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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Note

Could you do Himbo king Riptide with the oxygen loss?

Yes

But first

Thank you for giving him the best possible nickname and bestowing upon him the GREATEST of all titles he is forever the Himbo King in my heart oh my GOSH.

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: You're Here!

Riptide

·Having often been dismissed or even mocked for his struggles understanding things that come so easy to others, he was relieved when you met him and were entirely accepting, turning his curiosity for earth to fondness for you in particular. For your part, you simply found his sweetness absolutely charming from the very beginning. While he also has a bit of a mischievous streak, that only contributed to the appeal, and the aquatic Autobot had you smitten fast. Now you're inseparable and everyone knows it. Today you're hanging out by the oil reservoir to chat, complete with some drinks to enjoy as you do so, though they're somewhat forgotten by the snuggle happy Riptide. Not being one for quiet contemplation doesn't stop him from enjoying mostly wordless cuddling sessions in the peaceful chamber.

·You're gaining a static charge thanks to his enthusiastic and cat like nuzzles against you, but you couldn't care less, especially because you know silent affection means he's quite content. A little kiss on his nasal crest earns you a growling purr, and when his optics meet your eyes you can see he's trying to think of something suave to say. The effort alone is sweet enough for you to willingly wait as long as he needs. Unfortunately, he doesn't get the opportunity to finish. There's a very mood ruining tremor that turns into a ground shaking quake, one that sends the reservoir turning over until a wave of oil is sent your way. Thankfully the bot you're dating is able to react on the spot, transforming into a boat and balancing you on his back until the ship grows still and the wave returns to the tank, at which point Riptide reverts to bipedal mode and holds you above the mess.

·Knowing that things aren't supposed to just tumble about, he tries to message someone for an explanation but finds he can't reach anyone. That immediately worries him, but not for his own sake. On instinct, he looks to your tiny form in his hands, knowing that any trouble will prove disastrous for your squishy self. Even if this is just a technical problem, you might get hurt, and he can't let that happen! He has to get you somewhere safe... The challenge of figuring out where is what's difficult, as the entire ship could be dangerous, and he's not accustomed to going away from potential trouble... You can see the panic growing on his face as you catch your breath, and a reassuring request to share the problem coaxes him into speaking.

·You listen diligently as he lays out the problem, his optics growing more worried as he explains the need to assist clashing with his priority to you, and admittedly the concern is touching. Had he been by himself, no doubt he'd have just fearlessly charged for the problem to help. Putting your own mind to the predicament, the possibility of a solution to all present issues becomes clear; the medical bay. No sooner have you posited the destination than he begins acting on it, cheerily praising the sense of it as he holds you close and starts moving. Despite being your proud protector, he doesn't mind leaving planning like this to you, as in fact it makes you and him a kind of dynamic duo. Now that the plan has been set, it's his job to be the muscle and keep you safe...

·There's a kind of comfort to be found in Riptide's arms, even with everything being so tense and quiet around the ship. Between his speed, strength and dedication, there's very little in the universe that could threaten you in his company. It makes you appreciate every moment being held so close to his warm frame. The big bot certainly notices you snuggling close in the silence, and he fights the urge to be talkative as he holds you closer, letting your small form settle naturally against his spark. Somehow he doesn't feel so on edge with you nearby. In fact, not much is scary at all with you in his life, and as an MTO he's spent a lot of time afraid. There's been so much fighting and death from the first day he awoke, and now he feels there can truly be something else for a change, even in moments like this.

·He knows enough about irony to realize that the ambush he walks right into is very ironic. Thankfully, he's honed his reflexes more than well enough to both dodge the first incoming hit and to move into a protective stance around you without hesitation. Outnumbered, he moves swiftly from the center of the circling aliens, each as big as he is but far slower. Shoulder checking one to facilitate an escape, he has just enough time to spot a little alcove a small distance ahead, and for your sake he makes an immediate decision. With a command for you to run, he releases you from his cupped palms and turns to fight off the attackers. All he can do is hope you understand and that he can fight off this many bad guys at once. Knowing that he has to, for both your sakes, doesn't help him as much as he thinks it should.

·Though you're more than a little rattled by the rush of action, you've learned enough in the past few months to recover from such things quickly, and the command for you to run is all you need to get moving. Loud sounds of combat fill your ears as you take off, but you don't stop. Cover is needed before you can check on your partner, instinct tells you. A shot from an energy weapon nearly takes away your hope of seeing him again when it hurls dangerously close. Heat singes your hair and makes you stumble, but you still manage to hobble behind a corner and into a human sized alcove. Only then, burned to a very uncomfortable but not dangerous degree, do you look back at Riptide. To your relief, he's managed to turn the tide of battle and is finishing off the last enemy with his bare hands, sharp dentae bared as he fights like a bot twice his size.

·From his own perspective, Riptide thought everything was a blur after he saw you stumble from a close encounter with blaster fire. Uncertain if you'd even gotten up, or what injuries you might have suffered, he'd gone into a rage assuming the very worst. The alien who'd taken the shot had been the first to go, their weapon crumbling in his servos to burn them with its acidic ammo, but pain hadn't been much of an obstacle in the face of worry. It had almost seemed like one blink of his optics had been all that passed between the start and end of the bloodshed. As soon as the last threat had been dealt with, his focus had shifted fearfully back to you, or at least where he'd last seen you. His spark almost sang to see you looking right back at him. Wincing from injuries he had been too preoccupied to feel before, he smiled through it all before kneeling to welcome you back to his arms in a careful embrace.

·Despite the burning afflicting your arms and face, bright pink blood was your first concern, especially that which dripped from a fist sized crater in his chest. Fussing over him without a care for yourself, you were lifted in a gentle hand as he tried to walk while reassuring you. Frankly, the discoloration to certain parts of your skin seems far more pressing a concern from his perspective, as he's never seen it look so flushed or give off so much heat. Suggesting that you take it easy the rest of the way to the medbay, he points out your still rapid breaths as a sign you need to relax. Even if he doesn't understand "breathing" he's seen it often enough to figure out you only speed it up when stressed. You find yourself surprised upon realizing you are indeed quite out of breath even now.

·Something lurches in his spark when he sees a disturbing slouch to your entire body, as if the adrenaline has finally faded and something awful is hitting you without its shield. Dizzy and quite exhausted, you lay yourself down in the palm holding you gently to try and regain some semblance of concentration, but find the allure of sleep to be growing by the second. Your brush with death must have taken a lot out of you... It's impossible to ignore how nice it is to relax and close your eyes. Even the pain of your injuries is so much more bearable when consciousness slips further away, and you suddenly can't think of many reasons to resist, even as your partner starts insistently asking why you want to sleep.

·Riptide goes right back to panicking as you start to power down in his arms no matter how he requests you stay awake. Tears start dotting his optics as the worst of possibilities run rampant through his mind, forcing him to run despite his own injuries to get you help before it's too late. What if you suffered some human injury he didn't know was possible during the fight? What if he couldn't get you to help in time? What if this was all his fault? Pleading for you to stay awake, he ignores the pain in his body as he continues to make himself run, half uncertain he's going the right way in his panic. Thinking borders on impossible with the hurt and grief warring inside of him. All he knows is that he can't lose you, and in the back of his processor a wicked bit of loathing taunts him for messing up in ways that a smart bot never would have.

·Limping into the medical bay, he brushes off immediate concern for his own injuries to hold you up and plead for somebot who knows how to fix you. The medics react quickly, having trained to treat humans with you on board, and First Aid informs him of a breakdown in the ship's atmospheric controls. Not understanding the finer details of the issue, he's nevertheless able to figure out you were in a kind of danger he wasn't even aware of. Seeing you be stabilized and bandaged makes him happy for only the shortest of moments. It hardly seems any of this could have happened if you had been with a bot who was smart enough to grasp these things. From the ambush to the delay just in getting you here, it isn't hard to conclude he's responsible for your suffering...

·Having not truly lost consciousness until the medics put you under to recover, you know where you are when wakefulness stirs your limbs, but that doesn't stop you from feeling a touch confused. Accustomed to waking in the presence of one particular bot, you stretch out your hand in a blind search for a familiar presence. A warm digit presses into your palm without delay. Opening your eyes to a beloved face partially obscured by an oxygen mask, you're relieved to see the injuries he endured protecting you have been patched up to the best of Autobot medical ability, leaving little more than a few bandages to mark their presence. However, the usually perky bot is looking absolutely distraught. Grey optics make it clear to you he's been crying. Without a pause, you ask him if he was hurt worse than initially thought, or if something terrible happened to someone else.

·At your concern he sheds more tears, both touched by your words and feeling wholly undeserving of their compassion. He can't help but say how all of your troubles are his fault, as anyone who was actually smart would have taken you here right away. They also would have been able to avoid walking right into an ambush, something only bots as slow as himself would do, because he's just so dumb. At his last word you grab his digit insistently, unable to stand up and stop such talk as you usually do when teasing gets to him. Hearing you say that such talk simply isn't true, that you adore him and he made the decisions that likely saved your life in addition to fighting off a team of aliens... Your words help, as they always do. Though he's still quite rattled at the idea of nearly losing you.

·Gesturing to his still healing wounds, you assure him that you're afraid as well, because there's a lot out there capable of hurting you both. But, together, you stand a chance. That gives him pleasant pause. Recalling how he'd compared the two of you to a kind of dynamic duo, he smiles and leans in to you as he does when seeking cuddles. Careful of your own bandages, you let him snuggle close and pet his crest just the way he likes, encouraging him to relax. Forming a protective wall around you, he's able to get some much needed rest alongside you, looking far more peaceful at the prospect of always having you beside him.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lostlight #lost light #ll #idw #tf #my writing #my asks #anon #requests #riptide #riptide x reader #HIMBO KING

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starwarsfic · 4 years

Text

Breathe In With Hunger

Originally posted September 13, 2020

Summary: Obi-Wan had spent his whole life keeping his species a secret, until the Clone Wars made that impossible.

Details: Sithspawn Stewjoni AU.

xxxxxx

Obi-Wan hadn't known what to expect from the clone medical staff--he'd seen how efficient the troopers were, he almost hoped that he'd be able to get in and out of medical without any fuss.

That, however, was not to be.

"General," the medic, who had finally introduced himself as Sleep, seemed baffled by something and Obi-Wan braced himself. "Your medical records require Council authorization."

"Ah."

His casual acknowledgement called more notice to them than he'd thought it would, the focused attention of so many similar people clawing at him in the Force.

It also didn't help Sleep's attitude and, from the bags under his eyes and the tell-tale sign of stim-caused tremors, Obi-Wan was beginning to understand the name was possibly an in-joke. "General, I can't treat you if I don't know even the basics about you. It's the entire file except your name and birth date! Even your gender is redacted!"

He shifted, glancing around them. Only clones.

Whatever that meant. As he still wasn't sure how he felt about Jango Fett creating a supposed army for the Republic.

Alpha-17 was there, shifting closer to them with his tell-tale scowl. Beyond him, a few other troopers lingered, ones that had been on the recent mission with them, back-up when no other Jedi, not even his Padawan, were available.

Thus, too, why Obi-Wan wasn't being seen by a Jedi healer who already knew about him.

They all felt safe. Alpha had certainly proven himself time and time again to Obi-Wan.

And if the war continued on as it was going, they would all find out sooner than later, regardless of how careful Obi-Wan was. Perhaps an early warning would garner him the troopers' help in hiding himself in plain sight.

"Do you know what a Stewjoni is?"

Sleep blinked at him, like a droid that had just rebooted, and then startled. "You...but...." His fingers flew across the datapad in his hand, most likely at whatever medical information he'd been able to collect from their own databases. "That would explain the copper levels," he finally allowed, seeming to fumble over his words.

Beside them, Alpha-17 let out a low string of curses in Mando'a, a few that even Obi-Wan didn't know. "That would have been good to know, General," he bit out the title, condescending. "Especially with how the Sith are always all over you."

"I apologize for the oversight, Alpha. It has never been necessary information for those who temporarily worked with me, before."

Obi-Wan needed the distraction from thinking about the Sith--the feel of them against his senses, the smooth Darkness that flowed out of them. His instincts were dulled by over three decades with the Jedi and still they were so, so hard to resist when he was injured and someone like Ventress was right there.

He still remembered the taste of the Sith on Naboo, his instincts tearing through him after watching the killing blow delivered to Qui-Gon, feeling their bond start to come undone. It had just been the slightest amount, enough that he'd come out of the encounter with not even a bruise, but it had made his food taste like ash for months after.

"What do I need to know, sir?" Sleep dragged his attention back from places he really shouldn't let it go.

With a sigh, he motioned for the datapad and reluctantly logged into his own medical profile, watching as two lines became a short lifetime of information. "This is full access, trooper. I expect you to be discreet."

Sleep nodded and, distracted as he was, barely said anything when Obi-Wan slipped from the room. It wasn't as though he had gone alone, Alpha-17 was at his back the whole walk to his own temporary bunk in Tipoca City.

"If you're looking for another apology, Alpha, I'm afraid one isn't coming."

That just earned him a snort, Alpha-17 closing the door behind him and standing in the private room like he was a common fixture and not a new oddity in Obi-Wan's life.

"Your blood was blue."

"Excuse me?"

"After Ohma D'un. I thought it was some trick of the weapon you'd been exposed to."

Obi-Wan licked his lips, glancing down at his wrists where carefully crafted tattoos gave the impression of near-human blood vessels under his light toned skin. "I have an implant," he said, finally, "that helps make my blood look red, or close enough. It had failed by the end." The added iron often made him feel sickly and he'd been almost glad that it wasn't working, with how much damage his body had taken.

"Do you need...accommodations?" When his answer was a raised eyebrow, Alpha-17 glowered and continued, "Like General Koon or General Fisto need. Environmental? Special rations?"

"Have I given any indication that I do?" Now it was Alpha-17's turn to give him a look. "It's not...you must understand, my people were manufactured. We're quite capable of living in very diverse environments and, when our preferred food is scarce, living off of nearly anything." He gave a wry grin. "Though, despite it all, I'll never be as fond of live insects as my Padawan is."

Alpha-17 grimaced, remembering a few particularly harsh campaigns where Anakin had become creative with additions to their GAR-issued rations. He remained silent for a few moments, clearly working through something serious, and Obi-Wan took the time to prepare some tea for them. The ritual of it, adopted from his own Master (who adopted it from Dooku, though Obi-Wan tried not to think of that), was comforting.

As much as he'd deny it, this was a nerve-wracking evening. The last time he'd revealed himself had been when he'd taken Anakin as his Padawan, needing the boy to understand the idiosyncrasies he might notice and the difference in emotions that would flow down their bond. Anakin had already been facing so many changes, and had such a unique perspective compared to the Core and Mid-Rim peoples that Obi-Wan normally encountered, that it had gone easily.

He wasn't sure how the clones would actually take the information, when they had time to process it. Obi-Wan was aware that how human he looked could often be unsettling to those who knew the truth. That his whole being could come across as a lie in itself.

"Are you holding back?" Alpha-17 asked into the silence, after Obi-Wan served him tea in a delicate cup, as if sensing his thought process.

"What do you mean?"

"During our fights. Are you holding back because you're...hiding."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard with one hand, the fingers of the other tapping against his cup. "I suppose, if you wanted to be fully accurate, I am. But it's not because I worried you would find out," he hurried to add, "it is because if I were to stop...it would be very difficult to come back from that."

"What does that mean? You would...go feral?"

He coughed out his sip of tea, trying not to laugh. "No, Force, what sort of odd fictions are you troopers reading?" Alpha-17 had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I could far more easily take on someone like Ventress or even Dooku himself if I used my...natural abilities. However, I do not know if I could stop myself from...feeding from their essences. Which in turn would kickstart a healing process in my body that could very well reverse all the very extensive, and expensive, surgeries I have had over the years and possibly get the Order in trouble for harboring such a dangerous creature as I."

"Right. Because...you don't really look like this."

"Is that a problem, trooper?"

Alpha-17 regarded him and Obi-Wan was confused by the weight of the hurt settling within him at the hesitation. "No, General. I can't say I'm not curious about what you'd really look like, but it's no problem from me." He scowled. "I'm not some longneck who is going to judge you for not being exactly what I was expecting."

***

Sleep died in an explosion four months later. Alpha-17 disappeared into Tipoca City to train ARC troopers after severe injuries towards the end of the first year of the war. The others who new were picked off here and there, the rate of survival for the troopers worryingly low.

Obi-Wan told the medics of the 212th, when he was finally assigned to them, but he did not tell anyone else. The longer he went without doing so, the less he felt like he could.

It was Ventress who told Cody, taking great delight in stroking the scars along Obi-Wan's exposed back as his vulnerable Commander struggled against his bonds. She had a thing for stripping clones that Obi-Wan didn't like, anymore than he liked how she kept chaining him up whenever she caught him.

"He's a pretty thing, isn't he?" she cooed at Cody, carding a hand through Obi-Wan's sweaty hair. "But...why? Isn't it odd, Commander, how he seems to be nearly everyone's type?" Her smirk was self-satisfied and Obi-Wan wanted to kick it off her face. "As if he were...made...to appeal to people, regardless of their species."

Cody just seemed confused, at least at first. What he might have said was lost behind the gag that Obi-Wan found himself more and more thankful for as Ventress continued, pointing out the marks of his surgeries. Where his spines down to their very base had been dug out, where his eyes had been capped over with lenses, where his ears had been cut down and reshaped.

When she stripped down his lower body and gave Cody a view, the anger and distress coming from the clone had sharpened into rage.

As soon as they were free, it was all Obi-Wan could do to keep Cody from beating Ventress to death with his bare hands. Which was...more flattering than he wanted to admit.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Commander," he said, as they settled into the command center of the ship they were now alone on and waited for their rescue.

Cody stared at him. "Sir, that's private information. As long as the medics knew, that's all that I would expect from you."

"Truly? You're not...unnerved?"

The answer was a shrug and what might have been the beginnings of a blush, Cody's shields once more impeccable enough that Obi-Wan couldn't actually tell his feelings in the Force. "I admit it...answered a few questions I had...but it's none of my business."

"Questions about my attractiveness?" he supplied, remembering Ventress using that as a starting point.

"You do, uh, seem to garner a lot of...cross-species interest, General."

Obi-Wan gave a gentle smile, an expression he'd practiced as a youth after noticing how the humans around him responded to it from others.

"My people weren't originally created by the Sith, like every other species of what are called 'Sithspawn' they took us and twisted us to their purposes. Sith Flesh Alchemy allows for otherwise incompatible species to breed, so that they can adopt attributes the Alchemists thought would be useful." His smile turned wry, an expression that felt more natural on his face these days. "I am attractive to so many species because I was genetically engineered to be so. The closest translation into Basic for 'Stewjoni' is 'Siren,' if you know any old Aldeeranian myths."

That got Cody's attention. "You had me read those. I thought it was just...entertainment."

"Ah, you've caught me, my dear. They're not accurate per se--as you can tell, my people no longer spend much time in the water--but they serve as warnings."

"You thought we needed a warning about you? Sir, we know you would never--"

He held up a hand, stopping whatever Cody was about to say. "When Sith are involved, Cody, when they've created you, in a way, you can never be fully trustworthy. There's always the chance that somehow, someway, they still have their grip on you."

His kind weren't prone to nightmares, but everyone he'd had since the war had started was the same--Dooku's shadowy Master finding a way to turn him on his people, on his troops, with little more than the properly worded phrase.

Cody watched him, sadness seeping out from his shields. "General...Obi-Wan...just because those demagolka changed your people somehow...that doesn't mean you're monsters."

"Not just monsters, perhaps."

***

Obi-Wan was not capable of hate, not in the way most species felt it. He knew what it was, knew what it felt like rubbing against him in the Force like a tamed tooka, what it tasted like flooding him as he sipped from a Sith opponent, but he didn't feel it.

If he could, he was almost certain that he would have fallen sometime between being shot at by his suddenly blank-feeling troopers, hearing from Yoda of how most of the Council had confronted Palpatine--Sidious, and having to watch the recording of Anakin slaughtering his way through the Temple.

"You went hunting a Sith without me?" the hiss in his words was the only sign of his emotional turmoil and he tightened his hands and tried to get himself together.

How many of his colleagues--his friends--would still be alive if they had waited?

“Important, it was, to strike quickly.” Yoda’s ears were tucked closely to his head, his shoulders slumped, but Obi-Wan had little sympathy. “The Will of the Force, to act.”

“To act without thinking, to rush headlong against a Sith powerful enough to hide from all of us,” he shot back.

Obi-Wan had known--had accepted--that a war against the Sith would mean exposing himself fully by the end. He’d even imagined that it might end up being against the hidden Sith Master, had looked into ways of reversing some of the procedures he’d gone through--at the very least for claws and teeth, and venom--and none of that mattered, apparently.

He didn’t think he could take Sidious by himself, not when the man would be prepared for attacks and surely knew what he was.

If they’d waited until Obi-Wan had returned, he could have given them the upperhand. “I sincerely doubt the ‘Will of the Force’ wanted the Jedi slaughtered,” he muttered, finally, starting off into the catacombs they hid in.

“Go to face Sidious, do you?”

“No, I’m going to find Anakin. There’s nothing we can do against Sidious, not right now.”

***

The first place he thought to look was with Padme. How many times had he and she played a game of pretending he didn’t know Anakin had spent the night there? How many times had he taken up the role of possible illicit paramore to draw attention from her closeness with Anakin?

She was near-panic, clouding the Force with her strong emotions, but she understood what they needed to do. If Anakin was caught in a torrent of the Darkside, they’d need to be very careful in talking him down.

“If we can’t reach him...will you kill him?” Her hands clutched her rounded belly, as though the children within could understand the conversation and needed comfort.

