die." He said, in Armin's reflexes he jumped in front of you im a protective stance. Bertholdt felt annoyance to the blonde, not liking him being close to you. Unnoticed, Mikasa appeared behind him as she swung her blade. Dodging s little late, she managed to slice a piece of skin from the side of his neck, before delivering her a hard kick on the shoulder that send her flying into another direction.

"Mikasa!" You and Armin rushed to her aid. You didn't notice the tear that slid down your lovers face before flying off and above. "He seemed different..." Mikasa muttered. "Was that even Bertholdt just now" Feeling your heart clench, you had to accept it.

"No...No he wasn't.."

Just a dream, just an, ordinary dream

As I wake in bed

And that boy, that ordinary boy

Was it all in my head?

Didn't he ask if I would come along

It all seemed so real, but as I looked to the door

I saw that boy standing there with a deal, and he said

No, it can't be. Landing next to Eren, your eyes widened. A burnt body. Just like in your dreams. "Armin?" You gasped, he couldn't. "H-he wouldn't give him the serum." You heard Eren choke a sob, you turned your head, seeing Levi kneeled down to a nearly dead Erwin, the injection just on his hand, glancing at you with pity in his eyes. The Titan serum, if he gave it either one can live. But that means...

You felt your heart thump, knees giving out as you chocked a scream. Just below Armin, laid Bertholdt. Limbs all gone, unconscious. "They would have to eat you..." You whimpered, Eren heard and quickly wrapped his arms around you knowing that his childhood friend would come close to the person who has hurt and loved her. "(Y/n)... Please don't..." Tightening his arms around her. "Please..." You pleaded, head bowing as tears streamed down your face. From the other side Hanji, who was also holding Mikasa back watched in sorrow. Mikasa and Eren shared the same answer just by looking at each other, you felt Even lifting you up, hearing the gas.

"No.."

His grip tightened.

"Please..."

For once, even a second. You wanted to be selfish.

He flew along with the others to the other side of the roof to let Levi finish the job.

"No, EREN PLEASE!" You cried, weakly trying to get out of his grasp. "I'm sorry..." He sobbed, continued flying.

Reaching out to your lover, everything seemed to be in slow motion.

"Don't be silly. Like I'd want to part from you, Bert. I love you, and I want us to be together. Together in and out of this hell of a world we live in."

Please come with me, see what I see

Touch the stars for time will not flee

Time will not flee, can't you see

Groaning awake, barely processesing the situation. Bertholdt panicked, where were his arms and legs? Where were you? He felt a strong pressure grab his body. "W-what!?" He yelled and gasped. That Titan.

Armin!?

"S-STOP HELP!" He shouted. "ANNIE! REINER!" He yelled on top of his lungs, until he spotted all of you on a rooftop looking all shock, and teary. "H-HEY! YOU GUYS, HELP!" He yelled at all of you. His eyes widened, when he saw you being held back by Eren and Mikasa. Tears still streaming down your face as you cried out his name.

"But even if we were apart, hypothetically, I know we both have a place on each others hearts."

He gasped at the memory, tears now falling from his eyes as his head was placed the Titans mouth. He heard you wailing loudly, and looked at you with teary eyes. He knew he'd end up in hell after everything he had done, but even so, he felt grateful he was able to experience the taste of heaven when he was with you. Everything you two have done until the very end, he cherished it all. Even though he was stuck with the idea of going home, you were his home.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)." looking at you one last time. Your gasped when you saw a small smile form on his lips as the teeth of the Titan came in contact with his head.

"I love you." He mouthed before feeling his body shut down into complete darkness, hearing your heartbreaking screams one last time.

Just a day, just an ordinary day

Just tryin' to get by

Just a boy, just an ordinary boy, but

He was looking to the sky

"(Y/n)?" You gasped, jolting upward, breathing heavily. "A-armin?" You sobbed, he immediately wrapped his arms around you burying his nose on your hair, inhaling your scent.

Right after the retake of Wall Maria and the lose of the ones people loved. You were all riding a cart heading towards who knows where, but the war hasn't ended just yet. "Another dream?" Armin whispered, feeling you nod against his chest. He closed his eyes, seeing all of the memories Bertholdt has unfold in his head. All his feelings now mixed up with his about you. The love he had, added to the love he still has for you.

Opening his eyes, he placed his chin on top of your head, ocean eyes gazing at the sky. Familiar soft breeze from the wind hits him,

"Take care of her for me."

He heard his voice again. Gently tightening his arms around you, you could've sworn you heard Bertholdt's voice laced on Armin's.

