#watching him die is killing me. ive cried every day since he got sick. even broke down at work because

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

[unfortunatelyilikebnha]

Oh boy that post I reblogged about Todoroki and Iida understanding memes & pretending not to got me INSPIRED so here r some Izukrew groupchat/meme headcanons:

Everyone thinks the bakusquad chat is crazy and while they’re right, the izukrew chat is just as wild

They have probably planned acts of vigilanteism in here I mean what?

The chat has definitely made at least 164 different plans to kill End**v*r, just in case. They aren’t gonna actually use them they’re just a precaution & a way to vent (probably. End**v*r better watch what he does tho). Someone in the squad had a bad day? Make a plan to kill End**v*r, you’ll feel better. Todoroki doesn’t always contribute, & they always ask him before they make a new plan to make sure he’s still okay with it, but he appreciates the support & knowing that his friends love him and have his back

[Achey Breaky 🅱️ones]: Hey Todoroki, can we make a plan to kill your dad? [Elsa But Better]: ya sure go wild [Running in the 90s]: Can Uraraka float the bastard into the sun? Discuss. [You’ll Float Too]: ive never tried to make anything go that high but for todoroki definitely!! [Elsa But Better]: ...thank you” [Kermit With A Gun]: (flamingdumpster.jpg) it is He go wild Ochako

Uraraka talks in the chat the most, followed by Todoroki (if sending memes counts as talking), Midoriya, Iida, and finally Tsuyu who lurks a lot but doesn’t respond as often as the others

They have a “days since Midoriya last injured himself” counter that they update daily. The record was 15 days. The average is 3.

They change each other’s nicknames often. They have free reign as long as it’s not too mean, and chat rules say they have to keep whatever their name was changed to for at least a week. Sometimes they match names/ have a theme. Sometimes they bring their name changes over to the main chat too.

There is a designated “Iida Appreciation Day” when the chat is especially nice to and appreciative of Iida that happens in the chat every few weeks because they realize that they as a class are a Lot to deal with & even tho Iida is way more chill in the chat with his close friends than he can be in the main class chat they know he still feels responsible for them & does a lot for them. Iida does not know about Iida Appreciation Day (but when he finds out he is super touched & maybe cries a little bit)

Todoroki is king of the really weird, really abstract memes. The rest of the squad has no idea how he finds them & is kinda too afraid to ask

He also has a reaction image for everything and like,,, he just HAS them he doesn’t look them up, which the rest of the squad realizes cause he replies way too fast to have looked it up on the internet. They are in awe of his power

Besides the izukrew gc, only one person knows that Todoroki memes, and that’s Kaminari, because Todoroki likes to t-pose & do other meme things while Kaminari is looking at him & then as soon as anyone else is about to see what he’s doing he immediately stops. Kaminari is going crazy because nobody will believe him that stoic Todoroki, who has the greatest deadpan expression ever, memes. “Todoroki? Are you sure? Kaminari maybe you’re sick, he doesn’t know memes remember? We yelled ‘this b*tch empty’ in front of him yesterday and he just stared blankly at us.” “BUT MINA I SWEAR I SAW HIM DAB!” Ashido and Sero tried to catch him doing it but gave up after a while, stating that nobody is that good at hiding their meme knowledge. The rest of the izukrew knows obviously but feign confusion because 1) it’s funny and 2) Todoroki is genuinely having fun. When Todoroki eventually reveals to the rest of the class that he can meme, he apologizes for pranking a very vindicated Kaminari.

Iida likes those memes that combine several memes. He sends reaction images that are just memes without text bc he knows his friends will understand exactly what he’s talking about

He’s also king of photoshop & totally uses those skills for evil - he’s rly good at putting Lucky Luciano into pictures, making his friends break into a cold sweat as he sends a picture to the chat that is seemingly the exact same as the one the last person sent. Since they’re so competitive they have an ongoing competition to see who can find him first (Iida keeps the score. Right now Tsuyu is winning, but the ranks change often)

He, like Todoroki, pretends not to know memes, but takes it a little further & pretends not to know teen slang either so he can misuse it in front of people & laugh at his classmates cringing (Iida: Seatbelts are important. As Ashido might say, they are “totes yeet, yo!” Ashido: //crying// IIDA NO! Iida: Does that not mean that it is very important? Ashido: //crying louder// NO!!!). Some classmates attempt to “teach” him but he “just does not get it”. Again the izukrew pretends not to know because it’s funny.

Uraraka is queen of wholesome memes. She has so many “I love my friends” memes & always has cute images ready to send in case anyone is sad or stressed. Everyone in the chat would die for her no questions asked (she will use this to her advantage one day probably).

She also really likes spongebob memes and uses them often. Her favorite is the one where spongebob is wearing those pink frilly glasses

While she is queen of wholesome memes, she’s not afraid to tease anyone & often sends smug/teasing reaction images. Nobody is safe, especially if they tease her first, & if there’s a competition in the chat she goes all in. When she wins anything it’s like “[You’ll Float Too]: (dignitylaugh.gif) whats this? it seems i have won our little competition...” (But then immediately after she sends her first victory message she’s like “lmao jk good game”)

Midoriya sends links to random ass YouTube videos to the chat at 3 am. Sometimes the videos aren’t even memes they’re all might documentaries or something he thought was interesting or thought one of his friends might think was interesting or videos someone made about how they trained their quirk that he thinks might help someone but sometimes they’re completely nonsensical. It’s like a roulette wheel every time someone clicks a link Midoriya sent. Sometimes the chat makes bets about the contents of the video before anyone opens it. Most of the time they’re all wrong.

He doesn’t rlly have a favorite style of meme, but he always has a million specific variations of whatever meme is popular at the time and all past popular memes. His phone camera is like a meme record. He’s rlly good at finding vine comps with good but not rlly well known vines.

He also infodumps in the chat sometimes bc they let him & he is really grateful that his friends are actually interested in what he has to say

Tsuyu sends memes that roast the sh*t out of everyone in the chat. When one of her friends is doing smth stupid she totally calls them out in the form of memes (she’s really good at finding those tiktoks that feel like they are roasting you specifically). She’s a comedic timing genius and knows just when to send things (& because she doesn’t use the chat as much that makes it even funnier). She also is, rather predictably, fond of frog memes

She also loves making those alignment chart type memes (& the ones with like the triangles or the four quadrants) & makes them for/about her friends & classmates often. She is scarily good at reading people and hits the nail on the head 99% of the time. Sometimes she sends them to the main class chat too and the rest of the class is like ?!?!?!?!?!?!

Because she’s a big sister, she often sends reminders to the chat to take care of bthemselves (Iida does this a lot too, but sometimes she has to remind him because he’s so caught up in caring about others he forgets to care about himself. Actually everyone in this chat is guilty of that including Tsuyu smh). Since the others make sure she takes care of herself in return, she’s really grateful for her friends

Bonus hcs:

Aoyama, once he is added to the chat, become the expert at sending selfies of himself looking directly at the camera while a member of the chat is distracted in the background, not seeing him. The chat makes it a game to try and spot Aoyama before he can get a picture, but Aoyama always wins. When asked how he can escape the detection of even those who are always on edge/have been trained to notice every little movement, he just smiles and says “it’s a secret~!”

Shinsou, who eventually replaces M*n*t* in 1A bc this is my city & grape boy is gross, does a thing called “insomniac hours” where he will send a random question to the chat at like 3 am & Midoriya, who is almost always awake then (or sometimes Todoroki Tsuyu or Uraraka if they’re up, and very very occasionally Iida), will give him a super detailed answer. Sometimes during the day the chat plays a version of this where Shinsou asks an obviously nonsensical question and the rest of the chat has to come up with long, nonsensical answers & then votes on the best ones. Many inside jokes were borne from this game.

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/639917088173113344/alright-its-been-a-hot-second-since-ive-written -Part 1

Okay, Hadestown Fanfic With Crossovers Where Orpheus’s Terms are Different and Also ��Olympus Drama✨Part 2/???

I think my greatest struggle in writing is... posting it. And deciding on a consistent plot. That too. Expect changes. Edit: Well, well, well, there’s a draft feature on this website? I might just migrate to Tumblr.

I may make an overview post at some point so you don’t actually have to read this. A long TL;DR probably, because it is written by Miss What-Is-Concise. My TL;DRs need TL;DRs of their own. Anyway, I’m rambling, so let me actually get started.

Preemptive:

-Orpheus is Apollo’s kid in this version, as he is in many retellings. He is raised by Hermes.

-Hermes works for Hades, bringing souls to the underworld. He resides away from Olympus to fulfill said duties.

-Dionysus’ parentage is by Persephone and Hades. (Because there’s no way Persephone’s screwing Zeus in the other room. Also this is his more underworld-connected family ties.)

-You drink from the River Lethe, according to some ancient authors, to forget your past life. And if Virgil can blatantly rip off Homer, I’m stealing ideas too.

-Would you look at that? This “short” AU fic is expanding by the minute. Hades and Persephone’s are true to the musical and that’s about it at this point.

Eurydice drags Orpheus to his feet. He leans against her. “Eurydice...” he mumbles. “I... I’m so sorry.”

“I signed my life away. That wasn’t up to you. We need to get going.”

Orpheus nods. “Why’s he letting us go? I don’t remember... anything really. I sang. Then I...” he turns away. “It felt like I was sitting in a fire. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t think. It was unbearable.”

“I’ll never let them lay a finger on you again.”

“You didn’t answer me. Why’s he letting us go?” he asks, softly.

“He’s not,” Persephone mutters. “He wants you to fail. Then he’ll have a canary for his mines.”

Orpheus shudders at the thought. “My song... I thought... Persephone, I think I rewrote every note a hundred times. I lost the love of my life for that melody. And... it failed.”

“Just walk, okay? Please. Once we’re out of here, none of it matters,” Eurydice pleads.

“H-how far?” He’s almost afraid to ask. The original walk had been a grueling task. This one, he thinks, might be a hundred times harder. Whatever Hades had done to him... the effects hadn’t faded. Eurydice must already think he’s a selfish, naive, worthless idiot, he’s certain, so he plans to stay quiet. Unless it gets bad. Only if he needs to tell her, he decides.

“A mile, maybe a little more,” Persephone replies. “We’ll rest in my old greenhouse. It’ll be a roof over our heads at least. Don’t look back,” she warns. “Hades’ servants will follow us. Don’t give them a reason to think we’re afraid.”

Eurydice wraps and arm around Orpheus’s waist. “Tell me if you need a break.” He nods.

———————————

Hades sinks into his office chair. A painting of his wife hangs on the wall. He’s posing at her side. They’re smiling. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers. He rises and storms over to the portrait. He rips it of the wall and it crumples to the ground, torn in two.

He glances out the window. He’s viewing his realm from the highest point in Hadestown. The landscape is as flat as a sheet of paper. No hills, no mountains, only rivers, flowing by some force that is not the gravity of the overworld. His tower is the only peak. And the smokestacks of his factories.

This is his realm. All of it is his. Every inch of dirt, every scrap of metal and gemstone beneath the ground. Every sullen face of every tortured worker who’d sold his soul away. The wall is his too. And the Styx, which wraps it 7 times over. He’s a king and his castle is protected by the highest of palisades and yet... that boy... that son of Apollo had taken it all from him. What is a king without his iron fists? Now he had shown softness, now he’d shown weakness. A crack in the wall will bring the whole structure down, he thinks to himself. But what else can he do? Persephone is his wife. She is *his*. To imagine a thousand winters and springs and summers without her...

The underworld is lonely. He cannot lose her. But he cannot let the boy escape. Nor his lover, nor his traitorous workers. If he shows them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Worse, the traitors were right. Orpheus is alive. Orpheus is not his. That poet is all that stands in the way of his kingdom. And like any barrier, he will fall. How? Hades wonders. How can he kill the boy, break his spirit and punish him without losing Persephone? What blinds his wife? he asks himself. That silly little song had manipulated him, taken hold of his heart like alcohol. And Persephone loves it. She believes, truly believes, that Orpheus deserves to live for the very reason he must die.

Hades slams his fists against the window. Perhaps she was right. He ought to follow in his brothers’ footsteps. Forget his wife. That simple action would be enough to fix everything. If he let her go, she’d have nothing to hold over him. He wouldn’t be her puppet. He’d kill Orpheus, chain up the boy’s foolish lover and send Achilles and Patroclus to the darkest mines, and force them to work day and night apart from each other. Sure, the bunch of them would whine like kenneled puppies, but he could take their cries. They’d forget everything if he could get them to drink from the Lethe. Orpheus would be easy. Threaten his pretty little muse and he’d be scrambling to his knees. Eurydice would be nothing without her poet. Achilles would resist. He’d fight a millennia before he or his lover bowed before their king. But they too would fall.

Only Persephone stands in the way, he knows. He likes to imagine he has her under his control. But he knows it’s a lie. The food of the underworld she’d eaten, it didn’t confine her as well as he’d hoped. Sure, her time above ground would be made unbearable, but she would still be out of his grasp. She could leave. She would leave. He knows her threats aren’t empty. So he’ll find a way around her. He needs her to come back. Without Persephone’s warmth, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He watches the crowd of shades begin to disperse and it dawns on him. Orpheus gives them hope, but he makes them afraid. How many deceased reside in Hadestown? It’d take a hundred thousand mortal lifetimes to count. And how many had stepped forward to help the poet boy? Two. Among that crowd, he knew, were great heroes. Heroes who once resided in Elysium. And still, only two shades had betrayed him. Two out of a trillion. Hades smiles. He won’t need to kill Orpheus. One of his workers can take the fall. Even Achilles won’t succeed in standing against an army the size of his. And Hades will win. His wife will see that some dead man has killed the singer to appease his king. She’ll suspect, but without proof, what does she have on him? Eurydice will see she has no choice. Once the boy belongs to him, Orpheus is his to manipulate. She’ll be trapped. Achilles, for all of his strength, is nothing alone. Without his dear Patroclus, he’ll give in. And so Hades plots.

————————————

Hermes, god of roads and messages, receives word of his adoptive son’s predicament with astounding speed. And he fears for Orpheus. But Hermes guides souls to the underworld, to Hades. To betray the king of Hadestown by helping the boy would be to lose his work and by extension, his freedom to live on the railroad. Without an excuse, he’d be back on Olympus, listening to Zeus and Hera’s endless bickering, watching Ares and Aphrodite humiliate themselves, and helping Dionysus comfort Apollo over the death of the mortal pretty boy of the week. And they wonder why Artemis avoids the damn place at all costs. In fact, he’s stuck on Olympus right now, called to the counsel by Zeus? Athena? He can’t remember. Some mortal breaking some rule.

Orpheus is more important than the meeting. His messenger had interrupted the counsel meeting to bring him word of the poor boy’s situation. He’s not sure how to cover this one up. No one was meant to interrupt important matters as this. Plus, he’d given the kid directions straight into Hadestown, which was the opposite of what his contract with Hades had said. He wasn’t allowed to barter for the return of mortal souls and he wasn’t allowed to assist mortals in doing the same.

“Hermes!” Zeus booms. “What is the meaning of this?”

He rolls his eyes. “Begone, messenger.” He slips a note into the man’s hands: ‘Tell Orpheus I’m coming.’ “Nothing, father. Just... matters of work. You know how Hades is. And don’t get me started on Thanatos! I’m late by half a second and-“

“Enough! I’ve half a mind to banish you from this counsel.” Hermes smiles. His excuses have succeeded.

Dionysus laughs, considerably beyond tipsy on his own wine. “You mind if I go too? I’m sick of this awful alcohol and I’ve got something far better back home.”

“Dionysus, wasn’t there an agreement we made?” Athena inquires, icily. “You cannot come to our meetings drunk.”

He smiles. “Well, you see,” he snaps his fingers and shakes his head, washing away his intoxication. “I didn’t come drunk. I *got* drunk while here.” He raises a flask and shakes it, refilling the canteen instantly. “There’s a difference.”

Athena grits her teeth. “Father, one more of these counsels and I swear...”

“And husband,” Hera pipes up, “We were going to address that nymph girl you’re always hanging around?”

Zeus flushes a deep shade of red. “Out. All of you. We’re done here.”

Hermes rises, forcing himself to keep his composure, at least until he’s out of sight. He steps into the sunlight that dazzles Olympus, treks the road to the edge of the mortal realm and... “Hermes?”

“Gods have mercy,” he mutters. He turns. “Apollo.” The god is puffy-eyed, probably from crying. Even Hermes had to agree, his latest lover had been gorgeous. Hyacinthus, was his name, if he remembered correctly. Apollo himself had called the counsel to beg for mortality when the boy had died and he hadn’t found another for what? Seventeen years? Spare for Orpheus’s muse mother, of course. Still, this was unusual, even for Apollo’s mellow dramatic self.

“You’re afraid.”

“Don’t... don’t do that, would you?” Hermes snaps, recoiling. “Yeah, yeah, medicine and all, but I don’t want you telling me what I’m thinking.”

Apollo dips his head in acknowledgment. “It’s my son, isn’t it?”

Hermes shakes his head. One word to Zeus and... all Prometheus did was hand over a spark. This was treason. “No, just work.”

Apollo tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

“What cause would I have for lies? I cannot keep Hades waiting, now.” He whirls away from Apollo’s gaze.

“Perhaps... treason?” Apollo inquires. Hermes’s eyes widen.

“Strong accusations.” He forces his voice not to shake.

“I won’t turn you in.” Liar, Hermes thinks. He wants to get on Zeus’s good side. A chance at getting his lover boy back.

“Correct. You wouldn’t have anything to turn me in for,” he tells the son of Leto.

“Orpheus’s wife... no, fiancée. No... I don’t know! The girl. She’s dead. Orpheus’s song is a failure. I heard it from Olympus. Lovely, really. But not nearly enough to convince Hades to let her go. Nothing is.”

Hermes turns again to face his half-brother. “Keep your voice down, would you? If Zeus hears a word of this-“

Apollo cuts him off. “And you helped him. You broke your contract and you know Hades better than anyone, other than Persephone, if they still talk these days. He’s crueler than he once was. They say Elysium itself is no more, that there’s only Tartarus now. You’re afraid of his wrath. And you’re afraid of Zeus. He’ll punish you too. You saw what he did to Asclepius. Struck by lightning for treason against Hades. And that was before this... winter,” he says, softer now.

“I don’t want a lecture, Apollo. What do you want?” Hermes glares at the god.

“I want a deal.”

Hermes narrows his eyes. “What kind of deal?”

“You break me in to the underworld-“

“No. I’m in enough danger as is.”

“Hear me out.”

“I said no!” Hermes steps back onto the road. Apollo grabs his wrist.

“I can get you out of trouble. Dionysus!” The wine god steps out of the woods.

“I’m due to visit my mother. Hades won’t prevent me from entering his realm, I’m his son,” Dionysus explains. “You and Apollo are there on Demeter’s ask to learn why Persephone is late. You, because you’re the god of messages and Apollo because he was available, on leave from his duties to mourn.”

Hermes groans. “The walk is far. Even if you’re me. Days on end of moping and drunken ramblings for a plan almost certain to backfire? I said no.”

Apollo smiles. “Then I’ll turn you in,” he says simply.

“You won’t. Orpheus is your blood. You’d put him in more danger. He knew of my contract and he let me break it. You’d add a charge against him. And it’s me. You cared once, didn’t you?”

“You know I would. You said so yourself. I visited the poet boy twice, maybe. And you? Ask yourself: when was the last time you optionally visited Olympus? But Hyacinthus, I loved for years. If I turn you in, I’m one step closer to him. On Zeus’s good side again.” Hermes shifts on his feet. “It’ll be good to have a doctor at the boy’s side too, seeing as your instructions just about starved him to death.”

Hermes glares at him. “Don’t.”

“You know it’s true. So? Let’s go or you trade places with Prometheus.”

“Fine,” he mutters, through a clenched jaw.

“Good. Now, this is on our terms, Hermes. I will aid your son because you’ve always been good to me and because he is my blood. If he gets in my way, he belongs to Hades.”

[izcana]

Tommy and the Newt Pt. 2

Gaston's Proposal (animated & film) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fR_GD6TDa4

***

Thomas strolled home, one hand clasping his basket with bread and the other holding his book. Monsieur Anderson was really too kind.

Janson took this as the perfect chance to flirt. "Morning, Tom, you look gorgeous today!"

Thomas eyed Janson wearily. He's been doing that ever since Thomas knew what courting was. Perhaps before that, too. Janson was never one for formalities or being "proper". He did as he pleased, and strangely, no one seemed to mind him except for Thomas. "Morning to you, too, Monsieur Janson."

Janson waved his hand and winked flirtatiously, which Thomas silently gagged at. "No need for formalities, Sweetheart." He handed Thomas the bundle of colourful flowers. "For you."

"Uhmm...Thank you...And please don't call me 'Sweetheart'" Thomas squirmed uncomfortably and then skipped the next couple of steps to his house, shoving the bundle of flowers back at Janson quickly. Janson followed behind, chasing after the boy. Unfortunately, Janson had tons of practice and he knew how to run. Unfortunately. Though to Thomas' credit, he did manage to avoid Janson for a short while.

"How about I come over for dinner this evening?" He proposed.

"How about...no?" Thomas asked and turned his head away, wincing as if he had just drunk raw lemon juice.

"How did it go?" Leavitt asked eagerly, eyeing the bundle of flowers still in Janson's hands.

Janson grabbed his collar. "I will have Thomas as my husband, no doubt about that!"

"Yes, yes, of course!" Leavitt said, flailing his short legs desperately.

***

"I'm home, Papa!" Thomas yelled, waving the bread at Jorge, his father.

"I can see that, Son," Jorge chuckled heartily, his intense gaze on the trinket on his hand never wavering except for the moment when he looked at his son. He turned his eye and immediately switched to a frustrated scowl.

"Is something wrong?" Thomas asked, pointing at the music box.

"The egg doesn't open," Jorge said. "I think one of the screws got tangled with the wire clog."

Thomas took the music box and hit it against the table. The wooden cover hit the wooden table with a hollow thud and the chick peeked out of the egg. All the elements were painted in careful strokes. Jorge was always so careful with his work, even though he didn't make a lot of money from it. He sold at fairs to the merchant class, mostly. There was not a person in town who didn't know the other, of course, but Jorge Arismendi's name was always said disdainfully and looked down upon, not that Thomas or Jorge cared too much. "There, problem solved."

"Thanks, Tom," Jorge said, smiling at his son. "You really are a miracle."

"It was nothing," Thomas murmured wistfully, thinking of the miracles in the world that he had yet to experience. Thinking of how Jorge used to call Brenda, his mum, a miracle.

"No, it was something, Son," Jorge said, using his large hands to tilt Thomas' head up.

