god people really will say the most fucked up stuff to people who are not palatable in their mental illness!

Angry Drinks (Part 1)

Small series

Pairing: Carol Danvers x reader 

Summary: You and carol have an argument, Carol tells you to get out of her house. You do and head to Pancho’s and get drunk. Thanks to the bartender, carol is able to find you and collect you

A/N: I had this prompt in my likes for a while, thanks @Otpornotp for the prompt

Warning: Drinking, getting drunk, mentions of vomiting

“Please just talk to me.” Carol said, reaching across the table to where you were currently sitting in your shared apartment. You pulled your hand away and glared at her, tears starting to prick at your eyes. 

“What do you want me to talk about?” You said, a small quiver in your voice. You exasperatedly took your hands off the table and put them at your sides as Carol stared at you intently. She had just come back from a mission that had taken her just over a month. She had showered and changed, knowing you’d be angry. 

“You go for weeks without contacting me, I don’t know if you’re ok since you don’t have enough TIME FOR ME ANYMORE!!” You shouted, you saw Carols eyes widen at your sudden outburst. You had a feeling in your gut to stop talking, but you ignored it and we’re about to continue when she interrupted you. 

“Y/N, you knew our relationship would be like this when you agreed to that first date with me.” Carol said flatly. 

She wasn’t showing any emotion, which led you to think she didn’t care, when in reality it was the actual opposite. She cared about you so much it almost tore her apart to see you this way. But Kree drilled it into her wiring to not show emotions. 

“I didn’t think that you’d leave me alone for weeks on end.” You sneered, putting your elbows on the edge of the table and crossing your arms.

“You’re making it seem as if I wanted to leave you.” Carol replied, crossing her arms and leaning back slightly in the chair. 

“Well, the fact that you got so many of the avengers to distract me while you were gone might have given me the wrong impression.” You replied angrily. 

“Look, this is the last thing I needed after coming home, I’m sorry.” Carol said softly, trying to apologize. 

“Well I’m sorry if you expected kisses and cuddles the second you got home because unlike you I don’t hide my damn emotions.” You yelled, you didn’t know where all this anger was coming from exactly. Usually at this point you’d calmed down and everything was fine. 

“Get. Out.” She said, seething angrily. You flinched back slightly at her words. “Like I said, this is the last damn thing I needed right now.” She finished, looking you dead in the eye. She expected you to protest, to yell back, to try to apologize. 

She didn’t expect you to get your wallet and walk out the door with tears streaming down your face, but you’d had enough of this. You’d had enough of not seeing your girlfriend for weeks on end then her coming home and expecting you to be alright with it and cuddle with her. 

You didn’t know exactly where you were going, but you had your wallet, your phone, no jacket but hey beggars can’t be choosers. All you wanted was to be away from Carol. 

On your walk, you passed a bar which you and Carol had been to a thousand times before when she was actually here. On an impulse, you turned into the bar, the bartender recognized you immediately and looked behind you to see if Carol was with you, frowning slightly at the empty space as you sat down in front of him. 

He saw the tear streaks almost immediately, despite your efforts to wipe them away. He seemed to understand almost immediately and made you your usual drink and put it in front of you. He leaned his elbows on the counter. 

“Everything good between you and carol?” He asked, not trying to intrude but worried about you. 

“None of your business.” You muttered. Then seeing him flinch you added quickly. “Thanks for asking though.” He smiled slightly and went to cater to someone else’s order. 

You downed your favorite/alcoholic/drink quicker than ever and asked for another one, then another until you finally settled for shots. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Meanwhile, carol sat almost in shock at you leaving. She didn’t move from her spot at the table for a couple of minutes incase you came back. 

Suddenly, she slumped forward in her seat, putting her head in her hands, letting out a frustrated groan. She replayed the conversation in her head over and over again. It was her fault, y/n just wanted to be with their girlfriend. 

“Damnit,” she muttered and got up to make herself something.

One cup of tea and half an hour later you still hadn’t come back and it was starting to get dark. Carol didn’t know what to do, she just made herself another cup of tea and watched the sunset. Until she realized that you could be in danger. 

She quickly grabbed her phone and opened your text conversation to see that she had left you on read about a week ago and you’d texted and called her 20 times in that week. 

She fired off an apology text as quickly as she could and asked you to come home to talk and she was truly sorry. 

After another half hour, it was completely dark and carol couldn’t stop pacing and thinking of the worst scenarios in her head. She finally decided to go out and look for you. She had just grabbed her brown leather jacket when she heard her phone ring. 

She almost tripped in her frenzy to reply to the text. She saw it was from you but, apparently the bartender at your favorite bar was using her phone. He told her that you were there, completely passed out and drunk with vomit on yourself and she should come pick you up. 

“shit,” she muttered, quickly replying a thanks and heading out to your car after grabbing the keys. 

She drove over to the bar in record time, deciding it would be easier to bring you back in the car rather than carry you 7 blocks. She walked in the bar rushed, almost slamming the door. 

She saw the bartender almost relieved to see her, and you were slumped on a stool, your head resting on the counter with 6 shot glasses and 3 fav/drink glasses. Her eyes widened at the sight. She walked over to the bar and pulled her wallet out of her jacket to pay for the drinks. 

“No it’s fine, it’s on the house, did you bring your car?” He asked as he put the glasses away. Carol nodded, still a bit in shock that you’d gone out and done this. 

“Alright I’ll help you get her in the car, Natalia mind the bar for me.” He said to the girl behind the counter as he walked over to you and Carol. 

“It’s fine I don’t need, I don’t need help.” She said, her voice breaking slightly. 

“It’s the least I can do, you’re both my most regular customers.” He said kindly. 

“Fine.” Carol replied in a monotone voice. 

After a bit of struggle, he had helped carol put you in the passenger seat of the car. As carol put the seatbelt over you he started to leave. 

“Wait!” She called out, he turned around to see carol offering him money for his help. 

“No it’s fine, really,” he said. “Just know that even though things may be hard right now you should look out for each other, the problem would be easier if both of you work together.” He finished and smiled kindly before returning inside. 

Carol stood there, stunned for a minute. She knew he was right. She pinched the bridge of her nose before heading back to the car.She climbed into the drivers seat and put on the seatbelt then turned to look at you.

You were slumped against the window, unconsciousness by drinking so much. Your phone and wallet was still in your pants but your phone seemed to have a crack in it and your wallet was open. Your shirt was covered in vomit. The bartender seemed to have cleaned your face up as none of it was in your face or arms

She gingerly picked the phone and wallet out of your pocket, trying to keep them clean. A couple of photos slipped out of your wallet. She quickly picked them up. 

One of them was a half ripped selfie you had taken from your Polaroid on the third date. The second was a picture you had of Carol you’d taken from your Polaroid when she had 6 boxes in her hands from when she moved in. 

Carol covered her mouth with a hand, trying to prevent a sob from breaking out. You’d missed her so much it was breaking your heart. Then all carol did was come home and yell at you. 

She put the photos back in your wallet and switched on your phone to see the time. It was 8:39, but the thing that finally made carol show her emotions was your wallpaper.

 It was a giant collage of all your selfies. Everything from the silly selfies in the movie halls to the Instagram pictures. Everything out in one giant collage with a picture of both of you holding hands while watching the sunset in the middle. 

Carol Danvers, the famous Captain Marvel, the strongest Avenger broke. She cried because of the person she loved most. She wasn’t there for you. She was busy helping everybody else when the person that needed her the most waited. You waited for her for weeks without knowing if she’ll be back and she treated you HORRIBLY. 

Carol wiped the tears from her eyes and started the car after glancing over at you, heading back home, where she should’ve been this entire time. 

Part 2

A/N: there is gonna be a part two. And what’s up with no one asking me things? Like I write??

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 42 – Does This Mean I Can Hope?

“G-good evening to you, sir.”

Lunark bowed to Raizel out of gut reaction, but he gave not a single sign of acknowledgment.

He merely positioned himself, reticent and elegant, bestowing shine upon the entire balcony, so tiny and unimportant, by simply staying poised.

Like a lake in silent slumber under the moonlight.

Like a crane standing upon a snowy meadow.

Those who know him well would have seen immediately that was his characteristic way of responding to someone’s greetings.

Unfortunately, Lunark’s personal history with the Noblesse was not long enough for her brain to identify such behavioral pattern of his.

“Forgive me for making myself a guest without your permission.”

Lunark spoke, feeling compelled to defend herself once more. To her greatest relief, this time Raizel yielded a visible reply.

“...Have no concern. The door of this house is always open to my family. And their guests.”