"You'll always have a place on my heart. I love you, (Y/n)."

69 notes · View notes

gdreamzseternal · 5 years ago

Text

Ben Sharpio

Taught me something today.. while I don’t herd myself with whatever the fucking sheep party he hopped in. Way to go by the way BEN. I totally liked you til you brought up your need to add both a political and religious bias yuck different rant different day. I don’t hate him though I agree with ‘most’ of his perspectives. Anyway I digress..

Where the fuck did this idea of “safe space” and trigger warning come from? Nah if you are dramatically effected by words on a screen get the fuck off the site you’re on. Other people shouldn’t have to sensor themselves because you’re fucking sensitive. I have people comment on MY POSTS. People who don’t even follow me, telling me to tag my posts with a trigger warning. If you are so damaged by that particular subject why are you even browsing in tags that could potentially contain things related to your “trigger”.

God the internet has made us a bunch of cowards. Remember when stranger danger was legit and people weren’t so afraid to take risks!?

I have gender dysphoria. I love being a boy, a girl and everything in between. I don’t need to cut myself up (anymore ;) and scream at everyone to notice me to heal. Lmao. I go to THERAPY and talk about why I was so dissociative. That I had deep fucking nightmares of my father’s cock so deep I didn’t even remember them until I started talking about my childhood. Those memories of a girl getting molested by her father was me! My brain was so broken I didn’t even know to be a human so it fragmented into DID and Schizoaffective. Had I brought up my gender issues before my dissociation, etc. I probably would have been manipulated by psycho doctors to takes shots and cut my tits off cause it will cure ALLL my deeply rooted issues with a deeper voice and face stubble.

I speak completely unbiased because I don’t give a fuck about any human’s feelings. I have seen things from just about every perspective. To me we are just another species on this planet. A toxic and now invasive species we are. I don’t believe in “rudeness” because it’s not one human’s responsible to be aware of everyone’s sensitivities at all times. Over breeding, not enough resources and destroying the literal things that gives us life.

Look at all those trees cut down for that new apartment complex for all those useless humans that will do the SAME exact thing as 472846261572827361 people who felt entitled to breed without any conscious thought of the long term consequences of the planet. We have no intention of sustaining. We are going to burn and burn and burn until we have burnt everything up. We are fucking robots with guts. 1/2 the fucking humans don’t have a personality except for jumping on a big band wagon (sports music internet), work all the time and have sex. We are taking up so much space and killing so many things for no reason.

Ironic how we kill dandelions but they do more good to the world in overpopulation than we do.

Ironic how we learned to communicate and build cool stuff and suddenly nothing else, even ourselves, matters.

I try so hard every day to live and be like you “normals” you political thinkers. But it didn’t even take me 15 years to realize that this government bullshit isn’t working AT ALL pretty much anywhere.. This earth does nothing but give and all you do is take. This Earth is working to death for us and we go out of our way to destroy it. I do not want to be apart of you. You have destroyed this planet, you all acknowledge it and do not care.

The human species is awful.

I don’t not love or hate them I simply do not care.

To me that means I am not bias. Or perhaps my only bias is that I have never in my entire existence met someone who thinks like me. Yet I’ve never met someone who has (actual) reason to hate my ideology.

I do not speak worrying if/who I will offend in the room. I do not care about telling people exactly why they are wrong.

I do believe there is a right and wrong answer for literally everything, perhaps there is more than one right answer, yes. But there is definitely wrong ones. It’s absolutely ignorant to ignore that ideas are wrong and encourage them for personal gain coughbrainsexcough.

The human species is selfish and tries its hardest to filter everything to everyone’s weaknesses. When in reality it’s only making us weaker. A kid who is unvaccinated and never exposed to the outside world is more likely to get sick than someone exposed to the true toxicity. To see the true toxicity is what will make us change. Sad but true. It always takes riots, violence, death and suffering for things to change. Things just can’t change they always have to hit rock bottom to prove they are bad bad. It’s gunna take 20 years when the HRT hormones end up being reverse chemo. Or when a gang of black men finally get sick of the fucking police brutality and walk into a police station and slaughters 20 cops. It will take a few 10 years olds getting raped in the target bathroom by dudes in dresses. It will take a bunch of schizophrenics and psychotics burning a hospital down with themselves inside to escape the staff abuse. Or a massive and overpopulated prison getting overthrown and they take over a whole town. Hell sometimes even the worst doesn’t work. If all these mass shootings meant anything to anyone theyd fix up our fucking mental health systems. Nah it will be a fucking gun war of course. It will be about POLITICS and not in 2019 kids are being FORCED to go to potential war zones for an education that doesn’t do them much fucking good anyway.