"Papa..." Thomas hesitated. "Do you think I'm odd?"

Jorge scoffed. "My son? Odd? Don't listen to those silly villagers, Tom," He said, firmly. "We just see what they don't."

"More than this provincial life," Thomas echoed.

"Yes."

"When do you have to leave for the fair?" Thomas asked, changing the topic. Jorge went to these fairs monthly, and it was just another one of those things that Thomas was tired of; this same simple routine every day, every month, every year, like clockwork. There was no change to it and Thomas was sick of it, frankly. He had no clue how those people could raise generations in this boring village and call it "quaint and comfortable". Thomas had only lived there for less than a decade, and he was driven crazy. That insane urge to do something new came to him again, like an itch he couldn't scratch, echoing deep in his skull.

"Tomorrow," Jorge said. "I'm all packed," he added, pointing to the bags in the corner.

"Did you make sure to feed Alby and ready his saddle and–––" Alby was their horse. He was a palomino horse with an abnormally dark coat of hair, his mane tossed back and chasing after the wind proudly, just like the rest of him. Alby'd been with them through thick and thin, a loyal and stubborn companion and partner. Jorge and Thomas treated him wonderfully, of course, and it was like they respected him as an equal. He was the only living thing that Thomas loved aside from his papa and his late mother.

"Relax, Mijo," Jorge said, chuckling. "I'm all decked out. You really worry too much about little old me." Nonetheless, he looked sombre. They both knew that Thomas felt like he had to protect his father after he lost his mother, even though it wasn't even remotely close to being his fault. "Do you want anything from the fair?"

Again, like clockwork. Thomas replied the same. "A rose, please," he requested, smiling shyly.

"You always ask for a rose," Jorge comments blandly. He knew why. It was one of the only rare ways that his son could connect with his dead mother. Brenda loved roses; she always had them planted in the garden, in pots around their old house, and she would weave flowers into Thomas' hair and spray on homemade rose perfume. Jorge knew that Brenda was the reason why Thomas loved wearing dresses and they still made rose perfume (not to sell, they wanted it to be a "just family" thing).

"And you always bring it," Thomas counters.

Jorge sighed, resigned. "Alright, I shall bring you back a rose in a little less than a fortnight."

***

Jorge left first thing in the morning. Thomas was awake reading, so thankfully he was awake to bid his father goodbye. "Be careful on the way, Papa!" Thomas cried. "I heard there are wolves in the forest you're crossing, you should –––"

"I know, Mijo," Jorge sighed, exasperated. "I'm bringing two knives with me."

"Okay, thank goodness." Thomas let out a stressed breath. "Bye, Papa." He hugged Jorge fiercely and looked on as Jorge mounted Alby and got him into a brisk walk.

"See you soon, Son!" Jorge called back. Thomas only waved, smiling slightly bitterly.

It was not early enough for most of the villagers to be awake, yet, so Thomas decided that he wanted to keep reading.

There was a knock on the door. Thomas glanced at the clock – it read a quarter past 9. He had missed his shopping time, too intrigued by the book. It didn't really matter, since he had gone yesterday, he still had plenty of vegetables and bread.

No. The thing that was antagonising him was that the only person that would be knocking on the door would be Janson. And Thomas was not in the mood to be "entertained" by Janson. He knew this, why? He had checked every single person that could have been coming. The milkman. No, they had milk delivered every other day, which would be tomorrow. The postman. No, they never got mail. Someone handing the news that Papa had an accident? Thomas checked that one off immediately, trusting Jorge to take care of himself, however fearing all the same.

A cold shiver ran through his spine. It wasn't the latter, was it?

He opened the door, ripping off the band-aid. Thank goodness, Thomas thought. However, there wasn't too much to be thankful for as Janson was still outside his door.

"Good morning, Tom," Janson said suavely. "I am here to propose again. I see you've rejected my last proposal, but I'm sure you'll change your mind..."

Thomas groaned. "No, Janson, we can't be together," he insisted.

Janson loomed in front of Thomas, backing him against the wall, consequently inviting himself into the house. He put his muddy boots on Thomas' book first, and then he kicked off his shoes revealing socks with a hole on the toe. "Can't you just imagine it...my latest kill roasting by the fire, my perfect husband massaging my feet. We'll have dogs and children, 6 or 7 of them!"

Thomas laughed nervously, shrinking close to the fireplace and covering his nose. He made a note to spray some rose perfume in the room after Janson left. "Dogs or children?"

"Both!" Janson announced grandly. "Do you know who that husband will be, Tom?"

"I can't imagine who..." Thomas stuttered, backing towards the door. His plan was to be cornered against the door and push Janson forcefully out of his door. Hopefully, it works.

"You, Tom," Janson said. "We'll have plenty of children, too, all strapping young boys like me."

Doesn't he know how babies are made? Thomas questioned inside his head, deciding not to voice it out, though. The sooner he could get Janson out of his house the better, and he was not wasting time making polite chit-chat to Janson; he already made it clear that they weren't on the best terms with each other. "Janson, I'm not going to marry you!"

"Do you know what happens to beautiful kids like you who aren't married after their fathers die?" Janson questioned. "Think about Katie!" Katie McVoy was the woman living on the streets, begging for food. Katie was less than 10 years older than Thomas and you could tell she was beautiful, once, but she had long traded that beauty for early wrinkles and seemingly permanent bruise-like smudges of shadows underneath her eyelids and weary blue orbs.

"Janson, I won't marry you!" Thomas said and turned the door nob, ducking on cue. Janson went tumbling out and Thomas closed the door swiftly, throwing Janson's boots out while touching as little of the foul-smelling shoe as possible.

***

 Part I | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

[like-rain-or-confetti]

New Life (Demetri Volturi x Female!Reader)

You had just returned from your visit to Italy, feeling a little sick on the remaining hours of the journey home. You shook it off as travel sickness, sleeping off the few remaining hours. It helped a lot but you still felt terrible. You were on the phone with Esme by the time you got home. You said you planned to go straight to bed, not feeling well and we're prepared to sleep it off in the next day or two at the most. 

Just before you rolled over to sleep, you texted Demetri that you had gotten home but were going to sleep for a while since you felt sick. That night, you woke up feeling much better again and willing to eat. Whilst you waited for your pasta to boil, you texted back Alice, Demetri and Heidi, informing them you were still feeling pretty ill but felt much better. Your first night home went pretty well beyond that. You ate dinner, watching a couple of movies until going back to bed at eleven pm. 

You woke up to a sharp pain making you sit up immediately. Groaning as another stab hit you. You put a hand to your stomach, unsure if you were going to be sick or not. You immediately rushed to the toilet but nothing happened and after some time you felt better, heading back to bed. You glanced at your phone beside you seeing the time and a text. It was 2:33 am and the text was from Demetri. You smiled slightly. 'Goodnight, my love.' It was comforting in this moment. No one ever spoke about how hard it was being sick and living alone with no one to comfort you. You rolled over, scolding yourself for the immaturity. You had travel sickness before, you've even caught bugs after family trips abroad. Quit being a baby. 

You woke up the next morning feeling bad again, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to have had pasta? Your stomach must have been unprepared for food, making you worse than better. You slept through a lot the day, by this time certain this would be the worst of jt and you'd feel fine by the next morning. You stayed in bed, dosing in and out. 

The next morning, you cracked your eyes open. You hadn't woken naturally, the pain came back and was back with a vengeance. You groaned louder than before, clutching your stomach. You felt like you were going to faint, be sick and were being ripped in half all at the same time. This didn't feel right at all. Maybe it was your appendix? It could have been which means it was very bad you had left it until now. 

You rolled out of the bed, this time squealing in pain. You began to cry, very scared and in agony. You shakily grabbed your phone, hand and knees on the floor. You sobbed as you searched for Carlisle's name. You rolled onto your back as it rang and then Carlisle picked up. "Hello?" "Carlisle...can you come get me pl-" Another cry interrupted you as the pain intensified. "Are you alright? Are you at home?" You couldn't answer letting out a cry of pain instead. "I'm driving to your house right now. Are you home?" "Y-yes." You finally managed to respond through a sob. The phone slipped from your grasp as you groaned again, reaching for the phone you saw that the call had ended. It would take Carlisle fifteen minutes for him to arrive driving time, if traffic was light that is. You needed someone and someone now. You quickly got Demetri's number, moving to a stand. "Hello, my love." You could practically hear Demetri smile on the other side of the phone. "Demetri!" You sobbed. "Darling, what's wrong?" "It hurts to bad!" You cried sliding down the wall by your stairs. "What hurts? Breathe, love. What's wrong?" "My stomach hurts so bad!" "Have you called Carlisle?" The room began to spin. "I... I...called." "(Y/N)? (Y/N)?" You slid down the wall, unconscious, phone falling from your hand and unable to hear Demetri call out in a panic. "(Y/N)!?" 

Through blurred vision, you saw who looked to be Carlisle hovering over you. He was talking but you couldn't distinguish what he was saying. You were pale, a layer of sweat covering you. Your eyes shut once more. 

 You woke up to an IV in your arm, but weren’t in a hospital. You were pretty sure you were in Carlisle’s house. This was confirmed when he entered, immediately acknowledging you were awake. “How are you feeling?” “Better…the sickness is gone and there isn’t any pain.” “That’s good to hear. You were dehydrated, as well as your blood pressure and sugar being very low too. Your lucky to have been found when you did.” “So, am i okay?” “You are.” Carlisle nodded, assuring you. “What was wrong with me?” Carlisle hesitated. “Demetri is on his way, he’s asked that I tell you when he arrives.” “I was on the phone…” You vaguely remembered the moment. Carlisle nodded again. “Yes, he was very worried. He should be here soon. You’ve been asleep for a little over a day now.” “Does he know what’s happened to me?” “Yes, just relax for now until he gets here. He simply requested as he wanted to be there for you. You had him very worried.” Carlisle patted your hand. You nodded, feeling comforted that it was Demetri’s request, and not because you’d be given a life threatening diagnosis. 

After a couple of hours, Demetri hurried into the room to your bedside. “My love, you’re awake! Are you feeling better?” Demetri’s hands moved to cradle your face and one of your hands moved to cup his hand that was on your jaw. “So much better.” You smiled slightly at him. Your eyes drifted to the twins. “Hey, you two. It’s good to see you.” The two nodded at you and Carlisle entered, closing the door. “Would you like us to leave?” Jane asked and you shook your head. “No, it’s fine. Surely it can’t be that bad. I don’t mind you two being here.” You assured the twins. “Besides, it was just a bug or something right Carlisle? Travel sickness and me making stupid decisions and not looking after myself.” You grinned but it faltered when Carlisle gave you a soft smile, but it wasn’t in agreement. 

Demetri let go of you putting his hand on the top of the propped bed. “Did he tell you?” You asked Demetri who nodded. “What is it?” “This wasn’t travel sickness, or any other illness.” Carlisle began. You let him continue. “When I found you, I knew immediately what it was.” “If you’re about to say a disease, this is a really dramatic way to go about it.” You said nervously. “Its not.” Carlisle shook his head. “To be specific, I heard two heart beats.” “Excuse me?” There was silence. “What do you mean two heart beats?” “(Y/N)-” Carlisle was about to explain, perhaps you weren’t on the same page but you interrupted him, telling him otherwise. “I am not pregnant!” You were met with silence again. “You heard wrong Carlisle! I’m not pregnant!” “I’ve done the tests and they all came back the same, you are very much pregnant.” “How!? How long!?” “I wouldn’t know. You show signs of being around two months along.” “That’s impossible, my first time was six days ago.” That realisation hit you like a train, it had been with Demetri, of course, which must have meant it grew faster being half vampire. You immediately broke into tears. “We’ll give you two a minute.” Carlisle said, leaving and the twins followed. 

You were terrified. You hadn’t thought of having kids, you weren’t sure you wanted children. You weren’t ready to have a baby. Demetri pulled up a seat beside the bed. He hadn’t said a word, and was much more contained than you were. Seemingly in thought, his eyes a dark red. “I’m sorry.” You sobbed. “Why?” He turned to ask you. “For how I’ve reacted…for how I feel.” “Never be sorry for that. I want you to let out every tiny emotion you have. I don’t want you holding any of this in, you hear me? Not a single thing. Talk to me, I’m here with you.” Demetri’s attention completely on you. “I’m terrified. I never thought about- I don’t know if I want to…but I feel terrible. I know you wanted kids your whole life. If I took that from you-” “Don’t think about me. I love you. I’ll support you no matter what. I don’t want you to force yourself into doing something for me. Tell me more, do you think you’d want to…?” Demetri trailed off and you shook your head. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that.” Demetri slowly nodded. “That’s okay.” He pulled your hand into his own, cradling it in both of his. “What do you need? What do you need right now? I’m here. What do you need?” You began to cry again and in unison, you both pulled one another into a hug. Demetri quietly promised you that everything would be okay. “It could kill me.” You sobbed. “I feel like I have to face death and I’m terrified. I don’t know anything about children, and I’m not ready to die.” “I’ll look after you, my love. Don’t worry, I won’t let you die. I’ll drag your soul back to me and down heavens stairs if I have to.” “You’d have to change me.” “I’ll take care of you.” “The pain…” Demetri hushed you, rocking you side to side slightly, in his arms. You wished you could say you felt much better about everything once the news settled but you didn’t. 

You moved to Volterra with Demetri for this new start. Instead, you had more fear, fear that you couldn’t be able to love the child if you survived it all. What if you weren’t maternal? It wasn’t as though you had much opportunities to find out. Things changed when you began to show, more specifically, when the baby started to move. You inhaled sharply, feeling a slight flutter. “Oh, that was strange.” “What?” Alec asked looking up from his book. “The baby is moving.” You smiled slightly when you stomach moved as though to confirm it. Alec stood up and was immediately at your side. “I don’t see anything.” “Hang on, just wait.” Suddenly it moved and Alec couldn’t hide his shock. “That’s amazing.” He said in awe. “Wait until you get a load of this though.” You smiled, taking Alec’s hand and putting it to the side of your swollen stomach. “Tap your finger.” You said softly and he did so. He jumped slightly when his hand got a swift kick. “I need to tell Jane. Demetri hasn’t said anything about this.” “Demetri doesn’t know…until now.” On time, Demetri barged in. “How could you tell Alec and not tell me about my own child!?” “Oh there you go, you’re so dramatic!” You rolled your eyes. Alec moved back so that Demetri could do it. You’ve never seen Demetri’s face light up in such a way. 

One night, Demetri asked you again. “How are you feeling about everything? You seem to be much happier.” You cracked a smile. “Yeah, well, not only is this kid growing in me but also growing on me. We’re having a bonding moment right now.” “Oh?” You nodded. “We’re playing.” You smiled as you poked your stomach, getting pokes in response in the same areas. Demetri smiled at the sight. “I’m proud of you, (Y/N).” You looked up from your cross legged position with a smile. 

You didn’t remember anything of the birth, you only woke up as a vampire and everything seemed to happen so quickly. Your throat was burning, as though lava was making its was up and down your throat. You didn’t get to say goodbye, Santiago and Afton taking you out of Italy and to the Cullen’s so that you could learn control. When your mind had cleared.a bit from the blood lust, it had been weeks since you were in Italy. You began to think of Demetri and your baby. You were informed you had a son. The image motivated you to get control, after all, it was the means to returning back home. 

Demetri took his son to bed, he was the double of Demetri. He was only a few years old yet looked to be about nine years old. However he was very intelligent and insisted he heard about his mother. Demetri noticed his son would grow anxious if not hearing about you. However tonight he was asked a different question from his son. As Demetri sat by his bedside, his son spoke. “When will mother come home?” “Soon. I hear your mother’s doing very well and asks about you.” Your son seemed pleased with this. “Really?” Demetri nodded. “Yes, asks more about you than about me.” “I thought mother wouldn’t know who I am.” Demetri tutted with a playful smirk. “Your mother loves you very much.” He stood up. “Now, get some sleep so your mother doesn’t hear that you went to bed past your bedtime and get me in trouble.” Your son grinned, settling into the covers. Demetri flicked the lights off, telling his son he loved him, hearing a quiet response repeating his own words before Demetri closed the door. 

It had been six years and the time finally came to return home. You were given permission to return to Volterra. It took you a couple of days but the last thing you expected to see was a few waiting for you at reception. You immediately grinned seeing Demetri, the twins and Afton but halted at the new yet familiar face. The boy looked to be fifteen, he was tall, just a head smaller than Demetri. The same blonde hair and red eyes. You couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t seen him before, yet you knew it was your son. Demetri stepped around him to meet you, giving you a kiss and holding you close, telling you he had missed you. Then he turned back to the boy, gesturing for him to come. “Come and meet your mother.” You were in awe of the boy, this is what you had part in creating? How could it be possible? He was breathtakingly perfect. The boys eyes were wider than usual, very vulnerable to your impression of him and clearly nervous. 

He moved forward silently, unable to take his eyes off of you. He had dreamed of this moment since birth. He couldn’t meet you and now it was finally happening. There was a face to the name now and he’d spent the rest of his time etching your face into his memory. “My son…” You said to yourself in disbelief, reaching out to take his shoulder. He let you, wanting more and more by the second. You seemingly felt the same as you immediately pulled him into a hug. Your son immediately hugged you back, his eyes closing and keeping a tight hold on you as though you could disappear at any moment.  “You’re perfect.” He heard you mumble quietly. He only squeezed you tighter, unable to trust his voice. You apologized to him softly for not being around but promised you’d never leave him again. You noted he was stronger than a human, but had a heartbeat and was warmer than a vampire. Demetri’s genetics had appeared to overpower yours. “Let’s go inside.” Demetri said and your son turned but you didn’t let him go. You kept your arms loops around him, walking with him, eyes not tearing from one another. He too, not willing to break away. 

That night, he went to bed but couldn’t sleep, not without seeing you one last time in case this was all a dream he was about to wake up to. Sure enough you came by, knocking on the open door. “Hey. You just about to head to sleep?” He nodded. “I don’t suppose you’re too old for a goodnight from me?” He chuckled. “Maybe, but I won’t say no.” He reached his hand out and grinned. You grinned in response moving forward. To his surprise you took his hand but climbed up on the bed, stepping over him and lying down behind him. You wrapped your arm over him and kissed his cheek. “Get used to this because I have six years of cuddles to catch up on and you’re never too old to have a cuddle with your mother!” The last part was more of a demand making him chuckle. You son turned under your arm to face you and you lightly ran your fingers in his hair, unable to believe just how much love you had for him. 

Your mind was brought back to your pregnancy and how you felt about for some time. Seeing your son now, it made everything worth it. You were glad to have went through with the pregnancy and over come the fears it brought. You were thankful because you knew there were families out there who didn’t get it as good. You wouldn’t change a thing about your decisions. Your son proving to have been worth it in the end.

[jawnjendes]

no medicine is strong enough | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf

AN: a continuation of it came back for more. a bit angsty. a bit real for me. enjoy.

masterlist | series playlist

“I told you not to go to class!” Stella snapped at me.

I had only taken one step inside my dorm, and I was composing myself. The pain in my abdomen hadn’t subsided in the last few days, even with the help of antibiotics. I had been hoping to keep this little health issue from Stella until finals were over, but Shawn took the liberty of texting her what had happened last weekend after the movie. That prompted Stella to put me on strict bedrest, but I didn’t listen. There were other things to worry about, like my job that was ending soon and, as I said before, finals.

“It’s exam season, dude,” I justified, slowly settling myself on the couch. I was winded after walking across campus, struggling to catch my breath. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t lean against the wall in the hallway on the way here.

“You can make up for those!” she told me as she reached over to feel my forehead. “You’re really warm! You have a fever! Again!”

So it wasn’t just pain. It was fatigue I had never felt before, a fever every so often, and a severe lack of appetite. On the TMI side, it was vomiting (though there was hardly anything in my stomach) and odd bowel movements. Oh, and I got chills from the walk back from my stats final.

Stella grabbed me a blanket and made me some chamomile tea. I couldn’t hold it down.

Don’t get me wrong, when this started happening, I went to the doctor. But I only went because when I met Shawn’s mother, Karen, she insisted and all but threatened to drag me out the door by my ankles. Anyway, I had a case of diverticulitis, an infection in my large intestine. The doctor prescribed some antibiotics to kill the infection and sent me home. Simple as that.

Let me just say, those antibiotics did fuck all. It was a miracle I was able to function, although yesterday Stacy sent me home about thirty minutes into my shift. I also missed the classes leading up to finals, and I almost opted out of taking my finals altogether. To say I wasn’t worried would be a lie.

I stayed in the bathroom for the remainder of the day. I was on the floor in front of the toilet, wrapped up in a fluffy grey blanket, shivering so much my jaw was chattering. My phone had been going off since I got home, and I could only assume it was Shawn. Stella probably told him I went to class and now he was lecturing me over text. I felt too tired to grab the stupid device and read tiny words on the stupid screen.

Out in the living room, Stella was on the phone. She was speaking clearly, but I couldn’t process any of her words. This stuff wasn’t new for me, apart from some of the symptoms, there wasn’t need for panic. I could sleep on the floor again, it’s fine…

“She’s literally sleeping in the bathroom!” Stella’s frantic voice said. “She still has a fever and she can’t hold down liquids! I don’t know what to do anymore!”

I tried to stand so I could reassure her that it was just another bad flare up, but the sharp pain in my stomach caused me to hunch over and cry out. “Ow! Fuck!”

Stella was at the doorway in a flash, phone still pressed to her ear. “What is it? What hurts?”

My arm went across my middle, and I focused on the pain. It was the left side of my abdomen, that’s where the doctor said this kind of pain occurs. I tried shifting my position, just as a last minute attempt to see if it was a nasty cramp. The pain remained constant, and it was really starting to annoy me. I wanted to puke and shit myself all over again.

The only noises I could hear were my own agonizing groans and Stella babbling on the phone. She was still at the doorway, watching me lean over the toilet. Finally, she hung up and went to my side.

“Shawn is coming over,” she said, “he’s gonna take you to the hospital.”

~

I’ve gone to the doctor way too many times for someone my age. I’ve sat in LabCorp waiting rooms at the asscrack of dawn to get my blood drawn at least five times in a month. I knew the paperwork that was required for a CT scan or MRI like the back of my hand; The receptionist at the imaging place back home in California knew me by name. I have never been admitted to the hospital, ever. I was never so sick that it required a visit to the emergency room, where Shawn had driven me today.

He had to carry me into the ER. It’s not that I couldn’t walk, he just didn’t want me to. I didn’t argue, I felt weak enough as it is.

A nurse approached us while I was still in his arms, but I couldn’t make out any words being said. The pain wasn’t a sound, but it was all I could focus on, I just wanted to be free of it already.