Instantly relieved, Lunark let her shoulders slouch, and her head thawed enough to dissect Raizel’s words.

‘A family, huh?’

What a heart-warming term, thought Lunark.

During the course of her personal chronicle as a warrior of wolfkind, she could not find a chance to experience what a family is like.

It has been several centuries since she parted ways with her biological parents, and she had been admiring Muzaka and thus aspiring to be a warrior since young.

She had never allowed idleness to dare constitute her life, in a fierce, almost bloody competition against fellow werewolves, ones she would have dubbed her friends or colleagues had she been part of the human world.

Naturally, her life has come to center on her identity as a warrior and the relations based on such identity.

Including, for example, the “warrior crews” and their “components” within her race.

Or the “elders” she used to share elder’s chairs with, before her departure from the Union.

And as of now, she has only her “fellow warriors” and “lord” to bring up if she is asked to name those meaningful to her.

From her past to present, she has found relations somehow distant from “a family.”

Which is why she could not stop retracing the terminology from her mind.

And she could not stop thinking about Frankenstein, who provided a family for Raizel.

‘Ugh, not again...’

Her self-reprimand was close to a lament.

The werewolf beauty’s head dropped, and Raizel’s crimson eyes flashed with intrigue as she was exhibiting the top of her head in the presence of the Noblesse.

Which did not last for long.

She presumed Raizel was not hinting any accusation for her visit.

For such reason, she could not imagine why he would confront her now, when he was mere minutes away from a snack party with his friends.

Apparently Raizel read the question from her stare; his aesthetic lips slid open.

“A bidding I have for you.”

“A bidding...?”

The situation was so sudden, out of blue, because of which Lunark could feel her logics thinning.

Raizel kept his gaze locked upon her face as he continued.

“Frankenstein, it concerns.”

Right then Lunark could feel a pregnant weight plummeting from her head to toes.

‘Frankenstein?’

Automatically and habitually, anxiety and tremor started to creep upon her entire form, causing subtle yet definitely-there wrenches in her chest.

That was when a well-known fact about nobles knocked her memories.

All nobles are gifted with mind control, and it is common for them to utilize such endowment to sketch what lies within their audiences.

‘Did he notice that I have feelings for Frankenstein...?’

Promptly following her cognitive process, a grief almost biting shook her undivided presence.

‘Is my love so unacceptable, so outrageous?’

Muzaka already lectured her to withdraw her feelings, and she could still remember how bitter she had felt.

And now she is faced with another lecture from Raizel.

Lunark minced her lips, despising herself for lingering for the sake of her stupid curiosity.

She was hit with an urge to bolt away from her spot, but she was educated enough to tell herself that there is no way she could commit such discourtesy to the Noblesse.

Instead, she steeled the dual ventricles of her heart and intentionally disconnected her mind.

She did not want to listen to whatever Raizel had in his mouth to ruthlessly drill her heart with.

To her appallment, her eardrums disregarded her stance and sharpened themselves for Raizel’s words, perhaps because they would involve Frankenstein.

“Anything do you know about Frankenstein?”

Upon hearing him, her eyes were inadvertently drawn to his countenance.

“What do you mean by that...?”

“Quite a long time has passed since Frankenstein left this place for his individual mission. Nothing have I received from him ever since, though the distance between us I deliberately maintained, in honor of his choice.”

Raizel provided no further explanation, yet Lunark could picture what his most trusted lieutenant would have appeared upon leaving his house, as bold and determined as a patriotic general about to face off against millions of invaders to his homeland.

Lunark gave her head a few waves without realizing it, and Raizel squinted his eyes in a mysterious shape as he witnessed her action.

“Frankenstein is bound to me under our contract, breathing within our spiritual essence as a mental link. Which stays in power as we speak.”

“You mean... At this very moment?”

Lunark was mystified. She knew Frankenstein and Raizel were at least miles away from each other.

She projected a link of the Noblesse is nothing like those from the lesser nobles, until he revealed that is not the case.

“Frankenstein remains in the dark regarding this – ever since I have returned, more influential and substantial our link has grown. Now distance serves as no barrier for me to feel the climate of his heart, one of small changes I have gone through since my return; natheless, as a secret I have kept so far, for I feared I would add one more to his troubles.”

Lunark briefly wondered if he could hear Frankenstein’s heart as they were conversing.

The moment she thought of such possibility, her heart tore itself from her dominance to fire a soundless scream of inquiry: Do you know by any chance how Frankenstein feels about me?

Luckily her lip muscles remained loyal to her and secured her screech within quiet.

“Howbeit, not available to me are all of infinitesimal emotions and ruminations embroidered upon his heart. The book may be his heart, but it will not open its pages and allow its lines and characters to pour into my cognition. It will simply spill some of its most predominant words only occasionally.”

So mind control is not another name for a master key, murmured Lunark in her head upon learning something new.

The topic was quite appealing, but she was still clueless why he would mention it to her out of all people.

“And to my gravest dismay, as of late the words from Frankenstein’s book were too heavy and too dark in depth and color.”

“What do you mean by that...?”

“I am afraid too shy is the reason in treating me. It is true that I am his master by our contract of blood, but it is not in my power to pick out and examine his heart whenever I please, as if picking out books from a library.”

Lunark began to squeeze her brain for a potential theory, calculating everything she knows about him as of now.

She already knew that Frankenstein is pushing himself to his limit to find out the secret of Raizel’s return, even taking tonics to force insomnia upon himself.

And it was highly likely that the darkness within Frankenstein is the result of his strain.

‘But how come I have a feeling that there is more to this than it seems?’

Raizel is utterly respectful of individual choices and decisions; nevertheless, here he was, seeking her privacy to discuss Frankenstein’s state without his knowledge. Which suggested to Lunark that Frankenstein’s emotional state is somewhere very far from healthy or normal.

“Anything do you have to provide for me about this?”

He even asked her right in her face, because of which Lunark could see how serious the situation was.

And she felt so remorseful that there was nothing she could tell him.

Or rather, she could not tell him though she had something to tell him. She did not want at all to do something Frankenstein would not be happy with.

And Raizel would note that she is hiding something on purpose; however, she could only hope for his understanding regarding her deceit.

To her gratitude, Raizel did not pose any more question or accusation, though Lunark felt something was off.

‘Why would he ask me about Frankenstein?’

Even a toddler would be able to speculate that there had been a communication or two between her and Frankenstein, in coordination of their tasks.

‘But it looks like it’s not simply because I’m his... His ally in battlefield, to say. Or did I go too far?’

Perhaps her heart was shrieking too ardently.

Or perhaps the inquisitiveness on her face was too conspicuous.

But Raizel did not hesitate to clarify.

“For a reason and cause I have yet to explore, your name would spark in my head whenever I collect Frankenstein’s heart. It has happened in the past, but recently the occasion has turned more frequent.”

“Beg your pardon...?”

“Like I said, the pieces I can collect from Frankenstein’s heart are keywords from a book he safekeeps within. In other words, the shards of his heart that would ebb and flow into my mind are what he holds priceless to himself.”

Suddenly Lunark could feel her head spinning.

Her brain cells were busily replaying what the Noblesse just disclosed, in furious skepticism of her comprehensive aptitude.

“I do not know how you would accept this, but... I suspected the tempest in his heart is somehow related to you.”

That was when with a thump Lunark’s heart resonated in an unnatural way.

Her heart was adrift in midst of chaos, glittering in a surreal color – a color she would have labeled as “hope.”

“Hey, Rai! Where are you?”

“Hurry up! It’s almost ready!”

As she was frozen, baffled by her own reaction, a boy and a girl called upon Raizel, and his head rotated towards the living room.

“I believe it is of no manners to hold you any longer. No easy decision would have been your visit, with your pathway teeming with tasks. I wish you a safe return.”

Raizel gave a solemn nod before he turned away.

Lunark was glued to her spot, before she hopped from the balcony, her a motion very clumsy for a werewolf warrior.

‘There is storm in Frankenstein’s heart... Because of me?’

Of course, concern was the first and foremost thing that gripped her heart. After all, it was about Frankenstein out of all souls.

At the same time, she could not restrain her mind from whispering: Does this mean I can hope...?

She came to find herself looking back at Frankenstein’s house, before she gritted her teeth.

‘Snap out of it, Lunark. This is not what you are here for.’

Her job was done, and it was time to leave.

Feeling how her heart grew murkier upon her every self-rebuke, Lunark was about to kick off from where she stood, when someone called upon her.

“Wait!!!”