It always takes the worst.

The earth deserves better than us. Hell we deserve better than what we give ourselves. The Earth is more magical than you will ever begin to comprehend. You all preach about loving god but the very ground you walk on is the only “god” that has ever existed.

So fuck your safe spaces.....

Rot like you let this beautiful planet.

2 notes · View notes

marril96 · 6 years ago

Text

Numb

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: While helping Sam and Dean out on a case, Rowena gets paralyzed.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

A/N: This fanfiction is inspired by a crying scene from a fanfiction written by my friend @ultimatefandomtrash61.

Read on AO3.

What was supposed to have been a simple hunt had turned into a nightmare when Rowena threw a hex bag at the monster and, as the magic shattered its body from the inside out and drained its life with every beat of its blackened heart, it spat out its poison at her. The smelly, sticky substance drenched her arms, legs, and torso, soaking into her clothes and sticking to her skin like glue, acidic, burning. The paralytic had gone to work straight away; as soon as the liquid came in contact with her skin, numbness took over. Her arms fell limp, legs turned into jelly, no longer able to support her weight, useless, unreachable, as if they'd been severed, as if the feeling she had of them being there was merely phantom, false. With nothing to hold her up, she stumbled to the ground.

Understandably so, you freaked out. Protective as you were, bless you, you fell to your knees right beside her, tears and sobs on standby, ready to discharge on a wordless command. Before you could throw your arms around her, as you always did when she was hurting and you didn't know how to help her, Sam and Dean grabbed a hold of you, each claiming one arm, and pulled you backwards, away from her. The poison was highly potent, they reminded you. Touch it, and you would end up on the ground beside her, unable to move, unable to do anything but look around in horror, imprisoned inside your own body.

You kept struggling until Rowena gave you a small nod, grateful to at least be able to move her head, confirming the Winchesters' words. Until the poison was off of her, your skin was not to be in contact with hers. It was too much of a risk, and she wasn't willing to put you through the same hell she was trapped in over a hug, no matter how much you craved it. No matter how much she craved it. You've been through worse, Rowena, she reminded herself. You've been beaten, tortured, burned. Paralysis was nothing in comparison to those things. She wasn't in pain, other than the slight, hammer-like thudding on the back of her head from when it hit a rock as she fell down. It would leave a nasty bump, but it was nothing, a miniscule pain in comparison to the things she'd lived through. Really, it couldn't even be called pain. Discomfort. Unease. Mild headache. Annoyance. Anything other than pain.

Pain was fists and feet slamming into her body, repeatedly, for hours on end, without a second of a missed beat. Pain was fire, eating at her skin, at her muscles, at her every nerve and cell, devouring her alive like acid. Pain were the memories, the nightmares, the flashbacks she couldn't shake off, sometimes for days on end.

Paralysis wasn't pain, couldn't be pain, because pain was worse. Pain hurt.

She could get through this, she told herself. This was temporary, a few hours at most. As soon as the poison was off of her, it wouldn't be long before she was in control of her limbs again. How long had it taken that young man, one of the victims she'd met earlier? Seven hours? And that was with the poison still clinging to his skin — it had taken it seven hours to lose its potency. If you and the Winchester were to manage to get her clean, Rowena was sure it would take her even less to recover.

The brothers seemed to be thinking the same thing. As soon as they got her to the bunker, cleverly wrapping her up in three blankets so she wouldn't get poison over the backseat of their car, Sam, her designated carrier, lowered her on the couch. Rowena swallowed back the feeling of shame that had taken over her, cheeks rosier than usual, flushed traitorous red. Her body was useless. She could move her head and blink, but what good did it do to her, when she couldn't utter a word, when she couldn't even curl a finger? She was powerless, helpless; centuries of working on her power, perfecting it, increasing it seemingly gone to waste. What good was her magic when she couldn't use it to help herself when she needed it the most?

She was dependant on the mercy of her girlfriend and two hunters. You, she had no issue with. You had seen her weak before, had seen her at her worst, her very worst, and were always there with a helping hand and words of love Rowena knew were genuine. You loved her, you cared about her, and you wanted nothing but the best for her — you'd shown it countless times, both with words and actions.