Shawn was instructed to place me on a gurney that came out of nowhere, and then I was surrounded by two nurses in green scrubs and a doctor in red. My eyes searched around for my boyfriend, who seemed to disappear as soon as I was let go. The medics were talking to one another, shooting hospital lingo I couldn’t understand even though I watched way too much Grey’s Anatomy.

The doctor in red touched my stomach with firm fingers, and it made me cry out and sob.

“I’m sorry dear, I know it hurts,” he said. He was an older man. I tried to connect him to one of the doctors on Grey’s for my own sanity. My mind was blank. “We’re going to help you, alright?”

“You!” one of the nurses, a tall blonde lady, pointed to Shawn, who had backed up against the wall. “What other symptoms has she had?”

I turned my head to properly look at him; He looked just as scared, but he spoke to the nurse. I decided to close my eyes and not let anyone else see my fear. I listened to the footsteps surrounding me, but it only made my heart pound and more tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I tried whispering my calming mantras but instead, some stupid song lyrics came out of my mouth.

“When everything you know has come and gone… you’re at your lowest, I am rising higher…”

My hand balled into a fist as a needle was inserted into my arm. An IV, probably. I could barely hear Shawn’s voice over the commotion in the ER. Must have been a busy day.

“Only scars remain of who I was… what I find in the ashes, you lose in the fire…” I whispered, my voice shaking.

The gurney moved in a certain direction, hitting a bump on the floor, and I cried out again. The nurses profusely apologized and then informed me that I was going to get a CT scan. But first, morphine.

By the time I was lying outside the giant scanning machine, my dark clothes swapped for a grey hospital gown, my veins were filled with the happy shit. The pain was gone, and I was feeling too good. I never had a scan like this. Usually, I was told to drink some gross contrast and then they would inject me with more of it. I always had an anxiety attack in the middle of CT scans, but this one was different.

“I know how this works, Susan,” I said to the technician, who was changing the IV bag I was hooked up to. “Arms up, pics without contrast, and pics after you hook me up with contrast. Then I go radioactive for like ten seconds and I feel like I’ve wet myself. Am I right, Susan?”

“This isn’t your first rodeo, I take it,” the tech replied. “And my name is Chad.”

After the scan, I was sent to a bed in the emergency room. The same tall, blonde nurse brought Shawn back to me and informed us both that my scan results would be back within the hour. Then she closed the curtain around the bed to give us privacy.

Shawn had a clipboard in his hand, which I figured was for me. However, he just stood at the foot of my bed and stared at me. I usually would internally cringe at his gaze, but instead I smiled and waved.

He returned the smile weakly and went to the chair next to me. Then he handed me the clipboard. “I tried to fill out what I could, but… I realized I don’t even know your birthday, much less your medical history. Here.”

“Thank you, my angel,” I told him.

“They gave you something for the pain, eh?” he guessed.

I scribbled on the board, answering all the questions and putting down my information. I wasn’t completely out of it, I was just talking more than necessary. More than I normally would.

“Oh, I’m feeling good,” I said. “Nothing hurts, and that took away my fear. I was afraid I was gonna die. Like, I’m really afraid of dying.” I chuckled.

Shawn didn’t have anything to say to that. He had his eyebrows raised in shock, but he stayed quiet.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” I warned, signing my name on the forms with a loud scribble, “I have a reputation to keep up.”

I put the clipboard aside and looked at my boyfriend. Worry lines were on his forehead, and I just wanted to kiss them away.

“You’re so pretty it’s unreal,” I said in a dreamy tone.

“Aw, thank you honey.” He smiled, but there was still concern in his eyes. “You’re pretty too.”

“I know, thank you. Can you hand me my wallet, sweet boy?”

“Keep giving me cute nicknames and I’ll do whatever you want.”

My unusual affection seemed to cheer him up. Over the next hour, I gave Shawn just about every cheesy pet name in the book. Baby boy, my love, my dear, darling, sweetheart. He savoured every moment of my drugged up ass.

“Let me hold you bubby!” I whined. “Lay on top of me!”

“I can’t do that, baby,” he told me. “Just tell me how much you love me instead.”

I clumsily patted his big tattooed hand. “I can’t do that. The universe will hear about my happiness and take it away from me.”

“The universe will never know,” he reassured, taking my hand in both of his.

“It already does. When we wrote the prettiest song in the world, I let myself be happy. Now, I’m in the ER with some real gnarly abdominal pain.”

Shawn had a thoughtful look on his face. I noticed his eyes fall a little, like he was sad. “Those two things are unrelated, baby.”

“Mm, but the timing was suspeeshy. I overcome my craziness, and I let someone love me, and boom. We’re in a large room full of the sick and injured.”

“Hey, you just have some tummy pain. They’re probably gonna give you more antibiotics and we’ll be on our way.”

I quickly shushed him. “The universe will hear you!”

And it did. The man doctor in red scrubs opened my curtain a few minutes later.

“Hi, Dr. Susan!” I greeted.

“It’s Dr. Buchanan,” he corrected with a smile. He quickly turned serious. “So, your case of diverticulitis has worsened compared to your last scan. We have to go in and remove the infected portion of your bowel.”

“Fun!” I sarcastically replied.

Shawn squeezed my hand so tightly that I gave him a look. He was staring at Dr. Susan, wide eyed. He was never this quiet.

“It’ll be a minimally invasive surgery,” the doctor continued. “It’s only a small part of your large intestine that has to be taken out. You’ll be in and out of the OR between one and four hours. But you will be admitted for at least a week. We are going to move you to a room, so I would suggest calling whoever else you need to call. Work, I’m assuming?”

“Just be real with me, Doctor Susan,” I said, leaning forward, “because I’m scared, and my sexy ass boyfriend is too. Am I gonna mcfreakin die?”

He chuckled. “You will not mcfreakin die. You’re in good hands here.”

I nodded and did the surfer dude sign with my free hand. “Awesome.” Then I looked at my eerily silent but gorgeous mans. “Babey, I need you to call Stella for me. I want my Switch.”

Shawn blinked a few times, and then he kissed my hand. “Okay, honey.”

~

After referring to every nurse as “Susan,” singing Evanescence in the elevator, and yelling “Whee!” as I was pushed to my room, I was finally processing the gravity of the situation. My bowel hates me so much that some of it needs to be removed. I was going to be in the hospital for a week, and I was going to recover for at least four more. I couldn’t eat for the next twenty four hours. I was going to be on a liquid diet. I was going to be open on a table.

Not to mention, Stella was practically in hysterics by the time she got to the hospital. She packed a bag of my bathroom necessities, my medications, my laptop, and my Switch. She also reminded me that we had to be moved out of our dorm by the end of next week. The semester was rapidly drawing to a close, and I was looking at homelessness.

“That’s not true,” Shawn told me before I could panic. “You’re staying at my place. We’ll move all your stuff there.”

I couldn’t argue because I had no other option.

Anyway, I had to email two of my professors and ask to take my finals on a different day. “Dear Professor, please change my final day because I’m having a bowel resection at the ripe age of 21.” Okay, I didn’t type it like that, but I wanted to.

After that, I had to call Stacy and let her know I would not be going into work today, although it was well over an hour after my shift would have started. I explained the situation to her and told her I would be out for at least two weeks. Then she reminded me that my contract with the dealership was almost up… because I was supposed to be going home to California very soon. I had to beg her to keep me hired. Why? Insurance. I hate being an adult.

Shawn eventually stepped out of the room to call his work, and then his parents. I hadn’t met his father or sister, but now I probably had to in this condition. Everything felt really, really messed up.

“What about your parents?” Stella asked me. “Have you called them?”

“I will,” I replied, scrolling through my contacts on my phone. “After I’m discharged.”

Stella placed her tiny hand on my arm, making me look at her. “Look, I don’t know what kinda beef you got going on with your folks, but they have to know about this.”

“They will know about this.”

“I mean right now. You should call them.”

I sighed. “I hear you. I know it’s important. But I met Shawn’s mother while I was recovering from a sick day. Instead of getting to know her and trying to make a good impression, she was taking my temperature and making me go to the doctor. And now I’m gonna meet the rest of his family while I’m high on morphine. I can’t control that because it’s his family, but I can control when he meets mine. And it’s not gonna be like this.”

Stella nodded as she listened. Then, she snapped, “Call your fucking parents.”

“I’m going to!” I shot back. “At a later time!”

We would have argued more, but Shawn entered the room. He didn’t say anything at first, which was odd. He sat at the foot of my bed, flipping his phone over in his hands.

“My mom is on her way,” he said at last.

“Cool,” I replied, keeping the reluctance out of my voice. Then I grabbed my Switch from the side table and occupied myself with Tetris 99.

“Your girlfriend is refusing to call her parents,” Stella told him. “Don’t you think they should know about this?”

I rolled my eyes, but I stayed quiet.

“Uh, yeah,” Shawn agreed. “Babe, why won’t you call them?”

“I’ll do it after I’m discharged,” I said, getting even more annoyed. “They’re my parents, I decide when to tell them.”

Stella scoffed and got up from her chair. She was very personally offended about what I do with my family, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe she has parents who don’t question everything she does, so it was easy to talk about things. Must be nice.

“Y’know,” Shawn said after a while, “if this was happening to me, I would want both my parents here with me.”

He wasn’t wrong. It’s not that I wasn’t scared. He already knew I was scared.

“Look, I know it’s bad, but at least I’m here,” I told him, keeping my eyes on the game I was playing. “I’m getting treated, and I’m getting surgery. I made an adult decision-”

“I did. I’m the one who brought you here. Two hours ago, you said you were afraid of dying. I’m here for you through all of this, but you need your parents here.”

Morphine clearly wasn’t my friend anymore. It was that fake friend you thought you could open up to, but they just betray you and expose all your secrets. I wanted to take back everything I said in the middle of my high. Every secret, every term of endearment. He knew too much.

Finally, I put down my Switch and picked up my phone. I dialed my father’s cell, my heart pounding and my throat burning. None of this was supposed to happen this way.

Voicemail.

“Hi, leave me a message, I’ll call you back… in two weeks, because my wife and I are currently cruising the Caribbean! Bye!”

I scoffed. “Of course. They don’t have their phones on them.”

“Good excuse for now,” Stella said with a snark in her tone.

For once, I didn’t feel like talking back. I stared at the beige blanket covering my lap. I looked at the paper bracelets around my wrist and the IV stuck in my arm. Why did this happen to me?

Stella was so fed up she actually left. She grabbed her purse and left, but not before saying she would be back tomorrow for my surgery. That left me, Shawn, and the mess of emotions I was struggling to keep in.

“Hey,” Shawn said gently, scooting closer to me. “What is it?”

Tears were building up inside of me. The morphine was threatening to expose even more things I didn’t want to say out loud.

I cleared my throat. “Nothing. Things could be worse, right?”

“That doesn’t change what’s happening to you. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay. Here, scoot over.”

I moved to the side so Shawn could sit next to me. He put his arm around me and pulled me into his side. Part of me wanted to push him away, because I was very close to letting myself wallow, and affection would only make it worse. But also… I wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. That was all I wanted every time I spent the night alone in the bathroom. I pushed everyone away because I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. But Shawn remained persistent. He let me stay with him when all this started, and he was willing to let me stay with him when I recover.

“When I get sick,” I told him, my voice soft and shaky, “I get a lot of anxiety. I wonder what I ate, what I didn’t eat, what I should have ate…” I paused, attempting to hold it together.

Shawn squeezed my shoulders. “I got you, it’s okay.”

My voice started to break. “I changed… I changed so much of my life so it worked around this sickness. I changed my diet, I didn’t go to college right away, I stayed home because I didn’t want to be sick anywhere else. I was so afraid of eating the wrong thing that just eating gave me anxiety. My mind and my body became my worst enemy.” Heavy tears spilled out of my eyes and I suppressed a sob.

He rubbed my back and stayed quiet. I couldn’t look at him.

“I’ve taken every tea, every vitamin, every medicine. Nothing is strong enough. I do everything I can to stay healthy and… here I a-a-am…” I hunched over and lost control of my sobbing. My mind was spiraling quickly, but I couldn’t form another coherent sentence if I tried. I just wanted to jump out of my skin, I just wanted this to be over. I wanted to be okay again.

“I know, I know it’s hard,” Shawn soothed, scooping me into his arms. His head lied on mine, and he rubbed my back, slowly rocking me from side to side. “It’s okay, honey. You’ll be okay.”

“I’m too young to be like this,” I whispered through my ugly cries. “I-I-I keep thinking I’ll die in my sleep.”

“Hey, no. You’re not dying. But you’re right, you’re so young, and it’s not fair that this is happening. But you’ll be okay. You’ll survive this. You’re a strong lady, remember?”

My chest ached. I never thought Shawn heard my calming mantras. I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I-I’m a strong lady…”

I’m a strong lady.

[bettersafethandicks]

[takes a huge hit of a blunt] hey dude what if you were like the calypsos pet and some vague bandit group kidnapped you and held you for ransom lol

@sugar-high-viking this is 4 u binch

troy n tyreen x gender neutral reader

as you all know nothing sexie happens that ‘x’ just emotional 

warnings for getting beat up by extremely rude and rowdy boys and also for calypsos showing genuine care and affection also for lack of any editing

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

           You kicked and writhed as the marauder dragged you by the ropes digging into your wrists, rubbing them raw.  Your pleas and curses were muffled by a rough cloth gagging you, and you were already bleeding from the scrapes and cuts you’d gathered while trying to escape.

           “Keep ‘em yellin, its picking up great.”  The guy following you with a camera laughed, keeping you in focus.  

           The bandit dragging you jerked the rope to one side, causing you to slam your cheek against the filthy floor with a yelp.  It wasn’t long before you were hoisted up, the bindings at your wrists looped over a ceiling beam; high enough to keep you barely stable, on your tiptoes in a position that was going to ache sooner rather than later.  You stopped your cries and panted harshly, worn out already.

           “Right, you freaks listenin?” The camera operator spoke to his future audience, panning the device around you.  You tried to follow him, turning your head as he circled you. “Your poor little pet is only gonna get more banged up the longer you keep us waitin’.”  

           At that, the masked man who dragged you in slammed a punch into your side, earning an audible crack and a piercing shriek.

           You couldn’t make out more of his words, twisting in your strung-up position, yelling in agony, each breath bringing bolts of pain streaking through your body.  

           “Shut them up for a second, will ya?”

           A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting the air from your lungs and silencing the already muffled wails.

           “Guns and cash- not delivered by you two.  In fact, send someone disposable; it’ll be a little trade-off.  No funny shit, or you’re gonna be getting this thing back in installments.” The knife biting into your jaw was barely noticeable beyond the panic of oxygen deprivation.  “Ohh, maybe we could make their face look like brother Calypso’s?! Wouldn’t that be fun?  Why don’t you put your suggestions in the comment section, huh?”              

           The camera lowered, and the lead guy gave a nod; the pressure came away from your throat, and you gasped desperately.  Your side was screaming in pain, bone shifting like a handsaw under your skin, but your lungs took over reflexively and tears sprang to your eyes as you wheezed.

           Your chin was grabbed to look forward, face slick with blood from where the knife sliced you.  “Nice job pet.” He said it like an insult.  “I can see why they like putting you on their fucking videos so often.”

           “Should we send an ear or a finger?”  

           “Mmmh…Nah, not yet.“ He was typing on the ECHO device, probably sending the video to the twins.  “Let em respond; see if they know we’re serious… Then we can figure out what to start slicing off.”  

           “God I wish I could see their faces when they get that message.”  The bandit beside you was moving you, pushing you to turn, off-balance and huffing. “Can I even out their ribs?”

           “Eh, sure.”  He was already turning to leave the room, giving your guard a lazy wave of his hand.

           The door slammed shut just as the metal-studded knuckles cracked into you for a second time.

           The blood drying on your skin itched.  Not that you could reach well to scratch it with your wrists still bound; you had tried to get the bindings slippery with blood to wriggle out, but the rope was too tight and you were too weak to put up much of an effort.  You were curled up in a tiny cell now; (more like a cage, if you were honest) shattered ribs aching no matter which way you lay.  

           The taste and smell of copper was overwhelming. Thankfully you still had all your teeth, but your lip was split and the insides of your cheeks were torn and bleeding. You’d swallowed enough of your own blood to be sick, as if the regular pain wasn’t bad enough.  You weren’t sure what was making you more dizzy; the blood loss or the hunger or the dehydration. It had been close to two days now since you had been dragged from the wreckage of an ambushed caravan, out of the Calypso’s watch for once while you and a few other cultists ran to the nearby town.  You sniffled, blood still trickling from your nose.  You just had to go into town that day, huh?

Every hour or so (you think; the best way to tell time right now was by seeing how long it took for blood to dry) someone would come by to make sure you were still conscious, kick you around, snap a few pictures, and then leave. You wondered if the twins were even going to save you.  You had devoted yourself to them and they seemed to care for you but… you’d seen them throw other followers away when it was convenient.  Or when they were bored. True, never ones they had doted on this much but…you hadn’t seen every pet they ever had.  You trembled slightly and curled in on yourself more, trying not to tear up at the thought of being abandoned by your gods to be tortured and die here.  

               “Oh shit- TROY IN HERE!”  

You felt like you were hallucinating.  You cracked an eye, the one not stuck shut with blood, to see Tyreen, your queen, your god, rushing to you and falling to her knees to put her hands on you, caress your face, make sure you were breathing.  Troy barreled into the room moments later, covered in blood that wasn’t his, coming to kneel beside his sister.

Tyreen held your head up off the ground “Faithful, can you hear me?” She was worried.  She was worried about you.

You hummed out a soft acknowledgement.

Troy ran his fingertips over the cuts and bruises that bloomed across your shoulders and sides, pulling away before he reached the rainbow of red and black and blue that sat over your broken ribs.  You had never seen him so…upset.  A mixture of hurt and angry, like he wanted to go back and kill the bandits all over again.

“Oh, sweetheart…”  His voice was soft.  “Tyreen can’t you-“

“They’re too old.”  You could swear her voice cracked.  “The injuries are too old I can’t-  It won’t work.”  You tried not to groan in pain when she moved you to pull you into her lap.  “Call the medics- Fuck, Troy they’re freezing.”

You had enough of a grip on reality to know you were in shock by now, shivering weakly.  Tyreen cradled you, pulling her shoulders in to surround you protectively.  Troy was barking orders through his ECHO device, though you couldn’t pick out words anymore.  You just wanted to fall asleep, finally safe in her arms.  They were here, after all; this was all you had hoped for.  Tyreen stroked over your cheek, you couldn’t even feel the gash there anymore…this was alright.  You were alright.  

  It was bright.  Your eyes were closed but it was too light, overpowered bulbs searing through your lids and waking you up.  Stupid as it was, you opened your eyes directly into the artificial sun sitting over you, squeezing them shut just as quickly and turning your head to the side with a barely audible groan.  

“Tyreen! Hey!  They’re awake!”  Footsteps rushed closer as you opened your eyes to see Troy Calypso, twin god and all-powerful siren keeping a nervous watch over your bed.

“You’re awake…”  He murmured it mostly to himself, running a hand over your jaw.  You could feel him thumb over the dull bumps of stitches in your skin, comfortably numbed by the best painkillers on Pandora.

Those narcotics definitely came in handy as Troy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you halfway off the bed and sending IVs and monitors clattering around.  He buried his face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent like he was making sure it was real.

“Troy…” you were almost scared at how faint your own voice was.

“Troy!”  Tyreen yelled.  “You’re gonna break them again!”

“Oh shit- “ He jumped, nearly dropping you before setting you gently back on the bed and attempting to realign the blankets and IV.  

  Once you were deemed stable, the twins insisted you stay in their room, and it wasn’t like you were about to argue.  They didn’t want to let you out of their sight for any longer than absolutely necessary; you got the feeling anyone who tried to approach you would be evaporated on the spot by one of them.  

It was surreal, having the Calypsos care for you. Feeling Tyreens careful hands undoing the wrap around your chest, soothing you as you take a few painful deep breaths to keep pneumonia at bay.  Troy pulling the bandages off and making sure your stitches were holding, cleaning the blood away from the wounds with a cool washcloth.  Both of them helping you out of your clothes and into a warm bath, hushing the sharp hiss you make when the water hits your injuries.  Troy usually had to pull you out, the hot water making you too weak to climb, and Tyreen would be right there with a fluffy towel, not caring if it became stained with your blood.

Once it’s safe enough, the two of them sleep on either side of you, tucked in a luxurious nest of pillows and blankets, each of them keeping at least one hand on you through the night.  Even after you’ve healed up enough to change your own bandages, they insisted on being there, making sure everything was clean and uninfected. Tyreen even pulled your stitches out herself; it barely even hurt.  Even later, it became a habit for them to idly trace over the lingering scars as you sat by their thrones, neither of them having to look to know exactly the path the marks cut across your skin.  

Away from cameras, they’d kiss over raised lines, assuring you that you belonged to them, and no one on the planet would ever take you from them.

[briteboy]

yelling @ santi, i’m evil again (what else is new), SOME REALLY REALLY OLD ASKS, one GoT spoiler at the very bottom (beware)

*angrily slaps santi* GET YOUR SELF TOGETHER YAH POOP HEAD

Lou and Fiona deserve happiness pls let it happen ty

they do ;-; it will happen, don’t worry, no one suffers forever <3 i’ve actually been planning out lou’s story and i’m excited to actualize it hehe

I just read all of Santis story. Dear god, it is amazing. I cannot begin to describe how much I love it. I have been really sick lately and have such a hard time concentrating on anything for more than one second but I have not been able to look away from this story, not even when I re-read it for the third time. You are an amazing writer and I have fallen in love with every charachter you have introduced. I teared up so many times and my heart began beating fast, it was really an experience.

OH MY GOD ;___________; YOU READ IT THREE TIMES WHAATDOSOIGODFSKL holy shit thank you so much, i don’t even know what to say right now lmao ;-; i’m just kinda in awe that i was able to grab your attention like that and that you enjoyed it so much and just askjdjfsd THANK YOU i can’t say anything else but just thank you, people like you make this all worth it <3 

A case of the novembers is the kinda story you read and you just know its going to stick with you for awhile. Like ones day, you'll be long gone in the future, doing something totally different, older wiser, all that bullshit, and you'll just randomly remember what a bittersweet story it was.