Obi-Wan took long breaths, staring down at Mustafar as the ship approached. The whole planet was rife with the Dark, making his instincts claw at the back of his mind. But it was Anakin he felt most strongly, the blazing sun of his Force present nothing but rage and fear, now.

“If we can’t reach him, that means it’s not Anakin anymore. We don’t know what Sidious did to him to get him to this point.” His hands clenched, imagining some of the stories his people shared of Sith crimes. “There might just...be nothing left of him.”

He was upsetting her, perhaps unnecessarily, but he needed her to know. Needed her to be prepared.

“Your children must be your priority, Padme. It’s what he would have thought, too.” They stared into each other’s eyes, her trying hard not to flinch away from him.

Outside, the volcanic air was harsh enough that Obi-Wan worried for her health--and Anakin's. The Force could do much, but if he wasn't careful, Anakin would ruin his lungs. He'd always been so reckless with his own body.

xxxxxx

A/N: This got a little too long to just be shoved in my drabble collection (where you'll find some other stuff using the same headcanons) so I decided to make it it's own work, even though I rewrote the ending like six times over the last few weeks.

This post has everything so far about my headcanon, but in short: Stewjoni were originally sentient predators that fed off of Force users in particular and when the fallen Jedi alchemists met up with the Sith and found out about them, they experimented on them and made them into basically Sith hunting pets.

The very original idea was because I really can't stand Stewjoni (considering it was a joke that Lucas refused to back down on) and "Stewjon is Space Scotland," and there's this Scottish legend called a "baobhan sith" that's like a siren.

Sleep is one of my clone OCs.

#character: obi wan kenobi #character: alpha 17 #ship: alpha 17 & obi wan #character: cody #ship: cody & obi wan #ship: anakin & obi wan #character: yoda #character: padme amidala #ship: padme & obi wan #theme: clone wars #theme: order 66 #theme: dark #verse: sithspawn stewjoni

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Note

"Come on! Another round!" and "God, we stink"

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

Thanks for the prompt, nonnie! I took this in a weird direction, I hope that’s okay!

warnings: mention of a vehicular accident & pain

Tony didn’t like to think about the accident. It was hard to imagine what his life was like before he crushed his right leg. All of the things he took for granted were now things he missed so very dearly – like walking without trouble to the kitchen or driving the many cars that sat waiting for him in his extensive garage. Getting onto that motorcycle was one of the stupidest things he could have done – but then again, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if he wasn’t an actual idiot.

Every time he thought about it, Tony got a little green around the gills. He’d been drinking whiskey neats all night, even he understood that consuming too much alcohol and trying to operate any machinery wasn’t a good idea. He’d almost cut his hand off too many times to be perfectly aware of that. Despite that, he got onto the bike, anyway. There’d been a man in the cluster of people at the party that he wanted to impress. It didn’t matter that being a dumbass wasn’t sexy, his brain was addled, and he was running on instinct.

In the end, it was probably lucky that he was alive. The tech he built into his watch picked up on his body’s distress and got an ambulance to his location as quickly as the public medical transportation possibly could. There’d been a lot of black time for Tony, so he didn’t remember much of anything other than waking up in pain every now and again. While taking a dive into the concrete, he landed heavily on his right leg and did some pretty terrible damage to it. Torn ligaments, fractured bones, and nerve damage waited for him when he finally came to.

Three surgeries and a lot of pain medication later, Tony was finally able to get back into the bedroom in his own home. It didn’t take long for Pepper to demand he let her hire an in-home professional, the doctor’s orders of getting up and moving still fresh in both of their minds. Although they weren’t a couple any longer, she still took care of him when she could. The need to mother him would never go away – Pepper spent too much time doing day to day things for him to simply drop that because they weren’t romantically inclined.

The very next day, Tony was woken by a soft voice – his eyes blinking a couple of times before he saw the figure in the door. “Sorry to wake you, Mr. Stark. Your door just opened automatically when I walked up to it. Which was wicked, by the way.” Tony sat up a little, the last comment almost getting a smile to pull at his cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s Jarvis. Say hi, buddy.” Tony said, his voice still pretty scraggly from the depth of sleep he’d been in.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark – Mr. Parker.” Jarvis responded promptly, the voice never ceasing to bring a warmth to Tony’s gut. He missed the human Jarvis very much – the imitation of him was almost good enough.

“Mr. Parker, huh. Do you have a first name?” Tony finally let himself smile, his eyes taking in the little smirk on the brunette’s face. Now that he was awake more, Tony could see brown eyes, red cheeks, and plump lips. The man couldn’t be any older than 25, his youth still sitting like a beacon in his features and stature.

Watching the boy smile was enough to make him want to actually get out of bed – the thought making him cringe a little. It felt nice to be motivated, but he knew the second that he started to move, all of the pain would come flooding back. “I’m Peter, sir. Everyone usually just calls me Pete, though.” He let a hand run down the doorframe a little, the man obviously used to the constant pace of moving around all day.

“Okay, Pete. What kind of torture do you have in store for me? And can I get some water on my face before this fun begins?” Tony asked the questions with as much sass and sarcasm as he could pack into them – the tone enough to pull another smile out of Peter.

And so, it began. At first, it was hard just to get out of bed and into the bathroom. Every morning, Peter would wake him up, sometimes earlier than he was used to, and help him up and off the mattress. He wasn’t supposed to put too much weight on the leg – but even the littlest of movements was complicated with a limb that didn’t understand what movement was in its injured state.

Slowly, Tony started to gain a little bit of strength back. Once the bog of the pain medication slipped away, he was better able to get his feet under him. His brain was one of his biggest assets and he used it to his advantage. He’d always been an overachiever and he didn’t let the fact that his leg was physically unable to do some of the things he was demanding from it stop him from trying.

All the while, Peter stood by him and helped him through all of the shitty days that made him want to slam the crutches down and give up completely. One such day, Tony fell to the floor in defeat – his leg throbbing and his mind totally fed up with the pep talks and chanted words. That day, he couldn’t do it – he didn’t want to push past the pain.

Peter crouched down before him, Tony rolling his eyes with jealousy at the younger man’s movements and the ease in which he could perform them. “That it? Giving up, Mr. Stark?” Peter questioned bluntly; his eyes boring into Tony’s.

Blinking, Tony wanted to use his nonexistent strength to kick the kid in the face – the smugness of his words probably funny any other time, but not today. “Fuck you, Pete. My leg hurts,” Tony mumbled, the words lacking the heat he wanted them to have. He clenched his right hand, the tremor in it only coming around when he let himself lose control. Fuck it all, he thought.

The other man wasn’t deterred – Tony’s words bounced off of him like he didn’t even hear them. Offering up a hand, Peter helped him to his feet. “Come on. Another round. I’ll help you.” Peter’s voice was gentle this time, the joking atmosphere gone with the snap of Tony’s words. “Take one of the crutches and hold onto my arm with the other hand – we’ll transfer some of the weight to me and still get the reps done.”

Tony grit his teeth and leaned heavily into Peter’s side – his body trying to rebel against him. Taking in a deep breath, Tony got himself under control and focused on the sound of Peter’s shoe hitting the floor and the transfer of his weight from the good leg over to the bad. They did another couple of lengths before Peter guided him into a chair – Tony reluctant to let go of Peter’s arm.

With all of the time they’d been spending together, Tony found himself drawn to the other man. When they weren’t doing laps of his hallway or working with some of the equipment Peter brought with him, they sat around and talked. Tony hadn’t been this idle in his entire life and it was nice to get some stimulation outside of the shitty thoughts in his head. He came to rely on the other’s presence, not just because of the way he was healing his body, either.

A bottle of water was thrust into his hand, Peter taking the seat across from him a couple of moments later. “Thanks, Pete. Sorry, y’know – about what I said. I didn’t mean that. You’re great – I’m just a grumpy old man.” Tony muttered his apology, the man covering it up a little by lifting the water bottle to his mouth, the cooling slug of water a nice way to douse the flame starting to climb within him.

“It’s okay. I don’t take any of the stuff you say when you’re in a pain cycle to heart. I get it. I’ve never experienced your level of pain, so I can only imagine what a punk like me pushing you more than you want to be pushed might feel like. You’re good, Tony,” Peter answered, his hand reaching across the space between them to squeeze Tony’s shoulder.

Something changed in Tony that day. He stopped trying to push himself and just went with what his body wanted from him. When he could, he went – and when he couldn’t, he didn’t. Peter was very good at his job and had lots of alternatives to replace the walking during the times when Tony knew he wasn’t going to be able to get up, let alone walk around.

Little by little, Tony finally started to feel better. All of his pins were out, all of his stitches were healed, and he was actually able to put his entire body weight on both of his legs. When Peter asked him to go for laps, he did them with the slightest limp, a smile on his face every time his steps got a little straighter.

One day about eight months after the accident, Peter tossed his shoes at him, a happy look on his face. “We’re taking it outside today. Put those on and grab your cane – I want you to have it just in case,” Peter spoke with such clarity, Tony could do nothing but comply. His stomach felt like it was in knots, he hadn’t been outside of his apartment in a long time – he couldn’t bear to be unable to do things on his own, so he locked himself away.

Standing out in the warm sunshine, Tony let all of his worries disappear – the air was crisp and Peter’s hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it shine like a halo on top of his head. His silly crush evolved the longer they were in each other’s presence – the vision in front of him felt just as exciting as the prospect of being outside and actually moving around. Peter offered up his arm for Tony to slip his own through and started a leisurely pace.

It took a lot more effort than he figured it would, but they made it a couple of blocks down the road and back. He felt like he might die from the effort – his brow completely soaked, the clothes on his back sticking to him from the wetness. On the other hand, it was nice, to be out and about – to be able to walk when not that long ago, the prospect of it wasn’t very likely.

They got back up to the apartment, Peter helping him a lot more than he did when they left the apartment. By the time they got back up to the penthouse, they were both sweating profusely – Peter could only do so much with the slackness of Tony’s body the last 200 meters of ground they needed to cover. “God! We stink!” he panted out when they crashed against the couch in a heap. The other man leaned into the cushion and closed his eyes, his face scrunching with a laugh.

“Yeah, well – you’re not light by any means. And it’s hot as hell outside. I didn’t know New York got this warm,” Peter replied, his hands running through the curls on his head, sweat brushing from the ends of his hair and down his neck, some of it flinging into the air. “I’m proud of you, though. I can’t believe you’ve come as far as you have.” He smiled then, the look on his face genuine.

Without much thought, Tony narrowed the gap between them. He left the slightest bit of room for Peter to close the final bit of distance, Tony unwilling to ruin their professional relationship if Peter wasn’t in the same head space. “Means a lot, Pete. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Tony tilted his face a bit, the brush of Peter’s breath against his face making him want to move in and take what he’d been wanting for a while now.

A soft hand cupped his cheek, Peter’s nose brushing against his own. Tony held his breath, the seconds between the touch of Peter’s hand and the softness of his lips on his own made his heart hammer against his chest – the anticipation of it making him feel like a kid again. He let out a muffled breath against Peter’s lips and pressed into the contact. The immediate feeling of rightness pulled him closer and before either knew it, they were sucking face on the couch – their sweat and body heat tangling together in the excitement.

Peter pulled back first – a groan leaving his lip. “You’ve been the most frustrating client I’ve ever had – and none of it has been because of your leg,” Peter admitted. Tony laughed at the comment, his lips pressing against Peter’s again briefly.

“Yeah, well – I’m a pain in the ass.” Tony shrugged his shoulders, a shit eating grin on his face.

Peter patted his cheek, the smack of it sounding around the room. “Oh, I know. I can’t wait to see what else you’re going to throw my way.”

#starker #ironspider #ask prompts #bobbie writes #do the thing #au prompts #all the aus #anonymous #nonnie

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vindogy · 4 years

Note

happy prompt: everybody lived, they' re all roommates, it's several years in, everybody's generally worked out their interpersonal issues ( alex included ) , and they all go together to a rowdy screening of a classic bad movie

Everyone is here!!!

Also the obvious choice for the bad movie is The Room but I feel like that’s been beaten to death by now so I’ll do a more niche one

“We could be doing a million other things with our time that are more productive than this.”

Tim stood in an authoritative pose, resting his hands on his hips as he gave the three behind him a disapproving look. Brian instantly grew a wide grin, letting Tim know preemptively that a cheesy quip was coming his way.

“Well Timmy, if you’re up for filing taxes or doing calculus problems, be my guest!”

Jay smiled as well, much to Tim’s disapproval. The group was at a local cinema, getting ready to watch a movie for the first time in years. Though Tim was happy to finally do normal friend group things, he wasn’t content with the movie choice everyone had agreed on. He turned around and stared the person in the booth with absolute contempt. The ticket salesperson awkwardly looked away, hoping that Tim would just get the tickets and leave already. Unfortunately, Tim wasn’t quite ready to let this slide.

“What is everyone else doing?”

Alex piped up, his voice still somewhat lacking the warmth it had all those years ago, but still friendly enough to show Tim that he was truly back to normal.

“Well, Amy’s studying for her finals, Jessica’s doing some shopping down at the strip mall, Seth’s at therapy, and Sarah is… doing Sarah things.”

Tim sighed, slowly realizing that he had no choice but to go through with this movie.

“Sorry Tim, but everyone is go- busy. Everyone is busy.”

Alex blanked out for a second, a look of worry spreading across his face.

“Everyone is busy. That’s what I meant to say. Everyone is busy.”

Alex shuddered as his spaced out expression turned into one of extreme worry. Luckily, Jay had sensed that Alex was beginning to panic.

“It’s alright Alex. Don’t worry, we’re all okay now. C’mon, let’s get some popcorn.”

Jay guided Alex to the concession stand, rubbing his back and reassuring him all the way there. Tim was concerned. He knew it wouldn’t be easy going back to normal after what they’ve all been through, but it still pained him to see reminders of it everywhere he went. He was sure everyone else felt the same. That fateful day was as clear as ever to him. He was so sure that everyone had died, and that all that was left to do was killing Alex.

The final confrontation was horrifying to say the least, and it was immortalized forever by the camera that recorded it all. Right when Alex had him in a choke hold and Tim felt that all hope was lost, a sudden intruder came in and took Alex by surprise. Standing tall, blood dripping from his scalp, and a bloody grin across his face, was Brian. Somehow, he had survived the fall and managed to escape The Operator’s dimension while it was distracted in the fight. Standing behind him was Jessica, who had Jay cradled in her arms. He was pale and unconscious, but still breathing. With Brian’s help, Tim managed to incapacitate Alex and tie him up. The group went to the hospital immediately after, all admitted into emergency care. Alex was still violent and lashing out, and had to be admitted into a psych ward. But to Tim’s absolute shock, the friends he was so sure were gone had all survived. Brian and Jay were hospitalized for their injuries, while Jessica, Tim, and Alex were all admitted to therapy. Brian, however, kept telling the doctors that “there are still more survivors”. By some miracle, Brian had found everyone trapped within The Operator’s dimension, and had pulled out every single one. Seth, Amy, and Sarah were all found alive with severe injuries, but alive nonetheless. Everyone was nursed back to health and admitted to therapy, with Tim recommending that they all take the same medication he did. It was an absolute miracle. After that, The Operator never bothered them again, presumably because it had lost all of it’s victims that it spent so long trying to get. Tim never knew what happened after that. Maybe it was off harassing some poor dudes in New Jersey, or maybe it died. He hoped for the latter.

It took one month for Alex to recover. The nurses stated that one day during a violent episode, he dropped to the floor and began crying heavily. He asked if his friends were alive, begging to see them. When he was eventually let out, he gathered everyone and spent an entire day begging for forgiveness and apologizing for what he had done. He especially apologized to Tim for all the torment he was put through. Tim remembered hugging Alex as he cried into his chest, tearing up as well. Not tears of sorrow, though. Tears of relief. From then on, everyone had decided to stay close and live life as best they could. Their relationships were unbreakable because it was forged in hell.

“Hey, Tim-Tam! Wake up!”

Tim looked up, grunting as he was broken from his daydreaming. Brian grabbed his shoulders and shook him around, causing Tim to fully snap out of it, much to his annoyance. He grabbed Brian’s arms firmly and raised them above his head.

“I’m awake. And I told you not to call me that!”

Brian smirked, Tim already knowing exactly what was coming next.

“Whatever you say, Tim-Tam!”

Tim squinted at Brian, before putting on a grin of his own. Without a word, he effortlessly hoisted Brian onto his shoulder. Brian squirmed around, surprised at Tim’s show of strength.

“Alright, alright! Enough with the gun show, tough guy! Movie starts soon!”

Tim obliged, but didn’t put Brian down. He walked over to the counter, Brian still over his shoulder, and placed a twenty dollar bill down.

“Four tickets to Tremors.”

The salesperson hastily gave him the tickets, somewhat intimidated by the fact that he was effortlessly carrying a grown man taller than him over his shoulder.

“E-enjoy the move sir!”

Tim gave him a polite smile before taking the tickets and finally heading towards the cinema. Brian struggled to escape, but Tim had a firm grasp on him. After all, he had quite a but of experience with this.

“C’mon Tim-Tam! How’re you gonna eat popcorn like this?”

Tim continued walking, taking amusement at Brian’s attempts to escape. Jay and Alex immediately took notice when Tim approached. Alex took the chance to make a joke.

“Hey Tim you uh, got a lil something on your shoulder.”

Tim smiled and gave Brian a pat on his butt.

“Yep. He’s little alright.”

“Wh- I’m taller than you???”

Tim let out a laugh at Brian’s response. There was still some time before the movie, which meant more time to mess around. Jay had the same idea. He had gone behind Tim and was feeding Brian popcorn. Tim took notice and turned around. Jay smiled and attempted to feed Tim as well.

“Hey Alex! Come over here for a sec.”

Alex listened and went beside Jay.

“Take his popcorn.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at the strange suggestion, but did so anyway. Jay pouted as he reached to get it back. Perfect. He was distracted. Jay was taken by surprise as he too was hoisted onto Tim’s shoulder. He yelped and attempted to struggle. Alex stood wide eyed at Tim’s amazing yet unnecessary show of strength. A few bystanders stared as well, much to Brian and Jay’s embarrassment.

“Alright tough guy, you made your point. Can you put me down now?”

Tim smiled as he shook his head.

“Nah. I think you guys need some assistance getting to the theater anyways.”

Tim walked towards their theater, not slowed down at all despite carrying two taller men. Alex followed close behind, struggling to carry a few buckets of popcorn and drinks.

People continued to stare as Tim walked into the theater, Brian and Jay still held firmly in his arms. Finally finding a good place to sit, Tim finally let go. The two dropped onto their seats and looked up at Tim. He made an exaggerated show of flexing his biceps at them, before sitting in between them. He draped his arms over the both of them and pulled them in for a hug.

“Alright you little bastards. You wanted this, so you better stay for the entire screening.”

Alex clumsily made his way towards the group, a few kernels dropping from the bucket. Right when everyone thought he would drop it all, he sat himself down, securing every bucket and drink firmly. Brian gave a slow clap, mildly impressed at Alex’s balance.

“Good job buddy. Pass some of that here, will ya?”

Alex handed a bucket over to Brian. He turned over to Tim, shoveling a few handfuls of popcorn into his mouth.

“Hey, Tim-Tam. Take a look around. Y’know what I see? No people!”

Tim turned around. There was nobody else in the theater besides them.

“That’s cool, but what did I say about calling me that?”

Before Tim could react, a handful of popcorn was launched into his face. Wiping it off, he glared at the attacker. Brian was now perched on a seat a few rows away, smug grin on his face and a bucket of popcorn in his arm.

“What you gonna do about it, tough guy?”

Tim sighed as he rolled up his sleeves and stepped over the seats.

“Alright. You wanna play this game, so be it.”

Brian scrambled away as Tim narrowly missed his leg. Another handful of popcorn was thrown his way. Thank god it wasn’t buttered. Tim grunted as he got down on all fours and rushed towards Brian. Brian yelped at the sudden change and ran up even more rows. From below, Jay and Alex were watching the whole thing go down.

“Should we stop them?”

Alex nervously looked at Jay. Jay shook his head and smiled.

“Nah. This is way better than the movie.”

The two ate their popcorn as they watch Brian and Tim play cat and mouse in the large theater. Tim had a hard time grabbing Brian, but if he did, it would be over. Brian was doing a great job pelting Tim with popcorn, but was beginning to run out. He called out to Alex once more.

“Throw me another one!”

Alex paused, then fumbled as he winded his arm back, ready to toss the bucket over. Unfortunately, he never was much of a pitcher. The bucket flew across the air and smacked Brian straight in the face. That one mistake was all Tim needed. Alex winced as he witnessed Tim body slam Brian onto the floor. Before he could ask if they were okay, Tim spoke up.

“Gotcha! Look who’s little now!”

Brian squirmed under his grasp, but was once again unable to escape. He stared up at Tim, who was panting from the sudden physical activity. The two locked eyes, staring at each other for a few moments. Brian finally responded.

“Well, it’s still you.”

Tim frowned and tightened his grip. He stooped closer to Brian’s face.

“I’ll give you one more chance. Take it back or I’ll make you suffer.”

Brian was mildly concerned, but his need to a smug bastard overshadowed any worries he had.

“No.”

Tim sat up and began rolling up his sleeves even higher.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

Jay and Alex heard a sudden scream from Brian. They rushed over as he continued yelling, Alex especially concerned, fearing that an old foe might’ve returned.

“No! Stop! Get off!”

His worried immediately melted away once he heard Brian laughing. Tim had Brian pinned under him and was tickling him, refusing to let him go. Brian gasped as he reached out to Jay, his face red from laughter.

“Jay! You gotta help!”

His pleas were drowned out by more laughter as Tim went for his ribs. Jay decided to instead sit down and continue eating popcorn.

“Sorry man. You got overpowered by Tim-Tam. Now you gotta face the consequences.”

Tim immediately stopped. He turned his gaze to Jay.

“What did you just call me?”