Sam and Dean, on the other hand…

Rowena's past with the brothers was difficult, but the three of them had grown to look past their differences. Aside from you, they were the only ones willing to give her a chance at redemption. Dean would need some time, but Sam was more than ready to forget the past and look forward to the future. Their shared trauma at the hands of the devil had brought them closer, made them into acquaintances, possibly — dare she say it — friends. For all the two of them cared, fate could stick its prophecy up its arse. She wasn't going to die, and Sam wasn't going to kill her.

Their newfound friendship, though, didn't make it any less humiliating for her to have to rely on them for help.

"I'm here, honey," you said, moving to stand right in front of her. Your eyes were puffy, but so far no tears fell. You were doing a surprisingly good job at keeping it together. Usually, you would have started crying as soon as your eyes found her on the ground. Pride bloomed in Rowena's heart, chasing away some of the panic. You were being strong for her, she realized. As much as it pained you to see her in distress, as it had every other time, you were doing your best to remain calm — as calm as you could be, given the circumstances.

Ever since Lucifer had killed her the second time, you'd appointed yourself her caretaker, her protector. Rowena sometimes complained about it. She was hundreds of years old; she didn't need you freaking out over a paper cut or a nosebleed. She'd survived worse, much worse. And that was exactly the point — you didn't want her going through worse. Never again. Walking in on her burnt up remains had scarred you for life. You'd thought you'd lost her for good. Then, when her resurrecting casket of magic went to work, you'd spent hours doing nothing but staring at what was left of her body rebuilding itself, knitting itself back together.

When her sense of hearing had returned, after what had seemed like eternity, the first thing Rowena had heard was the sound of your voice. You must have spent hours talking to her; she'd never had the heart to tell you she wasn't able to hear the very start of the one-sided conversation. You knew she couldn't respond, but you didn't care. You couldn't do anything for her, couldn't even touch her without causing her pain, so you'd talked. You'd talked about your childhood, about funny things that had happened to you at school. You'd talked about your favorite TV show; you didn't like the couple, you'd said. You'd wanted the main character to end up with the bad boy rather than her safe, secure boyfriend.

Months from then, you'd gotten your wish.

Even when you couldn't do anything, you'd found a way to do something. Hearing your voice helped, gave Rowena a sense of security amidst the agony she was trapped in. You couldn't make her pain go away or heal her burns, but you could be there for her. You could talk to her, and, later, hold her hand, and, when her eyes had grown back, lie next to her and look into them as you talked and talked and talked, and she listened intently, focusing on the sound of your voice rather than the pain that was ravaging her from the inside out, as cruel and merciless as the monster that had inflicted it.

"I'm right here."

Rowena gave a nod, lips curling into a small, barely noticeable smile she knew you noticed. You always noticed. I know you are, she thought. Her eyes stared into yours, as if doing so would let her into your mind, let her share her thoughts directly with you. Thank you. If only she could say it out loud. If only she could throw yourself into your arms, bury her head in your chest, and let you hold her like you did every night.

A few more hours, and she could do exactly that. She just had to be patient.

It was Sam who suggested washing her. You beamed at the idea, and only a split second later your expression turned grim, sullen, as realization of what exactly it entailed dawned on you. Sam and Dean would have to be the ones to do it; you weren't strong enough to move her body on your own, to lift and scrub and clean her thoroughly. At least two people were needed for the job — and, sadly, due to your lack of physical strength, you weren't one of the candidates.

You were outraged at the preposition, understandably so. Nobody got to see Rowena naked but you — especially not two hunters who, up until fairly recently, would have preferred her to be dead. They weren't doctors; you couldn't count on them to be professional, to handle her with respect that she deserved. The tone of your voice said so quite clearly, even if your words didn't. You didn't trust them with her, naked, vulnerable, and fragile. You insisted on doing the job, aware of your capabilities — or lack thereof. You would find a way, just as you'd found a way to tend to her burnt up, broken body. Just as you'd found a way in the months of nightmares and breakdowns that had ensued.

Sam and Dean, though, weren't so sure.

Neither was Rowena.

"Do you want us to do it?" Sam asked, moving to stand right before her. He looked her in the eyes, genuine, earnest, the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to help, whose heart was shattering as he watched a friend suffer, helpless to do anything about it. No, not helpless — useless. Rowena wanted to laugh. Poor Samuel, always the martyr, even when it came to someone like her, someone who didn't deserve it. "I promise we're not going to do anything you don't want. We just want to help."