OMFG ;___; holy heck asjdjnfkdkjs this really got me right in the heart lmao. that’s the kind of story it’s always been for me and seeing other people interpret it that way as well is just mind boggling, thank you <3 

You are evil. My poor heart hurts. ;______________;

you've ruined my life

Life hack: listen to the entire Hamilton soundtrack whilst working out at the gym. By the end of it, you'll have lost half your body weight due to sweating and crying at the same time (pls help this was such a bad decision)

OMG that’s me with grimes’ art angels lmao i go hord to kill v maim and venus fly

hamilton fans also go hord i respect it. learn more about history get swole killing two birds with one stone

Okay this is so fucking random but a while ago you did a post where you talked about perfect bby gianni saying that he spent a lot of time in introspection and like Thank you 'cause now I have a word to put on this thing I do when I try to figure why I feel certain things or what my relationship with people/random shit is and why and yeah I kind of understand myself a little better now so thx a lot!!! 😘😘😘 Also, you're great.

i think i was actually talking about santi (’cause that’s where we’re at right now, in that period of introspection for him heheh) but YES omg that makes me so happy ;-; it’s a good word lmao and i do the same thing, in fact i’m always trying to figure out my relationships with everything in order to understand myself more. that’s kinda why i’m so into astrology haha. i’m glad you finally got to pin down that feeling for yourself, it’s the best when that happens <3 YOU’RE GREAT TOO 💫

NOOOOOOOO MY FAVS THIS CAN'T... LOU.... SANTI PLS... THIS IS A RIOT 😭😭

let’s start protesting santi in the streets

Hi!! Umm I'm guessing you do but just in case, did you know there was a tear accessory? I think it's an eyeliner (cause you mentioned having to draw them yourself)

yeah i do! i mentioned the ones by s-club, i’ve used those a couple times. but i like drawing them myself because i feel like it’s weird to have the same single teardrop every time one of my characters cries (and we all know they’ve been crying a lot lately lmfao) if they didn’t cry often i probably wouldn’t feel compelled to draw the tears. but i don’t mind drawing them honestly, it’s kinda fun lmao. thanks for your consideration <3 

so im sitting here thinkin....... what if santi goes on this trip and coms back and lou is in a relationship!?!?!

👏santi👏get👏it👏together👏

HE’S TRYIN

i want to die

AAAH SOLE DEVELOPMENT BETWEEN CUTE DEVIL CHILD AND I ALMOST DIED TWICE TATOO MAN YES

I HAD TO READ THIS LIKE THREE TIMES TO UNDERSTAND IT LMFAOSDOJDKF BUT YES their relationship kills me the most ;__;

wait santi tried to kys :'(

WHERE U BEEN he did  :{

what font do u use in your histories?

arial!

hi u have a really pretty blog and I hope you have a good day

THIS IS SO SWEET I DON’T DESERVE IT ;-; I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY TOO HONEYBEE 🌻

nyooooooom

I WENT M.I.A FOR A LITTLE AND I COME BACK TO READ UP ON THE STORY AND HOW DARE YOU ASHDDJFKL

@teishajenaie on instagram looks like Rooney to me, idk if you'd agree but ??

i see it!! definitely in the eyes and nose. also sorry i answered this literally like 3 months later lmao

gooey by glass animals gives me santi vibes :) ive been listening to it on repeat (bc im tht bitch) and it was making me think of you and his story! c: i hope you dont mind me over here lmao anyway, im excited to see where it goes and real excited for a back story for lou!! <3 lots of love

omg haha that’s actually funny because i used it in that one scene of him tripping, although it’s like completely a gianni song to me (at least personality-wise, it’s even on his playlist on my character page) and noooo i don’t mind, i love that song and i love when people recommend me songs!! i have a whole bunch of recommendations in my inbox that i need to acknowledge omg. anyway I’M EXCITED THAT YOU’RE EXCITED, especially for lou’s story, it’s coming up reeeeeal soon <333

i feel so late to the party but i Just started reading your story like five minutes ago and im absolutely entranced by it already and i cant wait to catch up and finally understand what to heck is going on

this was sent literally forever ago when santi and molly were out there being wild in the desert lmao so i hope you caught up and everything. “entranced” omg that’s such a wonderful word i’m honored

i didnt think i could love you more but the fact that you watch arrested development makes me so happy. i cry. my boyfriend has a mr manager, bluths frozen bananas shirt thats literally my favorite thing ever.

OMGGG YES i watched it once forever ago and i need to re-watch it asap lmao. I’M PRETTY SURE I BOUGHT THAT SAME EXACT SHIRT FOR MY BROTHER FOR CHRISTMAS ONE YEAR

Just a biiig prank. Huge

this one is from so long ago i don’t remember the context but i laughed at loud when i read it. huge

i was playing with uncharted for the first time today and they said Navarro in it and i was like THATS MY BOI SANTIII

santi infiltrating everyone’s lives my bf played uncharted tho!! it looked cool. like indiana jones. i liked the marketplace part. a monkey stole his apple

Hi sunny! I really am in love with your story (even if it's tearing me apart at the moment) and just wanted to say you're cool Stay strong ma dude

HI THANK YOU <333 you’re also cool my dude and i’m sorry for tearing you apart (if it makes you feel any better this story tears me apart on a daily basis)

what packs and expansions do u have for ur game?

ummmmmm all of them except vintage glamour and fitness stuff. i wish i didn’t buy some of the stuff packs lmao but what can ya do i actually didn’t even get vampires or bowling or parenthood until like a month ago lmao i’m late to the party

Oh shit she's been dead hasn't she. Like this is all a drug or alcohol infused bender of mollys memory, she's probably never left. They're probably still at the hospital. I hope I fucking wrong but shit I also hope not. Poor santi

we’re so far past this but i just wanted to publish this anyway lmao it was a good theory! and this person was so sure of it it kinda made me wish it was true lol. sorry if that disappointed you but i’ll always remember this one in my sad sad heart 💔

how long did it take for you to make friends here? I started a simblr because I really like storytelling with my sims & I thought it'd be fun to meet people who enjoy that, too, especially since I don't have many friends irl...but I've been here for quite a few months now and it seems like no one even cares that I'm here....everyone I try to interact with pretty much ignores me after a message or two....I'm just feeling really discouraged about my presence here :/

I’M REALLY SORRY I DIDN’T ANSWER THIS SOONER ASKJDKJFSDKA (i’m sure it didn’t help the fact that you feel ignored, i really really hope you see this) but okay uhhhhhhh i only had acquaintances from 2015 up until like this year? then i started really becoming close with people. so it took a while lol, but i think everyone starts off slow because it’s mostly about the actual game we’re playing at first and then making friends just happens through that. don’t get discouraged, like i said it took a while for me. you really just need to reach out to the people you’d like to become friends with, reply to their posts, give your genuine thoughts, say something that’ll make their day...people notice that no matter what they have going on, i promise. i hope you’re still here and hanging in there. don’t get caught up in who’s talking to you or not talking to you, just do your thing, enjoy what you do, and people will notice you. <3

3. Hi so I just wanted to say that I love your story, I'm here for every update. I'm an s3 player I play s4 every once in awhile but s3 has my soul. I love Santi and I know he will be happy in the end, whether it's with Lou or not(hopefully it is tho) I only want him to be happy. I go through so many emotions in one post, like this is a tv drama and I can’t wait for the next episode. This is the end of my cut and paste. Have a nice day.❤️

HI HELLO <3 this is so sweet and i can’t believe you actually care about my story lmao thank you i’m glad you have faith in his happy ending, i don’t want anyone to think i genuinely like making my characters suffer lmao. i only do it to make the happy ending more satisfying. asjdfjksd comparing my stuff to film or tv always makes me so giddy so THANK YOU ily <333

"Suicide before you see this tear fall down my eyes" (Beyonce) reminds me of Molly's situation soooo muchhhh aaaahhhhh

OMG YES what a good connection. good song good connection yaeeahhh better call molly with the good hair

Ummmm... hello! I just read through your whole story with Santi and I'm like... holy fuck. Not only is your story wonderful, your editing is so good. I'm surprised I didn't shove my eyes up against my computer screen. Please continue making wonderful things and being great. Signing off 12:31 in the morning, I hope you have as much fun as you want to

“as much fun as you want to” omfgasdkngjd why did that make me laugh so much. don’t have too much fun, have the responsible amount of fun anyway HELLO thank you soooooO much ;-; pls don’t shove ur eyes up against the screen i’m almost positive that’s not good for them. but i appreciate this so much thank YOU for being great <3 signing off at 2:18 in the morning after ignoring this message for months now (i’m sorryyyyyyy) but um ily

HELLO??? I JUST READ A SERIOUS CASE OF NOVEMBER FOR THE FIRST TIME AND I'M LIKE CRYING???? y u do dis to me I hate you and love you at the same time

(I need to rant I'm sorry) My uncle is really positive towards the army and war and stuff like that and all day he's been going on about how it should be mandatory to serve in the military, especially for "little brat girls" like me? And it's stressing me out so much I want to cry :( The army and war is something that genuinely scares me and I don't want anything to do with it, but he's just going on and on! What should I do?

this is literally sooooooooo late and i feel so bad i’m sorry, i hope this still helps you out and i hope you see it tho okay. i’m pretty sure this was even before the trans military ban like whew idek what your uncle must think about that. tbh just ignore him, like i know it’s hurtful but like...what is his point in telling you this? i would’ve literally been like (sarcastically) “ok then sign me up” but i’m also a lil shit so that’s probably not the best thing to say. but really like the only thing he’s trying to do is feel powerful by means of expressing his militaristic (no pun intended) opinions to someone far younger than him. it’s so that he feels bigger and better than you (especially by calling you a brat). he’s a sad man and anyone who relies on the military, of all things, to shape a person probably doesn’t have a strong sense of self anyway. i love you okay, just ignore him, don’t let him stress you out <3

I'm a little high and it's late but I have a lot of courage now so I've been following you for a while and I just want to tell you how much I love your story! I have come across other places on tumblr who do this but none have captured me as this one did! You are amazing and I am in love with this story! Thanks fo being you! :)

ONMG YOU HAD TO BE HIGH TO SEND THIS LMAO that was me this weekend anyway thank you so much, it floors me every time anyone says these kinds of things to me and it never gets old ;-; you are so amazing ok <333

you can't possibly be offended by a homophobic joke in game of thrones, it's set in medieval times. they had several lgbt characters in it, it's not the show that's homophobic, it's the characters, which is accurate for that time period.

o i can and i will lmao i mean i get where you’re coming from but with that logic you could say it’s only accurate to put homophobic jokes in today’s media just because people are still homophobic in the time live in. i know it’s the characters, but you do understand that someone writes those characters, right? it’s bad writing. it’s lazy and pandering and because of that it’s offensive. idk if you know the exact dialogue i was referring to but it was so completely unnecessary lmfao. they could’ve made a million other jokes. regardless of how it offended me it was just BAD lmao

SPOILER BELOW OK DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YA

@ I wanna watch GoT anon: don't. It's just so fucking bad. The definition of overhyped tbh (and btw, sunny, PLS HELP HE SCREWED HIS FUCKING AUNT WTH)

LMAO SOMEONE ACTUALLY AGREES WITH ME? wow bless u. it is definitely overhyped, like it was good at first but it’s been riding that hype through these past couple of seasons to disguise the bad writing. i understand being entertained by it, but i’m always surprised when people think it’s actually well written at this point...it’s so cringey and now thanks to the season finale this fanbase will be justifying incest. great!

OK MOVE ALONG NOW

[camsthisky]

Break Me Down and Build Me Up

< day 3 | day 5 >

This is day 4 of the 30 Day writing challenge, but it turned into a massive mess. It’s 7k+ and I might come back to it and clean it up a little later.

Prompts are listed here.

4. Write the worst possible way that your (BR)OTP could have met

Summary: What if Robin: Year One took place in the Young Justice world? A story how Robin and Kid Flash first meet. (This does differ a lot from the comic)

This wasn’t the worst possible way they could have met, so I didn’t quite fulfill the prompt. I had when i first wrote it, but four rewrites later and the story had changed quite a bit.

ao3 | ff.net

There was blood dripping into Dick’s eyes from his forehead, but all he could do was squeeze them shut. He couldn’t move his arms, couldn’t move his body. He hurt, he hurt so much that it was almost unbearable, but worst of all were the images. Two-Face bearing down on him with a baseball bat, Judge Watkins dropped to his death.

Dick just wanted to cry into Bruce’s arms and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

“Hang in there, Robin,” Bruce murmured, and Dick couldn’t help but cry out when someone lifted him up, his cape wrapped around him like a blanket. Bruce was carrying him, he realized, taking him away from this horrible place, from the man he’d just killed, from the man who’d almost killed him, and Dick’s breath hitched in his throat.

He didn’t deserve to have Bruce’s arms cradling him like this. He deserved to drown with the judge he’d just sentenced to die because he’d thought he could outsmart Two-Face, and he’d been wrong. He’d never been so wrong in his life.

“Stay with me, Dick,” Bruce demanded, and Dick felt it with every pain in his body as Bruce set him in the backseat of the Batmobile. “Just—keep breathing. Don’t die.”

Dick would keep breathing. For Bruce, if for no one else.

Dick woke up sobbing. Okay, so he wasn’t quite awake, awake, but he was coherent enough to realize that his whole body was on fire, the pain so fierce that he could barely breathe, and all he wanted, all he needed, was Bruce.

Where was Bruce?

“Here,” Bruce said, and when Dick opened his eyes, Bruce really was there, holding Dick’s hand with a death grip, sitting next to Dick’s bedside, and Dick sobbed harder—in relief this time. Thank God. Thank God. “I’m here, Dick. I’m right here.”

And that was enough.

The next time Dick woke up, it was with a bit more coherency. He was in his bedroom, he was alive, and Bruce wasn’t there. There was a muted pain humming just underneath his skin, and he thought he should probably be in more pain than he was in, at the moment. That question was answered when he turned his head slightly to the left and spotted the IV.

Pain killers. Of course.

Dick wondered if that meant Leslie had been by. Probably. Dick’s last memories of being awake were tinged with the red burning of indescribably pain that even a miracle butler couldn’t quench on his own. So, he couldn’t say for sure, but it definitely wouldn’t surprise him.

The door opened then, interrupting Dick’s attempt to figure his thoughts out, and Dick heard a few soft footsteps that could only be one person. Bruce paused when he saw that Dick was awake, and Dick tilted his head towards him—the furthest he could without making the pain sing in his veins, that is.

(It wasn’t very far.)

“Dick,” Bruce said, and his voice was thick with grief that Dick didn’t quite understand, because Bruce was the one who had told him to stay alive. He wasn’t dead, so Bruce shouldn’t look like that.

“Wha—?” Dick tried to ask, but he cut off in a hoarse cough. His throat was sore, swollen, and he couldn’t manage to get the words out. Bruce patiently helped him drink from a glass of water with a bendy straw in it. But when he was finished, when Dick opened his mouth to speak again, Bruce interrupted him.

“You shouldn’t speak,” Bruce said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alfred had to intubate you.”

Oh.

He blinked, but his eyelids were heavier than normal when he tried, and he ended up with his eyes half-open. Bruce noticed, and he sent Dick a sad smile, tinged with bitterness and grief at the very edges, and Dick wished that he could stay awake, that he could talk so he could understand why Bruce looked like he’d just lost someone again.

“Go back to sleep, Dick,” Bruce told him, brushing his hair back. “I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“—of all times to not pick up—oh. Hi.”

Wally peered over the top of the couch to where Uncle Barry was sitting at the dining room table. The TV was on mute, since Barry had told him he needed to make a “work” call. Yeah, Wally wasn’t stupid enough to believe Barry was calling anyone from the CCPD, especially since Barry was using a phone Wally had never seen before.

“I need your—wait. What? What happened?”

Wally wondered which superhero Barry was talking to, though, because his uncle looked super pale. Like he was about to pass out, and Wally didn’t like the look of it.

“Well, is he okay?” Barry asked the person on the phone. He paled even further at whatever answer he received, if that was even possible. “Hell. Do you know how long it’s going to take for him to recover, at least?” There was another pause, this one at least twice as long as the one before, and then Barry was speaking again. “Is there anything I can do? No, it’s not urgent. I just needed your computer to look up someone’s identity, is all. I’ll ask Clark, instead.”

Wally tuned out, not really interest in the rest of Barry’s conversation. He didn’t know who Clark was, and he didn’t know who was hurt, but Barry was going to put him on the backburner during runs if Wally interrupted another “work” call.

And if by the time Barry got off the phone Wally forgot to ask about it, well, that could all be put down to his stomach. He was curious, but he was also starving.

Bruce wasn’t there when Dick woke up again, even though he said he would be, and Dick had to push away the stab of betrayal, because he didn’t even know how long he’d been asleep. Maybe Bruce was in the bathroom, or eating dinner, or even patrol. Dick didn’t know the circumstances, and he wouldn’t think the worst of one of his most important people.

So Dick sat there for a few hours, waiting for Bruce to come back, but when the sun peeked through his curtains, Dick couldn’t take it anymore. He’d go find Bruce himself if he had to. There was no way he could sit there staring at the ceiling any longer.

He pushed himself into a sitting position slowly, careful not to jostle anything. His chest was completely swathed in bandages, his right arm was in a brace, his head was wrapped, and he felt like one big giant bruise. On top of that, Dick didn’t want to ruin whatever careful work Leslie and Alfred had done to save him. It was only when he was sitting up that he pulled the IV out with a slight wince, and then slowly started the process of getting out of bed.

It was just as he had stood upright that Dick’s door opened, and then a voice cried, “What are you doing?”

Dick blinked up at a pale Bruce, and sure, he was swaying a little, but he’d gotten to his feet with minimal damage, and it didn’t hurt that much. Dick was just about to tell that to Bruce, too, but the swaying turned into falling without his permission. Bruce dove forward, catching Dick just before he could fall forward and crack his head on his own bedroom floor.

“What the hell were you even thinking? “Bruce asked, and he sounded angry, just the barest undertones of worry in his voice. “You’re not in any shape to be out of bed, Dick!”

“I was fine,” Dick argued as Bruce tucked him back into bed, resolutely not telling Bruce that he’d only been up to find him. “Besides, I’ve been up for hours. It was just going to be a stroll around the bedroom.”

“Not until Leslie takes you off bedrest,” Bruce snapped.

Dick huffed, watching as, despite Bruce’s harsh word, he refitted the IV into the cannula as gently as possible. “I’m okay,” Dick said. “I promise.”

Bruce’s gaze snapped to his, his dark eyes glinting. “You’re not okay,” he growled. “Not even a week ago, you were lying downstairs in the Cave dying, Dick. You’ve been in a coma for days, and it’s only been two days since Leslie said that you were stable enough to move to your bedroom. That is not okay.”

Dick was taken aback. “But I will be okay. Just give me a few weeks and I’ll be swinging from buildings better than even before!”

“No, you won’t,” Bruce told him, a cold finality to his words that had Dick’s stomach sinking to his feet. “As long as I have something to do with it, you won’t be going out there again.”

Dick couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t draw in any oxygen, and his chest was so still that he feared that this was all some weird hallucination of death. To be tortured with his worst fears as he lay dying in the real world, because Bruce would never do that to him. He knew how much Robin meant to Dick, so he would never snatch it away.

“What are you saying?” Dick croaked out.

Bruce met his eyes, and Dick searched for some sort of sign that this was all some kind of sick joke—but no. Bruce looked nothing but cold as he broke Dick’s heart in half.

“Robin is finished,” Bruce told him, and Dick finally took a breath and proved that this was reality. He was alive, and this was really happening. Robin was being snatched from his very hands. “You’re fired.”

Dick didn’t speak again. He dropped his head, he gritted his teeth, and he cried silently. Bruce got up from his chair and left the room, left Dick, and Dick couldn’t understand why this was happening to him. First, he’d bargained Judge Watkins’ life and lost, then Two-Face had almost killed him, and now Bruce didn’t want Robin anymore, didn’t want him anymore?

How was any of that fair?! He’d already lost his parents, his home. He’d lost it already once, and now it felt like it was being taken away once again. One mistake. That was all it had taken, and now, Robin was finished.

Batman didn’t need him, and neither did Bruce.

“What?!” Barry yelled, startlingly Wally from his phone. From the other couch, even Iris looked bewildered, and they both looked over to the door Barry had just walked in, talking into his superhero phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why would you do that?!”

Wally met his aunt’s eyes worriedly, because Barry sounded really stressed, and not in a good way. It was the same tone he used when the whole planet was about to get blown up or something. Wally wondered, not for the first time, if he could go with.

Probably not. Barry had a list of things of things he was allowed to do as Kid Flash barring some emergency—the same one that Robin had used when he first started out, if a little modified to adjust for Wally’s powers.

“No,” Barry hissed, and was that venom in his voice. Just who was he talking to? “No. No way in hell. Go talk to him and apologize for being a fucking ass before you lose him. He’ll forgive you, even if he shouldn’t.”

Woah. Barry didn’t swear. Like, ever. And here he was, so angry that he was cursing into his phone. Over apologizing? Wally was definitely missing the context of this.

Barry sighed into the phone, the tension falling from his shoulders as he plopped on the couch next to Iris. Wally’s aunt moved her laptop to the coffee table and intertwined her fingers with Barry’s free hand, and all Wally could do was watch. He hadn’t realized how tired Barry looked before.

“Of course I think he’s going to run away!” Barry snapped suddenly, sitting up ramrod straight and glaring at the floor. “He’s an eleven year old boy, and you just shattered his whole world! God, push past your ego for two seconds and go tell him you’re—he hung up on me!”

Barry stared at the phone in disbelief, his eyes moving to meet Iris’ gaze.

“He just hung up on me!”

“I don’t know what’s going on, Barry,” Iris reminded him gently, “and I can’t help you unless you tell me.”

“Is everything okay?” Wally asked hesitantly. “I mean,” he tried again when Barry’s weary eyes settled on him, “that didn’t sound too good, but not it’s not, like, the end of the world, is it?”

Barry slumped back into the couch again. “It might as well be,” Barry sighed, “because Batman just lost his partner.”

Iris paled and Wally sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t mean…?”

Barry’s eyes widened, and he seemed to realize that he’d just implied that Robin was dead, and he waved his hands frantically in an attempt to backtrack. “No, no. It’s not—I mean, it was a close call, but that was over a week ago, and he’s been stable for a few days now.”

“So what did you mean, then?” Iris asked, and she looked concerned.

Barry looked grim, and he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes when he said, “Batman fired Robin.”

“You’re kidding,” Wally said. Then a sudden fear swept over him, because—because— “You’re not going to me, right? Fire me, I mean?”

“No!” Barry said, standing up and running a hand down his face. “God, no. Wally, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t force you into this. This was your own decision, and I know I could never force you out of it. It’s your choice.”

Wally let his shoulders slump in relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“So what does that mean for Robin?” Iris wondered, her eyebrows furrowing. “Batman just decided that he’s done, so he’s done?”