(next chapter)

Like I mentioned at the end of the previous chapter, this chapter centers on conversation between Rai and Lunark. This is something that troubles me whenever I present Rai in a chapter: how to make Rai’s speech eloquent as expected from the Noblesse but at the same time easily readable and understandable. And his appearance has never failed to trouble me so far lol. By the way, Lunark’s parents have never been mentioned in the original webtoon, let alone featured. I didn’t want to waste the progress giving my personally invented details about them, so I just decided they parted with their daughter long time ago (though that created another question to be left unanswered for my fic). Now this fic is moving on to the highlight of the entire plot, and I will do my best to unleash everything I have built up so far. :)

13 x Reader: Breathe

Notes: Jenny, posting a WAY overdue 13xreader request? More likely than you think. I let this one get away from me (shocker!) and it’s definitely not as tight or polished as I’d like prose-wise, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless. This one is also gender-neutral for the reader, can I get a wahoo? Summary: You find yourself sick with guilt over the events of the witch hunt in Lancashire, unable to stop reliving the moment when the Doctor was plunged into the lake and you did nothing to save her. Sleep offers no respite from the memories, and desperate to remind yourself that the Doctor is alive and well, you go looking for her while everyone else sleeps. Warnings: none? unless like me you’re still very much not over this episode, WC: 5500 smh

Breathe, you reminded yourself.