Jay immediately ran away. Tim leapt off of Brian as he began running after Jay. Alex walked over to Brian, who was panting heavily and clutching his stomach, still letting out a few giggles.

“You alright Brian?”

Brian wheezed as he composed himself, his face still red.

“Yeah I’m good. But c’mon! Jay’s next! I can’t miss this!”

A loud laughter from the other side of the theater signaled that Jay didn’t last long. The two immediately ran over. The movie continued playing in the background, completely ignored by everyone. There were much more entertaining things going on. As Tim sat over Jay, smiling as he laughed under him, he felt happiness spread within him. It was good to have a friend group again.

#Anonymous #asks #mine #marble hornets #long post #ok i couldnt resist having some sadness but #the rest is fun #:)

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alvaar-aldaviir · 4 years

Text

Wondrous Tails: First “I Love You” (replacement) / Bandaging Wounds

("First "I Love You"" is a replacement for "Going on a Cruise")

Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers(?)), Minimal Spoilers for 5.0 end. Notes got long so they are under the cut.

Notes:

I continue to refer to Alphinaud as a Scholar instead of Academician for no reason but laziness and bad habits.

I understand the ‘time bubble’ issue of MMO’s, but for writing I subscribe to time actually passing between expansions. I don’t keep a hard and fast rule, but sort of lean toward roughly 1 year per expansion if not longer. Otherwise everyone would be mired under so much PTSD I don’t know how the Scions would get anything done, and please let my WoL breathe?

Somehow, someway, Alvaar has gotten the better of me and it’s eventual committed relationship polygamy with the Leveilleurs up in here. After actual months of telling myself no, I give up. If you hate that, pass on my stuff and have a great day.

Just for posterity, there will never be twincest. I don’t have a personal stance on people’s fiction about fictional people, but it just doesn’t make sense for the twins to me.

The first time Alphinaud hears Alvaar utter those words, he’s seventeen. Seventeen and full of fire and determination to help right the wrongs of a thousand-year war and maybe redeem some of his own foolishness.

Seventeen and half scandalized to catch his Warrior of Light buried against Lord Haurchefant’s chest before they readied to infiltrate the Vault after Ser Aymeric.

It wasn’t as if he’d gone looking of course. Such things would have been kept a better secret behind a closed door and not front and center to whomever strolled into House Fortemps expecting an audience. But romantic subtly wasn’t... exactly Lord Haurchefant’s forte and neither was it Alvaar’s. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known when it was the talk of Camp Dragonhead and the house servants anyway.

But it is perhaps the first time the Arcanist had seen any hint of the word “love” meaning something beyond dutifully repeated and expected phrases. Spoken as if it’s some personal secret, or more of a promise than just a response. Something alive and wild instead of the light and flippant ways he’d heard it used in Sharlayan and among nobility.

There’s a weight to those words that’s like aether humming in an incantation.

It means something when Alvaar says it and the Lord’s sharp features soften as he nuzzles into blond hair, and it means even more when Haurchefant answers in kind and some of the tension in the Bard’s shoulders ease. There’s a thousand words held in that phrase, like pages and pages of information distilled in a single line of arcane shorthand. History condensed into a lone footnote.

He never had to ask why Alvaar’s wails of pain as he’d held his dead lover mere hours later sounded like a heart breaking in two.

The next time he hears them, it’s not quite the same.

He’s twenty (or was it twenty-one?) and farther from home than he’d ever dreamed. Fresh from facing off against Emet-Selch as they’d fought to save the First from destruction. Twenty and exhausted and content to doze quietly in the newly returned night alongside the beds two other occupants, arms draped over Alisaie and Alvaar both. He remembers feeling Alvaar’s knuckles brush his cheek, tiredly meeting the Bard’s gaze in the dark and hearing those words again.

They don’t mean the same thing, but it doesn’t overly bother him after the torture Alvaar had endured for the worlds. After the last several months Alphinaud had spent fighting sin eaters, stubborn short-term mindsets, and bitter loneliness in Kholusia.

Being called family, being called ‘home’ had only echoed what he’d felt too. The Scions, his Sister, and Alvaar, were what felt most like home. Not a large but empty feeling manor back in Sharlayan, cut off and indifferent to the world.

It’s a different kind of love but it doesn’t mean any less nor is it remotely insincere.

And even if there’s a faint disappointment in his heart he would never admit to, it’s fine. More than anything he’s simply happy that they’re still together. Still alive. Still able to fight and produce another miracle for the people of the First and the Source.

He’s twenty-two and he knows Alvaar loves him deeply. He’s said it in every other conceivable way. Let poetry and sweet words fall from his lips or sent the meaning across in those brushes of familiar contact. Had the feeling burned into his body and mind more times than he could ever hope to keep track of...

But Alvaar hadn’t ever said it.

It’s silly and he knows it. He has no reason to doubt Alvaar and truly he knows the way the Bard feels for him isn’t anything less than his previous lover. That there was room enough in that gentle heart for all three of them. Jealousy is a terrible thing after all, so he convinces himself it doesn’t matter. Comforts himself and chides Alisaie gently when she inquires on it herself. Alvaar had been through a great deal of hardship and pain. And as they both didn’t doubt the depth nor truth of his feelings, the specific words should hardly matter.

He’s twenty-three, and when Alvaar finally says them he barely notices. There’s too much blood, and Alvaar’s laugh is too weak and lilting from it. His mind is too busy on spells and incantations to register it as he works quickly.

Alvaar is fine. He’s always fine. He comes back beaten and bloody and smiling and laughing and visibly delights in being doted upon and taken care of. A routine scouting of the border wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near as deadly as the hopeless situations he’d been sent into before. He’s fine.

The Scholar is internally utterly terrified of course, but he knows from too much firsthand knowledge that there’s no room for panic as a healer. If he panicked, things would quickly turn into ‘not fine’ and neither of them had time for that.

So for right now, spells and aether humming in his veins, it’s fine.

“Did you get a haircut recently?” Alvaar asks, letting Alphinaud clean, tape, and bandage his wounds. Magic had healed the critical damage and stopped the bleeding, but it would take time to heal the rest and a few more applications of white magic tomorrow. Cleaning and bandaging would ensure a smoother transition through the process, so it’s a step he takes anyway, perched on the edge of the medical bed while the Bard sits propped up against pillows.

“You should be taking this more seriously,” the Scholar returns flatly, pushing Alvaar’s hand away from his hair gently so he can keep working.

“I am. But I’m just so... very happy,” Alvaar murmured, a smile stretching across his exhausted face. “I made it back this time, I’m here, and you’re here, and it will work this time.”

It’s said with such offhanded confidence it makes the Scholar blink. “What? Alvaar you’re delirious, stay still.”

A hum of agreement rings in the Bards throat as he nods. “Okay. Let me know when you’re done and listening. He said I didn’t say it enough... That when I made it back to be sure to tell you something.”

He wants to pay more attention to Alvaar’s curious words but there would be time for it later. Though he was comfortably stabilized and would no doubt make a full recovery in a matter of days with the Warrior of Light’s sometimes obnoxious recovery speed, it’s never something he likes to leave to chance. If he overlooked something now, it could be disastrous later.

“He?” The inquiry slides off his tongue in a distracted manner, during which his moonstone carbuncle chirps with interest where it’s bedded down along Alvaar’s legs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alvaar replies, glossing over it as his attention shifts back to the carbuncle eyeing him expectantly. “Can I have my hand back now?”

Another deft turn of the roll of bandages, a swift snip of the medical shears, and a tidy tie off had him releasing Alvaar’s arm with a nod. “Sure. Other arm if you would.”

Swapping obediently, Alvaar quickly settled his freed hand into plush white fur, grinning brightly. “Hey Carbi... I missed you too,” he cooed, chuckling at the fond chirp and purr he got in answer. “You’re the best summon ever aren’t you?”

Snorting under his breath, Alphinaud keeps at his work until he’s finished, letting his summon keep up its job of distracting Alvaar’s focus from pawing at him so he can work in peace. Alvaar was always a good patient, but woozy with blood loss he sometimes got sillier than was helpful. It made his moonstone carbuncle an utter lifesaver, and there were few helpers he would rather have working beside him. Though he had long developed more potent summons, Alvaar’s preference and the sheer number of revisions and intricacies of its design had left moonstone as one of his masterpieces. The patient bedside manner and attentive nature had made it a nursemaid second to none, and given the way it was currently cozied into Alvaar’s side and subtly keeping him quiet and still as it soaked up affection like a sponge, it remained a staple of his repertoire for good reason.

Inspecting the last of his work, he gives a satisfied nod before starting to pack things away. After almost seven years of chasing Alvaar’s shadow and tending to his wounds, his first aid is as neat and tidy as an experienced chirurgeon. A far cry from his fumbled and panicked work the Bard had coached him through with grit teeth in Coerthas. It’s only once he sets the supplies back on the shelves that he finally gives himself leave to think about anything but healing.

He’s seated back at Alvaar’s side before he realizes he’s made the steps, a bandaged hand curling warm at his jaw and pulling him closer until they bump foreheads together. It’s a movement that he’s long used to, a familiar gesture that helps to quiet the panic that had boiled over in his chest if not the emotion that threatens its place.

“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from frightening me like that again,” Alphinaud murmured softly, a faint tremor in his voice but refusing to cry. Alvaar was fine! There wasn’t any reason to overreact!

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Was the best I could manage,” Alvaar replied in the stilted way he picked up when he was exhausted. Given how much harder he was leaning into the Scholar, none of it surprised him.

Making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat he leaned the faintest bit back into the Warrior of Light, soaking up the steady warmth that wicked off him and the silent reassurance he was still there. “Just... be more careful next time. For now you should focus on healing.”

“Thank you for saving me Alphi,” Alvaar whispered with a heartfelt gratitude.

It was enough to make the Scholar flush. “I... Any other healer would have done the same.”

“Maybe. But any other healer wouldn’t be worth me dragging myself back to. Sides, Alisaie was too far,” he joked fondly.

Alphinaud tutted under his breath, pulling back to grip Alvaar’s face in his hands and press a featherlight kiss to his brow before burying his nose into soft golden strands. “Jokes aside, thank you for coming back. If scaring me half to death means that you’ll pull through, then I would take that burden every time.”

There’s something about the way Alvaar relaxes into him, the faint breath of a sigh before tension eases out of his neck and jaw, that has always meant the world to him. It was too many emotions to articulate clearly, but it always made his heart feel warm. Reminded him that even if he wasn’t able to command the same fear and awe as the Warrior of Light, to be a brilliant blade that cut through the dark and evil that threatened them, the rallying cry that brought their forces to victory, what he could do was no less important.

All great hero’s needed a home to return to, else they would eventually feel they had nothing left to fight for.

“Alphi?”

“Yes Alvaar?”

Pulling back enough to regard him a moment with scrutiny, the Bard leaned in with a purposeful ease, lips brushing against his chastely for a moment before murmuring something against his skin.

This time he heard them. Felt their movement and the warmth of them against his lips and burning against his skin. Poetry and promise and providence all in one.

“I love you.”

It was no big deal. It was a sentiment he’d always known from 1,001 things Alvaar did all the time. Something he had long convinced himself didn’t matter. A phrase used over and over until it’s meaning was practically lost.

But oh.

Oh...

How those words shook him to the depths of his soul and cut him in two regardless.

He’s twenty-one again for just a moment. Full of questions and a heart fuller still with longing, listening to Alvaar speak of love he’d known with that easy and sincere air of his. Brutally honest as ever.

Love was ruinous. Love would destroy you in ways you didn’t think were possible. Love was thirst and hunger. And all your days, when you’d known the taste of true love, of something that clutched past your heart and into your soul, you would always want for more of it.

In the present with his face buried against Alvaar’s shoulder, tears welling over and soaking into clean white bandages, he feels like a beast half starved.

“I would really like it if you stayed,” Alvaar murmurs, still running his fingers along the Scholar’s back soothingly. He’s infuriatingly casual for having just reduced his lover to tears. If he hadn’t just spent an hour healing and bandaging him up, Alphinaud would probably have swatted him.

Instead he just nods.

He’d never been very good at refusing that particular request anyway. Even when he was the one chastising Alvaar on why sharing a medical bed was in poor interest of his health.

But it’s late, and he’s tired, and nuzzling into the warm muscle of Alvaar’s shoulder he doesn’t want to leave anyway. So, he pulls himself up onto the bed fully, curling up beside him and keeping his cheek settled against the Bard’s shoulder that’s free of bruises. He knows he won’t sleep well but the situation is unfortunately familiar enough he knows that he’ll still get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s troubles.

“Alvaar?” he asks softly after they’ve both settled into the pillows, sheets, and each other accordingly.

“Yea?”

“You really need a shower.”

It has Alvaar laughing enough to make him wince, “Brat... don’t make me laugh that hurts.”

Alphinaud just smiles softly and hums an amused note as Alvaar settles further against him.

“Alvaar?” he asks again after a few minutes, getting a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

Shifting enough to study the soft and unguarded profile he’s sketched a hundred times before from memory, he presses a brief kiss to the Bard’s jaw and settles in for sleep.

“I love you too.”

#alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #wol #warrior of light #alvaar aldaviir #ff14 #ffxiv #mywriting #writing #wondrous tails #wondrous tails of ffxiv #sfw #oc #alphinaud x wol #wow. it finally happened. established relationship time. bless.

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

My friend's ex-wife gets his family's business shut down and burns their lives to the ground (not what you may think)

Sorry for the somewhat misleading title, but I couldn't resist.

This story isn't about me but two people I'm friends with. We'll call one Rae and one Justin. I'm posting this with Justin's permission, and he'll probably be reading the thread.

Pretty quickly after they moved, they decided to get amicably divorced, since they never wanted to be married anyway. They still lived together for a while, and basically became something between platonic roommates and each other's only family. Over time, they started dating other people. Some partners were scared off by the weird relationship between them, but most got it, and understood that Justin and Rae had basically bonded though mutual trauma. I also met both of them during this time, and we became close friends.

This whole time, both their families and other members of their community were relentlessly harassing them. People were showing up at their house at all hours, and they had reason to believe people were trying to steal their identities over the years, though they'd fortunately both put a freeze on their credit, so nothing ever came of it.

Then Justin had a bad accident. A really bad accident. He was on his bike and a car blew through a stop sign without slowing down and plowed right into him. He had to be rushed to the hospital and landed in the ICU. Rae was his emergency contact, and I was with her and some other friends when she got the call. I immediately drove her to the hospital with a couple of other people, and she was melting down (understandably). The hospital staff wouldn't let us all in when we got there, but they let Rae in. She came out periodically to let us know what was going on. Justin wasn't unconscious, but he was totally out of it and didn't seem to know she was there, probably from the painkillers, but she was convinced he had permanent dehabilitating brain damage and basically the group of us were just soothing her and reassuring her it would be fine. A friend of ours who worked at the hospital as an MRI tech was also stopping by when she could on her breaks and calming down Rae. We'd been there all night and part of the day at this point, and the medical staff was giving us reason to be hopeful.

But things got worse. To this day, no one knows how they found out, but 14 hours after Justin's accident, his parents, uncles, and grandfather showed up. They immediately had all of us removed from the ICU, Rae included. Unfortunately, as his ex-wife, she was no longer his legal next-of-kin and had no rights against his blood family.

At this point, she was absolutely hysterical and inconsolable. She was convinced Justin's family would hurt him. I'm ashamed to say all three of us that were there with her thought she was overreacting. We all knew Rae and Justin had left a fucked-up situation, but it wasn't like his own family would do anything to impede his recovery. She was getting angry with us for trying to calm her down, and tried to explain that according to their religion, she and Justin deserved punishment from God, and only the greatest suffering could prompt repenting and redemption. She said their families embraced this thinking and wanted them to suffer, because it would prove that they did the wrong thing by leaving, and suffering would drive them back to the fold. She said as long as Justin was with his family, he wouldn't be safe.

Our friend who worked for the hospital came and found Rae at that point. She made Rae swear up and down she wouldn't tell anyone she told her this, because she could get in deep trouble for releasing privileged information to someone unauthorized, but she'd caught wind that Justin's parents were aggressively demanding the hospital release him into their care, and they were involving lawyers. The hospital was currently refusing, because Justin wasn't stable enough to leave, but our friend warned Rae that as soon as Justin got to be stable, or the lawyers scared the hospital enough, it's possible the parents would be able to take Justin.

This shocked the rest of us. Realizing his parents were not only willing to remove Justin from the hospital that had saved his life in the condition he was still in, but were actively trying to do it made us really "get" for the first time why Rae was going out of her head with fear.

At this point, Rae snapped into do-or-die mode. Convinced that Justin was about to literally die if she didn't act, she decided she would do everything in her power to start a fire at home so that Justin's family would want to run back to put it out. And this wasn't too hard, because she had a lot of dirt on the whole community she came from. Like a madwoman, she started blowing the whistle all over Justin's family. She called the IRS's fraud hotline and detailed all the ways that the family business was committing tax fraud. She submitted an ATF tip about how that same family business was illegally selling firearms without a license and without following any of the proper protocols, and was knowingly selling guns to convicted felons. She reported one of Justin's uncles for owning several guns as a convicted felon. She also reported Justin's mom's unlicensed day care "business," which was apparently extremely shady, including having over 30 children packed into one house, with Justin's mom as the only adult and many of the childcare duties being farmed out to Justin's 12- and 14-year-old sisters. She called CPS on Justin's uncles and his parents for keeping their children out of school, and for physical abuse in one uncle's case. In all of these reports, she provided extensive details.

She finished her calls and emails, and then she waited. We all waited for several hours, and nothing happened. Then, miraculously, Justin become lucid enough to understand what was going on and make his own decisions, and he kicked his family out again. From there began a slow but steady path to recovery.

In all the relief and excitement to see Justin on the mend, we'd almost forgotten about Rae's campaign of desperation, until a couple of weeks later, when the screaming voicemails started pouring in to both of them. First, the business was being investigated by the IRS, then it was being investigated for illegal firearms dealing. Then the daycare was getting investigated. At first, Rae felt a little guilty, but then she was like, "You know what? No regrets. They would have killed Justin."

From what they've been able piece together in the year and a half since this happened, the business has gone under, and the daycare is shuttered. The uncle is six months into a new five-year prison sentence for firearm possession. CPS investigated, which scared the shit out of the family, but nothing really came of it, which is especially sad in the case of the cousins being physically abused. That said, the parents are now too scared to keep the kids home from school, and with the unlicensed daycare shut down, the mom's not exploiting her daughters' labor anyway, so she has no incentive to keep them home. So Justin's little siblings are at least getting their education.

Justin and Rae are both happy and thriving. Justin unfortunately will never fully recover from the accident. He has some permanent neurological damage that results in tremors. But he's pumped to be alive, he can work a full-time job, he can still be pretty physically active, and as far as I'm concerned, he wins.

TL;DR: Kooky abusive family tries to remove my friend from critical medical care because reasons (??), and his ex-wife hits the panic button that burns their lives to the ground.

(source) story by (/u/Throwawayallaway4)

#prorevenge #by /u/Throwawayallaway4 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

Text

Dirt (Part Seven)

From here.

Apologies for the delay on this. I haven’t been well and work has been evil. But now I’m on leave, here be the next bit. A touch of action, a touch of Pen & Ink and a whole pile of angst.

For @ak47stylegirl Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for putting up with my whining while I’ve been sick. Nutty is a pain in the ass when denied her creative outlets.

I hope you enjoy this appropriately whumpy fic considering the month :D I can cover possibly ‘delirium’, ‘gunpoint’ and ‘dragged’. There aren’t any ‘explosion’s, but lots of similar stuff, but eh, this fic grew from September, so it is what it is :D

-o-o-o-

The result was immediate. The man holding the gun to his brother’s face was thrown forward with a godawful snap of bone, disappearing out of Virgil’s sight, the cable trailing behind.

Scott staggered backwards in shock and time stopped.

Another blink.

“Virgil?!” Scott was kneeling beside him. “Virgil!”

“This is the Global Defence Force. Remain where you are or be fired upon.” A pause. Scott touched his faceplate and Virgil closed his eyes. “I repeat, remain where you are or be fired upon.”

Gunfire and Virgil jumped. His body responded by screaming at him.

“Hey, hey, keep still.” Scott wrapped a hand around his shoulder.

Virgil realised he was trembling and he couldn’t stop it. “Scott...” The trembling became shaking and it shook his injuries. Oh, god...

“Virgil!”

Make it stop. “Can’t...” Spots, teasers of blessed unconsciousness, danced in front of his eyes.

Something shifted in his left shoulder, finally collapsing under his weight and everything whited out.

-o-o-o-

Gordon was beginning to feel the effects of his injury when Thunderbird Two shot the bastard with her grapple gun.

The man flew past Gordon at high speed only to collide with a crumpled wall.

He did not get up.

Everything happened at speed after that. Scott ran to Virgil. Tin spun around and targeted him and Alan, her eyes assessing. “Sit down, Gordon.”

“Not yet.” There were still quite a few of the soldiers in the area, though most looked more terrified than threatening.

But the GDF rocked up, Aunt Val’s firm voice as reassuring to him as it was threatening to the assholes on the ground.

A familiar pink vehicle swooped in to land not far away, a glaring and defensive Parker stalking out from the driver’s seat and hovering around...

Pen.

Gordon suddenly found himself on his butt in the dirt. He was vaguely aware of Tin attending to Alan, but he only had eyes for his blonde hallucination approaching at a run.

“Gordon.”

“Hey, Pen.”

Then her hands were on him assessing his injury. “You got yourself shot. How unfortunate.” The words were composed, but her eyes said so much more.

“Sorry.” He reached for her, but realised his glove was scuffed and bloody and curled it back towards his body.

The dirt under his butt rumbled. For a moment, he thought it was Two on the move again, but it didn’t take long for the rumble to overtake even the Thunderbird’s roar.