“It’s complicated,” Barry said. “Of course he’s not going to roll over and take this, but he can barely move right now, and from what I heard, Batman and Robin weren’t able to save a hostage during the last fight, either. He’s not in any shape to fight for his costume, right now, and the longer that Batman sits on this decision, the more stubborn he’s going to get.”

“You said Robin was going to run away,” Wally breathed, his eyes wide. “Will he?”

“Probably. When he can move.”

“So what do can we do?” Iris asked.

Barry looked defeated. “For now? Nothing.” And it looked like it physically pained him to say it.

Well, Wally supposed he would have to take Barry’s word for it, because short of going to Gotham and finding the two people that most people in the city they protect had never seen, Wally wasn’t sure what he could do.

So, he did nothing, and he hated how helpless it made him feel.

Finally, finally, Leslie approved Dick for physical therapy, and Dick put his heart and soul into it. He hadn’t quite pushed past that feeling of feeling like Bruce didn’t think he was good enough, but Dick had a plan now. He’d get fit enough to go out as Robin again, and he would go out.

He’d done it before. He’d struck out on his own while searching for Zucco, so why not now, when he was properly trained? He’d prove to Bruce—to Batman­—that he could handle being Robin, that it was a mistake to fire Robin.

In the meantime, though, he and Bruce were on pins and needles. Neither of them talked to each other, only Alfred, and Dick did his best not to be angry. Bruce just didn’t think Robin was good enough to be Batman’s partner, but Dick would show him.

It was a Thursday morning, just a week after Bruce had fired Robin, that Dick decided he couldn’t wait a minute longer. He was still a mess of bruises, and the brace wasn’t coming off anytime soon, but the sooner he got out of Bruce’s way and figured out what he was going to do, the sooner that he could prove his worth. He could already do a double-flip, after all. He was okay enough to do this.

So while Bruce was at work for an emergency meeting with Lucius, and Dick packed a bag, walked to the nearest zeta tube, and then he was gone, the only trace of him left behind a note to Bruce.

He could do this. He would prove himself.

Barry’s phone was ringing. It was the third time in the past ten minutes, and Barry was currently laid up in bed after a nasty encounter with a robber. Wally hesitated to answer it, though, because it was Barry’s “work” phone, and Wally wasn’t sure who’d be on the other line.

Whoever it was, they were persistent, and Wally wondered if there was something catastrophic going on. If that was the case, they had to know that Barry was too hurt to help them, and if they really needed a speedster, he would offer his services. He was pretty sure that this would count as one of those emergency times, and the list didn’t matter all that much.

He answered the call.

“Where is he?” a voice growled in his ear, and Wally froze, because that didn’t sound like a superhero at all. That was—Was that a villain? Had someone figured out how to contact the superhero cell phones? “Answer me! Where’s Robin?”

Oh. Oh. Wally let out a relieved breath, because he got it now.

“Uh, Batman?” Wally started, unsure how he was supposed to address the scariest hero in the Justice League. “Flash is hurt, so he can’t talk right now.”

There was a pause, and Wally waited nervously for Batman to start talking again. God, this was nerve wracking. From just the few words exchanged with the Dark Knight, Wally’s knees were starting to shake, and he couldn’t imagine what it would be like for Robin to work with Batman all the time.

“Kid Flash, I presume,” Batman said, a touch calmer than before. “Is Robin with you or the Flash?”

“Uh, not that I know of,” Wally sighed. “Can I ask why?”

“No,” Batman said, and then he hung up, apparently having gotten all the information he needed. Wally stared at the phone for a few minutes, and then gingerly set it down on the coffee table, because he could probably go a thousand years without hearing that growly voice and it’d still be too long.

“Thanks for that.”

“HOLY—” Wally jumped back and looked at the ceiling where there—holy shit. Robin was hanging from the ceiling like some kind of spider. There wasn’t even anything there. How was he even staying there?! Wally thought that Robin didn’t have any powers. “What the hell, man?”

Robin shot him a sheepish small and dropped down to the floor like a normal person—not that Wally was normal, but at least he didn’t hang from the ceiling like sort of ninja.

“Sorry,” Robin said, straightening up, and Wally realized that Robin looked really small. Didn’t Barry say that Robin was eleven? He looked more like nine or ten. Robin dropped down on the couch and sighed. “Man, that was a close call.”

Wally blinked. “What was?”

“The call.”

“Oh,” Wally said, realizing what Robin was talking about. “You’re—Batman’s looking for you.”

“I know,” Robin said, and he said it so easily, like he was so unaffected, that Wally was thrown for a loop. Because even running away, Wally didn’t think he would not feel anything if he heard that Barry was looking for him.

“What’s your problem?” Wally asked, feeling a little heated, because no one looked that apathetic about running away. They felt something.

Robin tilted his head towards him. “What do you mean?”

“Batman’s looking for you, and you’re acting like you don’t even care!”

“You don’t know me,” Robin told him, his voice calm but his fists clenched, and Wally took a step back, because now he got it. He got how someone like Robin was able to work with the terrifying Bat. He was just like him. “You don’t know anything about me, so how would you know if I cared or not.”

“Well you’re not showing it,” Wally argued.

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t feel it.” Robin relaxed suddenly. “So, the Flash is hurt?”

Wally huffed an annoyed breath. Robin was younger than him, and yet here he was, controlling the entire situation here, and Wally understood what Barry had been complaining about before. About Batman. This kid was kind of annoying, the way he took charge of the conversation, changing the subject like that.

Still, Wally didn’t know how to direct the conversation elsewhere, and he thought that maybe Robin would just go bother Barry if he didn’t get an answer from Wally, so he decided to take the easiest route.

“Yeah,” Wally told him, plopping down on the other couch. “He took a few bullets when he tried to move a group of people out of the way. He just got home like an hour ago.”

“Where were you?”

“At home,” Wally scowled. “It happened at work, so I wasn’t able to get there before he was already shot.”

Robin hummed contemplatively. “Sounds rough. So I guess you’re Kid Flash?”

“Yeah, so what?”

Robin smiled, but it was sort of empty, like he was forcing it on his face, and Wally couldn’t help but shiver. Maybe the ninja thing wasn’t the superpower. Maybe it was that creepy smile. It wouldn’t surprise Wally that just terrifying people was Robin and Batman’s power.

“Nothing, just happy that there’s another kid out there doing the crime fighting thing with me.”

Wally licked his lips. “Barry said that Batman fired you?” Wally asked more than said, and when Robin didn’t say anything, Wally kept going. “You don’t have to answer, but—why? You were the kid that inspired me and Speedy to even become superheroes. Why would Batman think it’s a good idea to fire someone like you?”

“I messed up,” Robin said quietly, and he wasn’t looking at Wally anymore. Or at least, Wally didn’t think he was. Hard to tell with that mask. “Judge Watkins was killed because of me, and Batman had to hurt himself to save me. He doesn’t think I’m good enough to be Robin.”

“So you ran away?” Wally asked, eyebrows furrowing, because this was the realest the kid had been since he’d ninja’d his way in. “What does that solve?”

Robin shrugged. “I was trying to prove to Batman that I could be Robin, with or without him, but I was hoping that I’d have a bit more time. It’s only been a couple of hours, and he’s already trying to track me.”

“Obviously he still cares about what happens to you,” Wally said. “So I don’t get why you don’t just sneak out of the house every night after he’s already gone out. Why run away?”

“I didn’t say he didn’t care about me,” Robin pointed out. He sent Wally a wry smile, like he was trying to laugh at something that used to be funny but tasted bitter at the edges. “As for sneaking out, you don’t know the security B has around the house. Batman’s super paranoid about everything. I’d never make it past the entrance to the Cave.”

“Oh,” Wally said, and he felt kind of sad for the kid. He had to run away in order to prove himself? That sucked. Batman sounded like a real tool. “Well, you can probably stay here for as long as you want. I know Iris won’t mind. Barry might, but he probably won’t even know you’re here until morning.”

“Why?”

“Oh, well speedsters have super fast metabolisms, so Barry’s on a lot of painkillers, right now. You could probably blow an airhorn in his ear and he won’t do much more than smile at you. I’ve tried it before.”

That startled a laugh out of Robin, and Wally smiled. The kid was kind of okay, when he wasn’t being a jerk. And as long as he didn’t put on that air of apathy, Wally didn’t mind hanging around him. Besides, being Batman’s partner had probably done something irreparable to his personality, so Wally didn’t think he should blame Robin too much.

“Well, Rob,” Wally said, clapping his hands. “What say you and I go upstairs and set up a sleeping bag for you?”

Robin, still smiling, stood up. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

“KF?” Wally asked him, standing at the stove with a blank look. The eggs were starting to burn, but Wally looked too out of it to care, so Dick didn’t bring attention to it. “Why KF?”

Dick shrugged. “Well, you gave me a nickname, and Kid Flash is a mouthful, so I shortened it.” Wally seemed to think about it for a second, and Dick supposed that he couldn’t let those eggs burn any more than they already were if he wanted anything edible for breakfast. “Kid Flash. The stove.”

Wally blinked. “The stove…? Oh! The stove!” He turned back around and switched off the gas, saving the eggs just in time. Wally grimaced down at the pan. “Well, I hope you like your eggs super crispy, because those were the only eggs we had in the fridge.”

Dick snickered. “I’m fine with whatever.”

Wally sent him a dark look. “I swear I can cook.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t!”

“I do, too!” Dick said, grinning. “Just show me later.”

“Fine,” Wally grumbled. “But you’re not allowed to talk to me. You keep distracting me.”

“Who keeps distracting you?” Barry asked, looking not at all shot, and very coherent as he walked into the kitchen. He wrinkled his nose at the burnt eggs smell that permeated the room, and he rushed to open the window. “How the heck did you burn eggs?”

“With great skill,” Wally snapped. “They would have been fine if I hadn’t been distracted.”

Dick sniggered again, and Barry whirled around, catching sight of him sitting on top of the kitchen cabinets, ten feet up in the air. “It’s training,” Dick told him. “You know, multi-tasking. If you can talk and cook at the same time, you can do anything!”

Wally rolled his eyes, scraping the eggs onto two plates. “Yeah, yeah. You and your Bat-training.”

“Dick,” Barry breathed, and both Wally and Dick froze, because uh-oh. Dick was still in his Robin costume for a reason. And that reason had been that he had not told Wally anything about his secret identity. Of course, Barry’s speedster mouth had run ahead and gave Dick away before he could think about it. “Oh, shoot. Sorry, Robin. We’re usually in the Cave when…Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Dick said, jumping to the floor and peeling off his mask, trying not to show how nervous he felt. “I trust you guys.”

Wally was staring at him, two plates of scrambled eggs in his hands. Dick sent Wally a wobbly smile, and Wally sent an equally shaky one back. Then he turned his back on the kitchen and walked into the dining room.

“We should eat breakfast,” Wally announced. “Like, now.”

Dick laughed a little, because who knew that Kid Flash could be so awkward? He followed Wally into the dining room, and settled down in the chair across from Wally. Barry followed him out, looking contrite, but he didn’t look too put out.

When their pretty silent breakfast was over—which Dick and Wally spent the majority making silly faces at each other—Dick followed Wally back upstairs to the guest room (Wally had been staying with Barry and Iris for the past few weeks, but Wally wouldn’t tell Dick why. Which was fine. Dick was already intruding majorly, and he didn’t want to pry into anything Wally didn’t want him to).

“I think I should change,” Dick said, turning to Wally’s closest to pull out the bag he’d hidden in the hamper—which had been empty when he’d put the bag into it, but Dick had just pulled a few clothes over it and it was completely hidden from view.

“When did you hide that?” Wally asked, sounding bewildered.

Robin winced. “Uh, after you fell asleep. I left in the garden before, but I didn’t want anyone to steal it and look through it.”

Wally made a “huh” sound, but he didn’t sound anything other than a little weirded out, so Dick took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom, change into his jeans and hoodie, and slip back out. Wally was changed, too, and they went back downstairs. Wally wasn’t giving his face weird looks anymore, so Dick assumed that Wally had moved on from learning his secret identity.

Either that, or he didn’t recognize Dick. Dick honestly didn’t care about which it was, though. It was just nice to have a friend—at least, he hoped Wally was a friend—his age that he could share his secrets with.

“Why did you do it?” Wally asked quietly a little while later. They were the only ones home right then, since both Iris and Barry had to work, and Wally couldn’t help but be curious about Robin’s life, about his roots. “Why did you become Robin?”

“I’m originally from the circus. An acrobat,” Robin said, and it sounded like he was choosing his words very carefully. “And it was my first show on the trapeze without a net, performing with my parents. This guy, Tony Zucco, was trying to blackmail the ringmaster, scam him, or something. Maybe he wanted money, maybe he wanted something else, I don’t know.”

Robin sounded so miserable remembering, and Wally immediately felt guilty about asking. “Hey,” he said. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. We’ve all got our origin stories.”

Robin smiled, and even though it was tinged with sadness, it looked real and genuine. “I like you, KF, and I really want to be your friend. I want to tell you. You’d be one of three people who know this story, and I trust you.”

Wally could nod. “Okay. I—I want to be your friend, too.”

“So, Zucco wanted money,” Robin said, and Wally listened intently as Robin recounted the story of how his parents fell to their deaths, of how Bruce Wayne saved him from rotting in a juvenile detention hall, of how he snuck out of the house to avenge his parents. “Batman found me before I could do anything I would regret,” Robin ended. “We caught him, and then we became partners.”

Wally was dumbfounded. “Wow. That’s a lot to take in. Batman is a lot different than the stories I’ve heard about him.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “Bruce can be a lot to handle sometimes, but he’s like a second father to me. We’re partners, you know? We know each other.”

“So why are you running?” Wally asked.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked. “I already said that—”

“I know what you said,” Wally told him. He leaned forward on the couch, eager to make Robin understand this. Maybe impart some wisdom that being two years old could give. “I mean, I’m a speedster. I know all about running. But it just sounds like you’re running from Batman more than you’re trying to prove you can be Robin. Why?”

Robin seemed to think about it, and they sat in silence for a long time. Wally could see the gears turning in Rob’s head, and he wasn’t eager to interrupt him.

“I don’t know,” Robin breathed after a while. “I just—I don’t know.”

He came at night, when Wally was softly snoring on the bed and Dick was just about to fall into a good sleep, even if he still sort of ached and he was sleeping on the floor. It was just a shadow in the window at first, plunging Wally’s room into darkness for a few moments, the streetlight blocked as the shadow search the room.

Dick froze, hardly daring to breathe. He was so glad he was on the other side of Wally’s bed, the furthest from the window. There was no way he could be seen from the window at this angle.

It was only when the light returned to the room that Dick pushed himself to his knees, his heart beating in his chest. It hadn’t even been two days, and he’d already found Dick? Was it a sure thing, or was he just guessing? Covering his bases before he started searching random alleys.

“Wally,” Dick hissed, and Wally’s snoring stuttered to a stop. “Wally!” Dick called again.

“Rob?” Wally murmured into the darkness, squinting over the side of the bed at him. “Wha’s going on?”

“He’s here!”

“Who’s here?”

“Batman!”

“Holy crap,” Wally breathed, sitting upright in his bed. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said, worried. “He was at the window a little bit ago, but it’s definitely him. I thought I’d be able to swing at least one more day here before he found me, but I think I was a little too naïve.”

Wally sighed. “Look, Rob,” he said, trying to sound all wise again, and Dick struggled to keep a straight face. “You said before you don’t know why you’re running away from him. Why not just face him and tell him you won’t take no for an answer? You chose to be Robin, so he can’t take it away.”

He thought that he’d been doing that by running away. Bruce hadn’t wanted a partner anymore, which was fine. Dick could handle that. He was smart enough to put two and two together, and Dick had messed up too big this time. He’d accidentally killed Judge Watkins, and Batman didn’t need a partner like him.

But Dick was Robin, and Bruce couldn’t take Robin away from him. By running away, Dick had thought he was going to prove it.

But Bruce didn’t just not want a partner, he didn’t want Dick to be Robin. He proved that by coming after Dick, and maybe Wally was right. Maybe Dick just needed to stick it to Bruce. The my way or the high way approach.

The door opened with a creak, and Dick stiffened, because there he was. Batman, hidden in the shadows, and Dick, who should have been used to after two years living with the man—who was used to it—squeaked in fright.

Bruce sighed—and Dick froze, because it was Bruce more than Batman that was standing in the doorway. Bruce pulled back the cowl and kneeled down next to Dick.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked.

“Fine,” Dick breathed, his eyes wide. “I’m fine. Barry, Iris, and Wally have been taking care of me.”

“Speaking of Barry,” Wally said from the bed, his eyes just as wide as Dick’s when Bruce’s attention settled on his, “does he know that you’re in here?”

Bruce grimaced. “Probably not.”

“They have to still be awake,” Wally argued weakly. I mean, it’s barely awake, and Iris has that article due in the morning that she’s been freaking out over all day. How did you get past them?”

“I’m Batman,” Bruce said, like that explained everything, and even though it did, Dick couldn’t help but laugh at Wally’s gob smacked face. Bruce turned his attention back to Dick, and the laughter died on Dick’s lips.

Dick cleared his throat, his stomach a ball of nerves. “Hi, Bruce.”

“Hi, Dick,” Bruce said, not missing a beat. “Care to explain what that note was about?”

Dick winced. “Uh, you read that?”

“Of course I read it,” Bruce told him, settling tailor-style on the floor in front of Dick. “I came home from work to find my son missing and a note explaining pretty much nothing other than that you were running away.”

“Sorry,” Dick said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you worry or anything.”

“How could I not?” Bruce said. “I’ve been searching for you for two days, Dick, nonstop. You can’t seriously believe that just because I fired Robin that meant I didn’t want you.”

“Well, that’s what it felt like!” Dick argued, his temper flaring. “Every time you’ve benched me before it’s been as a punishment! Why should this time be any different? You said Robin was fired, and to me that sounded like you didn’t need me anymore!”

“So you ran away? Dick, I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I was trying to prove that I could be Robin, with or without you,” Dick told him, glaring at the floor. “You wouldn’t listen to me before, so I thought that it would be better without me.”

Bruce settled a hand on Dick’s shoulder, both of them ignoring the way Wally was creeping out of the room to give them some privacy. “Dick, look at me,” Bruce demanded, and Dick did, but it was with some resentment. “Robin or not, I’m always going to need you.”

“That’s not—”

“Robin or not,” Bruce repeated, “I’m always going to need you. You’re my son, Dick. I know I’m not John, but I care about you, and you got really hurt a few weeks ago. I was terrified, Dick.”

“But being Robin is my choice,” Dick told him. “I know the risks, Bruce! Just like you do!”

“You’re a child,” and Bruce looked angry now. “I’m an adult. I can take a hit. You’re eleven, and you almost died.”

“So let’s work on more evasion maneuvers! More training!” Dick cried. “But this is my choice! Robin is my name, and you can’t take it away from me anymore than I can take Batman away from you! Robin is a part of me!”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, his lips thin as he stared down at Dick, and Dick realized he was trembling with emotion, tears spilling down his cheeks as he fought for the very thing that kept him alive sometimes.

He loved being Robin. He got to help people, he got to fly. Working as Batman and Robin, it was more than most people could ever dream of, and Dick absolutely loved making a difference. He loved giving people hope, and Bruce was trying to take that hope away. And Dick just didn’t understand why.

Bruce let out a slow, controlled breath. “Dick, I want you to listen to me, okay?” Dick nodded, biting his lip. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for trying to take Robin away from you, and I won’t do it again. But,” Bruce said before Dick could do more than suck in a sharp breath, “after your physical therapy, I’m not going to immediately put you back in the field. I was too naïve before, thinking you could get away with the basics.”

Dick blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“You know I trained around the world for years,” Bruce told him quietly. “I trained you for a few months and then set you loose, thinking that giving you practical experience would be the best option for you. And it was, but I think I let you out a bit too early.”

“But I’ve trained as an acrobat my whole life,” Dick argued. “It’s not like I don’t have any training.”

“Yes,” Bruce said slowly, “and that training has helped you a lot. But you’re also an eleven year old kid. So, I propose two more months of combat training, of simulation training for Gotham’s brand of criminals, and we can call this a deal. You in?”

“Yeah,” Dick breathed. It sounded fair. Bruce was worried, Dick got that now. He didn’t want Dick to get hurt, and Dick could last two months of training, because he’d done it before. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“Wait a minute,” Barry said, standing up in alarm. “Are you telling me that Batman is upstairs right now? In my house?”

“Uh, yes?” Wally tried. “Him and Rob are talking things out, I guess. Not sure how it’ll turn out, though. It didn’t sound very good.”

“Well,” said Iris, setting her cup of coffee down on the coffee table next to her laptop, “If it doesn’t work out with Batman, Robin’s always welcome here.”

Wally grinned. “Thanks, Aunt Iris.”

Barry sighed. “You know what, I’m going to go tell Clark what happened, and then Bruce is going to get in trouble. After that, don’t involve me anymore. I don’t think I could take it.”

“KF!” Robin called, vaulting over the banister and landing in the living room in a crouch. Wally could only watch with wide eyes as the grinning kid tackled him in a hug. “Hey, thanks for your advice, KF. It worked!”

“Um,” Wally said as Robin detangled himself from Wally, “glad to hear it?”

“You going home, kiddo?” Iris asked, looking properly amused. Wally shot her a betrayed look, because she knew he wasn’t big on hugging. “We definitely wouldn’t mind another night with you here.”

Robin smiled shyly. “Thanks, but Bruce is going to take me home now. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Anytime, apparently,” Barry said, and Iris slapped his arm playfully. “What? You said you’d take him if Batman didn’t want him.”

“Oh, Batman says he wants me,” Robin said to Iris innocently, and Wally had to squash the urge to ask where that charm had come from, because it only seemed to come out around Iris. Which, Wally didn’t mind much, since he found it a little annoying, but still. “Sorry, Iris.”

Iris laughed. “That’s okay. You gone on home, then. I’m sure Batman has missed you.”

“Bye, KF,” Rob said.

Wally smiled back at him. “Bye, Rob.”

Robin laughed, waved, and ninja’d back up over the banister again, disappearing upstairs—probably leaving out Wally’s bedroom window.

“Can’t they just use the door like normal people?” Wally complained as he collapsed on the couch.

Barry snorted. “Have you met Batman?”

Wally sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“It’s good to see you, Master Dick,” Alfred said when Dick and Bruce had appeared in the zeta tubes, and Dick almost started crying right then and there. Dick leaned into Bruce’s side, who’d taken the cowl off again, instead of running to hug Alfred since the butler wasn’t the biggest on physical contact. “I am glad to see that you are alright.”

“I’m okay,” Dick confirmed as Bruce wrapped an arm around him. “It’s good to be home.”