Rowena nodded. She considered rejecting the offer. The last thing she wanted was for the Winchester brothers to see her naked, but the desire, the desperation to get out of the prison of her body made her swallow her pride. Not that she had much more of it left. Having to be carried around like a doll had eaten up the last remainder of dignity she'd had left. The looks she was getting didn't help; compassionate, pitying, they only made her humiliation grow faster, harder, swallowing her whole bit by bit with every glance thrown her way.

What would be the point of refusing help? After all, the brothers were doing everything they could for her. They didn't have to give her a ride and lay her down on the couch. They didn't have to hover over her like concerned parents, discussing the best and safest way to help her. They didn't have to do anything — hell, they didn't even have to let her live. Nothing was stopping them from putting a witch-killing bullet in her head when she was on the ground. A newbie witch like you wouldn't have presented much of an obstacle — but they did. They did more than most people had. The least she could do was cooperate.

It was, after all, for her own good.

You weren't pleased with her decision, sighing, concern written all over your face. Instead of arguing, though, as Rowena had expected, you simply nodded. You respected her decision. You may not have agreed with it, but you respected it. You respected her. Rowena's heart swelled, erupted like a volcano filled with love, warm, comforting, safe. Stay, she thought. Don't leave me. She may have consented to being washed, but she didn't want to be alone with two big, strong men, naked and paralyzed. Them meaning her no harm brought her little comfort. She needed someone familiar there with her, someone who knew her, who knew every inch of her body in detail. She needed you.

As if you'd read her mind, you said, "I'm gonna be there, okay?"

Rowena nodded. Her eyes burned, tears pickling at them, threatening to fall. She willed them back. There would be time for crying later. Right now, she needed to be strong.

She kept her eyes closed throughout the entire ordeal. Her clothes were stripped off of her, to be thrown away later, and she was sat down in the bath. Sam and Dean put on makeshift protective suits, which consisted of raincoats, rubber gloves, and face masks. One stood behind her and held her in place, while the other maneuvered the shower to spray her. Hands were all over her, touching her, caressing her, rubbing and scrubbing at her skin as if it were a piece of dirty cloth. The water was warm; Rowena focused her mind on that, gave herself away to the soothing feeling of it.

She could feel your eyes on her, watching her like a hawk. She could imagine you in her mind, with your arms crossed over your chest and a stern, determined look on your face, warning, almost threatening the brothers to behave without a single word uttered. Rowena wanted to chuckle. A real savage you were when it came to her safety, a guard dog, vicious and protective, ready to attack at the slightest hint of danger. She'd never had someone like that in her life before; someone who loved her so much, too much, who was willing to risk anything and everything for her, who took care of her even when all hopes of her recovery were lost. Someone who didn't let her past define her, and had given her a chance when everyone else had given up on her.

After what seemed like eternity, Rowena was clean. The brothers wiped her skin and hair dry, wrapped her up in a large towel to form a makeshift dress, and carried her to one of the guest rooms. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, soft and warm underneath her, welcoming to her numb body. She allowed herself to open her eyes. The walls were white, and the room was fairly empty, save for a closet and a bedside table. It was small but cosy; not exactly Rowena's style, but charming enough. She was in no position to choose. The fact that Sam and Dean had allowed her into their home and had washed her free of the poison was accommodation enough. She wasn't going to be ungrateful.

Thank you, she though, looking up at them.

"Get some rest," Sam said, sending her a small smile.

What else was there for her to do? It wasn't like she could get up and walk away. She was glued to this bed until the poisons effects wore off. She gave a small nod, and he nodded back at her, smile never leaving his face.

"Try to sleep, if you can," Dean suggested.

Rowena nodded at him, as well, though she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep in this condition.

The two left a minute later. As soon as they were gone, Rowena felt a sudden weight on the bed next to her. She tilted her head sideways and found you laying on your side, shoes off, expression twisted with concern. You reached for her hand and squeezed it, your grip tight, strong, as if you hadn't held her in ages, when it had been mere hours. For you, that might as well have been an eternity.

An invisible weight lifted off Rowena's shoulders at the touch. She could breathe easier now, she realized. She could feel you, could feel your warmth on her skin, familiar and safe. She hadn't realized how much she was missing it.

"I'm here, sweetie," you said and flashed a big, loving grin.

I know you are. You were always there, even when she didn't deserve it. You stood by her when everyone else had abandoned her. You liked her when she was more than ready to leave you for dead if she needed to, and loved her when she was barely sure she even liked you. You were a miracle. Rowena was still in disbelief that she could call you hers.

"Are you comfortable?" you asked.

As comfortable as she could be, given the circumstances. She nodded.

"Need anything? Water?"

She shook her head. You were the only thing she needed, and you were here.