Again, and again. Breathe. A blur of sensations flowed past your awareness without being truly registered: sound, colour, movement. The voices of your friends, and some other people too. An entire conversation. Movement, including your own. Life was happening, yet it passed right through you. You just put one foot in front of the other, and eventually you had found yourself in the TARDIS, with no real memory of arriving there. Breathe. “So! Where to next? Past? Future? Present? Nobody ever thinks about the present, but there are so many presents happening all over the place - ” The Doctor had thrown off her coat as she reached the console, and was darting around it, her hands moving almost as fast as her words. Graham, Yaz and Ryan shared a look, considering. “I think it’s your turn to pick,” Yaz told Ryan, who pursed his lips. The Doctor’s head poked around the main crystal, eyes bright as she waited for the answer. The soft, muted light of the room didn’t so much illuminate her features as much as it suffused them, as if she too were a gently glowing crystal. You reminded yourself to breathe again as you watched her. She was safe, smiling, alive. Breathe. “Presently I just want my bed,” Ryan announced finally. “One that’s not stuffed with hay.” The Doctor made a face. “Yeah, sleeping first sounds good,” Yaz agreed. “Sorry,” she added as the Doctor’s grimace deepened. “Well I wasn’t gonna say it but now that you have,” Graham began, before yawning. The Doctor’s grimace shifted into a full-on nose-wrinkled scrunch as her eyes moved to you, imploring. Breathe. In truth, you wanted to rest too. But when you tried to say that, the words got lost along the way, pushed aside. “Are you okay?” you asked, instead. The Doctor blinked, momentarily startled. Then her easy expression slid back into place and she turned away, busying herself at the controls. When she spoke her voice was breezy. “Okay? Of course I’m okay. You know me, I’m always okay. I’m the King of okay. Or should it be Queen now?” The Doctor paused, head falling to the side as she considered this. Breathe, you reminded yourself again. “I’d say go with your gut on this one,” Graham advised, yawning again. The Doctor wrinkled her nose. “Seems an unnecessary distinction, really,” she groused, sounding disapproving now, as if personally disappointed with gender constructs and titles. “You lot spend too much time worrying about that stuff.” “Hey, what’ve we said about talking potshots at humans?” Graham complained, and the Doctor flapped an unimpressed hand at him as she resumed darting around the console. “Anyway Doc, you’re the one as brought it up - ” Yaz and Ryan both groaned. “I’m not getting into this again,” Yaz announced, turning away. “I’ll see you all after a hot shower and a long nap. Stay out of trouble till then, yeah?” “That’d be a first,” Ryan said, following Yaz towards the corridor that led to everyone’s rooms. “Oi! I am perfectly capable of staying out of trouble, thank you,” the Doctor called indignantly to their retreating backs. “See that’s the problem with a flat team structure, you get no respect,” Graham observed philosophically. “Can’t have it both ways, Doc.” He was grinning, but it turned into yet another yawn. “Right. Bed. You coming, love?” The last words were directed at you, and you tore your eyes away from the Doctor to glance at him. “Yeah, in a minute,” you muttered, shifting your feet. Your eyes had already moved back to the Doctor, or what you could see of her anyway, hunched over the console. You didn’t see the appraising look on Graham’s face as he eyed the two of you. You didn’t even hear him leave. You were still watching her. Breathe. “Not tired then?” the Doctor asked after a while, not immediately looking at you. It wasn’t uncommon for her to spend hours absorbed in tinkering with the TARDIS, but you felt that she was purposely finding reasons to avoid your gaze as she shifted around. When you were silent for too long, she finally straightened up and met your gaze. Her hair was slightly wavy, and she’d already collected a smudge of grease on her cheek. And though her expression was politely inquisitive, there was something about the console’s glow that highlighted the hollows under her eyes, and the tightness around her mouth. It had been there ever since she’d come out of that lake. “Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked again. You weren’t sure that it was your place to ask it, but if not you, then who? Surely someone had to care for her, because you were starting to doubt that she ever did. Breathe. “ ‘Course,” the Doctor repeated. “No need to worry. Not the first time someone’s found me annoying enough to chuck in a lake.” Your face clearly reflected your unassuaged concerns, because she gifted you her brightest smile. “Get some rest, go on then. I promise not to jump in any bodies of water in the meantime.” Still you hesitated, unwilling to turn your back on her. Unwilling to leave her alone, to not be there for her again. You looked at her, hunched over the console. She was softly lit, her hair glowing golden and almost translucent in places. She looked very small as she stood there, a lone star glimmering in the depths of space, and you wanted nothing so much as to cross that looming distance and wrap your arms around her, as if you could hold her so fiercely that you might somehow - fix everything. As if you could  keep her from being thrown in that lake, from being touched in fear and anger and violence. And as if you could finally hold her long enough to convince yourself that she was here, she was real. Was safe. Could not she feel this need? It was pulling at you like the forces of gravity, towards her. Always, towards her. Sometimes you thought she noticed it, that she must feel it too, this pull. When your eyes would touch from across a room, or a battlefield, or a table, you thought surely - surely she feels this too, the universe bending around us, surely - Breathe.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t - she wasn’t yours to claim, or to look after. You certainly could not go to her, not in the way that burned through your veins with such painful need. Lingering here like this, asking after the Doctor’s well-being… that was dangerous enough. Uncharted territory, in which you didn’t know the boundaries. Certainly it wasn’t your place to comfort the Doctor, and not when she was so relentlessly cheerful in the face of your concern. (But it not your place, then who's? Who’s? Breathe.)   So, you did as you always did, and resisted the pull, maintaining a careful hold on your emotions. Your feelings for her… they were vast, deep. Unexplored, and perhaps best left that way. When the Doctor glanced up at you again, still smiling, you ignored that jerk on your heart (on your soul, oh, breathe) and you smiled back. Weakly, perhaps. But a smile nonetheless. “No lakes,” you said. “Cross my hearts,” the Doctor said solemnly. And so you left her, alone in the dim console. And shortly after you fell into your bed, alone in your dim room. You stared at the wall for what felt like hours, trying and failing to not replay the memory, that memory, to not see her bound and drowned. Over, and over. Alone, watched by many and helped by none. Was it any wonder that your gradual slide into sleep afforded you no respite from the memories? If anything, the dreams allowed the scenes to become brighter, sharper, slower. More cruel. The wind in your dream was cutting and cold as you stood again on the lake’s edge, colder even than it had been on that day. You felt that it was paring you away one bit at a time, stripping away flesh and muscle and emotions and leaving only stark, raw truth behind. Because you had realized the truth of you, standing there surrounded by your friends. You were a coward. You had to be. Only a coward would stand frozen as they watched their friend (as if friend was even an adequate word to describe her, to hold the shape and history and the essence of what the Doctor was, what she had become to you) was ritualistically chained to a log and drowned. It hadn’t happened fast, or without warning. There had been a process, conversations. It had been an event. And you had just stood there, with Ryan and Graham and Yaz, while the wind knifed through you and revealed your true selves. There were plenty of reasons (excuses) why you didn’t act, any of you. Shock, certainly, and denial that this was happening at all. A lingering confidence that the Doctor was just playing along, and would never let herself actually be caught… be be chained… be mocked… be dunked - “No - “ with the word you jerked awake, terror flooding your limbs and crushing your chest. You sat up, drawing in a shuddering breath. You could feel your hands shaking. Your eyes were open, but the dream - the memories - continued their relentless flood, and you saw it again and again, the Doctor plunging into the lake, bound, mocked, alone. Saw again the water close over her head. You had finally acted, then. Maybe it was because of the four of you, you had the most to lose… or perhaps just the least faith. But when the Doctor had plunged into the water, something in you had broken. You might have screamed (you had) as your vision had gone white, lights exploding behind your eyes. Your frozen legs had leaped forwards, shoes slipping in the mud, hands reaching, reaching for her, even as the ripples and bubbles on the lake quelled. But you hadn’t even been able to act retroactively, hadn’t been able to  even try. Because long before you made it to the water that had gone terrifyingly still, a vise had clamped around you, binding your arms to your side. Keeping you from her. You knew you had screamed that time. It was the same scream that had lingered on your lips as you jerked awake, back on the TARDIS. You hadn’t actually been bound, of course. In reality it had been Ryan’s arms around you. Very cognizant of both his coordination abilities and the fact that he was easily the largest member of the Team, it was rare for Ryan to access his strength. Rarer still, for him to use it against anyone. But when the King had cried “duck her”, when you had stopped breathing and watched those cold waters close over the Doctor’s head and had leaped after her, when you had screamed, Ryan had used every bit of his size and strength to catch you and hold you to him. “You can’t, you can’t, it won’t help - ” he had pleaded, his own voice breaking, his own arms trembling with the need to go to her, to save her, this extraordinary woman who you were all just watching die. You’d have to apologize to him. You had the lingering suspicion you might have kicked his shins; you knew you had scrabbled at his arms, ripping your nails on his coat and probably wounding him. And he had borne it all. Had held you, kept you safe, even in the face of his own agony and rage and fear. (Yeah, you’d definitely need to be apologizing to him.)   But you weren’t thinking about that yet, as you swung your legs off the bed and gripped the sheets with shaking hands. Your ribs felt too tight, a band of pressure that your heart threw itself against, again and again. You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes and burying your face in hands that still shook. You still couldn’t wrap your mind around how close you all had come to losing her (and how much it affected you, hollowed you out and left a gaping void where something else, something happy had once been). Oh, the Doctor could gloss it over with her normal disregard for such petty human fears like drowning, or death. It’d take more than a few minutes in a lake and some rubbish chains to be rid of me, she’d declared, complete with her signature cheeky grin. But you weren’t so sure. Again and again, your re-lived it. Those clever, slender hands in chains. The wind, lifting strands of her hair. Her silhouette, alone on the edge of the water as everyone backed away. Her eyes, as the water closed over her head. The silence that followed it. That silence… you didn’t think you’d ever forget it.  It had found its way in you, into that void, and somehow its presence eft you even more hollow. “No, no, no,” you gasped, you chest rising and falling jerkily. You just couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop living it. The Doctor, your Doctor, and you had just stood there and let violence happen to her. Your fists pounded the mattress on either side of you as you gasped in a shuddering breath, lest your lingering fear and shame choke you. You had to see her again. You had to - you had to make sure she was still here. Breathing, laughing, safe. Maybe then you could sleep. Maybe then you could start to live with yourself again. You didn’t have the faintest idea what time it was, or how long you had been sleeping. There weren’t any clocks in your room, or you suspected anywhere else on the TARDIS. That seemed on-brand for the Doctor (although an entire room devoted to clocks would also be on-brand, she was just like that). And you’d lost your mobile several adventures ago. It probably didn’t matter. Even if was still the dead of whatever passed as night on the TARDIS, you figured the Doctor was unlikely to be sleeping. You’d never actually seen her sleep, and she was remarkably offhand and vague about it whenever the subject was broached. Ryan had a whole conspiracy theory about it.  So, your hands still shaking and your throat still tight with that choking mixture of fear and shame, you stood up and left your room. Your breathing steadied some as you walked, now that you were moving and had a goal. You just needed to see her, and then maybe you could rest. (You knew that was probably a lie. But it was better than nothing. Seeing her was always better than anything.) But she wasn’t in the main console room. It still glowed with soft light and softer humming, but with no familiar form of the Doctor darting to and fro, it seemed suddenly… wrong, as you loitered in a doorway and looked up at those massive crystals. You didn’t feel like an intruder, precisely, but your skin still prickled with unease as you gazed out at the shadowed, empty room that normally rang with such laughter and noise and life. The quiet struck a chord in you, something that resonated painfully with that hollow place where your heart had been. This was what it would be like if she had actually - if she was truly - if - “No,” you gasped, clutching the door frame with one hand while the other fisted at your side. No. “I have to see her. Then I’ll know - then I can - I have to see her.” Silence, save for your ragged breathing, in and out. In and out. Then something hummed in your ear. You jumped and straightened, turning to see a flashing light along the wall.  