[a-proud-fangirl]

You Light Up The Dark

For Royai week day 6 - Light/Darkness

Summary:  Their lives somehow always end up in a dark path, but they have each other to light the way. (FFN)

Rating: T

Word count: 1,555

A/N: Here's one of my old drafts that I haven't posted yet haha and by chance it was about the theme today! Hahaha I wasn't able to write today so I'm posting a rough draft. I am sorry for any mistakes or whatever haha but I hope you enjoy and tell me your thoughts! =)

i.

It was a dark, dark place.

After her mother’s death, the vivid world that Riza lived in slowly became a bleak one. Her father turned into somebody she did not know – he treated her like a stranger. She learned to be independent at a young age, maintaining the house while taking care of her father who ignored her all the time. It was a sudden change from the time when her mother was always there for her. Riza thought that her life would remain in the dark forever. She kept things to herself as she found it hard to trust, afraid that they would start acting like her father one day. It was sad seeing her becoming used to solitude.

Until he came.

Roy was vibrant and full of life – the total opposite of what her world became. He wanted to be friends with her, never giving up even though Riza told him that his efforts would only be wasted. He even became more determined every time Riza brings him down. Roy saw the tiny light within her that her father never noticed, and he wanted to help make that light shine more brightly.

Little by little, she found herself warming up to him. She cursed herself for disobeying her own rules, but another part of her said that she should give in to the light she never knew she craved for a long time. And so she did. She fell in love with his light, and he fell for hers as well. They chased stars and challenged the sun. He gave her the galaxy and she kept it in her heart. For the first time since her mother’s death, Riza felt truly happy. He became the light she never wanted to let go. When Roy left for the military, still she was grateful that he came into her life. He taught her how to love again.

ii.

It was a dark, dark place.

His experience with Ishval turned him into a monster – killing innocent people for the sake of following the orders of those in power. It crushed his ideologies about the world he lives in. He thought that it was easy: defeat the evil and bring goodness to the mankind. It was his reason for joining the military anyway – he wanted to help people. He now realized that there was more to that, you need to know who the real enemy is.

Roy hated the man he became; he did not recognize the man staring at him from the mirror.

Seeing Riza in the field did not make him feel better, in fact it made him feel worse. He felt like he was sick, blaming himself for the reason she was there. Of course, she would want to make sure that she gave the secrets of flame alchemy in good hands. Now, her hands would forever be covered with blood, and she would have nightmares just like his. The light in her might completely disappear, like how his would be.

He broke her trust, torn it into shreds. He knew that she would never forgive him.

Her request made his heart shatter. Out of all the things he expected to happen between them, it was not this. As much as he did not want to burn her back, he did it. Following her request was the least he could do for her. She stayed in his place on the night he burned her back. He cried as she slept, wondering when would she realize that he was a monster. When would she leave?

She didn’t leave. She picked him up from a bar one night when she was assigned to his unit. Alcohol helped him in conveying his deepest, darkest thoughts. And when he told her that he was waiting for the day she will realize who he became and leave, she told him that she still kept the galaxy he gave her back when they were still young. She told him that she missed chasing the stars and challenging the sun. Riza promised him that she will keep his light burning within him, just like what he did before.

iii.

It was a dark, dark place.

Roy wasn’t used to the quiet. Maes Hughes always gave life to anything he ever stepped on. He treated Maes like his brother, and he promised to help Roy reach his goal. When he died, Roy felt betrayed. He wasn’t familiar with this empty feeling – he was so young when his parents died that he didn’t remember them that much. He wished that he was the one who died instead.

He got himself drunk every night, hoping to forget the fact that his best friend died. Every time he needs a ride home, Riza would always be there. They would have long talks in his apartment, and he always told her that he wanted to give it all up. He didn’t see the point of fighting when everyone he loved will die in the end. He did not want to see the day Riza would be next – he knew that her death would be the final straw.

And every time Roy said those words, Riza would never fail to remind him of his goal. She’d let him cry on her shoulder. She’d encourage him to continue what they started. She said that there will be times when the light inside him is fading, but he should keep it burning. If it weren’t for her unwavering light, he would’ve followed Maes’ footsteps.

iv.

It was a dark, dark place.

Ever since she was being held as a hostage by the homunculi, Riza found it harder to breathe. It was hard to move knowing that there are eyes watching you every second. It was hard waking up every morning knowing the horror of working with monsters. She feared for her life, and for his. The only thing that made her days worthwhile was passing by him at the corridors and small talks at the cafeteria. Seeing him whole and unharmed was the only thing keeping her sane.

His timing was always perfect. There was a time he called after she was blackmailed by Pride. He told her that he got lots of flowers in his hand and asked if she wants some. She missed his voice, and she loved how he detected the uneasiness in her voice right away. Moments like those rekindled the light within her with a spark.

v.

It was a dark, dark place.

She knew it was the end – she was dying. Blood continued to pour from her neck as she watched Roy, who understood her eye signal well. She let out a sigh. Sadness filled Riza’s heart as the thought that she would never have the chance to see Roy reach their goal entered her mind. Yet, she knew that she deserved this death – she was a murderer who deserved dying in her own pool of blood. Riza closed her eyes, ready to succumb to the darkness that wanted to taker for a long time.

Then she heard his voice.

He heard her calling her rank, never using her name as he didn’t want to believe that it was all real. He felt him hugging her tight, even though May Chang told him not to. As she opened her eyes, she felt different kinds of emotions at once. It has been a while since he held her like this – she never thought it would be on her near death experience. She felt relieved that she would be able to see him again. She felt afraid of what comes next after this moment.

His voice brought her light back to life.

vi.

It was a dark, dark place.

The battle with Father was over. Roy and Riza were brought to a medical center for proper care to their injuries. He lost the ability to see, cursing the homunculi in his mind for putting him into such state. His eyes were his favorite part of his body - through them he was able to appreciate the world fully. He would miss seeing different places. He would miss seeing his friends. He would miss seeing Amestris becoming a better nation. He would miss seeing her.

He wanted to check if she’s alright, but how would he, now that he was incapable of doing so? He already missed seeing her, even though it was only hours since he became blind. He was terrified – he didn’t want to come to a point when he‘ll forget what she looked like. Roy was confident that he wouldn’t, but what if?

Hearing Riza’s voice gave him comfort. It became his light in this dark world. Her voice gave him hope that he won’t forget. How could he, when she was his everything? How could he, when they once chased the stars and challenged the sun? How could he, when she still kept the galaxy he gave her when they were young? Forgetting Riza Hawkeye’s face is a damn impossible task.

Before using the Philosopher’s Stone to regain his eyesight, Roy thought of the first person he wanted to see. When he opened his eyes, he saw his light – her.

Years passed by, and their lives weren’t that dark anymore. Their light shone brightly, enough to drive the darkness away.

[radioactivedelorean]

Light at the Darkest Time

Brain Trauma AU Masterpost

Based on a conversation I was having with @nour386 - this might be added to the final story, when I eventually get there!

(idk, I really felt like writing something like this all of a sudden)

@witete @a-million-chromatic-dreams @crossroadsdimension @sixerpines @transformersg1fan271

____

“Mr Pines? Could I have a quick word with you outside, please?” A doctor poked his head through the doorway into Ford’s room, looking across at Stan with a clipboard in his hands. “It’s about your brother’s condition.”

“Of course, one sec,” Stan got up from his chair and arched his back. He winced as it popped and cracked in protest. He ruffled Ford’s hair lightly, the older twin remaining unresponsive. “I’ll be back in a minute, bud.”

Stan joined the doctor outside in the hallway, taking note of the fact that a nurse was with him. “Have you found out what’s wrong with him yet? It’s been like three weeks, surely you’ve found something.”

The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse beside him. “I’m afraid not. In fact, I have been having a discussion with the nurses monitoring him and we have concluded that there isn’t much we can do for him at this stage.” Stan felt his heart skip a beat. He tried not to think of the worst case scenario. “What do you mean?”

“I regret to inform you of this, but your brother’s condition is only deteriorating. He’s completely paralysed and as each day passes his condition gets worse. There is nothing we can do to help him from this point forward.” The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry, but we believe that it is best if you start thinking about end-of-life choices, if you haven’t been doing so already.”

“End of life choices?!” Stan snapped. “You mean he’s dying?!” He said this in a hissing whisper, knowing full well Ford could hear every word.

“Mr Pines he’s been on a life support machine for the past week and has been on oxygen for two weeks.” The doctor said. “Fairly soon he won’t be able to so much as open his eyes. He is already totally paralysed and without that oxygen mask he would not be able to breathe. At this rate, the future for him only holds more suffering.”

“There has to be something left that you can do!” Stan exclaimed.

“There isn’t, I’m afraid. Frankly it is a miracle in itself that he has managed to survive this long.”

Stan forced back the tears that threatened to spill over. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ford had fought so long and so hard to stay alive and now they were going to put him down like some sick or injured pet?! “Well you know what? My brother is the strongest, most stubborn and damn well the most tenacious man I’ve ever met. If you think he’d want to just give up after all this then you’re wrong!”

“Mr Pines,” The doctor’s voice hardened. “We’ve looked over his file a hundred times, trying to find something that would help him. We’ve come up with nothing. There are drugs available that would give him a temporary solution but they are incredibly expensive and neither yours nor his medical care covers it, not even combined. The drugs would only offer a temporary cure. Judging by the severity of his condition, they would wear off rather quickly and he would only deteriorate once more. The only choice we have at this stage is to turn off those machines.”

“You can’t!” Stan cried out. “Th-there’s gotta be another way, I refuse to sit there and watch my brother die!”

“Mr Pines,” The nurse said softly, one hand on his shoulder in a weak attempt at soothing him. “This is something that is far beyond our capabilities by this point. Not even the most skilled doctors in the world would be able to help him. The best thing we can do for him is to cut the machines.”

Stan swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Th-then what?”

“We will just have to hope that his suffering ends quickly.”

Stan felt as though he had been repetitively hit in the stomach with a sack of bricks. “Y-you don’t understand! I’ve waited all my life to finally be able to sail on a boat with him! It’s been our dream since we were kids. We were so close - you can’t take this away from him so soon! We worked so hard to get here and now you’re telling me the best thing we can do for him is kill him?!”

“As unfortunate as your situation is, we must think of what is best for your brother. Do you truly believe he wants to remain living at this point?”

Stan tried desperately to hold back tears. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t fair! He’s already been through so much shit and now this happens to him?! You can’t take his life support away!”

“Mr Pines, it’s time to face the reality of your brother’s condition. He can’t breathe on his own. He has been on intravenous medication and nutrients since he arrived here. He is paralysed beyond any hope of recovery. He has been losing weight at an alarmingly progressive rate. If we keep him alive much longer, he is only going to suffer more than he already has. He will be given a painless injection in the morning and his machines will be disconnected.”

“I w-won’t let you!” Stan stood in front of Ford’s door, his arms out to his sides. “I won’t let you take my brother away!”

“I’m sorry?” The doctor looked rather stern, one eyebrow raised.

“I won’t let you kill him!” Stan cried. “You’ll have to go through my dead body, ya hear me?!”

“Mr Pines.” The doctor snapped. “Stop this foolishness immediately. There is nothing that can be done for your brother. I am sorry to have to tell you, but he is going to die no matter what we do. His paralysis is far too severe. Making half-baked threats is not going to improve the situation at all. Now, either go back to your brother’s bedside and calm down or I will be forced to call security and have you removed from the premises.”

Stan gritted his teeth, his furious navy eyes locked with the doctor’s stern green ones. He let out a deep breath and let his arms fall back to his sides. The nurse put a hand on his shoulder and guided him back to his chair. Stan allowed her to do so without protesting. The doctor huffed and walked back down the corridor, clipboard in hand.

“I’ll just get your brother his last IV for tonight.” The nurse patted Stan’s shoulder gently and left the room to fetch another IV bag for Ford’s ‘dinner’.

Stan took a seat in his chair, eyes glazed over and staring at the foot of Ford’s bed. “Last IV for tonight” most probably meant his “last ever IV”, if they were planning on killing him in the morning. The nurse returned a moment later and hooked up the IV. Stan watched her hook the IV into the cannula in Ford’s arm, part of his brain realising that those hands could easily be the ones who would soon end Ford’s life. She cast Stan a quick glance before taking the empty bag and leaving the room.

Stan’s eyes drifted from the cannula in Ford’s arm up to his face. Ford’s cheeks were sunken, his eyes had dark bags beneath them and his mouth was partially agape. His eyes stared emptily up at the ceiling. What was most noticeable were the streaks of tears running constantly down Ford’s face. Stan grasped his brother’s hand tightly, squeezing it gently. Tears of his own welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

“Oh Ford…” he murmured quietly. “I’m s-so sorry… I just wish there was something I could do for you…” he choked on a sob. He shifted his chair closer to Ford’s head and leaned forward, pulling Ford close in a hug. He could feel Ford’s tears soaking his shirt, but his brother didn’t move. Ford lay completely limp in Stan’s arms. Stan kept a hand on Ford’s head, burying his face in his brother’s hair as tears continued to run down his face. “I’m s-so s-sorry, P-Poindexter… if I could take your place I would in a heartbeat.”

Ford couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Of course he’d heard everything the doctor had told his brother. He was paralysed, not deaf. He was going to die in the morning. Those butchers were going to give him a lethal injection of strong sedative and then take his life support away. Ford regretted not seeing the kids one more time. He didn’t want them to have seen any of this, but he at least wanted to be able to see them one more time before he left. He didn’t want to go before he saw them one final time.

He could see it in his head: the nurse giving him a mournful expression as they stuck the needle into his wrist and administered the injection. He could see Stan sobbing beside him, gripping his hand tightly. Ford realised that his brother’s grief-stricken face would be the last thing he saw. He realised the twins would show up at the hospital, looking for him, only to be told that he’d been disconnected from life support and put to sleep. He could see Mabel breaking down into loud, harsh sobs and demanding to know where Ford was, claiming the doctors were lying, that her grunkle was fine. He could see Dipper slowly sink to the floor, tears running down his face before finally breaking down into sobs. He could see the twins hugging a tearful Stanley, sobbing and burying their faces in his chest. He could see Stanley locking himself away in the cabin on the boat. He could see the twins shutting down emotionally, the regret on their faces as they realised they never got to say goodbye.

Ford allowed himself to cry silently. His body never moved, his mouth never made a sound, yet tears kept pouring down his face. That was all he could manage. He felt Stanley run his hand through his hair in an attempt to try and calm him down. Ford could feel Stan shaking with his own sobs. Ford guessed the hand through his hair was more Stan trying to keep himself from breaking down entirely. It didn’t seem to be working. Stan’s quiet sobs echoed in Ford’s ear. Ford realised Stan was probably going to be crying for the rest of his life.

------

Later that evening, when the nurses had made the final checks on Ford for the evening, Stan was sitting on the side of Ford’s bed, holding Ford’s hand in one of his own, the other passing through Ford’s hair gently. A half-finished cup of espresso sat on the side table. Stan refused to allow himself to sleep. He wanted to spend as much time with Ford as possible before Ford was taken away from him forever. Tears dripped slowly down his face again.

A sound other than the steady beeping of the machines Ford was attached to could be heard in the room. A steady whirring sound gradually grew louder until a small purple circle appeared on the wall opposite Ford’s bed. Ford couldn’t summon the strength to look across as the circle grew in size until it reached from the ceiling to the floor. Stan jumped up from the bed and stood protectively in front of Ford’s bed. Last time he’d seen a portal similar to that, a torrent of unholy nightmares came spilling out. If some otherworldly monster was coming through to murder Ford at his lowest point, they’d have to go through Stan first.

But what - or rather who - stepped through the portal wasn’t what Stan was expecting. A tall, pale, female creature stepped through. She was dressed in flowing peach-coloured robes with delicate embroidery and had no less than seven eyes. Stan raised his fists in a defensive position. “Listen here, whoever you are. I don’t know what you’re thinking but if you think you can come in here and -”

“Relax,” the woman held up a hand. “I mean no harm to either you or your brother. I wish to help Stanford, not to hurt him.”

Stan felt tears pricking at his eyes again. “Well you’re too late! The doctors already gave me a spiel about how he’s too far gone and there’s nothing anyone can do about it, so get out of here!”

“Nobody on Earth is able to help him, no.” The creature said. “My name is Jheselbraum. Some call me Jheselbraum the Unswerving, but just Jheselbraum is fine. I have met your brother before, many years ago when he was on his quest to defeat Cipher. I am the one who put the metal plate into his head to protect him.”

“Fat lotta good that’s done him!” Stan snapped. “That damn plate has fried his brain! It’s the reason he’s even in this state in the first place!”

“I admit that that was an event I failed to foresee. Now, however, I wish to take your brother home with me in order to provide sufficient treatment so that he may recover.”

“If you think you’re taking him anywhere without me, you can damn well think again!” Stan retorted. “I’m not leaving my brother in the hands of anyone, not since those doctors are gonna kill him in the morning.”

“Which is why I must get him to my home as soon as possible.” Jheselbraum stated. “We must hurry - your brother’s time is severely limited.”

“He can’t breathe without that oxygen mask.” Stan pointed to the mask adorning his brother’s face. “You take him off that thing and he’ll suffocate!”

Jheselbraum took a step forward. She stood beside Ford’s bed and pulled a small clip with a tube at one end from the pocket of her robes. She pulled the oxygen mask off Ford’s face, clipping the small clip to Ford’s nose and slipping the tube end into his mouth. Ford’s ECG reading remained stable. Stan realised that his brother wasn’t afraid of this Jheselbraum lady. He was perfectly content. Stan sighed and let his arms fall to his sides, noticing that Ford could breathe perfectly fine with that clip on his nose.

“I’m still going with him to wherever you take him.” He said. “You’re not separating me from him while he’s like this.”

“Then you are more than welcome to join him.” Jheselbraum calmly turned the machinery off before disconnecting the electrodes and IV connected to Ford’s body. She made sure everything was disconnected properly before lifting Ford up into her arms. Ford’s arms hung limply below his body. He gazed weakly up at Jheselbraum, who began walking back towards the portal. She stepped through it and disappeared. Stan took a deep breath before grabbing his jacket and following her through.

[babykooks]

YOONGI [ONESHOT] - SICK

(This is low-key the best thing I’ve ever written)

Suga had never been the one to care much.

He had watched people come and go, and his eyes had seen things no one should have. And still, he didn’t really care.

Suga couldn’t bring himself to feel compassion for any human because he knew how they all were. All they did was lie and lie, and they’d betray you the first chance they got. He bet even someone who dared to call him their friend would most likely kill him if given enough money.

But he understood. He would do the exact same thing.

Which was why he stayed out of everyone’s business when it didn’t have anything to do with him.

If he saw someone getting killed he’d just walk by. They had probably deserved it anyways.

He didn’t care.

However, his aloofness made his life a bit boring. He was in desperate need of excitement every day of his life, and he was so desperate that he’d do whatever to feel something, anything, for God’s sake.

That need was what had made him commit his first crime, and the rest, as they say, was history. Since then, he had stolen too many times to remember, killed too many people to count. All for excitement.

However, of all the crimes he’d committed over the years, arsons were his favorite.

Watching a house of someone who had gotten on his nerves some other day go up in flames was so incredibly satisfying, that he often found himself smiling wickedly at the sight. So bright and pretty, he’d think and tilt his head, letting out a soft giggle. The flames licked the stars, and Suga felt like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

‘SICK’ was what people called him. It wasn’t an unknown fact among the citizens or other criminals who he was. They all knew him, and as the regular people feared him, the criminals hated him with a burning passion (no wordplay intended). You see, he stole all the media’s attention from all the pathetic and small crimes the others committed.

Suga thought that was funny.

Why didn’t they kill, then? He didn’t know; he didn’t understand. Maybe he was sick, after all.

***

Was he?

He grew frustrated as he coated the small gas station building with more gasoline.

Sick?

Him?

(Suga had decided to drive around that night. However, when he had decided to stop by and steal buy a few snacks, he had noticed it had been closed just a while ago. Anger didn’t even begin to describe what he felt. What was he supposed to eat now? This was a tiny town, with no other gas stations.

“How about I burn this place up and see how much you’re going to be closed then?” he’d said out loud, laughing bittersweetly as he had taken the gasoline container from the trunk.)

Sick? Sick? Sick?

The word kept going through his mind over and over again, fueling his anger. He couldn’t help but be curious; was being ‘sick’ such a bad thing anyways?

He wanted to tear off the dark hair off his head; that’s how frustrated his cluelessness had made him.

Absentmindedly, he pulled out a silvery lighter from his pocket and began to fiddle with it, dragging his fingers over the cold metal. His annoyance was soon to be replaced with a rush of excitement, and that was more than fine by him.

A smile flickered on his lips as he lifted his gaze up to the gas station, a bit shaken to meet another pair of eyes in the window of the building. For one moment, he thought it was himself he saw in the reflection, but soon realized it was a girl, staring right at him from the inside of the station. She looked panicked and Suga licked his lips, tilting his head. Did she work at the station?

She must’ve known who he was, or at least guessed what he was about to do, because she began to yank and pound on the door. It stubbornly kept shut. She was stuck inside.

‘Perfect’, he thought to himself and smiled at her

And it wasn’t a nice, heartwarming smile from a boy to a girl, filled with happiness and compassion. It was one from a predator to a prey, filled with danger and the promise of death.

“No”, Suga saw the girl mouth to him, a teardrop rolling down her cheek as he finally let the flame of the lighter become one with the gasoline.

As the building blew up, Suga realized he was entirely too close, and began to run.

Throwing himself on the ground, he closed his eyes and covered his face, too busy to notice the girl who had managed to break the window and get out. However, she was still close enough for the flames to lick up her whole back, leaving her laying on the ground in pain as the building slowly kept turning into ashes.

Her bloodcurdling scream arose from close by, and even Suga could hear it despite the fact that he was still half-deaf due to the sound of explosion. He grunted as he pushed his aching body off of the ground. He was mad at himself for getting too caught up with the girl and making the mistake of standing too close, and slowly turned towards the source of the scream. His eyes widened when he saw the girl lying limp on the ground. Her back had been burned and had already become charred, and Suga could swear he could smell the burned flesh over the fire. He slumped towards the girl’s figure, hearing her sobs grow more and more audible as he approached her.

A voice in his head wondered why he was even bothering to take a look if she was fatally injured or not. He could’ve just left and never looked back.

‘I’m not worrying or caring for her; I’m just checking if I can still kill her or not’, he assured the voice as he crouched down to the level of the girl.

And there he just kept looking at her - not making a single sound - simply watching the girl who was trying to squirm away in fear from him.

“N-No!” she cried out as he reached his dirty hand out to stroke her cheek. “P-Please don’t hurt me!”