"Want me to put some clothes on you?"

Another head shake. She'd been undressed by others. She wanted to do the dressing up on her own. A few hours in a towel wouldn't hurt her.

"Want a blanket?"

She didn't want that, either.

You gave a nod in acknowledgment."Want me to talk to you?"

Please, Rowena thought and, finally, nodded. She could use a distraction.

So you talked. You talked about the newest book you were reading, about all the twists and turns you'd stumbled on in it so far. It wasn't Rowena's preferred genre, but she listened. She absorbed every single word that came out of your mouth like a sponge, paid attention to every little thing, every detail of knowledge you shared with her. It was important to you; she could tell from the enthusiastic way you were going in about it, smile big and eyes bright, lost in the world of fiction, at least for a little while.

Rowena knew this was bothering you. You didn't let it show, did your best to keep on a strong, tough facade for her sake, but she knew. You couldn't hide anything from her. Just like that day over a year ago, that horrible, horrible day, you were an actress playing apart — that of a woman who had everything together, who laughed in the face of obstacles instead of crumbling. The woman who could handle watching the person she loved lying motionless, unable to do anything about it.

You're doing your best, Rowena wanted to tell you. You're here. She wasn't alone. She wasn't scared. She wasn't in pain.

Unlike back then.

Cold shivers gathered at the back of Rowena's neck and cascaded down her spine as the memory hit her. The door opening. Her turning around casually, expecting to see you, only to see eyes of ice staring into hers, a wicked smirk playing on their owner's mouth. A hand grabbing her neck, fingers squeezing at the sensitive skin, leaving her breathless. She could still feel them pressing into her throat. Her breathing fastened, quickly followed by beats of her heart. The muscle pounded at her chest like a hammer, wild, frantic, almost painful.

No, Rowena thought. No, no, no! She closed her eyes, but she could still see it — she could still see him — as bright as day, as if he were standing right before her again. She could see eyes of blue melt into a glow of red, the color of blood, of pain and torment that ensued only seconds after. She could see his face — not the mask he wore for the world to see, but the truth that lay underneath it, dark and cold and terrifying. Her eyes had burned, but she could still see it, could feel it burrowing itself into her mind to stay there for the rest of her life. Then she was on the ground, and her skull was crumbling under immense pressure, stomp after stomp after stomp, until she could feel nothing but pain, her entire body throbbing, drenched with blood that had pooled around her in a thick puddle. Then came fire, and with it agony worse than anything she'd ever experienced, its intensity putting even the pain of her crushed skull to shame.

Then, as life slowly, terribly slowly, left her, there was bliss.

Not even half an hour later, she was alive again, and pain was back at full power.

"Rowena! Rowena!"

She was shaken out of her memories by your hands on her shoulders. You were kneeling beside her, worried out of your mind, panic oozing out of your every pore. Rowena was crying; she only realized it once her eyes focused on yours. Her vision was blurry, as if someone had draped a veil over her eyes. Sobs tore from her throat, quiet, weak, like whines of a puppy too hurt to cry out loud. He's not here, she told herself. He's not here. He's not here. You're here.

Lucifer was dead. This time, he wasn't coming back.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you asked, trying your hardest to remain calm. Your hand moved up to her cheek and began stroking it, gently, lovingly. "Does anything hurt?"

Rowena shook her head. If only this wound was physical; it would have healed a long time ago. The Devil's face was seared into her mind for all eternity, an open, painful wound on her soul that would never heal. She could learn to live with it, but she couldn't make it go away. It, along with the memories, would stay with her for as long as she lived.

A whimper escaped her at that, and in response, your hand found hers once again.

"Hey, hey," you soothed. "It's okay. Calm down." You lowered your forehead on hers, a touch of skin over skin.

You were here. Unlike last year, you were with her. She wasn't alone. She could see you; she had eyes, healthy ones, no archangel to burn them out and leave her, helpless, in the dark. Her skin wasn't burnt. You could hold her hand as tightly as you wanted, as tightly as she needed you to hold it, without fear of causing her pain. And soon enough, she would be able to return the favor.

Soon enough, yes. Because she wasn't burned alive by the devil — she was paralyzed. This was the Winchesters' Bunker, not that hotel. She was safe.

"That's right," you said, as her breathing gradually slowed down. "You're doing great, honey. Such a good girl."

I'm not a child, Rowena wanted to say. A part of her, though, appreciated the encouragement. You had no intention of infantilizing her. This was just your way of reaching out to her, of showing her you cared. You were protective of her; it was in your nature, and you showed it accordingly.