“All of you, get out of there!” John’s voice was unusually panicked.

Penelope grabbed him by his uninjured arm and he remembered why they weren’t supposed to be on this site.

The rumble of tremor was suddenly overlaid by cracked and crumbling concrete falling from height.

The building next door.

“Alan!” But Tin was already moving, her hands under his arms dragging him towards...

Two was moving again, her hatch lowered and Scott dragged an unconscious Virgil onto her deck plates. Kayo was dragging his little brother...

“Gordon!” Penelope hauled him to FAB1, throwing him into the car as Parker fired the jets.

Two roared past, gaining both speed and height as the building above toppled.

“Hold on, M’Lady!” And FAB1 shot into the sky, swooping abruptly left, then right. The GDF flyer contingent lost formation as the International Rescue vehicles punched through it. A glance behind and Gordon saw TB1 fire up and take to the sky, no doubt under John’s control. To their right Shadow suddenly rippled into existence.

Behind them, the lone remaining pod and the discarded Vac were buried under an avalanche of concrete, steel and office furniture.

Gordon found himself dizzy.

“Breathe, Gordon.”

His eyes flickered to Pen and her worried frown snapped him out of shock.

Expensive leather, the quiet hum of efficient machinery, blue eyes only for him...a long drawn out exhale.

Her hand reached for his.

-o-o-o-

It all happened so fast, Scott’s head was spinning.

One moment he was being held at gunpoint, the next the gunman was gone, Virgil unconscious and the world was shaking.

How had they forgotten they were in an earthquake danger zone?

How had they forgotten about the building just waiting to topple on them?

He had been distracted.

“All of you, get out of there!” The panic in John’s voice was so uncharacteristic that it snapped him out of shock. Two crept closer and lowered her hatch.

Virgil was in pieces, but he had to be moved. Begging forgiveness under his breath, Scott dragged his heavy brother by his baldric and harness as gently and as fast as he possibly could onto her hatch plate. A moment later, as Two crept forward, Kayo joined him, her arms dragging an unconscious Alan.

Penelope had Gordon and Two’s hatch drew them up into her body, her thrusters firing, pushing her into higher speed and horizontal flight.

The normalcy of his brother’s cockpit enveloped them.

“Alan!” Kayo’s voice was sharp held no shortage of worry. “Alan!”

“Scott, Alan needs fluids now! His blood pressure is almost non-existent.” John’s voice was sharp in his ears.

Yes. Yes.

Virgil was limp in his arms. “Virgil?”

“Alan is the priority.”

Move.

It was a blur. Lifting his little brother onto one of the pull-down gurneys in the cabin. Assessing his condition. Kayo grabbing a saline drip and forcing fluid into his blood stream. Brains was suddenly there, Moffie at his heels. A frantic attempt at halting the blood loss from Alan’s lower right leg. Clamps. Blood on his fingers, his hands, sterile gloves.

Thunderbird Two rumbling through the soles of his feet.

Alan’s pulse fading as alarms screamed throughout the cabin. Kayo’s desperate voice begging his brother not to give up.

Dirt everywhere.

The spark as the defibrillator charged. The laser cutter tearing Alan’s uniform from his chest.

Virgil crying from the floor for his little brother. Moffie’s voice attempting to reassure him.

A young man’s body shuddering as it took the charge designed to kick it back into life.

Prayer.

Wishes.

Begging.

The thrum through his soles.

A single beep.

Another.

A chance.

Alan, please god.

Oxygen.

The sound Virgil crying into the decking, unable to get to his feet.

A breath.

Another.

Life.

That chance.

-o-o-o-

Virgil woke surrounded by his ‘bird.

Her thrum was in his bones and she brought comfort and refuge from the pain that accompanied consciousness.

It took him a moment to realise he was on her deck plates and the feet blurring in and out of his vision were those of his eldest brother and his sister. Brains? For a moment, he just stared at the blurry shapes as they danced back and forth across his vision.

Why?

An alarm cut through the air.

A familiar alarm.

Cardiac arrest.

Alan? Where was Alan? “Alan!” His voice just didn’t have its usual power. It came out scratched and faint. “ALAN!”

A woman’s voice. A hand on his arm.

Arm.

“Alan?!”

Kayo echoed him, calling his little brother’s name and for a moment, he was surrounded by dirt, his brother’s dying hand in his. “Alan? Alan, please answer me. Please.”

There was a woman’s voice again, but his little brother didn’t answer.

The distant sound of the defibrillator charging. His breath caught in his throat. “ALAN?!” Answer me, please, answer me.

The next few moments were lost to him in a wave of despair, fear and pain. Somewhere his littlest brother was dying.

He had promised to stay with him.

Virgil attempted to roll over and push himself up.

Pain whited out everything.

It left him whimpering into the deck plates.

Alan.

I tried.

Please.

“Virgil? Lay still.” Scott’s soft voice broke through the fog and the tears.

“Alan?” Please.

“It was close, but we have him stabilised.”

The relief that hit Virgil nearly took him down. His groan became a sob that shook him and sprouted new pain. His voice trickled off into whimpers and everything faded.

“Virgil!” Scott’s voice yanked him from the fog and for a moment he could see his brother’s weary eyes ever so clearly. “We need to get you on a backboard and cervical collar. Stay with me, bro.”

He blinked and the blur returned. He didn’t answer.

Time slipped again until his whole body screamed at him. He was being moved, but he couldn’t. His helmet came off and all the familiar smells of his cockpit washed over him. A breath. A hand was holding his head.

Scott’s voice was chanting to him. Reassuring words, an anchor in the storm of pain-filled sensation.

A finger brushed his cheek.

A count of three and he was lifted. A sound passed his lips but he didn’t know what it was other than something hurt.

“Virg, you with me?”

He blinked, but couldn’t get anything more than a blurry impression of where his brother stood. He was standing. Virgil was likely in one of the pull-down gurneys. “Scott?”

“Hey.” That finger touched his cheek again. “Your broken ribs have nicked a vein and you are bleeding internally.” The finger reached up into his hair. Virgil relaxed just a little bit. “You’ve broken your collar bone and cracked your scapula.”

The medical terms spun in his head and what came up was not good. “Well, shit.”

His brother managed the smallest of snorts at that. “We’re on approach to London. You’ll be in good hands soon.”

His breath was dry. “H’all ready in good hands.” His eyes closed unexpectedly and he shoved them open again. “Alan?”

Scott’s lips thinned. “Hanging in there.”

Another blink. “Gordon?”

“Lady Penelope has him. He’s got a hole in his shoulder, but he is stable for the moment.”

A frown. “For the moment?”

“He has lost some blood, but they are right behind us. They’ll make it in plenty of time.”

“Safe.”

The hand in his hair paused. “Virgil?”

“Keep them safe.” Please keep them safe. His little brothers.

The fingers resumed combing his hair. “As safe as I can, Virgil. I promise.”

“Safe.” And his eyes drifted closed again. It was too much effort to open them.

“Virgil? C’mon, stay with me.”

Want to stay.

Can’t.

-o-o-o-

Part Eight

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #Gordon Tracy #kayo kyrano #gordon/Penelope #Pen and Ink #whump #Penelope Creighton-Ward

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lovelylunarwriting · 5 years

Text

Johnny Prince!AU

Prince Johnny is an idiot with a crown.

Or at least that’s what his best friend Ten tells people when they ask him for the truth about the “tall and dark prince”

The only thing dark about ya boi Johnny is his hair, and even then it gets fairly light in the summer.

He has this whole Cool Guy persona because he wanted the kingdom to see him as a prince and not as the guy who has to eat french toast every morning or it literally ruins his whole day.

To sum up: Johnny is a goofy and lovable prince with a very big heart.

Just about no one else gets to see this, though. They all see him as an untouchable, royal entity. Mostly because that’s what people want to think and Johnny’s not really about to correct them because he likes that people think he’s cool instead of a doofus.

You have the same opinion of the prince as everyone else, because that’s the general gossip in the capital.

Running a clinic, you wouldn’t think that patients would be in the mood to spill tea but there is a lot of laying around in bed and waiting involved, so you can’t really blame them.

Plus- you’d be lying if you didn’t enjoy being constantly in the loop about these things.

“And then when the princess’s shawl was ripped from her shoulders by the wind, Prince Youngho leapt off his horse just to grab it before it hit the ground!”

“Ooo, really?”

“I want someone to treat me like that… all my husband does is waste all our money betting on the knight’s matches”

“...”

“What?! You know it’s true!”

This clinic was something you started a few years ago when you moved into this section of the city and realized there was no accessible health care.

At that point, you had just finished your apprenticeship and were looking to start up your own place anyway, so a clinic seemed like a good idea.

And a good idea it was! When you first opened, an influx of people rushed in, and that’s when it really dawned on you how much these people needed help.

And how much they weren't getting it.

For as much as this nation prides itself on its advanced medical discoveries… a lot of people can’t afford it.

So if you have to flirt with the herbalist a little to get your ingredients for remedies at a lower rate, that’s what you do.

Lower rates for you means lower rates for your patients.

As of late, patients have been traveling great distances to come specifically to your clinic, and for the life of you you can't fathom why.

“It's because you actually know what you're doing unlike the quack in my village”, Gertrude says when you mention the influx of non-locals.

“I really can't be that much better than anyone else…”, you admit and Gertrude gives you a stern look.

Gertrude has been a patient of yours for a few months ever since her hip started acting up again. Apparently the doctor in her village thought she was faking the recurring pain to get drugs and refused to see her.

She's also one of the people you've become close to in this town. It usually takes a lot for people to break down your walls, but Gertrude is the kind of person you can't help but pour your heart out to.

“Listen, sweetie”, she starts and you just know she's about to lecture you about life like she usually does. “You should take your next day off and go to the next town over to pay that doctor a visit. He's supposedly one of the best in the country, but one look at him and you'll realize what talent you really have, dear”

And of course you listen to her because she's usually always right about these things.

Locking up your quaint little office in the back of the building, you tell your apprentice Chenle not to kill anyone while you're gone.

To which he just snorts and continues stitching up some guy's hand.

The travel time isn't too bad- only like an hour on horseback. You tie up your horse to the nearest post and begin to form a game plan.

If you just walk in like “hey I'm your competition, I heard you suck?? came here to confirm”, the doctor is not likely to be very responsive.

So this is why when you walk in, you immediately pretend to faint.

Eyes closed and back against the cool tile floor, you feel strong arms pick you up and bring you to what you assume is somewhere other than the practically empty lobby.

You open them after an appropriate amount of time and are met with beautiful milk chocolate eyes staring into yours.

“Are- are you the doctor?”, you ask, stunned by the boy's pretty face so close.

“No, I'm just studying under him. I'm Johnny, by the way. Are you alright?”

“I'm not sure. I don't,,,, I don't know what's going on, really”, you lie out of your teeth with ease.

“Okay, okay just stay here- I'll go get the doctor!”

David Tennant bursts into the room- (I’m sorry)

It takes forty seven minutes for the doctor to make an appearance.

Before your dramatic collapse in front of the receptionist, you scanned the room briefly and found it void of life.

That's strike one.

When the doctor finally makes an appearance, he stares at the chart in his hand as he asks you basic medically relevant questions.

He hasn’t even looked at you once.

That’s strike two.

The final incompetent action is what really sets you off.

This genius not only doesn’t look at you, but he keeps stealing glances over at the clock right behind you instead.

And that’s strike three.

“Does anyone in your family have a history of-”, he continues to drone off as his eyes flicker up to the clock again.

“Do you have somewhere better to be? Am I intruding on your precious time?”, you snap suddenly.

“I- what? Why would you-”

“Because you’ve spent an awfully large sum of time staring at the clock and an immensely small amount of time focusing on me. Your supposed patient”

“I’m not trying to-”

“Trying to what? Ignore your patient? Listen to me. You’re asking all the wrong things. My theoretically problem coming in today is low blood pressure. Pretty damn standard. In the time you’ve asked me every question in the book, a person who actually has extremely low blood pressure would have fainted in your office again”, you lecture, confident in the astonished look on this old quack’s face. Until the astonishment fades and rage sets in.

“Your theoretical illness?”

“...”

“Well I’ll be going, itwasnicetomeetyouBYE”, you sputter as you dash out of the patient room and by some stroke of luck the doctor doesn’t come yelling after you.

You do happen to run face first into the chest of that pretty boy from earlier, Johnny.

“Oof, you in a hurry there?”, he chuckles, holding onto your shoulders.

“Do you enjoy working under Dr. Dull or would you like to come learn some actual healing under me?”, you ask abruptly.

“Under you? Uh I’m flattered but-”, he says, dropping his hands to his sides faster than you thought humanly possible.

“nO I’m a heALer okaY, I didn’t mean it like that. My practice is about an hour away, close to the capital”

“Oh! I’ve heard of that clinic before, you must be Y/N!”, he practically shouts and you reach up to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Yes that’s me!! But I’ve just thoroughly pissed off your boss so are you in or not?”, you propose, readying yourself to bolt past Johnny if that doctor decides to come after you after all.

“I’m in!! Definitely in”

“Okay cool, we’re leaving right now”

“SIR YES SIR”, he says and gives you a little salute.

There’s no time to roll your eyes, so you settle from grabbing one of his large hands in yours and dragging him out of the place.

The two of your sprint to the other side of the road and as you start untying your horse, he starts untying what you really hope is his horse and not one he decided just now to steal.

Jumping on your horse and him jumping on probably his horse, the two of you make your way back to your clinic.

It’s not a very far journey, but you and Johnny end up talking the entire time. Mostly him asking you about obscure medical phenomenons and you asking him about himself.

His questions you answer almost immediately, but for your questions, he hesitates.

To which you become embarrassed for prying and are like “it’s personal, I get it. You don’t have to answer”, but he always does anyway, even if it takes him a minute.

Once the both of you arrive and you lead him into the building, Gertrude is chilling in her usual lounge chair in the lobby knitting a scarf when she looks up to see you with him.

And she just smirks knowingly and you stare at her with the silent message in your eyes saying “I know he’s gorgeous but that’s not what this is about so shuT uP-”

You introduce Chenle to Johnny and are like “get along because the wellness of our patients relies on your teamwork” and then shut yourself in your office to Cope With The Day.

This is not what you’d intended to go to that town for, but leaving someone who actually likes medicine,,, and wants to help people,,, under the direction of that moron “doctor” felt so wrong that you couldn’t help but literally drag him out of there.

Someone knocks on your door and you know exactly who it is.

Before you can say anything, Gertrude silently enters and plops herself in the seat across from you.

“...”

“So who’s the hottie?”

“stOP IT”

“...”

“... his name’s Johnny…”, you mumble, not making eye contact.

“I’m gonna need more than that, sweetie”

And so you spill the metaphorical tea while Gertrude spills the literal tea.

She has a slight tremor in her left hand so her teacup splashed, but you assured her it was fine and said that a tea stain on the carpet will add character to your otherwise monotone office.

After a while, another soft knock sounds on your office door. When you get up to open it, it is of course the man of the hour- Johnny.

“I have to go but I didn't want to leave without talking to you first”

“Ah okay, let's talk in the hall then”, you say, shoving him out of the doorframe and out of your office. He spins around and immediately begins to ramble.

“We didn’t really talk about this earlier but I have another job technically and so I won’t be able to come in everyday but I still want to learn-”

“That’s fine, come whenever you can”

“...”

“What?”, you ask since he’s staring at you like you’ve got two heads or something.

“Nothing it’s just… you’ve gotten be about the nicest person I’ve ever met”, he admits, causing your face to actually combust.

“That’s uhh,,,,, thanks I guess. I um shouldgetbacktoGertrudesopleaseexcuseme”, you say and rush back into your office, slamming the door behind you.

After a moment, you hear a hearty chuckle and then the sound of his footsteps slowly trailing away from your office.

“Not a word, Gertrude”

“Wouldn’t consider it, dear”, she says and you don’t even have to turn to her to know she’s got that all-knowing smirk plastered on her mildly wrinkled face.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

The next day at the clinic, Johnny doesn’t show.

And he’s not there the next day, either.

Or the next.

After a week and a half, you’ve given up entirely the idea of him coming back- so that’s of course when he waltzes through the front door.

“Hello!”, he says somewhat nervously, but his normal cheerful tone shines through nonetheless.

“Hello. Awfully busy, were you?”, you ask, trying not to come off as annoyed as you actually are. When you told him to come in whenever he could, you would’ve at least appreciated some communication on his part.

“Sorry, a lot of things have happened this week”

“Yeah- no kidding. Which is why I need you here! No one’s seen an outbreak of the flu like this in decades”

“Oh no… really?”, he responds with a fake cluelessness that most people wouldn’t be able to detect. But patients lie all the time, so weeding them out is a handy skill you’ve picked up.

“Sure… just get to work. Be wherever Chenle needs you and do whatever he says”

“,,,,that kid’s like half my age”, he mumbles mostly to himself.

“And that kid has got way more experience than you. Stop wasting my time and get to work”, you snap and storm off.

He stands there stunned for a moment, and then turns and walks off.

You’re shocked at yourself, really. In this field of work it’s important to stay rational and that’s something you’ve been able to accomplish so far but… it’s just something about him that rubs you the wrong way.

He’s cheerful and friendly and good with people.

But he’s also a flake and a liar.

His entire existence is one giant contradiction and that bothers the living hell out of you.

“Why do I even care…”, you sigh.

“Because he’s gorgeous and tall, that’s why”, Gertrude butts in.

“w h a t”

“Deary, let’s just say if I was thirty-five years younger-”, she starts and you can see where she’s going with it.

“And what would your wife think of you talking about some beautiful hunk like that?”, you joke.

“My wife would appreciate that I have good taste. And she’ll never know because you won’t tell her, because if you do, I’ll tell that beautiful hunk that you think he’s got a nice ass”

“GERTRUDE YOU WOULDN’T”, you shout in front of everyone, knowing very well that she most definitely would.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

After about a month, you’re fairly certain there is not another soul in this kingdom that could possibly get this strain of the flu.

It seems that everyone got sick- hell, even Chenle was out for a week.

So for a week it was just you and Johnny, and you apologized for snapping and he apologized for flaking and everything felt a lot better.

Better, but not perfect. Something in your gut keeps telling you he’s too good to be true. That he has to be hiding something.

But as far as you can see, he’s a perfectly normal and lovely guy. He’s amazing with patients and cares for people on a level that’s so rare to find in a person.

Just when you’re checking out the last of the flu patients after a particularly physically straining day, you begin to feel an intense wave of dizziness.

Equal distance away from you are each of the boys, and even though Chenle’s the more experienced healer, Johnny’s name leaves your lips instead.

You hear thundering footsteps before your vision goes black.

Waking up, your first thought is “this is the warmest pillow ever”, and your second is “who the hell’s holding my hand?”

You blink open your eyes and are met with the ever so familiar face of Gertrude. That explains the warmth, considering your head is rested across her petite legs.

Peering down your arm, you see that Johnny’s the one with his hand around your wrist.

So of course you yank it away in a drowsy panic.

“you… perv...”, you manage to croak out, and he just laughs in that music-to-your-ears way that makes your heart sing, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

“I’m checking your pulse, don’t be such a baby”, he teases.

“Fine- whatever you say Your Highness”, you tease right back, but for a flash of a second you see a mix of shock and fear in his eyes and makes your trust in him waver yet again.

“Didn’t you… don’t you have somewhere to be? You mentioned a meeting earlier…”, you stumble with your words, barely able to create coherent thoughts in your current state of illness.

“This is more important. They’ll be fine without me”, he says with an amount of seriousness you didn’t think he was capable of.

“Well…. I hate third wheeling so I’m just gonna go”, Gertrude announces, practically dropping your head and then leaving, shooting you a wink.

You hope Johnny assumes the redness in your face is due to the fever and not…. other reasons.

You hadn’t realized how delicate he could be until you happen to be the one under his care.

It’s different watching him work with patients from a healer’s perspective and being the patient yourself.

For the next week, Johnny doesn’t leave your side. And if you're being honest with yourself- you love every second.

He's usually always coming and going, so having him here for so long makes your heart pound out of your chest.

Which you know is physically impossible, but a decent metaphor regardless.

About a week later, you’re feeling much better and Johnny still refuses to leave you just yet.

Right as you’re about to push him out the door so he can actually get some decent rest (he’s been sleeping on the couch in your office which is not comfy after several days straight), Chenle bursts through the door.

“The Prince has been declared missing!! He’s gone!”

“Unless he needs a medic, I don’t see why I should care Chenle”, you say nonchalantly, still trying to drag Johnny out.

“Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me”, Johnny practically spits and you let go of his wrist, mostly out of shock. You’ve never seen him as anything but a teddy bear of a person, even with all his mystery.

You look at Chenle, and then at Johnny.

And you put the puzzle pieces together.

“You’re the royalty, aren’t you Johnny? Or should I say Prince Youngho?”

He walks out the door without a word.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

After about a week, Johnny/Youngho/Whoever the fuck hasn’t dropped by.

You give it another couple of days before deciding to take action into your own hands and practically giving Chenle and Gertrude a stroke in the process.

“Chenle, watch the patients while I’m gone”

“Gone? Are you going out to buy herbs?”, he asks.

“Nope. I’m going to go request an audience with the Prince”

“YOUNG LADY-”, Gertrude starts but you cut her off.

“You’re the one who’s wanted me to be with him from the start! You should be happy I’m doing something about it!”

“...so this isn’t a professional trip? It’s cause you like him?” she asks and you reluctantly nod. You’ve never been one to open up but it’s hard to close her out.

“That’s unprofessional”, Chenle says.

“Your face is unprofessional. Honestly, you look like you’re twelve”, Gertrude decides it’s an appropriate time to announce.

“Gertrude!”, you laugh and just leave because it’s not like it isn’t true.

You walk to the castle, figuring that even if they’re generous enough to let you in, they probably won’t want to deal with bringing your horse to the stables.