“Shh,” he said, his voice husky and deep, and turned his piercing stare to her back. “That looks painful.” He let out a low chuckle and reached out to touch the skin until she flinched away.

“Just please go and leave me alone. I’ll tell them it was an accident and that it had nothing to do with you. Just please don’t kill me,” she pleaded. Suga watched her blood pool on the pavement, the tears rolling down her cheeks mixing with the dark red puddles.

“But darling, now what fun would that be?” he whispered, close enough to her ear to be considered seductive, and she squealed as she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

Suga threw her over his shoulder like a dirty rag and carried her to his car, sitting across the parking lot.

She started wriggling in his grip. If she got into that car, there was no going back. It was more than likely the promise of death his smile had given her would be filled. “No! No, no, no,” she begged over and over again, hitting Suga’s back with whatever strength her burns hadn’t stolen from her yet.

A hollow laugh rose out of him, sending shivers down her spine. "Oh yes, my beloved one.”

She couldn’t help but notice the pyromaniac’s manner of speaking that was completely out of date. This man was so utterly and purely mysterious that she couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander.

How in the world did he end up being like this?

What in the world would he do to her?

Her vision turned blurry from all of the smoke she had breathed as he placed her inside the car and slammed the door shut.

“Where are we going?” She managed to say, watching him get behind the steering wheel.

But she didn’t stay around long enough to hear the answer. Her world turned pitch black all at once.

***

Suga groaned when he finally managed to place the girl onto the table. Her bare, burned back faced the ceiling of his dingy apartment. His leg still stung from when he bumped into the couch in the living room.

“Let’s see,” he mumbled to himself, turning on the light above the table to get a better view to her wound.

Why was he helping her? He still couldn’t figure it out himself. Did she remind him of his dead little sister? Mother? Maybe, but he’d never had a sister or a mother.

He went to the kitchen and soaked up a large towel with cool water before returning to the girl, putting it over her back as carefully as he could. He furrowed his brows, thinking. What were you supposed to do to a major burn again? The first thing that came to mind was going to the hospital, but that was out of question as Suga was wanted in almost every city in the whole country. They would lock him up the second they saw his face and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be told he was sick anymore.

All he could think of, for now, was going to the medical cabinet and pulling out a bottle of liquid morphine - he’d needed it on a couple of occasions when he’d gotten severely hurt - and a syringe. She’d probably be out of pain after she woke up and would thank him later.

He measured a dosage he thought was appropriate and injected the needle into her arm. An IV tube would’ve probably been needed but, oh well. Where would Suga get such a thing?

It wasn’t like he could just go into a hospital and steal one.

Oh, wait.

Yes he could.

***

Suga watched her lay on the table after he had removed all the burned parts of her skin, cleaned the area and wrapped her torso with a gauze. The brand new IV in her arm, she was still completely out of it, only having stirred from her sleep a couple of times during the past six hours. And all that time he had sat beside her, just looking at her. What made her so special? Why had he helped her?

Why? Why? Why?

He knew that all helping did was cause problems, and problems always caused even more problems.

His breath hitched as he realized he wasn’t staring at her sleeping form anymore, but to her now open eyes. He quickly looked away and hid his face with his dark hair. It was weird to be caught staring like that.

"Where am I?” her voice was hoarse and weak, and he didn’t have the strength to hide the fact he had taken her anymore. He hadn’t slept. He was tired, and he was angry for feeling pity for her and not letting her die.

“My place,” he said, wrapping his arms around his rather skinny figure like he was protecting himself from someone like - well - himself.

He watched panic arose in her as she kept looking around, growing more anxious the more aware she became of her surroundings and of him. She pushed herself up on weak arms and he immediately pinned her back to the table.

"Trying to leave so soon, my love?” he asked, flashing her a brief smirk. “How ungrateful after I helped you, and technically saved your life.”

“You’re the reason I’m in this state,” she spat, defiantly, but grew nervous as something dangerous flashed in his eyes at her words.

"Now, now, you’re lucky I let you live.” He was trying to keep calm but she could see he was seething with rage and it made her want to be anywhere but in the same room with him. Especially not with his arms grasping her shoulders like they were now, pain blooming under his touch.

"S-Sorry,” she whimpered and Suga finally let go of her.

"Whatever,” he mumbled, and sat back into the chair he’d been sitting on for a while now. "Just shut up and don’t annoy me.”

She nodded and looked at him with so much curiosity again, not being able to help herself. At that moment, when he sat in that chair, he looked so vulnerable and broken, almost normal even, and she noticed how good-looking the cruel man actually was up close. He had nicely sculptured features and kissable lips, although what took her breath away were his eyes. They almost screamed about the things they’d seen, creating so much depth into his always intense gaze as his eyes flickered towards her and away in turns.

“What are you doing?” Suga snapped, squirming in his seat under the girl’s stare.

“What?” she seemed startled, pink tint colouring her otherwise colorless face, embarrassed she’d been caught staring.

Suga wasn’t sure what someone watching him like that meant. He wasn’t sure if he even liked it. It was like she didn’t see a murderer or en evil man but him. How was he supposed to react to something like that? He’d never been in a situation like this before, and truth be told, it felt rather suffocating.

With a loud noise, he stood up, the chair falling backwards from the speed of his movements. He ran nervous hands through his hair as he went to the window and opened it, desperate for fresh air.

“Do you have a name?” Suga asked, his back still facing the girl.

“(Y/N),” she said, and he nodded.

"And I’m-”

“Agust D. I know who you are.”

His eyebrows rose a bit. Was that what they called him?

“Agust D, right,” he mumbled before walking into his bedroom and slamming the door shut.

(Y/N) was left lying on the table, staring at the door he’d disappeared behind. She found him more confusing than anything. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

*** Suga walked in circles in his shabby room, arms wrapped around himself to protect himself from something that most likely didn’t even exist. Sobs rose from his chest, sounding like words when they escaped him.

"Sick, sick, sick,” he slapped his cheek. "Sick, sick. Sick.”

His reflection in the cracked mirror, staring with red, wild eyes: sick.

The way he lived, dingy and dark and shabby: sick.

And most importantly, his mind. His incredibly broken mind.

Sick.

His hands were shaking as he grabbed a pocket knife and a gun from his desk, taking a gulp from the open whiskey bottle as he went. The alcohol burned as it went down, but he didn’t feel it. He needed to kill someone, right now. He needed to feel alive, excited, awake. He was sad and angry-disordered, even - and he needed something that gave him that jolt of happiness.

So he threw the door open again, only to meet her eyes. He grinned. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, her hand in one of his drawers. She’d been going through his stuff.

“Didn’t your mama and papa teach you that sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong is bad?” he asked, low and threatening, as he stalked towards her. His pocket knife caught the glint of the light when he took it out.

“I-I was just looking for painkillers,” (Y/N) said the first thing that came to mind, and he laughed again. That’s right; how could I forget? Everyone was a liar, a piece of dirt.

Everyone deserved to die. Him, too.

"Lying isn’t nice, my beloved. I know you aren’t in pain; I gave you morphine and as you’re able to stand, it clearly worked. I’m not stupid, you see. Sick, but not stupid.”

She had heard him mumbling to himself in his room just a few minutes earlier. The sounds had made her insides twist. She wasn’t sure she could get through even one day if she was as messed up as he was. He wasn’t sick; he just needed someone who’d love him. Could she be that person? She didn’t know.

“Morphine? You drugged me?” (Y/N) shrieked, eyes flashing with fear and anger.

“Yeah, so?” he asked bluntly and flipped the knife open, the blade only inches away from her throat. What it would feel like to watch her rich crimson blood drain from her body? Would it feel like anything?

“P-Put the knife away,” she stuttered, grabbing his wrist. It was a gamble, but it worked. He shook her grasp off and backed off, done playing with her.

"As you want, love.”

He headed through the trashy apartment towards the front door and fiddled with the locks for a while before opening them.

“Where are you going?” her small voice asked. Suga shot her a glare.

“What did I say about sticking your nose where it isn’t supposed to be? It’ll get you killed one day, doll. I’m going out.”

“Wait-” she called, reaching her hand out to him but the unpredictable male was already gone, vanished into the night. By the look in his eyes and the knife he still had with him, he was up to no good.

She had to go after him. She didn’t know why, but she had to. Maybe it was because she felt like she owed him her life?

Nevertheless, she winced as she ripped the IV off of her forearm, looking around for a jacket and her shoes.

***

“What’s your problem dude?” the man growled at Suga, trying to back away from him in the dark alley as the blade he held flashed dangerously in the moonlight.

“My… problem?” he said slowly as he kept stepping forward. This was such a fun, intricate dance; how could he stay away from it? “I don’t know; I was wishing you could enlighten me.”

“How am I supposed to know? You- You are Agust D, aren’t you? Sick bastard, get away from me!” “I’M NOT SICK!” Suga screamed, now holding his head in his hands. “I’M NOT! I’M NOT SICK!”

“Jesus Christ,” the man whispered, looking at the boy who he thought was absolutely nuts.

"Make it stop, please, make it stop…” he cried, sobs causing for his shoulders to shake. He fell to the ground, sobbing and holding his head.

“Make what stop?” the man asked, confused. He approached the figure crouching on the ground and laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

However, he knew he’d fucked up as he saw his eyes glisten from under his hair.

But it was too late.

In a flash Suga dug his knife to the man’s stomach and smiled as he doubled over from pain, starting to cough up blood. He fell to the ground, on his back.

“Please, I have two daughters at home! I’m all they have, please, please! Please don’t kill me; they’ll have no one if I die!”

“They’ll be joining you soon then,” the psychopath chuckled, watching the man’s blood pool around the knife.

Soon enough the man took his last breath and Suga sank to the ground himself. A shaky breath escaped his pale lips as he slid against the wall of the alley and held his head again.

He was feeling gloomy. The rush of excitement he’d been craving was nowhere to be found.

For the first time in a long time he felt dirty after ending someone’s life. Like his hands were full of blood that refused to come out. Suga began to shake, the man’s words echoing in his head over and over. "Sick bastard, get away from me!”

His eyes started to water until a sound floated down the alley and to him. His head snapped up. A familiar voice was calling his name.

“Suga!”

His name. She didn’t call Agust D; she called him. How had she found out his name? That didn’t really matter to him. He felt her small hand on his forearm and heard her heavy breathing near his ear.

“Why are you sitting here? What have you done?!” She yelled, hurrying over to the other man’s limp body.

“He’s already dead”, he mumbled and sniffled, using the back of his hand to wipe away a few stray tears.

“Oh, Suga”, she sighed and he could swear he saw pity for him in her eyes for a fleeting moment. She looked up and around, and then back down at him.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

And he waited. It wasn’t like he had the strength to move anyways. He was dead tired and emotionally dull. He felt lost, and sick.

He felt like he had killed someone.

“He had two small daughters”, he said aloud and a single sob left his mouth. What kind of a monster was he? What about all the other people he’d killed, all the families he’d sent into mourning?

Fast steps could be heard a few minutes later and (Y/N) appeared in his vision again, crouching.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up,” she whispered, opening a water bottle she’d brought and pouring the water on his hands that were covered in blood. The water that fell to the ground was a bright pink.

“Why aren’t you running away?” Suga asked, looking at her. “Why don’t you call me sick? Why aren’t you scared?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, shrugging, and tried to clean up his face. "I don’t think you’re dangerous, just broken and lost.”

“I could kill you”, he laughed humorlessly and looked her dead in the eye.

“But you won’t,” she told him firmly. "I know you won’t. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have brought me to your place in the first place. You wouldn’t have helped me.”

All Suga could do was nod and wince as her fingers brushed over a bruise he’d gotten earlier in a fight that night. He’d fought a group of six men, and ended up running away, because there was just simply too many of them. He’d succeeded to kill one of them, but the others refused to die.

“How did you know my name?” He asked after a long pause and he noticed the girl tense for a second before continuing to clean him up.

“I-I saw a file you had of yourself laying around when I went through your stuff,” she murmured, not wanting him to get mad at her again.

"Oh,” was all he could manage to say. He had stolen the file from the police a long time ago, when he wasn’t a ‘big, bad serial killer’ yet, just to see what they had on him.

“Come on,” (Y/N) said, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.” Her hand was soft in his, and warm. Suga never wanted to let go.

"THERE HE IS!” A man’s yell echoed in the alley, bouncing off the walls, and Suga hid (Y/N) protectively behind his back. “GET HIM!”

He was frozen in the spot as he saw the men from earlier run towards them. The only difference now being that, instead of six, there were only five of them.

Suga hurriedly took out the gun he always carried with him for emergencies. This was definitely one. With a loud bang, one of them fell to the ground and only four men kept running.

“We have to run! Come on!” Suga told the panicked girl behind him.

“Oh my god, Suga, what have you done?” (Y/N) asked, her voice quivering. They broke off into a run together.

“I… encountered them earlier,” He said, holding her hand tighter when taking a sharp turn to left.

"No! No, it’s a dead end!” she cried out but when they turned around, it was too late.

The four men had caught up with them. The guns they were holding were visible, as if it was the middle of the day.

“You’re going to pay for killing Jungkook and Jimin,” he heard the tallest growl at him, and Suga pulled (Y/N) back behind him, lifting his gun.

"Fine. You can do whatever you want to me, but let the girl go. She has nothing to do with this.”

All of their stares now bored into (Y/N), who squeezed the back of his shirt with her shaking hands. When was the last time someone had relied on him for protection, had trusted him that much? Had it ever happened?

“Well, doesn’t she just look delicious,” one of them purred. “How about this: You give the girl to us and we let you go unharmed. Good deal, isn’t it?”

And it was.

He could’ve just handed her over, so easily, and let her die. He could’ve just been the sick monster people called him.

But he didn’t want to be.

He didn’t want to let the only person who didn’t want him locked up to die. Even though he barely knew her, there was a strong connection between them and he didn’t want to let it go. He would die for her if he had to, in fact. There was no one who deserved death more than him.

She was the embodiment of innocence, and he was rotten to the core, having committed to many sins to count.

“No”, he finally said, loud and clear. He wouldn’t let her die.

“Is this really the famous Agust D I’ve heard of?” The man laughed, the sound harsh on their ears. “I’m just downright disappointed. How come the most wanted serial killer is a pussy? Well, it’s your choice, even though I can’t promise what happens to the girl when you’re out of the way.” The man loaded his gun and aimed it straight at Suga’s forehead, grinning from ear to ear.

He watched him pull the trigger and closed his eyes, ready to accept the cold embrace of death.

“No!” (Y/N) suddenly screamed and his eyes flew wide open as a loud bang echoed in his ears. Only her hair waved beside her, following the wind, as she jumped in front of him and immediately jerked back. She had taken the bullet for him.

It was like his heart was being ripped right out of his chest. Her body fell to the ground, lifeless, dead. No more.

“(Y/N), NO!” Suga cried out and crouched down to embrace her, his tears rolling down his cheeks to her hair where his face was buried. Blood smeared in his hair.

“Let’s go guys. Our job here is done”, he could hear the distant murmurs but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to take his revenge and kill them.

She was dead. Her eyes stared back at him, cold and blank.

A scream ripped out of his throat.

He screamed having to know the pain of loss for the first time. He screamed at the realization that he would never be able to hear her voice or talk to her. He screamed because he’d never be able to touch her skin again, to make her laugh even once.

He screamed until he couldn’t anymore. His voice was gone and his throat hurt, but his arms were still wrapped around her.

He just wanted her to open her eyes again and smile at him.

He wanted her to tell him it was going to be okay.

“It’s my fault, it’s all my fault,” he said over and over again, holding her tighter still. He was a sick monster. A terrible demon.

Sick. Sick. Sick.

“Sick”, he cried to himself with a hushed voice, staring at the gun that called to him now, gleaming in the moonlight.

“Sick”, he said again, with a stronger voice as he lifted the gun up all the way to his temple. The metal was cool against his skin.

“Sick”, he grinned. His finger searched for the trigger and he laughed aloud when he found it.

“Sick”, he said for the last time as he gazed at the dead girl lying in front of him and thought how beautiful she was under the pale moonlight. How beautiful she’d been alive, and how beautiful she was in death.

And with a loud bang and even louder silence that followed, Suga fell limp to the ground, right next to the cold girl that he almost saved.

The girl who would’ve saved him.

The girl he might have loved.

The girl who never thought he was sick.

***

CREDITS TO THE AMAZING @quill-ink FOR EDITING THIS ONESHOT AND MAKING IT TRULY AMAZING! Thank you babe xx

[xsincerelyxsuicidalx]

Im honestly so upset that no one has ever been able to help me.

It started with a 14 year old brittish boy with a big heart and alot of his own problems. His big heart wanted to let him help me but my problems grew like monsters and fears of the dark and he just wasnt the knight in shining armor he wished he could have been.

I once asked my new friend, a 13 year old boy from scotland to kill me. He thought he understood what i meant and he indeed did try. He was such a good listener but he wasnt good at reading people. If he would have read the expression on my face he would have known what i wanted more than anything was to be saved from myself.

I met many of people in between the beginning of it all and the end but no one was ever able to help.

I continued to express myself to anyone who wanted to listen.

I told my youth pastors as i hid under my bed one summer night that i hated them. I was angry that someone actually acted out and called the cops when i said i was harming myself and wanted to die.

I remember making many of my church camp councelors cry as they sat with me in the back right corner of the chappel and read my thoughts and my feelings scribbled down upon non lined pages in my leather bound journal.

Praying for me didnt help, counceling didnt work either. I reached out for help where i fealt comfortable and no one was ever able to help me.

At age 15 i went to camp, suicidal, i came prepared to die away from my family in a holy land. I brought as many pills and razor blades as i thought it would take. My notes to friends and family on tear stained pages written in months and years prior laid prepared in my leather back journal.

I met a boy that year. A year older than me. Alot taller than me. He sat with me. Took interest in me. Read my journal. He took a few moments when he closed the book to walk into the woods and curse and cry on my behalf, asking god why something like that would happen to a pretty girl like me.. i had one final hurrah of hope that year. I put on my makeup and my prettiest dress and tried my hardest to impress a boy with a girlfriend he was so proud of having he never stopped talking about her with light in his eyes.

6 months later i saw that light in his eyes when my name rolled off of his tongue. It was so beautiful and so scary that december morning when i told him i would be his. I hadnt fealt such passion for anyone in such a long time. I was frightened of being hurt again so i was withdrawn but he didnt mind. He was gentle and slow and passionate. He cared so deeply for who i was. He took his time and with time i opened up like a blooming flower in spring.

2 years pass and im on the right road, getting help… medication… and feeling so much better than i did that year i took my suicide notes to a church camp with the intention of never going home. I was happy for once in my life. Happy for the first time since 7th grade when i first got bullied and my life turned for the worse.

Its January of the year 2017. I got a ptomise ring for christmas and im preparing for the best birthday ive ever had. My best friend and my boyfriend of 2 years would be there for me. We would watch movies and eat cake and stay up all night until the rooster crows at dawn.

But

I got a notification on facebook.

He was joining the army.

He was leaving.

He would be gone.

“When are you leaving?” I called crying.

At first the date was the day after my birthday but then the army decided they needed him and called him a week early.

I saw him off to the bus that took him away to meps.

I saw him off to the airport leaving to fort benning.

I saw him for the last time and i cried.

He called me and told me he wants to marry in a few years and he misses me and hopes im okay.

Im crying and im lost. My only reason of living, gone for the next four years. Just when i thought things were getting better they all of a sudden shattered before my eyes. Suddenly its hard to breath. Its hard to think. Its hard to eat. Its hard to even smile or act like im okay. Because im not. Im not okay. My medicine wont work. My councelor cant see me until February. My eyes are hazy writing this. I havent gone to work in days. I lay in my bed depressed, my wrists cut for the first time in many months.

I cry at night, age 19 i hug my teddy bear and pray life will get better. I pray things will get easier. My heart is broken for the 19 year old girl i call my best friend as she lies awake in bed, depressed, empathising and feeling every. Single. Emotion i feel. She is upset that even with a good heart she can not help me through my tough times. Through this fallout of emotions i am experiencing. She can not help me feel better even though her beautiful heart has more than enogh compassion to give and she has no idea why that any of this is happening. I am depressed. I have been depressed for 6-7 years now. The sad and honest and ugly truth is that i will not get better. I will not feel better. I am sick with this disease that is soreading to my heart and my lungs and it is pushing me towards the box of blades and pills i amost took 3 years ago. He is gone. I want to die. I have no hope. No feelings. No courage. I do not want to push on. No one has ever been able to help me except him and without him i am nothing. I cannot express enough that it isnt anyones fault that they cannot help me in my time of hurt. It is my own fault that i let all of this happen. That i dated scum bags who raped and abused me. That i cut myself when people bullied me. That i push away anyone who tried to help me when all i wanted was to die. I appologise to everyone because it isnt their fault. No one can help me. I am suffering. Alone. And i couldnt be sadder with him gone.

[ecotone99]

[HR] Mamy

“Hun,” said Mamy, “I know they taste yicky, but you have to eat them. They’ll make you better.”

“I know, Mamy. I’m tryin.”

“Try harder baby. We want you to get better.”

I hate it when Mamy calls me baby. It makes me feel like a helpless infant. Like a baby born too soon. The tubes coming out of my body like life-lines, and the knowledge that my chance of survival to adulthood is slim. All I wanted to do is be able to get up, move around, maybe take a shower. It had been so long since I’d been able to have one of those. Even then, though, it's not like the showers movie stars get to have on the hospital TV. I would have to have been carefully watched by nurses to make sure I didn’t fall while I was in the middle of shampooing my thin, scraggly hair. I looked back up at Mamy’s tired face, the face that wants the best for me.

“Mamy, I don’t think I’ll ever get better.” The sudden silence made the labor of my breathing audible.

“Sure you will, sweetie,” she said softly. But behind her eyes there was the pain of knowing that I will never leave the hospital.