"Good girl," you repeated. Your lips widened into a smile, as encouraging as your words. You used your thumb to wipe away her tears, then started to stroke her damp hair. "This'll all be over soon. I promise. You're gonna be okay."

I know I will. Because you were with her. Even if she wasn't certain of her recovery, Rowena would have still had hope. All because of you. You'd been with her through everything. She wasn't afraid to be weak in front of you; hadn't been in almost two years. You had ways of making her feel like things would be better, even if all hopes were lost. You trusted her, believed in her, loved her, something not many people had done. Even if she were to remain paralyzed for the rest of her life, she knew she would be alright for as long as you stayed by her side.

"Try not to get upset, sweetie. I know it's hard, but try to stay positive."

Don't get upset. Stay positive. She could do that. She nodded.

You grinned. "Good. You're doing real good. I'm proud of you, Wena."

Rowena gave a small smile at the nickname. It used to annoy her, but with time she'd grown to like it. It was charming, unique; no one had ever called her that before. Another one of the many things you'd given her.

"There you go. Such a pretty smile." Your face lit up at the sight. You loved her smiles. "I love you."

I love you, too, Rowena thought, but could only nod in hopes you'd understand.

You did. You brought her hand to your mouth and pressed a kiss to it, then leaned down to kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. Rowena basked in the sensation. She missed kissing you, missed holding you and curling into you like a cat — your comparison, not hers. Soon, she told herself. Very soon. An hour, maybe two, tops. She just had to be patient. She wasn't in pain, she reminded herself. No part of her was hurting, not even the bump on the back of her head. She was safe, warm, and comfortable. The monster that had paralyzed her was dead, just like the Devil. Long gone, never to return. There was nothing for her to worry about, nothing for her to fear.

With a kiss to her cheek, you laid down next to her. You rested your chin on her shoulder, hand firmly holding hers, a wordless promise that you were here, that you weren't going to leave her. Rowena knew you wouldn't. Your presence in her life was one of the few things she could count on, a reliable, steady constant.

I'm sorry for being difficult. She wanted to weep again, but she held it back. Crying would do her no good, and it would only worry you further. You were concerned enough as it was. I'm so sorry. She would never roll her eyes at you again when you wanted to help her, she promised herself. She wouldn't scoff or insist she was fine when she clearly wasn't. She wouldn't dismiss your concern. Even if it was something as minor as a papercut, she would let you in, let you make sure it wasn't serious. You loved her, and you wanted what was best for her. Sometimes, it made you come across as overbearing, which in turn made Rowena shut you out and reject you. Never again. It was time she got used to someone taking care of her. She wasn't alone anymore. She didn't have to suffer in silence, didn't have to build walls to protect herself and put on facades for the cruel, wicked world to see.

You started talking again. Rowena listened as she had before. Like earlier with the book, she wasn't particularly interested in the TV show you'd recently started watching, but she took in every single detail you shared with her. Maybe, once this was all over, she would give it a chance. She wouldn't like it — it didn't sound like something she'd be into — but she would watch an episode or two with you to show you that she cared, that your interests mattered to her even if she didn't share them. Was there merchandise of the show? She made a mental note to look it up later. Maybe she could surprise you with a figurine of one of the characters, or a shirt with a quote. A small token of appreciation.

You talked for almost an hour, the topic changing every ten minutes or so. Every now and then Rowena would flash a smile to let you know that she was listening. Her hand remained in yours, limp, trapped in your grip that sometimes grew tighter in emphasis of your words. Your fingers tightened again, in sync with your excitement about some movie that was coming out soon and that you wanted to see. Rowena would take you. She would find tickets online in the best cinema in the country and take you. You would eat popcorn, quietly laugh together at funny scenes, and make out in the dark.

Her smile grew with excitement. She could already imagine the two of you there together, holding hands and laughing. Your eyes shining so bright. Your mouth frozen in a happy smile. The happiness on your face. It was a perfect fantasy. And it would come true.

As if on instinct, Rowena's fingers squeezed back. You stopped talking, wide eyes staring at your linked hands. She followed your gaze, and sure enough, her hand was clutching yours with equal ferocity.

Her heart jumped in joy. Was this real? Was her body working again? She looked down to her feet, the blood-red of her toenails glistening under the fluorescent light. She tried to wiggle her toes, first those on her left, then her right foot.

They moved.