Which is irritating because it’s like a forty five minute walk and you were just sick last week.

But it’s worth it because you know he’s worth it. If he hears you out, that is.

Approaching the castle gates, the guards look less than pleased to see anyone for that matter.

“Do you have an official summons?”, one of them ask.

“No, but I need to speak to Johnny”

“Who? Is he that new guy working in the kitchens?”

“Uhhh yeah. He’s my,,,, boyfriend. And he left something at my house that he needs”

“...”, the guards just look at each other because they really don’t care.

“Right now”, you say with a false confidence you just hope they won’t see through.

And they don’t! They let you in and lead you to…. the kitchens.

Great.

Deciding you can’t just barge into the kitchens like an idiot, you do the only other logical thing.

Wander around and hope you don’t get caught.

You walk up what feel like exactly a kajiLLION stAIRS before you hear the delicate sound of piano.

Making your way down the hall very carefully, all whilst trying to give off an “I belong here so don’t bother me” aura, you draw nearer to the music.

And what do you know- it’s Johnny at the bench.

“So what- are you just good at everything AND loaded? Seems unfair”, you blurt out and he slams the keys in a crash of dissonant chords.

“How the hell-”, he starts, spinning around but remaining on the bench.

You tread into the practically empty ballroom, save for the piano. And the prince, of course.

“You think you can just not show up to work?”

“....I’m the prince. You said so yourself”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”, he says, now standing up and walking over to you. He pulls you in the room and slams the door shut.

“I don’t care that you’re the prince. You’re still my apprentice and you have responsibilities at my practice”, you declare, having to crane your neck to meet his gaze.

“Oh. So that’s what this is about. Business”, he says and he almost seems,,,,, upset by it.

“Not- not entirely”, you force yourself to admit.

“What?”

“I told the guards our front that you were my boyfriend”, you blurt out and then mentally facepalm. “I mean- I told them that I had a boyfriend in the castle named Johnny and they didn’t seem to think that that’s you, so I guess you don’t go by that here which makes sense, so I said he works in the kitchens and-”

“I could be your boyfriend”, he says and you have to double check that you didn’t imagine it.

“You what?”

“I want to be your boyfriend. But I’d lied to you for so long that I didn’t think you’d want… me”, he confesses.

“Yeah, I’m REAL upset that the guy I like is secretly the prince of this country. Truly freaking devastated over here, could you go fetch me a bag of gold to cry into?”, you laugh and to your surprise, he laughs too.

He escorts you out of the castle, hand in hand (the sight made some maid drop her basket of laundry in shock), and the two of you ride on his horse back to your practice.

When you walk in, Chenle is drawing on a fake mustache and Gertrude is giving him tips on how to make it look realistic, and honestly- for once everything feels right.

With Johnny agreeing to stop by at least twice a week to help out with patients (and more days than that to spend time with you), everything is starting to fit into place.

An old lady, an actual twelve year old, and the goddamn priNCE are not the most conventional family, but they sure are yours. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 5 years

Text

Pt17

(Conversations around consent, sexual activity, and descriptions of torture and attempted suicide. I will put a little - before a paragraph with torture/assault and another - when its over. May or may not also include implied consensual activity. We'll see where this goes.)

Curtis wakes up to soft little regular whimper-moans from behind him. Unsure if his lover is dreaming of torture, or if it's a happy kind of dream, he shifts back a bit, pressing into Takashi to check. Smiling a little in relief it's definitely not torture. Sighing a little, he's awake now. And hungry. They didn't eat dinner last night. They'd gone to bed. Worth the missed meal in Curtis' opinion. However, he's ravenous.

Digging through the cupboards he finds oatmeal, spices, and dried fruit. Surprised to find so many seasonings in the cabinets of a man who rarely cooks, Curtis wonders if it's a holdover from living with Adam. Especially considering Takashi doesn't even buy himself proper self grooming products. Probably just habit to keep the spices around.

The fridge has a few flavors of almond milk. Some non dairy creamers, and not much else in it. Overall the food choices are somewhat depressing. There's more in the freezer, thankfully. Frozen meat, vegetables, and fruit. Shaking his head a little, he sighs.

But another look through the pantry shows plenty of rice, beans, potatoes...cereal. He's feeding himself.

Finding a flat pan, he starts some of the last of the bacon. Whisks some eggs in a bowl. And adds vanilla almond milk to the oatmeal with cinnamon, nutmeg, and fruit. It can sit until Takashi wakes up.

Curtis likes the simple ritual of preparing food. He doesn't mind doing this. Although once they live together he figures if he cooks, Takashi can do the shopping. He usually already does the cleaning up.

Some time later he hears a weird noise somewhere between "blech" and "ugh" accompanied by soft but vehement cursing.

"You okay?" Curtis calls when the swearing doesn't stop but he hears water running. "Did your dream not have a happy ending?" He asks, heading into the bedroom.

"If you can call it that," Shiro snaps back, voice cracking.

Takashi is naked from the waist down and he throws the washcloth into the sink as Curtis comes in. His face is red and his eyes are full of tears.

"What's wrong? You okay?"

"I don't know."

"What happened?" He gently thumbs a tear off Takashi's cheek.

"I don't know. My body never did this. I was, I was finally feeling like I was in my own skin and then this happens!"

"What, as a teen you didn't get wet dreams? God you were lucky." Stroking back Takashi's hair he gently kisses his cheek.

"I didn't even know this was possible," he protests.

"It is," Curtis assures him. "It happens. Not super common, I don't think. But yeah. It's normal."

"Not for me," Shiro protests. "Maybe the clone?"

"You had his memories and he thought he was you, right? Do you remember that happening?"

"No."

"This makes sense to me, love, I'm sorry. It's been years, right? And you have been so stressed, and so anxious, and so sick... You got a little last night... And your body wants more. Is that so awful? Years and years without any.... What'd you dream about anyway?"

Shiro turns red again, scar livid across his face. "You." He swallows. "Us."

"Oh yeah? You wanna tell me what we did that rocked your world so hard it made you come in your sleep?"

Ducking his head down, the tips of his ears are red, too. His silvery hair just makes the blush look even brighter.

"Is it embarrassing?" Curtis asks gently. "Or are you just shy about this stuff?"

"I never really talked about it with anyone. My family was.... Traditional. It was really hard to get used to the idea I liked guys at all. Adam... Had to be patient for a long time. I came out because of him. I admitted to myself... Who I was. I get to be with you because of that," he says softly. "But ... I'm not as... Blase about it as you."

"Am I allowed to ask you about it? Or tease you if it's just us? Will you be okay talking about stuff? 'Cause I'm... I'm not comfortable sleeping with you until we hash out do's and dont's." He meets Takashi's eyes. "I can wait. It's no rush. Nothing like that."

"We can talk about it," Shiro mumbles, leaning into Curtis. "I was dreaming about...us. You were um, your mouth...I think that time we talked about it has been in the back of my head this whole time."

Curtis smiles and kisses his temple. "The real thing will be a lot better," he promises. "Put some pants on, breakfast is almost ready." He slips away to make sure nothing's burning and to heat the oatmeal mix.

Shiro comes out in different sweats, still embarrassed. Still he's done worse in front of Curtis. Such as thrown up on himself in his sleep back on the Atlas. One of the first nights Curtis started checking on him. He hadn't even really woken up, either. Curtis had had to help him clean up. Change the sheets. He'd brought tea to help with his stomach. And never said a word to anyone about it. Not once.

They eat relatively quietly, seated at the counter with their knees touching.

"What time is it anyway?" Curtis mumbles, mostly to himself. Glancing at his watch he blinks. "We woke up early."

"Hm?"

"Its 0600. I usually get up closer to 0700. Guess I have time to lie around." He smiles a little.

"What'd'ya want me to pick up at the store?" Shiro mumbles. Already trying to decide on what kind of grooming products he needs. He knows most of Curtis' favorite snacks already. The man has a sweet tooth.

"Something not frozen or dried...how long am I staying?"

Turning red he shrugs. "We haven't really had a chance to talk and I don't want to do that before work if that's okay."

"Fine by me," Curtis agrees.

Done with his food he hops up, taking the now empty dishes and heading to the sink. He cleans up automatically, glad to have something to do. For all it's a hair harder with just one hand. He has to set the dish down to swab it out. Then he loads them into the dishwasher.

Curtis contentedly watches him move around the kitchen. They've only been together a few months as a couple now. But this feels right. He loves this man. Scars and all. And he knows Takashi feels the same way. After all he's been through, it's nice to let himself again. It's nice to be loved. It's nice to know the person he's letting himself be with is worthy of it. After his partner had died, Curtis had had a string of one offs and bad decisions. And he'd treated them and himself like trash.

One of the absolute best things about Takashi is that he makes Curtis feel so loved. So wanted. So incredibly safe and special and like he matters more than anything else in the world. Takashi has this special way of focusing on him that makes him feel like he's the only other person in the world.

"If I go in early I can leave early," Curtis says, and Takashi nods a little. "Gives us more time tonight?"

"Yeah. Sounds good." He smiles a little.

It seems a little forced but they've been through a lot. "Hey how's your back feeling?"

Blinking in surprise, he stretches a little, his hand on the small of his back. "Good."

"Lemme feel," Curtis smiles. When Takashi comes around the counter and leans over to present as much of his back as possible to his partner.

"Hey look, still not purple," Curtis teases, running his fingertips up and down Takashi's back. He laughs when Takashi arches under his touch, just like a cat. "I love you so much," he says affectionately.

"I love you, too. Please don't stop," he adds.

"Well. I will have to eventually. I can't be late." But all the same he scratches up and down his partner's back. He enjoys the way Takashi shifts under his hand. Deciding that both hands might be best in this situation he shifts on the stool to make it easier to give scratches.

Eventually it's time to go. They kiss goodbye and head out together, but part ways outside the building.

Shiro sends Keith a message.

Stuck going to the store. You need anything?

0645

Probably should grab some basics. Meet you at the store?

0647

Sounds good. No plants.

0648

Mom says you should bring 'your mate' a gift. Yes plants. Apparently. Or the skulls of your enemies. But that seems excessive.

0650

That would not match his decor, no.

0650

See you in 10.

0651

Keith finds Shiro in the personal grooming section of the store.

He looks up when he notices the Red Paladin. "Curtis also has a problem with my taste in body wash."

"I see."

"Problem is I have no idea what to pick," Shiro shrugs.

Keith peers over in the basket. It looks like Shiro has managed to pick up fruit, vegetables, and some kind of meat in the time it took him to wait for a train to pass. "Sorry I'm late, by the way."

"Stuck at the tracks?"

"Yeah. Slowest train I've ever seen. Couldn't have been going much over 80."

"Disappointing."

"Seems like you're mostly done."

"Still need snacks. And candy of some kind. Curtis is an addict."

"Where's your protein crap you always used to get?"

"I always hated it. And medical says I'm healthy now... So. I didn't buy any."

Keith looks over at Shiro and notices some things that disturb him. For one, every time he reaches out to maybe pick a bottle, there's some kind of tremor in his hand. Two, he's sweating and the store is chilly. Three, he's a little flushed. Four, his eyes seem glassy. Getting in closer, he lightly squeezes Shiro's shoulder and hides his expression. Shirt is damp. He's been distressed for a while.

"What about pine? You always had some weird thing for forest scented crap."

"No, that was Adam. I was the one who liked spearmint and wintergreen."

"So why did you always smell like-.... ? Ah."

Shiro turns red. "I know Curtis likes cinnamon. But I don't see that here."

"There's stuff that's kinda minty," Keith points out. "You can buy whatever you want." Personally he thinks having to change your scent to please your partner is ridiculous. Probably why he's not much for dating. "See this one?" He cracks the lid to sniff and then hands it over, watching Shiro's hand like a hawk.

The shaking is still there. He's still beading sweat around his hairline and his hair is starting to stick to his face.

"That's kind of the problem," Shiro mutters, sniffing the bottle. It smells nice. Shampoo. Okay. So now just body wash. Maybe something for dry skin? He's been itchy lately and Curtis is probably right. He's probably drying his skin out. He can take care of himself a little better for Curtis. "Is there matching body wash?" He asks, trying to read labels without giving away the entire aisle is swimming. He's so stressed out. Which is how he ended up just grabbing a random bottle and bailing the first time around.

Keith looks at him and back at the shelf quizzically before picking it up from right in front of Shiro and handing it to him. "Says ultra cleansing. Isn't that code for: will dry your skin out?"

"Oh. Maybe I should pick something else."

Unsure of what to make of this, he shrugs. "You could just get the same brand you used to, and pick a different scent."

Shiro shifts uncomfortably. "I can't remember what it was," he admits. "I'm missing a lot here and there," he tugs absently on his bangs. Remembering how his skull had been cracked open.

"It's this stuff in the red bottles. It's got some stupid names, though." He tries to keep his expression neutral. He knew Shiro had issues remembering everything that happened while he was enslaved as a gladiator. He had no idea Shiro had also lost any time before then.

"Whatever's there is fine."

"Maybe Lance would be more helpful," Keith suggests. Then they both look at each other and laugh. "Okay so definitely not. But hey there's only four options, so."

They test out each bottle, Shiro hates the first. Keith the second. The third and fourth take a while to decide between. Shiro just picks up the matching shampoo and dumps it in.

"Do you think I need more clothes?" He asks hesitantly.

Keith kind of stares. "Judging by your apartment? Probably." Watching Shiro looking over at something on the other end of the men's care aisle, he realizes he doesn't want to help shop for the next thing. "What kind of candy? I'll grab that while you finish up here."

Realizing Keith figured it out, he turns red. "Uh. He'll eat pretty much anything that isn't black licorice. But he's kinda partial to anything sour and then chocolate with almonds or peanuts."

"Got it."

"Thanks." Shiro wanders down to the other end of the men's aisle. There's an overwhelming amount of things and he's realizing he's not sure if Curtis has preferences. And his personal comm is off at work. And Shiro isn't going to call him about condom brands on a Garrison line. They're all recorded. While he's not sure if it will be days, weeks, or months until they need any supplies he'd rather have them on hand.

Thinking about what he's used before, he doesn't see any familiar packaging and the aisle blurs in and out of his vision for a minute. There, he grabs a few things. He's not into anything all that interesting, and looking at some of the grocery-store approved toys makes him feel uncomfortable. A few things look like something the Galra would have found a way to weaponize and use and while he's sure before all this he would have been game... Now he isn't. He realizes he doesn't even really want Curtis on top of him, either. Or at least, not inside him.

He can still feel the blood running down the inside of his thighs. Sometimes just dripping steadily down without touching his body at all. They'd ripped him open in a new way. Trying to find some other way to torture and scare him. He has no idea how they guessed that, or if it was half accidental. They hadn't realized that human joints really weren't that flexible when they broke his elbow. Just testing his limits.

Shuddering he's terrified of the scarring ripping open again. Of just anything tearing into him.

Trying to imagine if he could go down on Curtis his throat tightens and he swallows hard against a gag. What if it feels like the feeding tube they'd forced down his throat? He'd been refusing to eat after. Had tried to hide the bleeding. When it stopped he'd been so depressed he'd given up hope and reopened the wound. Tore skin. Hadn't cared. He'd wanted to bleed to death. They'd stapled the wound shut, drugged him with a paralytic that did nothing about the fact he couldn't sleep, shoved a tube down his throat, and chained him spread eagle so he couldn't move so much as an inch and inflict more damage.

Keith finally can't spend more time in candy and goes back to find Shiro. He's worried. He recognizes the stricken look he sees and gently takes Shiro's hand and pulls him away. "You can't get pregnant anyway, you don't need those."

Blinking and coming to, "school really failed you, didn't it?" He asks absently.

"You're cleared of any and all diseases and so's he. Nothing he can give you or vice versa."

"Maybe he doesn't like to swallow," Shiro says conversationally, still shaky. He knows Keith hates when he talks bluntly about this kind of stuff. So it'll stop the conversation in its tracks.

Keith makes a face. "Let's go find you a shirt that isn't black or grey?" He suggests.

"I look good in those colors."

"Yeah Shiro everyone does. What colors does Curtis like?"

Everything, Shiro wants to say. Curtis is full of life and color in spite of everything. "Purple. Galaxy purple like in those hubble telescope photos..." He says softly, thinking of the prints he's seen in Curtis' apartment. "Dark blue..." His bedroom.

"Great. There you go."

"Black and grey used to bring out my eyes..." Shiro teases, fluttering his eyelashes and trying to recover from earlier.

"And match your hair." Keith just shrugs and smiles blandly.

They wander over to the clothing section and browse. Shiro ends up with a simple deep purple henley, a dark navy vneck sweater, and Keith convinces him to try a maroon vneck tee and deep green henley, too. "Add some color old man."

They drop the groceries off, Shiro throws the meat and some seasoning into the crock pot. He can't bake to save his life but he can dump things in a pot and walk away. While he's busy Keith discovers Shiro's battered running shoes. After lecturing the other man about his knees and feet taking unnecessary damage he forces Shiro back out to get new shoes.

Then he drags him to get some nicer towels, a second set of sheets, and some actual jeans, and some nice button ups so Shiro can dress up a little without going full uniform. Shiro only has 2 pairs of black pants and Keith feels odd realizing what they're doing. Maybe he he should have let Curtis do this. But Shiro started on his own. Keith just helped him finish. And made sure he had more than just the absolute bare minimum cheapest crap he could pick in two seconds.

When they get back Keith helps him load all the fabric into the wash so it'll be ready before Curtis gets back. He has a feeling the other man will appreciate all the changes. Looking at the clock he's surprised its only a little after 1400 hours.

He notices Shiro never really stops shaking, and he seems uncomfortable the whole time. Not unwilling just not himself, either. "Do you remember forcing me to pick out clothes?" He asks suddenly.

"Yeah you were a real shithead."

"Thanks for not returning the favor."

"Wouldn't know how to be that obnoxious even if I tried," Shiro smiles.

"So magnanimous."

Shiro shakes his head a little. He flops tiredly onto the couch unsure what to make of all of it.

Keith lets Shiro sleep, fear mounting in his chest cavity. He switches the laundry into the dryer. He's not sure what to do to help Shiro. But at least the man has food. Nice sheets, soft towels. New, clean clothes. The food smells good, and Keith finds himself puttering around looking for things to do, because he's afraid to leave Shiro alone.

Eventually he settles on the couch, putting a hand on Shiro's chest to feel his heartbeat. It seems steady. Normal. Healthy. But the tremors, the sweating, the indecision... It's all so concerning.

Eventually the dryer dings softly. Keith gets up and finds himself remaking the bed, folding clothes and more or less pacing around again. Somewhat amused he's the one taking care of Shiro for a change, he settles back down on the couch when the housekeeping is done, watching him sleep.

He dozes off eventually, and wakes up to the door sliding open.

Curtis smiles as Keith hastily exits, and sniffs the air appreciatively.

Kneeling down by the couch he presses a gentle kiss on Takashi's forehead. "Hey handsome," he smiles gently. "Wake up, love."

Takashi blinks awake, and smiles when he sees Curtis. Curtis gently strokes his cheek and kisses him.

"You hungry?" He asks gently. "Food smells good, what is it?"

"Brisket, and I have veggie salad in the fridge. Just needs dressing."

"Sounds good to me, you ready?"

"Yeah. Keith ran me ragged."

"I can see that. Once we eat do you just wanna go back to bed?"

"No, we should talk."

"Okay," Curtis agrees. Kissing his forehead again he stands up. Watches Takashi shift an arm under himself and sit up, and ease his body off the couch. He seems like he's moving easier. Less stiff.

Takashi quietly gets out plates and silverware, still half asleep. Pulling the salad out he has 2 choices for dressing and lets Curtis pick. Dumping food onto his plate, he settles at the counter and waits for Curtis to do the same.

When he's done serving himself, he unbuttons his uniform, and settles the jacket across the back of his chair. "Thanks for dinner."

"Of course," Takashi smiles back. They bump knees as they eat. He's happy to eat quietly, the hustle and bustle of running errands and dealing with people has him drained. The nap helps but just sitting there with his leg against Curtis' makes him feel better. That and not being required to talk around the food.

Half wondering if they should have talked first, in case he made himself sick, he breathes out a sigh through his nose.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to wear myself out so badly, though. Sorry."

Curtis nudges his leg, "it's fine."

When he finishes he rinses off his dishes and loads them.

"You cooked, I would have cleaned up."

"You do most of the hard work in our relationship, I think," Shiro smiles. "I can handle some dishes."

Curtis frowns a bit, but decides that can be part of their conversation later. He's absolutely not going to let that slide. Their needs just look different. He smiles when Takashi pulls out a sack of candy. And then laughs when he realizes how full it is. "Trying to fatten me up?"

"I just... There'll always be some here for you."

Holding out his hand he takes Takashi's gently as he comes around the counter and tugs him in close, between his legs. Tipping his face up they kiss for a few moments. Soft and gentle. They pull away and smile. Takashi is a little pink and Curtis smiles. Seems like everything works fine now.

#curo #shurtis #curtashi #takashi shirogane #curtis #voltron #my fic #keith kogane #vld keith

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kenzieam · 7 years

Text

Lost Girl - Chapter 1 (Eric and Fox)

Rating: M (swearing, violence, smut, blah blah)

Genre: Drama/Angst

****Trigger Warnings - mention of torture, abuse****

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85 @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt @treeleaf @beltz2016 @girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @girlslovestorys @lacy-love @fuckthatfeeling @sparklemichele @vitaevandal @micolegg @frecklefaceb @jaihardy @bookgirlthings @queenara4 @bluelassbird @mom2reesie @pathybo @letmagichappen @shaunarcanine @equalstrashflavoredtrash @itschibi @elaacreditava @lilu46 @tonyt1995 @jojogoo65 @littlesouthernrebel @sterek-foreverandever

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A huge thank you to my beta and Jai-sister @iammarylastar ! Quelle equipe!