Mamy got up and left the room. When she leaves the doctors always swarm me. I could already hear a pair of black shiny shoes clip clopping down the gleamingly sanitized hallway to my single room. The doctor entered. He’s tired. It seemed as if he has seen everything bad the world has to offer. The shrieks echoing down the halls confirmed that daily. He picked up my chart, and scanned the gibberish written by nurses rushing throughout the morning. In a split second I made up my mind to ask him for what I want. “Doctor, could I take a shower today?” I blurted out. He regarded me with a strange look on his face. Eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open in a sort of startled animal fashion. He asked me to repeat myself. “A shower. Can I take a shower?” “No. You have just had a very tiring visit from your mother.” “Mamy doesn’t tire me out. She makes me happy.” “Well, sometimes emotions can make a person tired. Especially a child as sick as you.” He said with a curious look in his eyes, as though he were struggling to convey pity. “I’m not a child. I’m 14 years old.” “I know. I’ve watched you grow up, but if you ever want to take a step outside this hospital wing, you’ll heed my advice.” “Ok. I understand that. But I rest so much, why can’t Mamy come visit more?” “Well,” he said tentatively, “the other doctors and I believe that the more time you spend with your mother, the sicker you seem to become.” “What do you mean?” I cried. “It’s probably nothing, but we’re just trying to make sure, that when your mother comes and visits you, she is not bringing anything from the outside that could harm you.” “Like what?” “Maybe germs that have been overlooked in our decontamination process, something that she brought that you might be allergic too, or something that she feeds you that is making you feel ill. Don’t be alarmed, like I said, it’s probably nothing. We just want to see if your condition improves without her here and test a few things in your room. As soon as that is over she will be able to come right back. Ok?” “Ok. Do you promise?” “I promise. You can trust me.” As the doctor left, a silent young nurse drifted into the room, and slipped a new IV into the crook of my arm, not making eye contact with me the entire time. It’s like she was afraid to look into the face of someone who was dying. Why become a nurse if you can’t deal with the truth that people are going to die, and that that is the truth of life? Sometimes I wished that I could just go ahead and die already. I was barely alive as it was. I’d be able to get up and take a few steps one day, and then the next, the doctors would have to induce a coma, because I was in so much pain. The timid nurse left without telling me what was flowing through my veins. I looked around the room and out into the hallway. No approaching shadows, no padding of doctors’ shoes on the tile floor, but no screams either. I should be safe but I have to be quick. I swiped my chart from the foot of my bed, a move that required a good part of my already low energy. At the bottom, quickly scribbled in messy handwriting: “3:30 p.m., patient was administered 10 mg/mL of propofol solution.” Great. Propofol. They’re knocking me out again. No reason to fight it, though. If I took it out of my arm, again, the doctors were just going to come in the room and stick me with needles full of harsh liquid that’ll knock me out immediately. I didn’t think it was worth all that trouble. They were probably just going to do some tests while I was out cold and wake me up again when they still couldn’t tell me what was wrong. I mean I trusted all the doctors. They’d kept me alive for this long, but I was born in this hospital, and hadn’t ever been able to go outside, barely even looked at the world through a nose-printed window in a room down the hallway. I guess they installed it for all us terminally ill kids to go to when we realized how miserable we are.

My eyelids started to get a bit droopy, heavy like weighted blankets. My body slipped deeper into sleep. I woke up. Judging by the dimmed lights in the hallway, it was near dusk. They had taken a touch of the harshness out of the bulbs, in a feeble attempt to get us to sleep better.

My throat felt like I’d swallowed broken glass. My stomach felt flipped upside down, like I’d just had the stomach bug. I’d only had the stomach bug once. It was terrible, although I thought it was worse for Mamy. Not that she’d been sick also, she was just so worried that she was going to lose me. She said that’s how Brother died. Mamy didn’t talk about Brother often.

Anyway, my stomach was killing me. I wanted to know what they did to me. I punched the help button a few times, until the same doctor from earlier came striding over in his squeaky black shoes. The sound made my mind twist as much as my stomach was.

“What’d you guys do to me?” I asked in a hoarse whisper. “Well,” he said with a pensive expression on his face that was somehow contorted by effort, “we put you under to do some tests, as we know the more extreme ones give you the heebie-jeebies, and just as we are about to start you had a full-blown allergy attack.”

He leaned back on a table with his arms on each side to brace himself and let out a sigh.

“What I am allergic to?” I asked “Well we believe it was whatever your Mamy fed you when she came to visit. We had to pump your stomach so you’d survive.” “Mamy only gave me the same vitamins she gives me every week. I’ve never gotten sick before.” “Well, you actually have.” “What?” I screeched. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. He couldn’t be telling the truth. Mamy only wanted to help me get better. “Yes, last week we had to do the same thing, about an hour after your Mamy left we put you under, and whatever she fed you got into your system and caused an allergic reaction. What’s worse,” he said, “is that we told her not to bring them again, that they would kill you, but she did anyway.” “Why?” I asked, slowly beginning to cry, not knowing who to trust anymore. “We think she has been trying to slowly poison you. Whenever you see her you end up sick. Isn’t that right?” “Well, yes.” I said, “But I thought it was just an after-effect from over-stimulation, or the medicine, or anything but my Mamy.” “Well I hate to be the one to tell you this, although you’ve probably figured it out by now, but we can’t let you see your mother until a formal investigation has been conducted.” “No!” I started thrashing, and trying to get up from the bed. I screaming unintelligibly, feeling like I was losing my mind. The doctor shouted for the nurses. I heard the click-clack of a group of nurses running down the hall towards my room. I knew I was in for it. Each nurse grabbed a strap like the ones they use to tie down mental patients on fake hospital TV shows. They tied my legs, arms, and torso to the bed, too tight for comfort, too tight for movement. They decided to leave me tied there as a punishment while the nurses tended to the doctor. Apparently I had bitten him during the ordeal, and now he was basking in all the attention of his beautiful colleagues. I was lying restrained, alone, in my room, with the lights off, the hallway light gradually growing dimmer, when I heared more squeaks. This time though it was not a doctor, a nurse or even Mamy. It was a teenage girl. She couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than me. She was hooked up to a rolling IV rack, the source of the squeaking. She was tall, but horrifyingly gaunt. In her bony, bluish hand she held a piece of paper. It seemed as if she were clutching it for dear life as she came towards me. She looked around before entering my room, checking for doctors and nurses. The girl dragged herself right up next to me. She looked stern, but for some reason I wasn’t afraid of her. In her eyes, I could see kindness. She thrusted her long skeletal arm toward me. “From Mamy,” she said weakly. Without another word she dragged herself back out of the room, down the dim hallway, and out of sight. I uncrumpled the paper she had handed me. At first, in the dark, I couldn’t make out what it said. The more I stared at it though, the more the words started to reveal themselves to me.

Oh Baby, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this sooner. I have to prepare you. This might sting a little honey. You’re not sick. Your brother was not sick either. It’s the doctor’s who are sick, sick in the mind. Your entire life, they have been giving you drugs you don’t need, that actually do make you sick. They did the same to your brother.

The day you were born, they whisked you away from me. They put you straight in the NICU. How foolish of me it was to trust them again. They had tubes and wires coming out of you every place they thought they could stick em. They made an appeal to the state. They said that you needed around the clock care, that you were sickly and if you didn’t get their treatment you would die in a few weeks. Of course the state believe them, they are doctors of course. They told me it would be illegal for me to take you out of the hospital, and that it would be child abuse if I took you time, because of course you would die if I did so. I had no choice I had to leave you with them. So I devised a plan. I was not just going to sit back and watch like when they did this to your brother. I was going to do something about it. So, I made your vitamins. They truly contain only two ingredients, charcoal and morphine. The charcoal to force you to throw up whatever rubbish they have put in your body, and the morphine to knock you out and numb the pain. I think they have finally found a way to use this against me and prove it in court, so I will probably be arrested soon for giving you medicine against your doctor’s orders. Here is where you need to listen. I know you’re not a baby anymore and that’s why I believe you can do this. For the next few days, play dumb, play sick, do whatever it takes to convince the doctors that you are on their side. Act as weak as you can so that they think their poisons are working. Build up your strength. When you think you are strong enough, hide some rations in your hospital gown and run. run. Run. RUN. Go through the doors at the end of your hallway. Don’t turn around to look at the front of the building. I can assure you, you are not at the hospital anymore. All you’ll see is a sign for an old broken down experimental human laboratory. You need to run as fast as you can. Run through the woods to the street about a mile on the other side. Across that street is a Church. I have given the pastor the next steps. Get to him and you will be safe. I hope to see you again baby, but I can’t promise anything. Make me proud. Love, Mamy

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[authoramandawilson]

They say good things come in small packages.

And rightfully so, I cannot argue against that logic. Good things do come in small packages – my university acceptance letters did, my engagement ring (hehe!), and the countless books I ordered off of Amazon.

Good things do come in small packages.

But, there is one thing in my life that came in a giant package. Or rather, a cute black leather carry-on bag.

My baby girl, my drool-bag, my giant-ass English mastiff, Miesha!

This is a story about how a tiny bundle of fur slobbered her way into my life (and into my heart) like a force of nature. This is the story about how one sooky giant wrecked havoc on my house, destroying everything in her line of sight. This is the story about how after months of training, and destruction, and mischief, a large dog helped change my world.

It’s the story about how my English mastiff Miehsa helps me battle my mental illness.

Miesha Wilson-Thomas was born on November 20th, 2015 in Nova Scotia to a litter of ten other fur balls that were already the size of a small Chihuahuas after birth. It wouldn’t be until Christmas Day that I learned that this little wrinkly tribble (Star Trek anyone?) would officially be joining our family.

But Miesha came into my life during difficult circumstances. I had spent December in the hospital because I was extremely sick. I was due to have surgery in a few weeks and I was worried about bringing – in all sense of the word – a baby into the house.

But she was a gift from my fiancé, and after seeing the joy light up in his eyes, how could I say no? Even though, let’s be honest, he wanted her more than I did, but I wanted a dog. I was just worried about the timing.

But as the next week few weeks wore on, we planned our trip to Nova Scotia to bring home our quickly growing baby and I was getting excited. I was starting to feel a bit better and was released from the hospital until my surgery. Since I was on sick leave, I was looking forward to the chaos of being a stay-at-home fur momma.

And really, how could I say no after the breeders texted us pictures like this?

“She’s gonna have attitude,” I said to my fiancé one day when we went through the recent pictures that were sent to us. “I can see it in her eyes. She’s gonna have a big personality.”

“That’s just more to love,” Zack waved me off, melting over the photos.

But we were still excited. We made countless trips to stores stocking up and preparing for her arrival. The living room had morphed into a giant dog play room. Arty, our first cat, seemed curious and a bit alarmed by the recent additions to the household. By the look on is face, he knew something big was coming, but he had no idea just how big the surprise would be.

And the week before we were due to go to Nova Scotia, I got sick and ended up in the hospital again. To say we were stressed was an understatement. Doctors were talking about airlifting me to St.John’s and talks about doing mini surgeries before my big one were being discussed – and spending eight days drugged up on morphine and painkillers, I began to worry. I was stoned out of my trees, but I was extremely concered about bringing Miesha home while I was sick. Zack scrambled to change plane tickets as the breeders refused to hold her for an extra two days, and I watched the torture on his face as he had to choose between leaving me in the hospital by myself or giving up our girl.

There wasn’t a choice. I told him to get on the plane.

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” I joked, shaking the hand that had my IV jabbed in it, smiling giddy besides being in a world of pain.

So Zack got on the plane.

 And a few hours later, he texted me a picture of our baby – rather our toddler (because she was already over twelve pounds)! Miesha was finally on her way home. And despite being pissed and upset that I was stuck in a hospital bed, I was happy she was finally on her way to Newfoundland to where she belonged.

I just had to focus on getting better, trying to get my gallbladder in check so I could get out of that stinking hospital and be home in my own bed with my baby mastiff. I spent the next few days in the hospital, and really I don’t remember much of what happened. But through the hazy memories, Zack did bring her to the hospital – hiding her in a carry-on and covering her with his jacket so no one would be suspicious.

I spent ten minutes with her, getting teary-eyed over the shivering wrinkly lump that sat next to me on my bed, her chocolate eyes looking at me as if to say, “Who the hell are you?”

Yup, no doubt about it. She was gonna be just like her mudder.

But a few days later, I was released and finally got to be home with my fur baby, finally understanding all the chaos Zack had explained to me during his visits.

“She snores. A lot.”

Great! I thought to myself, shooting Zack a look of dismay. Another snoring body in the house. Just what I needed.

But even though I was still sick and recovering myself, I got to spent a lot of time cuddling on the couch with my new baby girl. She loved armpit snuggles, and I soon learned she slept a lot. A dog after my own, lazy heart.

And as the weeks wore on and I started to feel better, I fell into my mother role pretty easy, even though the first day Zack left me at home, alone, I was terrified that I would suck at this.

“What if I accidentally kill her?” I looked at Zack worried, staring down at the wrinkly lump in my lap, who stared back at me with worried eyes. Really Dad? You’re gonna leave me alone with her?

“How will you kill her? It’s not like you can roll over a squish her to death.” Zack kissed my forehead and left for work.

“Ok, princess!” I smiled down at Miesha, “We can do this!” I cheered myself on, even though she seemed less that thrilled. She had imprinted on Zack first and I was the new kid on the block. We had some work to do.

She slept for the first three hours of official mommy duty.

Jeez. This seems to easy.

And boy was a right!

The next few months was a constant battle of understanding what twitches of eyebrows meant, and recognizing the signs for poops and pees. She was a chewer and I fretted that she would never grow out of this terrible habit. Our old green couch had fallen victim the first three weeks home and I wondered if I would ever be able to buy brand new furniture.

But it was exciting to be home and spending every day with her, watching her grow, learning her quirks, and training her myself. Zack had dubbed me “Mean Mommy” within no time and I became the disciplinary in the household.

It was controlled chaos. My couch lost its stuffing, she chewed through at least three full packs of toilet paper, she was gaining five pounds every week and hadn’t quite figured out just how much strength she really had – which resulted in several split lips on my behalf.

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I cried a lot, I got mad a lot, but I enjoyed watching her explore her newfound world (even though she refused to go beyond the perimeter of the driveway). She loved Cheez Whiz and peanut butter, and I soon learned I was going to have a counter surfer on my hands. Nothing was safe, including a beautiful cake I baked one afternoon, which suspiciously had a huge chunk missing from it when I left it unattended for less than two minutes.

I was right. She had personality…and attitude…and way too much spite in her bones.

But damn did she look like a cute little baby moose when she got a bath!

Miesha had drooled her way into my heart and despite all the chaos and yelling, I was glad she was a part of my life. She kept me from being bored and loved to sleep in my lap while I wrote or read. She was Dad’s girl but she was Mom’s sook. Dad was easy to give into treat begging but she loved to cuddle.

She gave me purpose.

And then April came.

Nothing could prepare me for the bad depressive episode I sank into because of my PTSD. Within a matter of days, I had crashed and starting losing control over my anxiety. The flashbacks came back. The night terrors resurfaced. I was filled with intense anger and frustration that had no rhyme or reason. And then the terrible thoughts came back. The worthlessness broke my wavering confidence and I thought about death. The suicidal thoughts were back and worse than before.

I wanted to die.

And there was no amount of dog cuddles or wet kisses in the world that could snap me out of it.

I was consumed with my dark thoughts. I never wanted to leave my bed and I had barely any energy to shower, let alone make effort to doing anything to keep my mind preoccupied. I was on a self-destructive path that I was quickly losing control over. I was pushing Zack away. I refused to speak to my family. I cut off all ties with my friends. I refused to answer my phone. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the world to swallow me up whole and put me out of my misery.

It wasn’t until one day that I was sat in the tub, the water having gone cold two hours before, that I stared at my pills on the counter and thought: I could end this. I could make this all go away. I could make all the pain and hurt go away forever.

And somewhere in those twisted and tormenting thoughts, my last bit of sanity broke through.

“Run, Amanda. You need to run.”

Miesha was curled up against the frame of the bathroom door when I pulled open the door and she looked at me with curious eyes.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go for a run.”

And we ran. We ran until my lungs were burning and I had a stitch in my left side and I wanted to vomit. We ran until I finally exhausted my chaotic mind into a numbed sense of being.

And a few hours later as I sat on the couch, Miesha (who was over sixty pounds by now) trying to squish her way into my lap, I made a decision.

April 2016. You can see how exhausted and tired I was.

I made a decision to keep fighting.

This was just another battle with my PTSD. This was just another tough stalemate that I had lost. I came out bruised and battered, but the war wasn’t over.

The was would never be over, but I knew I couldn’t raise my white flag yet. There was so much more I needed to do.

  So I made the decision to keep fighting.

The next day I went through the bathroom and tossed every spare razor in my house and got rid of anything (including painkillers left over from my surgery) that could give my suicidal thoughts intention. The first step to fighting my PTSD? Protect myself. And maybe it seemed strange or unreasonable, but I “Amanda-proofed” the house.

The next step? Get active. I was barely back to work since I was still recovering from surgery so I had a lot of idle time on my hands. With my mind on a precipice, I had to physically force myself to keep my thoughts from going haywire.

And that’s where Miesha came in.

If it was one thing we had in common, it was we both hated being stationary. Moving forward and keeping busy helped exhausted us into lazy couch potatoes. It was time to get to work. We went hiking, we went to the dog park, we lounged around in the city’s park. We did anything and everything to keep us out of the house, even if it meant going for long drives or sharing timbits from Tim Hortons.

And as spring bloomed into summer, and the days grew hotter, and the evenings grew longer, I was finally feeling better – I was feeling like myself again. Miesha was growing herself – she was still putting on weight, but she was slowly morphing into an adult dog. She was becoming tamer and friendly. She was my partner in crime, in everything we did, and even though she was outgrowing my lap, she was overflowing my heart.

She was helping me get better. She was making me stronger. And above all else, she was protecting me. And without question, she stayed by my side at all times, keeping a close eye on me – nudging my hand to get my attention to remind me to not stay idle too long. She kept a close eye on the both of us and she took her role seriously.

“Mudder. I’m sick of selfies! GAWD!”

But not everything was serious. Sometimes her attitude got the better of her and we had moments of indifference. She was still a puppy and had the devil in her. She had her defiant moments and had soon expressed her distaste for selfies.

And we had our quiet moments, too. Sometimes there were days the dark thoughts did win. Sometimes there were moments we needed to stop and just keep breathing  – to remember that it was just as bad day. Bad days had their times, but they weren’t in abundance anymore. The dark thoughts were slowly retreating back from whence they came.

And on those bad days, I had Miesha. I had my guard dog and protector. She would nudge my arm with her drooly snout and snap me out of the hard moments. And on the days I didn’t have the strength to venture outside or to go for a run, “Not today, girlie. Not today.” Miesha would simply wiggle her way into my lap as best she could and squish me with her hundred-plus pound body and remind me that it was ok –  to remind me she was there whether I needed to cry into her droopy ears or just needed a mastiff hug.

She would always be there with endless love in spades and countless kisses to share.

Looking back, it’s funny how life has a way of reminding us that there is still good out there. I had battle PTSD for five years before Miesha came into  my life. I thought I had it all figured out. I knew my illness like the back of my hand. I had fought the dark thoughts and had resources on hand. I thought I knew everything I needed when it came to throwing all my efforts at recovery – therapy, journal keeping, staying active, writing, support from loved ones.

What more did I need?

But they say the best things come in giant-ass packages.

Because what is a dog anyway? Man’s best friend. A faithful companion. A cuddle buddy. A lump of fur that creates chaos in our organized lives. We get dogs for pets, but they end up being so much more than that. They become family.

And if you’re really lucky, they become your protector.

And looking back, I can’t say for certain that Miesha did save my life that day. Was she in the right place at the right time? Most definitely, but the day I contemplated swallowing a bottle of pills, she (along with everyone else I loved) was the furthest thing from my mind.

So maybe I saved myself in that moment, but Miesha guided me through the following days. She proved to me something that I truly needed to understand – that I was needed. She relied on me for everything. And at the end of the day, I needed her too.

Because she’s family and family doesn’t let their love ones give up without a fight.

So maybe there are days she’s a little weird.

Sometimes there are days she’s an attention seeker.

And other times, she truly disregards any sense of privacy or personal space.

“What?”

But she’s a good big sister to Arty and Daeny (even though Arty begs to differ most days).

She understands that being lazy isn’t necessarily a bad thing (but a necessity).

Because life is not just about the big things, but enjoy the small moments. And even though Miesha could draw a crowd with her beauty and loving personality, she knew the best moments were the quiet moments, and we had lots of those days.

Because Miesha has taught me many things in less than her two years of life.

Maybe she turned my world upside down. And maybe she has truly tested the limit of my patience (and made me question my decision to have children). She has created chaos and stolen one too many chicken bones from the kitchen garbage. There are days her slobber and drool has caused my OCD tendencies to skyrocket out of control and other days drained my bank account with expensive vet bills.

There are times she’s so lazy my anxious mind contemplates if she’s sick and I’m misreading the signs. There are times she has almost broken my arm by trying to chase other dogs on our walks and there were times she convinced me she had squished Daney to death when she body slammed her, and has kept me up countless nights with her loud snoring just outside our bedroom door.

And there are times when I get angry and she refuses to cuddle me that I question if she even likes me at all and there are times when she’s snoring away of my office floor that I wonder if she loves her home. And on countless occasions she has made be gag when I hace to clean up vomit or wipe boogers from her nose or when her farts are so loud she scares herself with the sound.

Miesha is a lot of things and has done a lot of things. She has scared off strangers and drawn the attention of one too many dogs at the dog park. She sometimes instigates fights with the cats or gets on my last nerve, but when she sits next to me, panting away, I truly understand just how much I am thankful for the 130 pound dog that crashed into my life like a bat out of hell.

She’s got a big personality and a no-nonsense attitude just like me. She’s sometimes bad and impy but truly makes up for it in kisses and drool. Above all else, she loves and protects us with her big body and her large heart. Because she protects me from the bad days and relishes in the good days with me too. She’s a force to be reckoned with and is quick to give you a warning bark if you get too close to food dish.

And when all else fails, she knows how to tell a hilarious joke that can go a long way.

Because at the end of the day my big dog plays a “mastiff” role in my life. She may not have asked to take on the heavy burden of helping me through the bad days. She may not understand what PTSD actually is or why I have it, but she’s quick to the recuse when I’m crying and she knows how to snap me out of my intrusive thoughts.

And while the good days are winning and it’s been a while since I dragged her along with me on a run, trying to escape my damning nightmares, I know that when my PTSD decides to take up arms again, I know I’m prepared – because I have a secret weapon at my disposal. And it comes in the form of a very giant-ass dog.

And when the time comes that she can no longer be here to fight along next to me, when the day comes that my heart will be a bit broken and a little more empty, I will always remember the brown-eyed beauty that sat shivering on my hospital bed that night, looking at me with wide eyes that questioned my intensions.

But until that day comes, I will enjoy every waking moment I have with the drooly face dog that also relies on me. Because for now, her story i still being written, and she has many more chapters of chaos and adventures left before the epilogue ends. She has countless days left of begging for peanut butter crackers and snoring on my feet while I write novels.

Because good things don’t just come in big packages.

They come in the form of a happy, drooling, 130 pound English mastiff with a heart of gold.

And forever, I will always be thankful for my mastiff guardian angel. ❤

And as always,

Fight the good fight.

-A xo

Miesha and Me (and Battling PTSD) They say good things come in small packages. And rightfully so, I cannot argue against that logic.