Rowena couldn't help it — she giggled like a schoolgirl talking to her crush, squeaky and undignified. The paralysis had worn off. She could move again, could get up and walk and run and do anything and everything she wanted. A breath she hadn't known she'd been holding left her mouth, deep, long, relieving, as if weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She pressed her palms to the bed and, using her arms for balance, rose up into a sitting position. She was panting, one heavy breath after another escaping her trembling lips.

"You're back!" you exclaimed happily, unable to hide your ecstasy.

"I—" I am, Rowena wanted to say, but her voice broke, hoarse, raspy. The word scratched at her throat like a knife, cutting at her from the inside out on its way to freedom, sharp, deadly, aching. She gave you a pleading look. "Wa-water."

"Of course! I'll be right back!" You pressed a quick kiss to her temple, then ran out to get her what she asked for. Barely a minute had passed when you returned, beaming as if you'd won the lottery. Rowena smiled; you looked happier than her, and she was the one who'd been paralyzed for almost two hours. Strange creature you were. Strange but lovely, extremely caring and loving. Her first genuine second chance.

Rowena took the glass from you and took a big swing, gulping down as much water as she could. The cool liquid soothed her throat, dry and achy from disuse. She downed it all in one go, hungry for relief, then, handing you back the empty glass, took a deep, long breath. I'm okay. She repeated it to herself over and over, like a prayer to some unreachable deity. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, setting the glass down on the bedside table.

Rowena smiled. "Good." It was one of the rare times when she gave an honest answer to that question.

"Anything hurt?"

"No. There's a bump at the back of my head, but it's nothing."

Frowning, you reached out a hand to the back of her head to inspect it. Rowena hissed as your fingers pressed against the injury. You muttered an apology and pulled your hand back as if you'd been burned.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I hit a rock when I fell," Rowena replied.

Sympathy spilled over your face like tears. "Oh, honey."

"I'm alright," she assured you. Instinctively, her hand clasped yours, tiny fingers twining with yours into a loose, gentle knot. It had been two years, and she still couldn't get used to you worrying about her. Even back when she was evil, when she was the living stereotype of a wicked witch, you cared. It was surreal. There were times when Rowena wondered it if was all a dream, if you were nothing but a hallucination her mind had conjured up to battle loneliness.

You took a seat next to her on the bed and brought your hand to her cheek to cup it. "Don't do that again," you said in mock strictness.

"What?"

"Get paralyzed. And hit your head on a rock."

Rowena chuckled. "It wasn't exactly my choice."

"I don't care. Don't do it again."

A playful smile flickered on your lips, eliciting her own. "I solemnly swear I will not let a monster spit on me and paralyze me, and hit my head on a rock ever again." Her voice was all drama, theater actress quality. Were she standing up, she would have bowed.

You burst into laughter. Rowena laughed along. She missed this; missed the little moments of simplicity, missed the joy, the carefreeness. It had only been two hours, but it felt like eternity since she was last herself.

"Darling?" she said after a moment of silence, face growing serious.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" you asked, confused.

"Being here."

"You know you don't have to thank me for that," you told her.

Rowena sighed. She knew, of course. You would always be there for her, and she would return the favor in a heartbeat. There was more to a relationship than kisses and casual outings. There was sacrifice, care, encouragement, and, most important of all, love. Not many people would have endured being woken by screams and kicks almost every night for months on end without love. Not many would have stayed in a messy room sprayed with blood with a stinky, burnt up body for hours, talking to it and, eventually, taking hold of its hand, if they felt nothing. You loved her; you truly, utterly did. You taught her to open up, to trust you, to love again with nothing but kindness, with nothing but love you, against all odds, managed to develop for her. And for that, Rowena was immensely grateful.

She shrugged.

You giggled. "You're adorable! Come here!" Your arms opened wide, and, before Rowena knew it, she was enveloped in a hug. She buried her head in your chest in an instant, instinct taking over, and put her own arms around you. "Wanna go home?"

"Please," she said dramatically, feigning desperation. "This bloody place will kill me."

"My little drama queen," you teased.

"I am just being honest," Rowena argued.

"Sure." You didn't believe her. She wasn't sure he believed herself. Pulling away from the hug, you said, "I love you."

"Likewise, darling."

She loved you much, much more than she could put in words. And she always would.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange@darktweet @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @royalrowena @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @fromflametofire @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @elaspn @cas-loves-dean-and-i-love-him @faeyla@hotdiggitydammit @thaiinette

#rowena #rowena x reader #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #fic #fics #my fics #numb #emotional hurt/comfort #paralysis #rowena macleod x reader

146 notes · View notes