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What happens if Fox disappears, and is returned to Eric two years later, but is not the same woman he loves???

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Eric groaned and rolled over with a curse, fumbling blindly for his ringing cell phone. Finding it, he pressed it his ear.

“Leader Coulter?”

Eric grunted.

“Head Leader Miller wants you down in the vehicle bay sir, ASAP.”

Eric lifted his head groggily and glanced at his alarm. 2:14 AM. What the actual fuck?

“What the fuck for?”

“He didn’t say sir, just to insist you get down here.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “I’ll be there in five.”

Still yawning, Eric pushed through the heavy armoured door of the vehicle bay and squinted in the sudden bright light, seeking out the reason for this early morning foray. Max stood a few dozen paces away, deep in conversation with a few soldiers. Setting his jaw Eric stormed over.

Max flicked a glance in his direction. “Coulter, good. ETA is seven minutes.”

“ETA for what?” Eric grumbled, scratching at the stubble he’d had no time to shave off. He’d barely had time to gel his hair for Christ’s sake.

Max’s face went dead serious and he dismissed the other soldiers with a jerk of his chin. Eric eyed him suspiciously as Max guided him by the shoulder farther away from the bustling men.

The Head Leader crossed his arms over his chest and Eric copied him, raising one eyebrow. Finally, Max dropped his hands, resting one on his hip while the other scratched at the top of his head. “We found her, Eric.”

“Found who?” Eric’s voice was almost bored, but an ember in his chest had begun to flare to life. Was it true? After all this time? Was she alive?

Max scrubbed his face and bit back a yawn before continuing. “Jensen and his team were on patrol, they intercepted a small party of factionless and engaged in a brief firefight. One of the bastards got loose and took off, so they pursued and found him again near an old collapsed strip mall trying to scramble into some sort of a hidden entrance. They neutralized him and entered the building…… they found a secret bunker underground, stuffed full of supplies and weapons. There were a few factionless guarding it, but Jensen had the take on them and his men dispatched the majority. They captured three prisoners. One of those three is Fox.”

Eric stared at Max in shock. A wave of vertigo hit and he staggered slightly before regaining control of himself through pure iron will. Gritting his teeth he glared hotly at Max. “Is she okay?”

“Jensen said he hardly recognized her, probably wouldn’t have but he caught sight of that tattoo on the back of her neck, that ‘E’ and looked closer.”

“Is. She Okay?” Eric repeated.

“She can’t or won’t recognize Jensen, is combative and uncooperative so far. He had to restrain her. That’s all I know. We’ll keep the prisoners here in the detention wing for now. Erudite is sending some medical staff in the morning to evaluate them but they’ll more than likely stay here until we figure out what to do with them.”

Eric turned away from Max, reeling with shock. Just over two years ago, Fox, his fiancée and love of his life had disappeared on patrol along with three other Dauntless soldiers. One soldier had been found dead a month later, but no trace of Fox or the other missing soldier, a man named Dawson, had ever been found. The last two years had been absolute hell for Eric, complete torture. The unknown, the lack of closure had been the worst, and Eric had started to finally accept that his soulmate was gone forever, that the one woman he’d allowed into his heart had disappeared for good. He’d only wished to know what happened, collect her remains for a proper funeral, closure. His bed and his life had been empty since that day.

Eric rolled, pulling Fox beneath him and burrowed his face into her throat, nipping and grinning against her skin when she started to shriek, struggling in the cage of his arms.

“Eric! Eric stop!” Fox pleaded.

“No way baby,” Eric laughed, burrowing deeper, nipping harder, in love with the feel of her pressed to him, her breathy shrieks of delight, her nails clawing at his back.

Desperate now, Fox arched her hips up, brushing against Eric’s half-hardened cock and he pulled back with a hiss.

“Hey, no fair,” he grinned, dropping his head with a groan as Fox continued to rub against him.

“We didn’t decide on any rules,” Fox grinned back, wrapping her legs around Eric’s thighs and pulling him roughly against her. Eric groaned raggedly into her hair, his body curling against hers and Fox knew she’s won, Eric could never concentrate when she started to do this. His hips began to rock against hers, and he moaned low in his throat as his lips replaced where his teeth had just been, his tongue soothing the previous sting.

Kneeing her thighs apart Eric sank into her with a groan, eyes squeezed shut. Slowly he started to thrust, arching his spine, pressing deeper each time, helpless in his desire, grunting roughly in Fox’s ear. Fox writhed beneath him, rapidly losing herself in bliss and she pulled Eric’s head down to hers, crushing their lips together, her tongue sweeping against his with a sigh. They devoured each other’s mouths, tasting every inch and Eric rose above her, muscles flexing and bunching with each thrust.

“Eric, I’m -” Fox breathed, starting to tremble. Eric shuddered above her.

“Let go baby, come with me,” he moaned and he felt Fox surrender beneath him, give in to the pleasure and her walls tightened around him as she cried out and Eric stopped fighting his own release. Groaning into Fox’s throat, Eric spilled inside her, filled her with his seed and collapsed, panting, on top of her, pulling her close to his chest as aftershocks coursed through their bodies.

Fox had accepted Eric’s proposal that night, had whispered ‘yes’ with tears in her eyes, pulling him to her as she’d cried and he’d rocked her gently, murmuring how much he loved her, how he would never let her down.

Fox disappeared that following day, the last contact being a garbled, static-filled scream from the commander, then dead air. Eric had searched for weeks, scoured the city, become unrecognizable in his mixed grief and rage. Many captured factionless met grisly ends at his hands, unwilling or unable to answer his questions before they succumbed to their injuries. For a time, Max had wondered if he would need to remove Eric from leadership, perhaps imprison him somewhere until he came back to some semblance of normality; but gradually, Eric had begun to accept the cold, hard facts.

Fox was gone, she had disappeared and she was never coming back.

Until now.

“Hey!” Max’s hand came down hard on Eric’s shoulder, jolting him out of his reverie. “Get it together, they’re less than 60 out.”

Eric swallowed hard and nodded, yanking his vest straight and smoothing his hair back. The most uncharacteristic feeling of nervousness had settled over him, giving him the faintest tremor in his limbs. Max had said Fox was unrecognizable, unresponsive and uncooperative, would she recognize Eric? Had her nights been spent lying awake, wondering about him, crying for their loss? Had her bed been as intolerably cold and empty as Eric’s since they’d been separated?

The first of the personnel trucks pulled up and the sounds of a struggle and yelling hit their ears.

“Christ.” Max growled. “Get up there!” He barked and the team jogged forwards, swarming the truck. Eric moved to follow and Max grabbed his arm, warning Eric with a glare to stay put.

The cab doors were thrown open and the soldiers converged on one struggling figure. First one, then two soldiers fell out of the truck with surprised shouts, then a final struggling mass of bodies launched outwards, landing in a pile of flailing limbs and shouts, curses and thuds. Ignoring Max’s order, Eric leapt into the fray and soon found the root of the problem, a single struggling factionless. Elbowing a soldier aside Eric body-slammed the individual, pinned the factionless’ shoulders to the cement and pressed his knees into their thighs. They were scrawny and bony, no match for Eric’s superior mass or strength but they were putting up a hell of a fight anyway. Eric let his body go slack, holding the troublemaker down with his greater body-weight and roared in his most dangerous voice.

“Stop fighting!”

The factionless spat in his face and, enraged, he slammed their head on the ground. The body went slack under his, their eyes rolling in a daze and Eric finally was able to concentrate on their face. Brown eyes of a dozen different mysterious hues flashed at him, a mix of rage and semi-conscious confusion. The lips were full but chapped as they curled back over sharp white teeth and it wasn’t until the factionless snarled at him did Eric realize with a jolt that it was a woman he was fighting with. Then it hit him, the shape of the cat-like eyes, the curve of those full lips, the heart-shaped face, this was Fox beneath him, Fox was fighting with him like she was fighting for her life. There had been no recognition when their eyes had met, no flash of surprise or joy. The woman beneath him was acting little better than an animal, struggling like a fox in a trap, snapping at everything within range. Heavy guilt coursed through Eric, he’d slammed her head into the floor, and he scrambled off of her, stumbling to his feet.

“R-restrain her.” He barked, chest heaving with a tangled mix of exertion and emotion. Max appeared at his side.

“Is it her?” He asked, shocked.

“Yeah,” Eric muttered, “it’s Fox.”

Fox was lifted to her feet, and she came to life again, struggling madly against the soldier’s grip, but they were expecting it now and cuffs were quickly snapped onto her wrists. Eric turned to Jensen in a rage.

“WHY THE FUCK WASN’T SHE RESTRAINED PROPERLY?!” He roared.

Jensen shuffled nervously, “Eric… it’s Fox.”

“Does that look like Fox?!” Eric growled, throwing an arm in her direction. He could have hurt her, seriously wounded her just now, and that could have been avoided if she’d been restrained from the start.

“Get her out of here.” Max said tiredly.

The soldiers started towards the doors, pulling a still-fighting Fox between them. She threw her head back, teeth gritted and let loose with a wild scream. Her eyes met Eric’s as he stared at her in shock, and again there was no recognition, only indignant rage. Their gazes held, Fox still fighting the soldiers, not willing to give an inch, until they’d pushed through the doors, cutting off Eric’s view. The thumps and cursing faded and finally Max sighed, turned towards Eric with a resigned frown.

“She doesn’t remember you.” It was a statement, not a question but Eric answered anyway.

“No.”

“They did something to her,” Max observed.

No shit, hovered on the tip of Eric’s tongue, but he held it back. Fox’s long glorious red mane was gone, her hair shaved almost to the skull. Small irregular scars peppered her scalp, as if she’d crashed through a window at some point. She was scrawny, hard and bony, sickly pale. A vertical scar bisected her lips, from the corner of her nose to the point of her chin and a horizontal scar blazed red and fresh just under her left eyebrow. Beyond her physical state however, was the massive difference in her temperament.

There was no trace of the Fox Eric remembered in this new incarnation. The lively spark that had always illuminated her mysterious eyes was now a blazing furnace of hate. The gentle curve of her generous lips was now a defiant snarl. The latent strength and feline grace of her athletic body was now the wiry might of desperation, an animal willing to do anything to survive. The only part of her that was the same was the ‘E’ tattoo on the back of her neck, the one that had tipped Jensen off; Fox had surprised Eric with the tattoo just a few days before they’d become engaged, a proud brand of his possession of her on her flesh. It matched the ‘F’ Eric had inked over his heart, to strengthen his soul and resolve, in the first week of Fox’s disappearance.

Eric drew in a deep breath, exhaled raggedly.

“What the fuck are we going to do Max?” He mumbled.

#eric coulter #jai courtney #divergent #eric coulter fanfiction #eric divergent fanfiction #fanfiction #eric and fox

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kiraelric · 6 years

Text

A Letter to Myself - Living with Bipolar

I was diagnosed bipolar 7 years ago, when I was 22 years old. During that time I was confused, hurt, terrified, and most of all crying out for help. Living with my parents at the time, there was little I could do other than take control by taking my medication and doing as much research as I could online.

All I was given by my doctor to combat this mental foe was the generic for the anti-depressant Celexa because it was all I could afford on part time salary. It’s been with me ever since. So my then-boyfriend and I did what we could to research so we knew exactly what we were dealing with and ended up buying a book titled “Bipolar for dummies.”

I was scheduled for a psychiatrist appointment that year, three days before my birthday and in my mania I refused to go because “I was controlling it just fine.”

I was wrong. I was always wrong.

Posting information about my condition online earned me the shiny badge of “Crazy” by my friends and “Misdiagnosed” by my family. I felt like I had no one in my corner, so I would handle it myself. This lead to a crazy and burn effect that had me moving out of my parents house and effectively losing the friend group I was currently hanging with because I “was scaring them” and “a loose cannon.” Well 2012 rolls around, I’m 24 now and I finally go see that psychiatrist, and get told in my very first appointment, that my job is the worst thing I could possibly be doing to myself (3rd shift), I need to stop drinking pop outright because it’s screwing up my brain, and that ”If I don’t get this under control by the time I’m 30 it will hospitalize me.”

I’ve lived with that ever since. My then-boyfriend and Mother both proceeded to tell me it was a “self fulling prophecy” and not to worry about it. Oh but I did. I do. It’s not something I have ever been able to get out of my mind, even more so with my 30th birthday rolling around in the next few months. It’s scary, it’s terrifying, it feels like a death sentence.

But it must be said, I saw that doctor twice before I stopped seeing him. Upon my second visit, I expressed concern to him that I wasn’t able to do anything creative and I needed to for my job. I tried to explain that these medications made me feel dead and His rebuttal was that “Art isn’t important and I would simply get used to it.”

So with 26 rolling around, I was running out of time to have insurance, and thus I ended up having to stop taking my medication and the therapist I was seeing I never got back in touch with. I would just handle my mental illness with no help at all. I thought I could do it. I swore I could.

I was wrong.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bounced from feeling like I could take on the world to wishing that I could just fade away and things would be “better” if I weren’t here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been suicidal. How many times I’ve deemed life “too much” and just wanted to be done with it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried, how many times I’m curled up in a ball on my living room floor and declared myself worthless, stupid, useless and every other negative thing I could think of.

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened because it would take too long to list. But I persist. I preserve. I’m still here.

Well as time goes on, my then-fiancee’s mother (who is a nurse practitioner) tries to help by prescribing me some medication for my condition which lands me in a week off of work due to side-effects and uncontrollable tremors or being unable to sleep at all.

The medication roulette has never gone well for me.

As time moved on, one of my friends from previous friend group mentioned, returned and gets me a job at a sewing shop down town. I finally think I’m at a place in my life where I’m okay.

Again I was wrong.

The supervisor hates, and goes out of her way to psychically corner me and talk down to me. I spend most of my days with my hat pulled down so no one can see me cry. My then-fiancee’s mother interferes again and given me sleeping medication and medication for anxiety.

Work eventually gets so frustrating between fighting with the previously mentioned friend and catty co-workers that I end up doubling up doses on the anxiety medication and my celexa.

I end up out of work for weeks due to illness or over dose. I don’t really know at this point.

This job ends when the owner of the shop calls the cops on me and reports me as a “dangerously unmedicated bipolar” suspiciously the day after I told him I was going to look for a different job if something wasn’t done about the fighting within the shop.

I haven’t had a formal job since.

That November, of 2014, my then-fiancee and I got struck my on coming traffic in an accident and it broke my pelvis. Black Ice is a bitch when you living in wintery areas. So my then-fiancee told me to focus on my art and he would handle the finances.

So that’s exactly what I did. I poured myself into my art and my sewing and found more success in costuming than anything else.

Don’t get me wrong. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried over my art. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried over “how I failed him” or how “I feel useless at the one thing I love.”

But I had the strangest thought this morning, looking at my hand full of more pills than I’ve ever taken in my life.

Here I am, 29 years old. I’m going to a new psychologist, one that I adore. I’m married to the man I love; My best friend who has been through everything with me from the very start. My art isn’t my main source of income, but my sewing is and it’s doing a fine job at that. People love my work enough to pay me work. People wear my work proudly. The shirt designed I’ve posted online are bought internationally, however few that may be people all around the world are still wearing art that I produced.

So there I am, staring at my hand, full of pills, and I take them without question.

I hate pills. Never in my wildest dreams as a child did I think I would end up taking a mild cocktail of medication just to function.

But music sounds better today. Music sounds bright today. My work looks respectable today. My work looks like something I can be proud of. The world feels lighter today; lively today.

My 30th birthday is January 23rd.

I don’t know if my bipolar is “under control” and I really don’t care.

Because right now, I’m stable and I’m still alive.

#bipolar #positivity post #positivity #mental illness #about me

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judedoyle · 7 years

Text

Untimely Ripped

Until I was rushed into emergency surgery, there was nothing really unusual about my pregnancy. I was perfectly healthy for nine months. I went to doula-guided community yoga classes where we processed our pregnancies in group talks and learned about safe, empowering natural alternatives to the Patriarchal Medical Establishment. I sailed into and out of appointments with my OB/GYN (who I went to because I was pretty sure I’d want that epidural in the end, no matter how patriarchal it was). I didn’t have a single complication or complaint to report. And then I actually went into labor, and everything went wrong at once.

The first bad sign was the prodromal labor. Beginning on Luna’s due date, I would have a few hours of regular, strong contractions every afternoon, but then they’d just... stop. My body wouldn’t actually progress to delivering the baby. I went to the hospital once and got turned away -- it felt that real. My doctor started talking about induction, which (as I knew, from all those crunchy yoga classes) was a worst-case scenario; labor was longer and more painful at best, and led to health complications and C-sections at worst. You couldn’t just force your body to produce a baby before it was time, and if you tried, you’d hurt yourself badly. So the prodromal labor hurt, and it was frustrating, and the hormone surges meant I was crying for most of the day by day two or three. But when I actually went into labor, late Sunday night, I was so determined to wait things out that I just hopped into a warm tub and had around eight hours of full-on labor contractions before waking up my husband.

I’m actually very proud of that stage, feministically speaking. I mean: I did my pregnancy yoga and practiced my breathing and just generally Ina May Gaskined the shit out of those contractions, all on my own, for an entire night. I was at one with my uterus and/or Nature. I reveled in the cosmic power of womynhood, and the strength of traditionally “weak” bodies. I honored and cared for myself instead of turning my power over to The Man and his Medical Establishment. It helps that my husband could sleep through a Slayer concert, so I could also yell “MOTHERFUCKER” at Nature, at semi-regular intervals, and he wouldn’t wake up enough to mind.

When I arrived at the hospital, though, they assured me that I was definitely not overreacting, and was in fact very close to having a baby. So my husband and I hopped into a delivery room, I got the epidural, he keyed up some classical music on the iPad and called my mother. “You’ll have a baby by this afternoon,” my mother said. I laid there on my numbed-out but still very feminist and empowered back, meditating, and focused on making myself emotionally open in order to welcome the baby into the world.

And then the labor stopped. And started again. And stopped again. My body just kept giving out, just like always, and this time, the labor was actually too far gone for it to stop without hurting Luna. So the forced breaking of my water, which I had been set firmly against, happened anyway. And the meds to increase my contractions, which I had been firmly against, happened anyway. Every time, it was the only safe option at the time, because I had been in labor for -- at the most conservative estimate -- about twenty hours. And then I started shaking.

The thing is, you actually can’t stay in labor forever, especially not once your water’s broken. It makes your immune system incredibly vulnerable. I apparently contracted a fever so high that, by the end, they were packing me in ice, like a grocery store watermelon. I didn’t feel much, aside from the tremors, which really only felt like flu chills. But the same infection was making the baby’s heartbeat spike like crazy, putting huge amounts of stress on her.

The language they used -- around me, over me, never to me, so I had to Google all this afterward; fucking Patriarchal Medical Establishment -- was suspected chorio, chorioamnionitis. The infection gets into the uterus, most likely via the rupture of the membranes -- there are all sorts of bacteria floating around in a hospital -- and affects both the person giving birth and the fetus. One possible effect of chorio is that it weakens the muscle tone of the uterus. It makes it impossible for your body to labor hard enough to push the baby out, so a Caesarean becomes necessary. That explains what happened in the hospital, sure. And it’s one of those stories natural-childbirth advocates always tell; if I hadn’t wanted the epidural, I wouldn’t have been at a hospital where they ruptured my membranes, and if they hadn’t ruptured them, I wouldn’t have gotten sick enough to need emergency treatment, and in conclusion, every medical intervention led to another, worse intervention, so just get in your tub and have unmedicated labor like the Goddess intended, you wusses. But when I look back at the days and days of contractions that just never took off, I also wonder if I had the infection all along. If it was just waiting there, stopping my labor over and over, until I finally got into a setting where someone knew its name.

The doctor knew how much I hated the idea of the C-section. He knew that avoiding a C-section had been the entire purpose of about half my birth plan and 30% of my decisions during pregnancy. He even let me push when I was at nine and a half centimeters, just to make me feel like I wasn’t inevitably going to get the C-section -- I pushed for an hour, altogether -- but he knew and I knew what was happening. After all that labor, it ultimately came down to a decision between her life or my feelings about C-sections. I got on the stretcher and they wheeled me in to the operating room.

In natural-birth and/or feminist-birth circles, they tell you all sorts of stories about the days of Twilight Sleep; women in the ‘50s who were so drugged up they don’t remember giving birth to their own children, and never bonded with them as a result. These stories are told both sadly and smugly, both as a story about how little we used to honor the birthing process, and also about how out-of-touch and loveless mothers used to be. Let me tell you: Now that I am, officially, one of those ladies who was too stoned to remember a kid coming out of her, I do not appreciate the judgment.

Caesarean anesthesia is very, very good. It’s some of the best in existence. It also gets you incredibly, incredibly high. So here’s what I remember, about the birth of my daughter. One second, I was saying “the anesthesia doesn’t work, I can still feel my...” The next second, there was a little baby in a pink blanket being held up next to my head.

“There was a baby in here!” I told my husband, excitedly. He’d been sitting next to me this whole time. “Someone let a baby into the room!”

“There was,” he agreed.

“Someone put a baby in here,” I said, feeling he did not properly appreciate the gravitas of the situation.

“It was our baby. The Luna baby,” my husband said.

“I SAW A BABY IN HERE,” I told my husband, who was really not getting where I was coming from, in regard to operating-theater hygiene, and proper security access for infants, and the like.

Then I laid back and watched the ceiling spin. My arms were laid out to my sides, and I couldn’t move them. I grooved on being immobile. I thought about the term “spread eagle” and the guy who was condemned to be chained to a rock and eaten by an eagle, because he had pissed off Zeus. I was like that guy, because I couldn’t move, an observation which I expressed by saying “Zeus, Zeus, Zeus” very quietly and weirdly for a while.