It pulsed, then vanished, reappearing several yards farther down the corridor. You eyed it, then glanced over your shoulder at the main console. “Uh, am I meant to follow?” you voiced, hesitantly. The Doctor was never entirely clear on how sentient this timeship of hers actually was, and in this dark empty room, with the echoes of your dream still thrumming in your blood… it was easy to lose what tenuous grasp on reality you had left. The console remained silent, but the lights flickered again, brighter. Annoyed? “Right, sorry,” you said. What else was there to do? You followed them, because lead you they did. Deeper into the TARDIS, areas you’d never seen before. You weren’t sure if you traveled a great distance or merely a few steps; time seemed to loosen its hold on you, gentling and blurring its edges. You reached another doorway, and blinked as the lights that had been your sole focus and companion dimmed and vanished. You felt surprisingly bereft without them. Wait, you wanted to say. Come back, don’t leave me. But the words died before they reached your lips, because you’d edged closer to the doorway and all at once you forgot everything but her, her. The TARDIS had led you to the Doctor, just as you’d asked. Real, breathing, alive. “Thank you,” you whispered, your hand finding the wall as you blinked back sudden tears, your knees sagging with the relief that surged through you. “Oh, thank you.” Warmth bloomed beneath your palm as the TARDIS gave a soft hum of acknowledgement.  You scrubbed at your eyes, wiping away the traces of tears before they could fall and watching as the Doctor moved in and out of your field of vision. She looked rumpled, from what you could tell; her hair was curling in a way that indicated she’d been running her hands through it, and she wasn’t wearing her coat, her suspenders hanging loose at her hips. She was also talking to herself, but her voice was too low and she was too far for you to make any of it out. Which was fine. Good, even; you weren’t here to spy on her. You had just needed to see her. You took a steadying breath and prepared to turn away, hesitating only when the Doctor crossed back into view. She stopped, still muttering to herself. Or perhaps to the TARDIS. The light in the room was muted, a hair’s breadth away from being truly dim. You idly wondered what room it actually was - and then promptly stopped wondering anything at all as the Doctor abruptly shrugged out of her shirts. Your entire brain jammed, heat flooding your face and then sweeping through the rest of you. Oh, uh, wait, uh - Feeling as if you were trying to claw your way through mud, you wrestled your brain back into cooperation with your body and turned to leave, quickly. Gods, spying was bad enough, but while she undressed? Oh no, no. This was sacrosanct - she was sacrosanct. So you turned your blazing face away, towards the welcome darkness of the TARDIS corridor. But as you did, something caught your attention, told your subconscious hey, wait, look again, you missed it. You couldn’t help yourself; you glanced back in the room. And froze. Because the Doctor was still visible. And so was the massive stain of marbled blue and purple running across her back. Your breath caught in your throat. And you were stepping into the room and crossing to the Doctor long, long before your mind caught up with your body. Shock was coursing through you, but you could feel something else on its heels, gathering, a wave preparing to strike. It was, you realized distantly, rage. Your mind still hadn’t caught up when you reached out a hand. Your finger brushed along the edge of the bruise, at her jutting shoulder blade. The Doctor yelped, whirling on you faster than you would have thought possible, her hands thrown up to ward you off. You had jumped as well, the spell broken and your face flushing as you stumbled back a step. “You - scared the daylights out of me,” the Doctor said, dropping her hands and sounding equal parts relieved and annoyed. You registered that she was wearing only a bra; you’d never seen so much of her skin before. This was - bad. This was really bad. What had you been thinking? You opened your mouth to say I’m sorry, I’ll leave now, please don’t chuck me into a supernova like I definitely deserve. “Did they do that to you?” you asked, instead, and were surprised at the intensity of your voice. The Doctor clearly was too, her aggrieved look faded and was replaced by something else, something hard to pin down. She seemed to be deciding whether or not to evade the question, as she was wont to do. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, avoiding your gaze, but that only drew your attention to her wrists. You sucked in a breath; raw red stripes encircled them, stark against her pale skin. Rope burns. The Doctor’s eyes flicked to yours at your breath, and she dropped her hands hastily and tried to shove them both into her trouser pockets, only to wince as the fabric scraped over the raw, angry wounds. “Why didn’t you say something?” you asked her, your voice thin and brittle. Like ice, cracking. Look what they’d done to her, your Doctor, look what they’d done to her. Rage was making your hands shake again, but grief was rising now in its wake. “You should have told us - ” “What? Oh, no. This is nothing. Hardly worth mentioning, really, just some bumps, hardly even notice ‘em. All part of the job, you know.” Her voice was light, but she wasn’t meeting your eyes. “Doctor - ” “Oi, I’m fine, no need to fuss.” “Fine?” you asked, incredulous, and you reached out, your hand settling lightly on her shoulder and gently turning her so that you could again see that lurid pattern of bruising that ran across her spine. “Fine?” Rage was still coursing through your veins, but the tide was coming in, and  grief was catching up. “This is not  - fine -  this is the opposite of fine - ”  The Doctor was silent under this onslaught, looking absolutely gobsmacked. You weren’t generally one for taking command, certainly not over her, and you both were always so careful around each other. No superfluous touches, no casual affection. Yet now you held the Doctor’s warm shoulder with one hand, while your other lifted to trace the edges of that ugly bruise, and she was still beneath your touch. Letting you hold her. Touch her. Oh, but these were uncharted waters. “I can’t believe they did this,” you murmured, and perhaps the Doctor could hear the hint of tears in your words, because she shrugged. “I heal fast, me. Hardly bothers me half so much as it did.” “But it does hurt,” you said, your words almost a whisper. She didn’t reply to that. It hadn’t been a question. Your fingers ghosted over the bruising, and though her skin shivered and jumped in places, she didn’t pull away. But then your fingers found a rougher section, the skin raw. It was clearly a former wound, bruised so deeply that the skin had broken. The Doctor made a stifled sound as you brushed it, and you immediately moved your hand. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. “It’s fine - ” “No, it’s not,” you cried, your voice breaking. You let out a shuddering breath and rested your forehead against the nape of her neck. “I let you down,” you whispered, and the pooling tears overflowed, began to slide down your face. “I should have been there, should never have let them get their hands on you, should have stopped them from trying to kill you, but I just stood there, I let them - ” “Hey, hey, hold on,” the Doctor was saying over your words. She finally turned in your arms. “This isn’t your fault!” she was trying to catch your eyes, and finally settled for a hand under your chin, lifting it. “You didn’t let me down, don’t be daft.” You looked at her earnest, concerned face while tears ran silently down your cheeks. “Oh, what’s this then?” she asked softly, moving her hand so that she could wipe away a tear. “I’m fine, honestly. ” “I keep - I keep seeing it, seeing it happen - ” you choked on the words. “I almost lost you. I just stood there, and I almost lost you, and I can’t stop seeing it - ” you were shaking as much as your voice, now. The Doctor’s lips had parted as she stared at you. “What do you mean, you can’t stop seeing it? And anyway, from what I can gather you did not ‘just stand there’,” the Doctor added, her lips twitching. “Ryan showed me a very nicely bruised shin earlier, I’m proper impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you.” She clearly meant to lighten the mood, but your throat only tightened, the tears falling faster. “Oh, okay, alright,” she murmured, and reached up to cradle your face. You closed your eyes, her compassionate scrutiny suddenly too much to bear. “It’s over. It’s okay. I’m here now, hey?” Her thumbs moved in soft circles over your cheeks as she searched your face. “Look at me,” she said. “Come on, look, there you are.” You exhaled shakily, staring back into those hazel depths that captured you so easily, so completely. You sniffed, angry with yourself. You knew you were doing this wrong, that this had somehow become about you, and your pain, when it was the Doctor who had been hurt, the Doctor who you wanted to help. “Nobody lost me, I’m right here,” she said, the low light in the room catching her eyes as they roved over your face. You could see flecks of gold in them, glimmering like so many stars. She wiped away another tear.  “I should have helped you,” you whispered, wretched with the shame of it. “I’m sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for,” the Doctor said, her eyes still moving over your face. “Except for skulking in here and scaring me half to Skaro, maybe.” She affected sternness as she said it, but you knew her heart wasn’t in it. She was still looking at you so carefully, her hand on your face. As if you were the one who had been brave, who had been hurt. Oh, you were doing this wrong. “I just - needed to see you,” you said, your voice low. “The dreams - ” You broke off. Took a breath. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” “Hm,” the Doctor said, her brows lifting, “bit late for that, though.”  She frowned, eyes darting to the side in thought. “How did you find me? This is a bit off the beaten path, TARDIS-wise.” She still didn’t sound angry, just curious. “I don’t entirely know,” you answered. “I looked for you in the main console, and then these lights came on and they led me to - here,” you finished. Led me to you. “Really? She doesn’t usually do that. What are you, offering guided tours now?” The last words were directed to the room at large as the Doctor stepped away from you, hands landing on her hips. You became aware again that she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Oh, oh, crap - “Uh - do you want a - your shirt -” you were tripping all over yourself, trying to set your brain and mouth back onto the same path of coherency. The Doctor swung back around to you, brows lifted again in a very familiar look. “You humans and your modesty,” she said, falling into her standard cadence for remarking on humanity’s failings. “So many rules about when and where you should be clothed, who should be clothed, what type of clothes - and then once they’re laid out, you break all of the rules! Just switch them around, and expect everyone to catch up! Here I am, minding my own business, and now I’m told I ought to be embarrassed not to be wearing a shirt! In my room! No, I am not having it. You will take me as I am, ah -”  She had moved around as she spoke, gesticulating wildly as only she could, but on the last gesture her face twisted in a flash of pain as she moved her injured shoulder. The expression was gone in an instant, but you had seen it, had heard the slight hitch in her speech. Without thinking, you moved forwards again. Reached out. You turned her gently, fingers again ghosting over that lurid mark, that thing that was hurting her. You knew it wasn’t the true source of her pain, not really. Bumps, scrapes, bruises; you’d seen her bear them all and worse with a bright smile and brighter enthusiasm. No, her pain here ran deeper than physical. “I’m not made of glass, you know,” she said, sounding a bit annoyed, and a bit something else. She had gone very still. “We Time Lords aren’t half so fragile as you lot.” “Fragile enough,” you whispered, eyes roving that bruise, that mark of violence done against her. You leaned forwards acting on nothing but instinct, on need, and brushed your lips along her jutting scapula, along the edge of that violence. You heard her breathing hitch, but she did not move. So you let your lips move, following the path of that violence as if you could smooth it away, undo it. Your hands trailed down until they rested on the Doctor’s hips, fingers just curling around the hem of her trousers, your palms warm against her skin as you held her. God, what were you thinking? “I should go,” you said, reluctantly, your nose resting in her hair as you leaned your face against her. You could feel her pulse, the warm blood rushing beneath her skin. The moment seemed to expand, crystallize, trembling on the edge of - something. But of what? “Then why are you still here?” the Doctor asked, softly. You weren’t sure what you read in her voice. “Why are you?” In answer, she turned in your arms again. You weren’t sure, later, who kissed who first. You both had a good case for it, as your lips met and your bodies pressed together. Your hands found themselves moving as well, wrapping around the Doctor and holding her to you. She made a low sound, or maybe it was you, and your lips found hers again eagerly, desperately. It wasn’t until your hands slid farther around her as she pressed into you that she stiffened, hissed in a soft breath against your face. You’d inadvertently pressed against the edges of the bruise. “Sorry, oh, I’m sorry,” you said, agonized, pulling away to look at her and dropping your hands. “It’s fine,” she insisted, but you were shaking your head. “Will you stop saying that?” “Maybe if you start believing me,” she replied, her face scrunching. You scrunched back, and you both stared at each other like that before breaking at the same time, the Doctor laughing and your own scrunch tipping into a smile before you too laughed. “Rule one, the Doctor lies,” you told her. Her scrunch returned. “My rules are always changing,” she countered. “What do I need to do to prove it to you?” Her voice had started light, but it ended somewhere else, on a pitch you couldn’t immediately pin down but made your stomach flutter in a most distracting manner. “I have a few ideas,” you said. Her answering smile seemed to light up the room. Again that flutter, again that pull towards her, always her. But this time, you let it move you. But this time, she moved too. You came together like the tide reaching for the shore, like celestial bodies, like there had never been any other possible outcome. You took her face in your hands, stared into those star-spun eyes. “I’m glad you’re fine,” you whispered, her cheeks warm against your hands as you looked at her. She was still smiling, her eyes huge and soft and shining, those flecks of gold in them seeming to glitter, and you knew that these were eyes you could get lost in. You could feel them tugging on you, pulling you in as if they were getting larger, closer, twin galaxies expanding to fill your whole vision - and then the Doctor had closed the space between you, and her lips were against yours and your hands were tangled in her hair and nothing else mattered. “Me too,” she whispered against your mouth. “I might need to make sure though,” you said. She didn’t answer, but you could feel her smile as you pressed tighter together. No longer alone, either of you. Breathe, you reminded yourself, as your heart raced and your blood sang and that terrible silence in you quieted, retreated in the face of such swelling, deafening joy. Oh, breathe.

02/04/21

It’s been a while of having stress dreams so frequently but this time it was different. I have a 3 consecutive day rule and today was the 3rd day of a restless, fatiguing stress dream. My current boyfriend cheated on me. How typical of a “bad dream”, especially being his best friend’s girlfriend. Mind you, the way he acts and who he is as a person is far from anything that would ever happen in real life but of course, this dream felt nothing but real.

As most beginnings, it’s hazy. The first thing I remember is him holding me the day before and I questioned it as I always did, wondering if I deserve it or if there was some underlying reason hiding deep in his actions. I’ve always been anxious, worried, and insecure since my last relationship with how much he invalidated my feelings and tore me down. One of my biggest insecurities is my current boyfriend’s lack of lust and sensual caresses towards me. The day after, I woke up and I’m not sure in what context I remembered him cheating, but he was so defeated and I was so very very angry. So hurt and angry that I wasn’t enough but mostly that I didn’t deserve it, on top of this being his friend’s girlfriend: a girl who I relate to and cherish as she reminds me the friend’s father was running around the friend group’s apartments telling that she had cheated on him with my boyfriend.

In a panic of rage and pain, I left because I felt terrible. I didn’t want to panic too bad so I went to walk; I had no idea what I was going to do because he lives with me and all I wanted was for him to leave oh so badly. Before I left, he kept trying to hug me then give me the excuse that I had been off and on with my anger and treated him so poorly that while he talked to her about me and vented, he grew attached. He distinctly used “I needed someone to turn to, because you weren’t there.” Yet, all I felt was chest pain (which I still feel intenselly after hours of being awake irl), urgest to cry and replaying in my head how I could’ve missed the messages exchanged. No wonder I’m so insecure and how RIGHT I convinced my gut feelings (or paranoia of being hurt in the past) that he genuinely didn’t want me anymore, or simply because I am not deserving to have good things in life.

The true trigger for me to write this as with many of these dreams are the violence that ensues terror in my very bones for 24 hours; almost ALWAYS causing a PTSD response or scarring memory (athough of course, it never actually happened.) Somehow, my old work friend’s shitty boyfriend that are off and on all the time was there. I have a burning disgust for him as he has cheated, lied, and hid things all the time from her irl, despite her continuously returning to him because she is scared and naive. During my walk, I saw him smooching on girls before leaving an alleyway, buckling his pants and grinning. He tried to make small talk, as if he didn’t just defile his very being. Then he smiled with teeth, flipping out his switchblade and threatened to stab me if I told my friend. At one point where he gripped my arm so tight and was attempting to stab my back, he continously yelled, cackled, and justified why my boyfriend cheated on me; why and how I would never be enough for anyone. I was trying to get away and running so fearfully, I ran into some random girl’s apartment close to mine (in the dream.) This part is a bit fuzzy of who she is and how our conversation came about so calming and theraputic. Whoever she was, she was very positive, glowing with safe, warm energy, and supportive of what I deserve. She allowed me to vent all the issues going on that day with my boyfriend and how I’m lost on how to get him to move out and how everything just went so wrong once again. Once again, a true fear of mine that I remember saying with tears in my eyes, is simply how upset and even angry because I felt that no one that comes into my life, even when I take the chance to trust them, is a good person.

Much of these fears and insecurities have lied within me constantly especially with my stress from mundane life and money insecurity. I’m still learning to love myself and overcome toxic thoughts, tendencies, and behaviors towards others. No matter what I do most days, I never feel like I’m ever enough or deserving of my partner, and even when he consoles me and reassures me, I can’t help but feel that he’s going to stop loving me or see me as disgusting just as everyone in my past has. Maybe one day, I can love myself once again. Until then, I can only hope I’ll be normal and not as fucked up tomorrow to survive another day with these thoughts.

COMFORT ;  Drabble (Ghoa)

[TRIGGER WARNING]  Gonna just.. go ahead and slap one of these bad boys up here. This is a heavy drabble, and there’s a lot of elements of ptsd / trauma, alcoholism and other really questionable coping mechanisms. (Also vague implication of sex, but nothing explicit on that front.)

If that’s not your thing, then please take care of yourself and avoid this drabble, and just suffice to say that ya’ girl Ghoa has been having a really not great time after coming back from the ruins. (Thank you, Dice Gods, for that lovely ‘2′ that you gave me on the ‘How fucked up is Ghoa gonna be?’ roll.)

Ghoa's eyelids squeezed stubbornly shut against the sunlight filtering in through the openings in the blinds, a soft noise of irritation leaving the back of her throat as she turned her head to bury her face in the soft pillow beneath her. Yet try as she might to stall the inevitable, the damage was already done. Within moments, the Xaela was letting loose a frustrated whine as she turned her head out to face the window again, fixing the intruding light with a bleary, half-lidded glare for all the good it did. No matter how withering her stare, the first proud rays of Azim's dawning light would not be dissuaded.

Knowing then that a return to sleep would be unlikely, Ghoa rolled onto her back and directed her eyes towards the ceiling above. Her stomach churned uneasily with the motion, and so too did her head begin to throb and spin. She set her eyes on some indistinct pattern in the woodwork above her, trying to bring her mind to a focus through the pain and discomfort. And slowly but surely, she started to remember.

Or not remember, as it were.

Ever since she had finally returned home from their venture to those gods-be-damned ruins, Ghoa's slumbering had come in short and fitful bouts. No matter how exhausted she was -- and gods, was she exhausted -- she could only pass a few short bells in sleep at a time before the ever-present nightmares wrenched her harshly away from any semblance of meaningful rest. And once she was awake, powerless to stop the replay of awful thoughts that the dreams put into her head, it would be bells more before she finally calmed enough to try, however fruitlessly, again.

But now as she lie there staring up at the ceiling, no memories of awful dreams came back to the front of her mind to haunt her. Even when she tried to recall them, they refused to heed her. She remembered nothing but the deep, inky blackness of a dreamless sleep. And for the first time in weeks, despite her aches, Ghoa felt genuine relief.

For a time, she just lie there basking in the feeling of a somewhat restful night of sleep. A feeling that she had taken for granted all her life, but had recently missed all too dearly. A real smile, the first in countless suns, pulled at the corners of her lips. Things were getting better. Whatever horrors the ruins had imprinted upon her in their wake, it seemed, were finally beginning to pass.

Even the persistent discomfort and sickness lingering over her like a shroud wasn't enough to bring her down from her oddly buoyant mood. Both could easily be whisked away by a curative and some warm tea once she managed to roll herself out of bed. But before that, there was another she had to rouse awake.

The smile still resting on her lips, Ghoa turned the rest of the way to face the other side of the bed. Lehko'a would undoubtedly be relieved to see that she had finally gotten some real rest, and that she hadn't awoken into the same distant malaise that had plagued her since her return.

But as she finished turning, the only thing greeting her on the bed's other side was a cold, empty expanse of crumbled sheets and blankets. The signs that someone had been there at some point in the night, but no longer. Her smile instantly faltered, at first replaced by a look of furrowed brows and confusion. Then, slowly but surely, the sickening worry began to steadily creep back into her mind. Was something wrong? Had something happened? Was Lehko'a alright?

The Xaela quickly pushed herself up into a sitting position atop the bed, instantly regretting the jarring movement. A sharp pain shot through her head in protest, and the whole world around her seemed to shift and move as if someone had spun it like a globe. One hand moved to splay atop the covers to steady herself, while the other pressed to her face. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut and a steady stream of curses, half in her mother tongue and half not, fell like a waterfall from between her lips. Panic rose like bile -- or maybe it was bile? -- in the back of her throat, silently pleading for the pain and dizziness to go away quickly so that she could go find him.