“Brian,” I said either thirty seconds or five minutes or possibly twelve centuries later, “was that my baby?”

They took Luna to the NICU and set her on a preventative course of antibiotics. They rolled me into my room on the same antibiotics and some powerful painkillers.

I won’t say it wasn’t excruciating. It was. I had “natural” labor and epidural labor and pushing and a C-section; it took a team of five people to help me pee afterward. There are no touching mommy-and-baby photos of me with Luna because, in every picture taken since the event, I look like I’ve been recently murdered. But by the time all that happened, I wasn’t the point any more.

I just needed to see Luna. Every other lady on the floor got to stay with her baby 24 hours a day; I’d wake up in the middle of the night to hear my roommate’s son crying and get bitterly, vengefully jealous of her. I also, and more crucially, needed to feed Luna. I had a thousand “simple, natural” plans for breastfeeding, and I did not realize how important they were until none of them were possible. In the NICU they deal with actual crises too much to care about bourgie childbirth trends. Unless you’re there to stop them, they will just stick a pacifier in your child’s mouth and feed her formula, right in front of the RULES FOR BETTER BREASTFEEDING poster on the wall of the NICU, which tells you that letting pacifiers or formula touch your child’s lips will ruin her for life.

So I learned to hobble down the hallway holding onto an IV or the wall or whatever I had to do, to see my daughter. I used a wheelchair when I needed the wheelchair; I walked as soon as I could walk. Luna improved quickly enough that they put her in a transitional nursery, with open bassinets; I was allowed to hold her and feed her for an hour twelve times a day, so she got held and fed eleven hours. (I could never wake up and make it down the hall in time for the 3 AM feeding -- and, as I soon learned, if you were even five minutes late, they assumed you weren’t coming and fed the baby without you.) No-one actually expects you to show up to those feedings, it turns out. Some of the nurses were surprised, some were openly resentful. One of the latter actually picked up my boob with one hand, jammed it into Luna’s mouth, and, when she hadn’t latched after thirty seconds, thanked me for “trying” and took her away. I overheard another referring to me as “that lady who’s always here,” which I believe was a title originally invented for the Virgin Mary.

But I was always there. I had to be. It was biologically necessary for me to be there, so I was.

I still don’t know how I feel about the idea of “maternal instinct.” Like any “instinct” regulating how much one person loves another, I suspect it to be bullshit. I still don’t like anything that sentimentalizes motherhood too much; I was never more adamantly pro-choice than when I was pregnant, because going through the process yourself reminds you of the massive gravity of what you’d be forcing on other people. And I know that one reason to have your child “naturally” is that it supposedly allows you to be blasted with the hormonal change of becoming a parent, floods you with love and euphoria and undying maternal bonding powers. Because of how I gave birth, I’m supposed to have missed that.

Still, at some point, when I was frantically limp-running down hallways at three inches per hour to make the 6 AM feeding, or turning down medical care to spend time with her, or saying very un-Sady-like things like “my daughter is the most important person here, so let’s table what I need for a second, please,” it did occur to me that something had shifted.

“Maternal instinct,” as I experienced it, was not sentimental. It felt, more than anything, like I was working the Secret Service detail for the world’s tiniest President. The most important place to be was always “wherever the baby is.” The most important thing to do was always “whatever the baby needs.” Every item and experience in my life got sorted into the categories ACCEPTABLE and UNACCEPTABLE - MAY HURT BABY. It’s not a sentimental thing, when a Secret Service guy takes a bullet for a President. It’s just part of his job; they don’t hire you unless you’re willing. I was very serious about ensuring the security of the tiny President who threw up on my hands if she ate too fast. It wasn’t personal, it was just what I had to do.

Of course, I’m also convinced that my baby is beautiful and interesting and smells amazing and probably has really fascinating opinions on modern literature -- she has good taste, but she’s not, like, re-iterating anyone’s talking points, you know? She’s a really authentic baby -- but that, too, is just part of the job. I walked into that hospital as a prickly, anti-social woman who gave frequent speeches about the importance of personal and mental independence, and I left it as Gary from Veep. There are many things you can say about the transformation. But it is too strange not to be “natural.”

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freaoscanlin · 7 years

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Given Unsought, Part 1

A/N: This fic is something I’ve been working on and I’m pretty deep into it now. I’ll be posting the full thing on AO3 as soon as I figure out just a bit of it, but I thought I’d put the first part up now. This is a retelling of season three of Agents of SHIELD where Jemma came back from Maveth just a liiiiittle bit different. The final fic will be about 40-45k, and it’ll be broken down into weeks. Jemma/Daisy with mentions of other ships. Warnings for language, injury, isolation, past abuse. I’ll be posting the fic in chunks and tagged on my blog as “given unsought.” Thanks to @insidiousmisandry for encouraging this, you enabler.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. The Twelfth Night, Act III, Scene I, Line 147

Week Four

In her years at SHIELD, Daisy had learned to evaluate the silence of the post-mission flight. The grim quiet of a failed mission had an entirely different flavor to the quiet of exhaustion after a successful op. And a truly successful op didn’t usually contain great stretches of time without talking. Bringing an agent back from the dead usually called for breaking into one of Hunter’s many secret stashes of beer on the quinjet and cracking open a cold one. If Bobbi was the pilot, she’d play cheesy eighties pop on the intercom and Daisy could get a dance party started in the hold.

She’d even twirled May once. That had been very, very strange, and Daisy still wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed that.

The flight from Gloucester should have been jubilant, full of dancing and music. They’d brought Simmons back. She was safe, and coming home, and Fitz—after months and months where Daisy had lost hope—had done it, the cheeky bastard. He’d gone to another world and had come back clutching his friend. By all rights, even though she’d drained all of her energy, Daisy should have been standing on her seat, holding a beer aloft and shout-singing Captain & Tenille with Mack. Instead, she sat quietly in the co-pilot’s seat and watched his giant hands as he moved them over the controls.

“Feeling okay?”

“Nothing sleeping for a year can’t fix.” She stretched out her arms, grimacing as her muscles creaked. “I still can’t believe Fitz did it.”

“Can’t you? He’s a determined one, our Fitz.”

Daisy nodded. She could have flown back on Zephyr One, but she hadn’t wanted to abandon Mack. Plus, she suspected that she’d only be in the way as Bobbi checked Simmons over. And maybe there was a desire to avoid more unnecessary medical checkups herself. Sure, she had the mother of all migraines, but the nosebleed had stopped. She’d be fine. “What do you think it was like over there?”

“Looked like it was pretty dusty.” Mack flipped a couple switches overhead.

Daisy glanced down at her front, still covered in dirt from the explosion of the monolith and hugging Jemma afterward. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“We’ll find out more soon enough, Tremors.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just impatient. I can’t believe she’s back. Like finally, something’s going our way.” Chasing down the rapidly expanding inhuman outbreak pattern had grown exhausting. Convincing Dr. Garner to let even one of the people onto her team of secret warriors doubly so. She’d fallen into the classic pitfall of being evaluated by him herself earlier that day and even though she hadn’t wanted to rail at it as much as she would’ve in the past, he did leave her feeling frustrated and annoyed.

But Simmons was back, and she was going to be fine, so that had to count for something.

“A much needed win,” Mack said, smiling as he agreed. “Seatbelt on, we’re coming in.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Pilot sir.”

Mack rolled his eyes at her, but she caught the smile he tried to hide.

The Zephyr had beaten them back to base. Though Daisy expected everybody to be busy with Jemma, Bobbi stood with her hip cocked and her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for the loading ramp to descend. Daisy groaned.

“Time to head to the lab. Coulson’s orders,” Bobbi said.

“I’m fine. I just need to sleep and I’ll feel like a human being again. Things just got a little shaky for a bit—ha. Literally.”

“You passed out twice,” Bobbi said, tilting her head. “We’ll put you on a bunk next to Simmons.”

Okay, that might not be terrible. With all of the science that needed to be run, it wasn’t like she would be able to see Jemma at all otherwise. Daisy followed Bobbi out of the hangar, both of them waving cheerily at Mack as he sarcastically called that, sure, he’d be happy to handle the post-mission checklist by himself, no problem.

“He loves us,” Bobbi said as she walked Daisy to the lab.

Bobbi had lied: they’d put Jemma off to one side of the lab and Daisy was led to the other and checked over by a SHIELD tech. With their leading inhuman biology expert on another planet for months, the rest of the lab workers had had to step up, and it just wasn’t the same. None of them ever gave her lollipops the way Jemma had sardonically taken to doing to keep Daisy from griping about getting poked so much. She wanted to complain, but Bobbi kept looking over and raising an eyebrow at her. Daisy decided it was easier not to cause a ruckus.

“Can I go yet?” she asked.

“Just a couple more tests, Agent Johnson.”

“Sameer, we’re poker buddies. You know all my tells, I think that entitles you to call me Daisy.”

For that, he took another vial of blood, though he assured her he would’ve done that anyway. Daisy grumped at him and leaned back on her cot. Movement on the opposite side of the room, near where Jemma still slept, caught her eye. One of the techs running blood tests did a double-take at something on his screen and began gesturing, wildly. Fitz and Bobbi immediately raced over. Daisy rose to her feet, too, only for Sameer to grab her arm.

“You probably should give them a moment,” he said.

“If she’s hurt—”

“They’ll figure it out much faster without distractions.”

As much as she hated it, he had a point. Daisy allowed herself to be pulled back, and sat down on the cot while Sameer ran the rest of his tests. She kept an eye on things, monitoring the way the surprised tech gesticulated while talking to Fitz and Bobbi. Fitz shoved him to the side and typed rapidly into his computer. Whatever he saw on the screen made him shove both hands into his curls and rest his hands on his head, elbows out.

Bobbi put a hand on his shoulder and said something to the tech.

“Something’s wrong,” Daisy said. “Something’s wrong with her—I need to—”

But Fitz stomped right past her when she stood up. Bobbi looked over, met Daisy’s eyes, and shook her head. She gestured for Daisy to stay put.

“She can’t expect me to just sit here when something might be wrong with Simmons,” Daisy said.

“Looks like she does.” Sameer rummaged in the pocket of his lab coat and held out a grape lollipop. “Will this help?”

“No.” But Daisy took it anyway. She flopped down, determined to stay until Bobbi gave her some answers. She missed the needle until Sameer had it in her arm. “What the—hey! What are you doing?”

“Dr. Morse’s orders. It’s just a sedative.”

Daisy felt her eyes begin to roll back into her head. “I’m cleaning you out next time we play poker,” she said and the last thing she saw before she slept was Simmons, curled up on a cot, asleep.

The only mercy when she opened her eyes was that her head no longer ached, but everything else pretty much sucked. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, her left arm had fallen asleep because she’d apparently laid on top of it for hours, and Mack hadn’t carried her back to her bed like he occasionally did whenever somebody (Bobbi) knocked her out. She’d apparently been kept in the lab, drooling into a pillow for all the techs to see. Not that there were many of those around at the moment.

Daisy rubbed her hand over her face and grimaced at the gritty sensation. She glanced at the clock, saw that it was just after four a.m., and groaned. “I’m quaking Sameer into a wall next time I see him.”

“I’d advise against that.” Bobbi’s voice sounded rusty. Daisy looked over her shoulder and saw her on the chair beside her cot, eyes open and arms crossed over her chest. The knee brace had been set aside for the night. “He was following my orders.”

“Yeah, well, don’t think you’re forgiven either, Barbara.”

Bobbi made a face and sat up. “Like you’d have gotten any sleep with that migraine you tried to hide. You can thank me later.”

“Thank. Right. That’s exactly what’ll happen.” Daisy sat up and stretched. She looked over across the lab, to the other cot on the far end. “Is Simmons okay?”

Bobbi paused for so long that Daisy swiveled away from Jemma to face her coworker. “Is something wrong? The planet wasn’t killing her slowly, was it?” Best to blurt out the worst possible option, get it out of the way, even while her brain hammered Not Jemma not Jemma not Jemma.

“No. Her body adapted to what we suspect is a lower level of oxygen, so that will cause a few problems in the short term. Her metabolism’s changed. But she’s healthy.” Bobbi folded her arms over her chest. “But there’s something else, though. She’s pregnant.”

The word slammed into Daisy so hard it might as well have been a punch to the face. “She got sucked into an alien planet and came back pregnant? Was it something in the air? Or was it the planet? Wait, how is that even possible? And is she okay? Is the baby okay? How far along—”

“Easy there, motor mouth,” Bobbi said, and Daisy abruptly shut up. Hysteria, she realized. That was what coursed through her veins. That, and adrenaline. “One question at a time.”

“How?” was all Daisy can manage.

“She hasn’t talked much, but as far as we can tell, it happened the usual way. As far as we can tell, she’s about four weeks along. That’s early to tell, but we’re SHIELD. Cutting edge is kind of our thing.”

“She wasn’t alone over there?”

“There was an astronaut with her. She didn’t say his name, but we’re assuming that he’s human.” Bobbi shrugged.

Daisy looked toward Jemma. In sleep, she remained twitchy, pale and drawn like she constantly awaited danger. For all they knew, she did. Daisy’d barely heard her say five words since Fitz pulled her out of the portal.

Speaking of…

“Guess there’s no need to ask how Fitz is taking it?” Daisy asked. Late one night, drunk off cheap tequila and sitting in the middle of the room he’d turned into a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream in search of Simmons, he’d confessed that he’d made his move. Daisy, not nearly as drunk, had found herself struggling to congratulate him, with no idea why. They’d be cute together, she’d said, when they got Jemma back. Of course they would be. They were Fitz and Simmons. FitzSimmons. They already had a smushname all their own without even trying.

And hell, Fitz’s mania had paid off, hadn’t it? Fitz had doggedly and methodically followed the steps to save her for months, while Daisy threw herself into finding inhumans so she wouldn’t have to think about the grief and fear waiting just around the corner, far too close for comfort.

“I don’t know,” Bobbi said. “He didn’t say much when he came back.”

She gestured. On the other side of the lab, Fitz had a studied frown on his face as he stared into a microscope. From the set of his shoulders alone, Daisy figured bothering him would be one of the worst ideas she’d entertained since trusting her mother.

“You know she asked him to dinner right before…” Bobbi trailed off.

“I know,” Daisy said. “Should I—I don’t know? Talk to him?”

“You can try, but I don’t think it’ll work. I’m sending Hunter to annoy the truth out of him if he gets back soon.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows. “You’re going straight to the nuclear option?”

“For a man whose talents are very annoying, he’s also very good at what he does.” They both paused when Daisy’s wrist-unit beeped with an alert. “See you later.”

“Um, if she wakes up, tell her I’ll stop by?” There was too much she wanted to ask, as she was burning with curiosity and kind of a weird sense of unreality and terror. Her friend was pregnant. With an actual human child. Well. Daisy looked at her hands. Maybe mostly human. Who knew? Daisy sent one last swift look at Jemma and left to handle whatever emergency had arisen on the inhuman front.

What the hell happened on that planet, and what would Jemma do now?

Week Six

For the next two days, her timing was so terrible, it might as well be one of their plans. She dropped by whenever she could get one of the other agents to cover the enforcement agency channels, but Jemma was always sleeping. Daisy busied herself with briefings and seeing Joey, and worked on trying to track Lincoln, who wasn’t answering her calls. Finally, she escaped and made it to Jemma’s bedroom, but there was no answer to her soft knock, so Daisy moved on to her own quarters two doors down and passed out face first into the mattress.

Coulson called her in before she was even fully awake the next morning, to a distress call in Tallahassee. It turned out to be a false alarm—just a kid with a lighter and some superstitious neighbors—but the mission still nearly went sideways three times. Daisy couldn’t deny that she was frustrated. Searching for other inhumans was beyond trying to find a needle in a haystack. More like a needle in a field full of haystacks.

And behind all of that a constant tattoo beat in her head: Jemma is pregnant, Jemma came back from an alien planet with a baby.

In the hangar bay after nearly five days in Florida, she stepped off the quinjet and frowned. “Why don’t you go on without me?” she asked Mack.

“Tremors?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Got something on your mind?”

“Nah, I just—I just—” Stop babbling, Sk—Daisy. He’s going to know something’s up. “I think I’ll take a walk, clear my head before I get stuck in an underground base and feeling all claustrophobic. Or worse, somebody needs me to do something.”

Mack eyed her, but he nodded. “I’ll keep your paperwork warm for you.”

“My hero,” she said, and waved at the rest of the support team as they headed in for post-mission grub. Daisy moved back to her quarters to grab a set of civvies, pulling a dark beanie over her hair, and made for the secret exit that put her on Fourth Street. From there, it was only a few blocks to the bookstore.

She kept an eye out, just to be sure nobody tailed her, before taking a deep breath and stepping resolutely to the appropriate shelf. Wow, this area of the bookstore was huge. And there were so many books with similar titles. Daisy stared at the bookshelf.

Rows and rows of babies stared back at her from the covers. She picked up What to Expect When You’re Expecting because even a homeless hacker living in a van had heard of that one, and paged through. More than part of her felt ridiculous. It was absurd that she’d even be here looking at these books. Jemma had, like, a gazillion degrees, she was bound to know everything that went into pregnancy. But Daisy didn’t, and she felt kind of stupid about it.

Even worse, there wasn’t really a What to Expect When Your Best Friend Went to an Alien Planet and is Now Expecting. Unfair. There seemed to be every other super-specific topic of baby raising on these shelves. But that was Jemma Simmons for you. Always going above and beyond in the most endearing way.

Daisy selected a couple books that didn’t look as schmaltzy as the others, ones she suspected might be written with the fathers in mind, and carried them to the counter. She paid cash and made sure not to be memorable, neither staring nor avoiding the cashier’s eyes. When she left, she kept the beanie low.

At the next store over, she picked up a cloth shopping bag just in case the plastic bag they gave her wasn’t opaque enough. She also rooted around in a small gift section, as she didn’t want Jemma to think she was avoiding her or weird about anything. So a little trinket, that seemed like the ticket. A little blue vase of bright yellow daisies, cheerful and bobbing gently in the breeze of a ceiling fan, caught her eye, and Daisy paid for them almost without thinking about it. Books safely hidden, flowers in hand, she went home.

For once, she was in luck.

“Skye!” Jemma’s face lit up when Daisy stepped in. Then she looked down and away, sheepish. “Daisy. Sorry.”

Daisy held out the flowers. “It’s a multipurpose gift,” she said. “It’s pretty, and it’s a reminder. You can call me whatever you want.” She absolutely meant that. Everybody else had an adjustment period where they called her Sk-daisy, which was aggravating but at least they were trying. With Jemma, Daisy was so happy she was back that she didn’t care.

She studied her friend, pale and diminished but vibrantly alive, and words came tumbling out. “I can’t stay for too long, I’m tracking law-enforcement channels, but I’m really sorry that I haven’t come sooner. It’s—there’s just a lot going on.”

“And I’ve been sleeping.” Jemma’s voice cracked, but her smile felt real and familiar.

“Which is good,” Daisy said a little too fast. Sleep was good for the baby, right? It seemed like it would be. “Do whatever you need to do to get better. We need you. And I…” What did you say to somebody who comes back from another dimension with an amniotic passenger in tow? She sat down on the bed, glancing once at where Jemma’s hand resting on her abdomen. Absently, like an afterthought.

Jemma sighed. “Bobbi told you.”

“The tech who ran your tests wasn’t exactly discreet. Coulson fired his ass, don’t worry, but Bobbi told the team in case it got out. I know you probably don’t want to talk about what happened yet, but when you do, I’m here to listen.” Daisy set the bag of the books on the floor and sat on the bed, close to but not crowding her friend. Bobbi had warned her that Jemma still jumped at everything.

“I’d rather listen now, if that’s okay.” Jemma leaned forward. “The terrigen is spreading?”

“And so’s the paranoia.” Shoptalk. She could handle shoptalk. Daisy filled her in on the nightmare of the past few months, the way cocoons spread all over the world, with inhumans popping up—

“Like daisies?” Jemma interrupted, giving her a small, real smile.

“I’ll let you have that one,” Daisy said, unable to stop her laugh. “We found a new one a few weeks ago. Joey Gutiérrez. He’s very sweet. He just melts metal, like, poof, wow. I think once he gets a handle on it, he’ll be incredible. If we can ever get Dr. Garner to sign off on letting him be a full-time team member.”

At this rate, Andrew was never going to sign off on anybody for a secret inhuman team.

“And you?” Jemma asked, surprising Daisy. “How are you handling all of this?”

“I…” Daisy blinked. She hadn’t really thought about it. How was she handling Lincoln being a fugitive, the ads from politicians on TV, the fearmongering and spreading hate toward what she was? The message boards about “How to Hunt Inhuman Scum” that twisted her stomach into knots? Even at SHIELD, where she was insulated, a couple of the new agents still twitched whenever she walked into the room. “I’m handling it. I’ve been more worried about you, to be honest. You’re really okay?”

“I think so.” Jemma’s voice was soft, like talking too loud hurt her ears. “I just…there’s…some of it is hard to talk about and—”

She jolted like frightened prey when Daisy’s cell phone buzzed. “I am so sorry,” Daisy said.

“N-no, it’s okay. You should take that.”

Guilty, Daisy picked up the phone and answered. Lincoln’s voice, distressed and just as afraid as Jemma seemed, filled her ear. She gave Jemma one last apologetic look and, passing the daisies on the nightstand, hurried off go to handle yet another crisis.

Part 2.

#skimmons #bioquake #agents of shield #daisy johnson #jemma simmons #bobbi morse #mack #avengers #avengers fanfiction #aos fanfiction #fanfiction #given unsought #lincoln is there but he's kind of 'sir not appearing in this fic'

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ohsotiny · 7 years

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You Make This Place Home

I had promised some KakaSaku but this is totally not what I had in mind. Either way, i do hope ya’ll enjoy it!