And sure enough, they slowly subsided enough for her to drop her hand away from her face and for her eyes to open again. Yet when they did, when she finally was able to look around the room, she found herself briefly frozen in confusion.

This room wasn't her own, nor could she readily recall having ever stepped foot in it before. Empty bottles dotted the room, some turned over in the floor and others lingering half-empty on tables and counters. Joining the former, her clothes were strewn in haphazard heaps across the floor, scattered as if they had been tugged off in a hurry. In the very back of her mind, however, some distant voice told her something was missing. But what was--

No sooner had the question begun to form in the haze of her mind than did the answers all come flooding back to her at once, a raging deluge of memory washing over her. Once again her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her hands rose to clutch tightly at her head, and a soft gasp of distress tore from her raw, tight throat.

Suddenly she was elsewhere, not only in place but in time, shortly after midday at the rented suite that she and Lehko'a had been sharing. Her smile was hollow as she grasped at his hands and tried to give them a reassuring squeeze, placing a kiss on his cheek.

'Nabi needs my help with something at the clinic,' she'd told him. It was an excuse that she had used a lot since coming home. She used it when her head became so loud with dark thoughts that she needed to get away to calm her heart and clear her mind. When even just looking at Lehko'a for any length of time hurt her like a knife turned slowly in her gut, and she needed space just to be able to breathe again.

'It'll likely be late before we're done,' she had told him. 'I'll just sleep there, so don't wait up for me.'

'Don't worry about me,' she had told him when she saw his concern. 'I'm fine, I promise.'

'I love you,' she had told him when she saw the doubt and the hurt and the sadness on his face, and she had meant it. Out of it all, that she would never lie about. She just needed some time and some space to figure out how to put herself back together again.

The memories skipped ahead, and she was long gone from their temporary home. Yet nor was she at the clinic like she had assured the Keeper. In truth, not even one of the times that she had told him that that was where she was going did the Xaela actually end up at the House of Sparrows. After all, she was trying to avoid the others just as much as she was trying to avoid him. It all hurt the same.

Just as she had done each time prior, Ghoa had instead wandered her way back to Kugane, to the back alleys of Sanjo Hanamachi where drinks were plentiful and questions were few.

Wine and liquor helped, though perhaps not in the most constructive of ways. After a few glasses, she could feel the sharpest edges of the pain and fear begin to dull to a level that was almost manageable. Usually, she stopped there. Last night, she hadn't.

Try as she might to figure out how to pull herself together again, she knew it was only getting worse. Turning off the awful emotions with drink during the day only did so much, and she knew that artificial numbness wasn't a real, tenable solution. That she felt the need to hide it from those she cared about, out of both shame of her own weakness and a desire not to cause them concern, was proof enough of that. But even if she was aware of it, it still made it no easier for her to come up with a better alternative.

She had been several drinks into trying to puzzle it out when she had found her solitude suddenly interrupted. As she recalled it now, Ghoa could no longer remember what the man looked like in any explicit detail. A hyur, or maybe an elezen? Passably handsome, she thought, but that may have been either the alcohol or wishful thinking talking. She could certainly no longer recall his name but she did remember, however vaguely, that he had been a sailor of some sort. Not that that was hard to remember, considering that was seemingly half the city's population at any given time.

Ghoa remembered being wary of being joined in her drinking at first. After all, it was far from her first time in a bar;  she knew exactly what a smooth-talking fellow approaching a lady in her cups was angling for. At first, she had only endured the conversation to be polite, trying to find a way to weasel out of it without incensing him. In this part of town, it was best to err on the side of caution.

Yet the longer he stayed, the more comfortable she found herself becoming. Whereas she had spent the last few days trying to avoid direct eye contact with Lehko'a and forcing herself to endure conversation despite the aching in her chest, both came easily and naturally to her with this stranger. He was charming, and he didn't pry into why she was there drinking alone. Rather, he fed her drunken wonder with stories of his time abroad and had her in tears of laughter with the tales of his misadventures, all while making sure that neither of their cups ever went empty for more than a tick during the bells they had spent just talking about nothing.

The rest of the memories only came in disjointed fragments of limited recollection and phantom sensation with large gaps of time missing between them. Stumbling back to where the man was staying, and and both of them breaking down into laughter when she realized she had lost a shoe somewhere along the way. Her back pressed against the wooden door, breathlessly watching as the man tried to open it as fast as his drink-addled hands would let him. Almost tripping over her clothes in her hasty attempts to rid him of his between kisses steeped in desperation and longing.

But the very last thing she could recall -- and in disturbingly vivid memory compared to the rest -- was the feeling of peace that had settled over her like a blanket as she had curled in against him and rested her head on his chest. Of closing her eyes without fear of the nightmares that now lived behind her eyelids. Of the soft smile that had lingered on her flushed face as she drifted off to sleep.

Now, she had been released by the onslaught of memories and was left to sit there, dumbfounded in the present. Her eyes once again stared at the clothes strewn about the room, realizing now that what was missing was her nameless and faceless bedmate.

And when that realization dawned upon her, a tidal wave of loneliness broke over her with it. Loneliness that brought her back to other, more distant memories. A childhood spent largely alone, wishing only for the company of friends and family that the other children her age didn't know how lucky they were to have. Years later, a night of peculiar joy that had turned to unexpected horror, afterward spent curled up in a ball in the back of a dark yurt longing for the almost motherly presence of Togene, her only friend among the Kharlu. Years later still, and she was right back at the days spent in the cramped and claustrophobic dark, with dried blood caked under her fingernails from hours spent desperately trying to pry her way free and her voice hoarse from screaming in hopes that someone, anyone, would hear her.

It was then that the realization hit Ghoa that the only thing that brought her any relief from the pain she was feeling -- the only thing that she had ever wanted in such times -- was the company of others. To not be alone. For someone to hold her and calm her fears and tell her that she was alright. Yet at the same time, she realized that the people that she should have longed to turn to for comfort the most -- Lehko'a, Nabi, Batuhan, and even Anchor and Shael in their own strange way -- weren't the ones that she was wishing for now.

It was the man from last night, whose name nor face she could not remember and would most likely never see again. A man who knew nothing about her, who cared nothing about her, but because of that, one whose company it didn't pain her to share.

Her stomach rolled violently with sickness at the thought, and hurriedly the Xaela scrambled to disentangle herself from the sheets. Her head was pounding in protest as she rose to her feet, unsteady steps causing her to trip over discarded clothes and to bounce gracelessly off of the door frame as she all but ran for the bathroom. No sooner had she set her blurred, tear-stained sights on the wastebin did she collapse with a hard thump onto the floor in front of it, her whole body heaving with sickness as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

Monster, the voice that had been ever present in her head since her encounter with Otsuyu whispered from the recesses of her mind. Monster, it chanted as its voice grew louder and angrier and more insistent. M̸͓͐Ŏ̶͍̤̆N̶̛̙͝S̷̱͔̎̚Ṯ̴̡̋̋Ë̶͔̿ͅR̴͔̅, it all but shouted at her, now an eerie, distorted chorus of all the accusing voices of loved ones that always came to her in her nightmares.

Another heave came, and another, until there was nothing left but sour, burning bile left in the woman's stomach. She swiped the back of a shaking hand across her mouth as she leaned away from the waste bin. After a moment, drawing in a shaking breath, she all but crawled across the cold floor to the shower. Unsteady hands turned the knobs until water, almost scalding hot, began to spray from the nozzle. But she didn't seem to mind as she crawled inside, even as the heat caused her skin to flush red.

"What's wrong with me?" she wailed to no one but herself, curling into a ball on the tiles below. "What's wrong with me…?"

And though she stayed there, wracked with sobs, until the hot water had turned icy cold, no answer came.

Hey! Writing for the Malec prompt! Magnus gets hurt (by a Circle member) and Alec goes into his overprotective!mode and takes care of injured Magnus :))

you’ve got my heart on a chokehold  (read on ao3 here) 

or: the one where magnus and alec had so much to lose, and they never even knew it.

When Kylee was selecting random shadowhunters that Magnus neither knew or particularly cared for, it was just a matter of civil unrest for the High Warlock of Brooklyn to settle. But when news came of a certain redhead, stubborn girl almost getting raided by the wicked Seelie, Magnus knew the attacks were getting close to home. It was Clary stuck in the snare when Kylee attempted a slow and torturous murder but the first name that rang again and again in Magnus’ mind was Alec Alec Alec. It was too rapid, this turn of events. First, his soul is ripped out of his own flesh and then, he’s given an unasked for tour of his unwelcoming past and right at the brink of insanity, when Magnus isn’t sure he can take any more, the thought of Alec getting torn apart on a cold metal table is added to the list of nightmares Magnus’ conscience tries so hard to battle.

When Alec comes into the loft and Magnus worries, Alec says, “I’m with you, the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” As if that means something. Alec doesn’t know that Magnus hasn’t recently been feeling like the High Warlock of anything, let alone anything that radiates power or protection. A for effort though, Alec always tries. The conversation after took a horrible turn when Alec’s mouth chanted the Clave’s agenda and as livid as Magnus was with what had happened, when Raj from the New York Institute gave him word of Kylee’s next victim being a ‘tall, black-haired male’, Magnus’ nerves caught fire.

The nausea that hit him threatened to double him over and the floor under his feet crumbled. There was a boulder lodged in his windpipe and Magnus didn’t think he’d ever made a portal faster in his four hundred years. He wasn’t thinking clearly of the outline of the Institute because all he could hear was Get out, Alec replaying in his head over and over again and he stumbled in the same hallway of the building where Alec had first promised him their first date. Too soon, it was too soon, and Magnus could barely breathe, frantically looking for a way to enter the main hall but lost in the maze that was the chamber hallway. If there was anywhere he’d be if he was alive, it’d be there. Magnus’ mind strangely rocked and it occurred to him that no wonder Alec preferred sleeping over at Magnus’ - this place had no personality whatsoever. Heart sinking with every step, Magnus turned a step and found himself collide against a body and before he could throw a spell to get himself out of this situation, he heard, “Magnus? I’m so sor—“ in a voice that he thought he’s already started forgetting.

That night, they had the Talk. The Talk, as Alec humourlessly lamented, sounded very similar to the one his parents gave him, Isabelle and Jace about safe sexual practices. Magnus rolled his eyes. This one though was ironically given by Alec’s said sexual partner and it had nothing to do with sex. Magnus had asked Alec to come over that night, his feet still a little shaky and Alec calling out I’m home, Magnus was when Magnus finally breathed.

“What’s up?” Alec asked with a careless, genuine curiosity and not for the first time, Magnus was reminded of how he had so much to live for.

“’Til death do us apart,” Magnus smiled ruefully. Alec pulled that crooked smile.

“Are we getting married? This is a strange way of asking me, but I mean it’s a yes,” Alec laughed and Magnus thinks that Alec doesn’t know how much that twists his gut.

“No, Alexander. I’m just - I’m talking about what I almost thought happened today and I know we fought and I know you fixed it but you, Alec, I think you came into my life and suddenly I had too much to lose and", Magnus held this breath, like he was teetering on the edge of madness or disparity, “I just needed you to know that.”

(And it sounded too much like I love you.)

Alec stared, a little bewildered, a little heartbroken.

“I know,” he whispered, because suddenly it seemed inappropriate to raise his voice.

“I can’t lose you just yet, Alec, I can’t—“, and now Magnus had these tears interrupting his breathing and this was not the time but he was just so done of losing and being left behind and this was so unfair. Alec took Magnus’ hand and something in the terse angle of his jaw and the furrow between his eyes told Magnus that he wasn’t too ecstatic thinking of his own death either but foolish mortals, everything beautiful was only beautiful because it comes to an end. There were a lot of things Alec wanted to say, about how it tore at him that Magnus would one day forget him and that’s okay because Magnus of all people deserved to move on, deserved to not be left behind and really live but that didn’t mean it was any easier to swallow. Alec was thankful he never had to think about Magnus not living. He thought the weight of Magnus’ absence would bury him alive.

Magnus was walking home after a day out with a client, having only made the walk home because he was using it to talk to Alec on the phone, and he was to say, entirely annoyed when three black clad men with insane energy had him pinned to the wall with a seraph blade to his Adam’s apple. He was almost bored with the entire ordeal, wrist ready to flick his magic, until he caught sight of the red circles branded in their necks. And that’s when all went to hell. Magnus’ PTSD was bubbling to the surface and it choked his throat suddenly, rendering his hands numb and useless by his sides as images of Valentine and Alec flashed in his vision. Suddenly, the men in front of him weren’t just men with simple weapons, they were his father burning him and they were his mother with a blade jammed in her torso and they were Alec choking the breath out of him. He was ashamed, so ashamed of his inability to fight back that he was almost glad that Alec or anyone else weren’t here to witness this fall of Magnus Bane, High Warlock of nothing anymore. He heard one of the rogues sneer about adding his cat eyes to his collection of something and then Magnus fell.

See the thing about revenge is that it rarely ever happens in a straight line. The twisted thing about it (if the action itself is not cruel enough), is that innocent people are caught in snares with no fault, no foul, except for the mishap of unfortunate association. Valentine was in Clave custody but followers and enemies alike caught word like wildfire that Alexander Lightwood had attempted his execution and coincidentally, failed. Who better to bait this particular Lightwood boy with than the man who had switched souls or bodies, whichever you preferred, with the most wanted shadow hunter of the century. When Alec was tired fiddling with about all nineteen mugs in Magnus’ kitchen cabinet and exhausted himself with sitting around waiting for Magnus, something cold started to creep up his spine like the early frost of winter. It was all he needed really, when he called Isabelle and Catarina and anyone else Magnus would ditch Alec for, to strap on his gear and sprint out of the loft with nothing on but a pair of black jeans and a shirt that was too thin for fair comfort. He wasn’t hard to find, Alec went instinctively to the abandoned underground parking lot beside the dock where Valentine used to set sail. Alec didn’t know whether it was adrenaline or dread crawling up his throat but he was a soldier and he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t think that Magnus was — no he wasn’t, no he couldn’t be. Dying was only Alec’s birthright.

Arrows notched, Alec walked cautiously until he heard careless clanking and then suddenly there was a trail of blood down the wall and Magnus was sat on the floor, eyes shut and head tipped back. Magnus. Instead of running over to him like Alec imagined for the past hour that he would, Alec saw Magnus and his feet froze. He was dizzy and he felt a panic attack climbing up his heart and he couldn’t pass out right now but he knew he had lost it when the seraph blade named Gabriel clanked to the floor by his feet. The Circle members didn’t even look surprised, they were expecting him after all.

“Alec Lightwood,” he heard someone say, and Magnus couldn’t see him but he saw his hand twitch.

“Let him go.” Alec almost cringed because it sounded less like the Head of the Institute speaking and more like a helpless plea.

“Right,” one sneered. This wasn’t meant to be easy, Alec remembered. He’s trying very hard to stay in control, it just never occurred to him that there’d come a day where Alec would be standing upright and Magnus would be close to — leaving. It’s tragic, he thinks, and ironic too, that all this time they kept talking about Alec’s death and Alec leaving and Magnus being left behind that it never occurred to him that Magnus is immortal but not invincible. He is gold but he is not kevlar. It dawned to Alec for the first time as his throat burned with unshed tears and unsaid words that he could be the one left behind too. He thinks for the first time that being immortal is more a curse than a blessing because he’d give anything a million times than to even consider Magnus not breathing, Magnus not being, Magnus not living with him everyday.

What happened next was less skill and more insane rage and the next thing Alec knew, there were only 2 arrows left in his quiver, 7 of them being spent on the three lifeless forms on the ground. There was blood on his knuckles and his shirt was torn where a blade had cut his side but right now it was Magnus Magnus Magnus and Alec couldn’t breathe.

Alec eventually brought Magnus to the Institute, not giving a damn that no other than Nephilim were treated here. Catarina was called and Alec didn’t let go of Magnus’ hand once. When Magnus woke up, Alec’s head lay limp on his chest (a stubborn victim of sleep deprivation), his hand firmly planted in Magnus’, and Magnus felt nothing but raw emotion burning his chest that told him that Alec cared. Someone cared about Magnus Bane enough to hold on to him. Alec wanted to hold on to him. Alec finally woke up too and Magnus thought he’d never forget the waves of relief, then desire and then anguish wash over anyone’s eyes with such clarity as he did Alec’s.

“I never ever thought it’d be you. It was supposed to be, it was always supposed to be me —“

“My love,” Magnus smiled softly, “Don’t say that.”

But Alec was not convinced and all he could think was this was my fault, this is my doing and maybe he whispered some of it out loud because Magnus leaned forward and kissed him (and it hurt, yes, but the hurt in Alec’s eyes tugged more painfully at Magnus than his broken ribs ever would).