His lungs were screaming, yet he could not force air to reach them. Kakashi had been running for the last three hours, pushing it towards four. Just a little bit longer.

He had just returned from a simple mission and was briefing Tsunade when they got word that a certain Konoha shinobi had peaked the interest of a group of highly dangerous rogue nin, all listed in the Bingo book. Their plan was to abduct her, but who knows what sick, twisted plans they had in store for her. There was no way he was going to sit back and let them take her away from Konoha, from him. He was out of the door before Tsunade could finish her name.

He could not lose another person. It had taken so much to let anyone back in. Unknowingly, she had slipped through the walls he put up. It was pointless trying to push her out. She brought light into his heart, something that had been lacking for most his life. Kakashi wasn’t aware how much he was drowning in solitude. Not until he realized how much he enjoyed her company.

Now that she wasn’t around, he was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do with his time. He had been taking easy mission after mission, trying to kill time but also wanting to be here when she returned. Every couple of months, Tsunade would sent her on a two-week mission to Suna, but somehow this rogue group must have known that she was due back if they were planning to kidnap her.

Kakashi wasn’t one to lose his cool, but if he didn’t focus on making it to her fast, he was certain all hell would break loose. Anyone who got in his way would regret delaying him of his rescue for his best friend. She was strong and certainly could hold her own in a fight. He didn’t doubt her capabilities nor did he think she was weak. If it was anybody else, Kakashi knew his heart wouldn’t be pounding so fast in his chest. It wasn’t just anybody though, it was Sakura.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Kakashi concentrated on the area around him. He had to focus or neither of them would make it back, or worse, he would be too late. Straining to hear the slightest noise, he pushed harder when the sounds of fighting reached his ears. Leaves fell from trees all around as Kakashi detected a small tremor not too far from him now. It was her.

To say he was shocked at the sight before him was an understatement. The entire group of rogue nin laid in the clearing, completely taken down by the twenty-three-year-old shinobi. He counted nine rogues in all, a number he knew for a fact she could handle. Her ability to take care of herself wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks though.

It was the fact that Sakura lay bleeding in the arms of Suna’s puppeteer. The way his hand clung to her body, like she belonged to him, made Kakashi’s heart clench. He could see the affection he felt for her in his eyes. Kankuro obviously had feelings for her, but did she feel the same?

Kakashi followed Kankuro’s other hand slowly brush her hair out of her eyes, lowering his head so she could hear the words he spoke. “Sakura, just hold on a little bit longer. Help can’t be too far off.”

That was his cue. What the hell was he doing just sitting back, watching her bleed to death while some other man soothed her. She could be dying for all they knew. Taking a deep breath, Kakashi jumped from the branch he had been concealing himself in, into the clearing where Kankuro held Sakura in his arms.

“You can explain to me how you let her get hurt this badly on the way. Let’s get going.” Kakashi glowered at Kankuro as he bent down to tie his hitai ate around her leg as a makeshift tourniquet. He scooped the pink haired beauty out of Kankuro’s arms as he nodded his head. Kakashi didn’t miss the guilt go through Kankuro’s eyes, but held back from commenting. He already didn’t like the way Kankuro felt comfortable enough to hold her so intimately.

***************************************************************************************************

They had run at full speed, pushing chakra to their feet for the extra boost and Kakashi knew they were nearing the Konoha gates. Kankuro still hadn’t uttered a word and Kakashi was having a tough time keeping his composure. Feeling his unease, Kankuro let out a deep sigh, turning his faced away from Kakashi.

“She said she could handle it. While I leaned against a fucking tree, Sakura was kicking ass.” Kakashi could see the Suna nin’s inner struggle. Kakashi knew all about blaming yourself when a comrade is down.

Taking another breath, Kankuro continued, “She was about to finish the last one when a kunai was thrown. It stuck her right in the leg, and she was able to remove it.”

He paused before turning and locking eyes with the copy nin. “All that came out of her mouth was poison. And then she passed out.”

That was all the motivation Kakashi needed to push himself the last couple of minutes through Konoha gates, straight to the hospital.

***************************************************************************************************

Tsunade and Shizune had been tending to Sakura for the last couple hours. Kankuro had disappeared for the first half hour but when Kakashi returned from the bathroom, he had found Kankuro waiting for news on Sakura. Apparently, he had sent out a message to the Kazekage that he wouldn’t be leaving Konoha until he knew Sakura was safe.

Kakashi didn’t scare easily. But the thought of losing Sakura made his chest constrict painfully. She was an extraordinary medic, so why hadn’t she been able to remove the poison herself? Why hadn’t she at least stopped the bleeding? All he wanted now was to hear Tsunade assure him that she would be fine.

As if his thoughts summoned her, Tsunade walked through the operation doors towards the shinobi waiting anxiously. A crease of her eyebrows indicated that something was off. When she finally made it to both males, her shoulders relaxed a bit as she took a deep breath.

“You too can relax. She’s going to be fine. She lost a lot of blood but now just needs a bit of time to recuperate. The poison that entered her bloodstream is one of the most advanced I’ve seen in a while. It’s designed specifically against medics.” Pausing, she turned towards one of the windows that aligned the waiting area.

Tsunade noticed the perplexed expression on Kakashi’s face and further explained. “Only another medic could have come up with something like this. This toxin is meant to knock out the injured person if they intent to use any chakra.”

Another medic? They kept a record of who was suspected to be part of the rogue group. As of now, they only knew of one, highly skilled, in medical ninjutsu – Kabuto. Kakashi’s hands clenched in tight fists, turning them white. He had been on the search for that four-eyed freak since the chunin exams. It infuriated him that Kabuto had been able to evade capture for over ten years.

Kankuro’s next words pulled Kakashi out of his thoughts, taking a dark turn. “They were planning on abducting her. Had I not been there, and had Kakashi not shown up, I’m sure the rogue would have made an appearance.”

“Yes, it seems so. We can move her to an isolated room to rest. They’ll try again. I’ll assign ANBU to guard her, but for now, you two should rest as well.” With that, Tsunade walked back into the operation room to check on Sakura.

***************************************************************************************************

By the time Kakashi had grabbed a bite to eat and showered, the blazing sun had long since set. He knew he had to sleep but his thought kept shifting back to the pink haired medic. It was strange sitting in his apartment without her. She would often show up after her shifts at the hospital and just spend time with him. They would alternate cooking dinner at his house.

She had stopped by to return his favorite Icha Icha book that she had borrowed when she noticed he had nothing in his fridge. Or anywhere in his apartment, for that matter – aside from a box of take out so far gone that they had to open windows to get the smell out.

With that, Sakura had stalked out of the foul-smelling apartment. The silver haired nin thought that was the end of it, until the cherry blossom had stormed back in half an hour later with two brown paper bags, filled with an assortment of food. She had taken it upon herself to make sure he had food in his apartment. It warmed his heart to know that she worried about his health that much.

Looking up at her from his place on the couch, his eyes widened when he realized she was heading to his kitchen. Anyone who knew anything about Sakura knew that she could not cook to save her life.

Rushing in after her, he stood behind her, one arm on her shoulder, and the other scratching the back of his neck, “Ah, that’s very kind of you, Sakura. Since you bought the food, the least I could do is cook.”

When she turned to look at him, her face held the sweetest of smiles. He knew that smile. It was the, you better do as I say or your ass is going to regret it, smile. “Kakashi, please. I would really like to cook. You obviously can’t be concerned for your health if your place is foodless. I suggest you sit and stay out of my way.”

Kakashi had watched her move around in his kitchen until she finally placed an appealing bowl of one of his favorites. Raising an eyebrow at her, he looked in her emerald pools, “Miso soup? This is one of my favorites.”

She was leaning on the other side of the table, resting her chin on her upturned palm. Kakashi wasn’t sure what passed through his ex-student’s eyes, but he was certain it was foreign territory. A gentle smile graced her lips, “I know.”

The entirety of team seven had seen his face long ago, so when he pulled his mask down to eat, she hadn’t reacted any differently. To say that her miso soup was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted was an understatement. He tried his hardest not to gag as it made its way down his throat. He knew she was gauging his reaction. There was only one thing he could do so he wouldn’t hurt her feelings. He finished the whole thing. “Ma Sakura-chan, thank you so much.”

Had he known she was going to eat as well, he might have thought of something better to say. When she took the first bite, her face scrunched up in disgust. “Geez Kakashi, how the hell did you eat it all?”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, “Let’s make a deal. You join me for dinner every now and then and I teach you a thing or two about cooking.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like date, but when he noticed the pink blush covering her cheeks, looking everywhere but him, he wished he hadn’t said anything.

Raising her head after a minute or so of awkward silence, emerald orbs locked with charcoal, “Deal.”

Kakashi had done most of the cooking at first, but after three months, she had picked up some cooking skills that made it possible for them to alternate.

One evening, Sakura had stopped by, looking so exhausted. She looked like she would pass out before he got a chance to get food into her stomach. Luckily for him, he got her fed in record time. She had pulled a double shift and was so tired that anyone could have easily noticed the purple surrounding the bottoms of her eyes.

She found him on the couch after a quick run to the bathroom, patting the seat next to him. He was seated on one side of the couch with the orange coated book in one hand, “Ma Sakura-chan, I don’t know how to say this nicely, but you look awful. You should probably rest a lot more if you’re going to continue overworking yourself.”

He could feel her glaring at him from where she stood, but when he looked up, he caught the long sigh that escaped her lips after biting on her bottom lip.

Dragging her feet, she made her way over to Kakashi on the couch, sitting at first and then placing her head in his lap so she could lay, “You’re right, Kakashi. I’ll just rest my eyes here for a bit.”

The moment he felt her head touch his lap, Kakashi had stiffened. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, just not something he was accustomed to. Pushing the boundaries of his comfort zone, he gently placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair soothingly. Continuing the stroke of her hair, Kakashi placed his book on the side table next to him. He watched the young woman in his lap drift off to sleep as he took in her beauty, not for the first time, and realizing he was doomed.

If they continued their daily routine of dinner after her shift, he was sure to fall in love with her more than he already was. How that was possible was beyond him, but he knew if he shut her out now, their friendship would never be as it was.

Naturally, Kakashi came up with one conclusion; he couldn’t let her find out for he knew she did not feel as he did. His head continued to swirl with thought, but listening to Sakura’s even breathing, sleep called to him. Before he knew it, he fell asleep, one hand on the arm rest and the other, tangled in Sakura’s cotton candy locks.

***************************************************************************************************

Sakura’s recovery had been quick. Kakashi had stopped by to see how she was doing several times. He hadn’t been able to get a moment alone with her. Every time he walked up to her door, he could see Kankuro through the little window on the door. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t even get two minutes with her.

He was about to open the door when he saw Kankuro reach down and hold Sakura’s hand in his. Clenching his fist, Kakashi stormed away from the door, out of the hospital. He missed Sakura pulling her hand out of the puppeteer’s hand, turning her gaze away from him.

Three days later, Kakashi was on his way to the jonin lounge when pink caught the corner of his eye. She was walking with Kankuro towards the village gates. Guess that punk is finally going back to Sunagakure, Kakashi though bitterly.

He continued to watch the pair until they reached the gates. Sakura had her hands behind her back, a small smile on her plush pink lips. Her cotton candy hair had grown to her shoulders and her jade eyes, the eyes that you could look into and they’d tell you exactly what she was feeling.

He began to grow uncomfortable as he realized he wanted Sakura to look at him with the same warmth in her eyes that she was showing towards Kankuro. He watched as the pink haired medic reached up to hug the puppeteer. By the time Kankuro had walked out of the village after placing a kiss on top of her hand, Kakashi was seething.

From where he was standing, he had missed the conversation between the pink haired medic and the puppeteer. She had confessed to Kankuro that she was in love with another man – Kakashi. She would not be able to return the sand nin’s feelings nor would she allow him to continue perusing her. She did, however, greatly appreciate him escorting her back to Konoha.

That was the final straw. Kakashi took to the rooftops and made his way to the training grounds. With the anger boiling within him, the copy nin knew he had to break something, and fast.

Caught up in his rage, Kakashi failed to see Sakura watching him with that warmth he so desperately wanted to experience. He failed to see Sakura’s brows furrow as she took in his clenched fists. He failed to see the look of hurt that was so evident on her face.

Most of all, he failed to notice that she was crazy in love with him.

#my writing #kakasaku #slight kanksaku #You Make This Place Home #kakashi hatake #sakura haruno #kankuro #YMTPH #tiny writes

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askmicrowaveayem · 7 years

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Boink! Life is Better With You Pt. 18

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Gaster laughed a little, a few tears gathering in his eye sockets before he wiped them away, but he was smiling.

“Y-You were very brave back there.” He finally said, turning to look at Doc. “Telling the King n-no.”

He blinked, confused for a long moment, watching Gaster before shaking his head, laughing a little softly, a little manic.

“God. No. N-no, I…” he shook his head more. “...it wasn’t anything brave, I just.. If he got the machine… if he had that… he… he might’ve come to your world.”

His voice grew terribly soft.

He nodded solemnly, “But… it was still brave. You’re braver than I could ever be.” Gaster laughed a little, “I couldn’t even stop myself from telling him about it after he realized I could talk.”

Doc shook his head. “No, you’re fine, you weren’t used to him... “

He curled a little tighter against the bars, still holding Gaster’s hand.

“...he does that. He figures out how to make you do things you never thought you would. It’s… it’s not your fault.”

Gaster swallowed and nodded, pressing a little more into the bars and as close to his friend as he could.

“... He was going to make me learn what you can do.” He said after a moment, eyes panicked just thinking about it. “Even without the magic. That’s what he said. And- and when I didn’t l-look convincing he-he--”

He rubbed circles around the hole in his friend’s hand, not caring about the sting in his thumb as he did so.

“...what’d he do?”

“H-He stabbed th-this.” Gaster said, reaching up with his other hand to touch the old burn by his collarbone, still sore and stinging but healing now. “Tw-twisted it.”

His eyes focused on nothing, staring at the floor and frazzled as he recalled the horrible memory.

“I-I couldn’t stop fr-from screaming then. He-he knew I could talk. H-Hit me to the ground and-and p-pinned me. S-stepped on my arm.”

“I just-- just started talking. T-Telling him everything.”

His voice grew quiet, tears welling in his eyes. “I was so scared…”

Shakily, Doc reached through the bars, wrapping his arm around his friend’s shoulders and trying to hold him close.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay… he’s gone now and he w-won’t hurt either of us again…”

He couldn’t believe he was saying that. Not really. His voice cracked and pitched high as he strained to hold back tears as well.

“I-if you hadn’t said anything, h-he’d have just kept going…”

(Behind them, ignored, the dog listened, stricken.)

Gaster started crying again then, helplessly pressing against the bars and trying to cling to Doc. He wasn’t crying about killing the King this time like after waking up, he was crying out of fear.

It was still so fresh in his mind. The terror. The pain. So he cried and his body shook.

“I was so scared…” He repeated, sobbing like a child, “I was so scared…”

Doc held him as best he could, trying to rock him through the bars and soothe him the same way he’d learned to soothe his kids.

He didn’t know what else to say. What he could say.

He knew that fear, but… but he’d learned how to survive it. How to survive the shame and humiliation of doing thing to avoid pain. Knowing that trying to save himself was only going to put more people in danger.

But Gaster hadn’t had to live with that fear. Shouldn’t have had to.

He’d been so brave for so long in this new world.

Doc held him tight, rocking him as best he could, trying to give him at least that much comfort.

Gaster shook and sobbed and clung to his friend as best as he could, finally able to let out his emotions with someone he trusted without fear of them being heard or hurt. It wasn’t just the King that had frightened him, it was everything.

Everything in this world was terrifying.

The dogs had been, although he was growing to be a little more comfortable in their presence despite how rough they had been at first. The tutor, cold and stony and intimidating. And the King… the King had been like the air. Always there. Stifling, choking, a miasma of dread that never seemed to lift.

Chopping off his arm. Dragging him away from his only friend. Branding him not once, but three times, threatening and stabbing and crushing him.

Never in his life did Gaster think he would experience something like this. The war hadn’t been nearly this horrible. It had just been… war.

This had been hell.

He would cry until he couldn’t cry anymore, his sobs dying down to small whimpers and his full-body tremors calming to small shakes of his arms and legs.

He would breath in and out slowly, completely and utterly exhausted in every single way he could imagine and more.

Doc would keep holding him, rubbing his shoulder and letting him cry.

He couldn’t help but feel like he’d made everything worse. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t been able to help it, but… If Gaster had come to this world with anyone else. If he’d been brought to the castle or met the place by any other means, he would have been treated more kindly. Not had to lie or face threats so often. Not have been such an object of scrutiny. Not had the King’s eye on him.

But he held him still, tightly, and eventually tried to murmur again, “it’s going to be okay. It’s over now. We can focus on going home,” hoping Gaster would be okay.

Gaster nodded to his words and began to calm, breathing in and out through his mouth as he tried to steady himself.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to Alphys. T-Tell her everything she w-wants to know. G-get us to a point wh-where we can focus on the m-machine.”

His head leaned against the bars, eyes drooping.

Gaster nodded, willing to agree to anything his friend said at that point that didn’t mean more tears, more terror.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Do that. I’ll be here, it’ll be okay. Just rest first, alright? You can rest now.”

He nodded back and closed his eyes, his breathing shallow.

Gaster wished he could just sleep here beside his friend, but… he knew he couldn’t stay. He had to go sleep more; he had been doing a lot of sleeping. He had to sleep and eat and then get up and talk to Alphys and plan for his friend’s release. Plan for the machine.

He would try not to be so afraid.

Doc was okay. Doc would be okay.

“I sh-should… go… I guess…” Gaster mumbled, opening his eyes again, shaking a little from the chill of the dungeon. “B-but I’ll be back.”

He released his friend and gripped the bars, having great difficulty trying to stand.

Doc nodded up at him, trying to help him stand but doing little better himself.

“I trust you,” he said as the guard approached, taking Gaster by the shoulders and helping to lift him up, “Take care of yourself.”

Gaster nodded, but couldn’t offer Doc a smile. Too exhausted to appear happy.

He walked with the guard back towards his room in Alphys’ lab, his pace slow and unsteady.

Doc watched him go, ignoring the look the guard shot over their shoulder. He just hoped Gaster would be okay, and that the blaster hadn’t done any permanent damage to him.

For now, though, he just sat back in his cell and curled into a ball again to wait.

Gaster would head back into his room and sleep and eat, resting for the remainder of the day before he put himself into motion.

He still needed an escort, mostly because he didn’t know where to go and his legs were still weak, but he would head to Alphys and fill her in on everything she needed to know, tell her from start to finish what had transpired between Doc, the King, and himself.

Then they would reach an agreement.

Doc would be allowed out and confined to his lab so they could work on their machine together. Then, once completed, Doc would be banished for the things he had done.

… Really there was no downside to that.

So they would work. Day in and day out they would scrawl calculations and piece together something with what little they had in an attempt to get back home. With their nonstop, desperate efforts, and some help from Alphys as well, they would manage to create something in the span of a month.

Then, it was just a matter of seeing if it worked.

Doc’s burns had healed much more easily once he was released from the cell and able to give himself regular medical attention once again. He did what he could to help fade the brands on Gaster’s bones, now that the King was dead there wasn’t any reason to force him to endure the sight of them if it could be helped.

Every other waking moment was spent on calculations, welding, tinkering, stitching.

Between the two of them, they’d created something terrifying.

A machine that wasn’t sure if it mimicked organics or was as rigid and designed as a circuit board. It looked half-wilted, like some dead plant, while also having the same imposing presence as a huge, perfect cube or some alien technology of perfect proportions.

They spent a short amount of time doing checks, trying to be certain it would work and get them out of this world, but without anything to compare it to, without knowing what to expect, the best they could really do was strap everything together as tightly as possible and hope nothing went wrong or rattled apart.

Doc didn’t waste time on goodbyes when it was completed. He stored their notes inside the machine and left instructions for Alphys to burn anything remaining in case something went wrong and he was unable to.

There was a note of thanks at the end. A promise to never return.

Then, he climbed in the machine, as fearless as he could be.

If he died from this piece of shit, at least he died with someone he cared about, and not under anyone’s boot.

“Are you ready?” he asked, waiting for Gaster to follow him inside.

Gaster’s goodbyes were a little more heartfelt and a little more long-winded, but only towards Alphys.

She was the only one, aside from Doc, who had trusted him, had helped him. He gave her encouraging words and made sure she understood what he wrote about DT, but to never use it to create life for war.

He said goodbye to Endogeny, who had helped him get through those couple of awful, terrible, horrible nights.

Then, when their checks were finished, he would climb into the machine. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He said, a wobbling smile on his face, uncertain but… happy they had this small chance to get back home.

Doc nodded, not smiling, but not… cold, either.

These last few weeks, he’d finally be able to stop pretending. Stop having his guard up. The dogs that watched his every move wouldn’t kill him if he slipped up. If this worked, he’d never have to see them every again--and he was certain the machine would do something, so whether it worked or whether it crashed and burned, at least he was free.

He was finally going to be free.

He started the machine, listening to it rumble and begin to warm up, wires and lights the likes of which this world had never seen beginning to flicker to life.

He pulled levers and wound cables, and turned to his friend once more, giving him a nod.

He pulled the release.

And the world fell out from under them.

Gaster watched it all, shared his friend’s look.

Closed his eyes as they fell.

It only lasted a second, passing through something cold and strange before stopping, the machine rocking gently back and forth as it found its new footing.

He opened his eyes and looked at his friend to make sure he was alright, then slowly moved to the door without a word. Opened it. … His living room.

It was his.

The pictures on the wall. The carpet. The couch. The lights.

Doc rose to follow him when Gaster failed to report what had happened. Stood behind his friend’s back, trying to peer around his shoulders, too short to see over them properly.

He was breathing loudly. Louder than he thought he would be, even though his heart felt steady and his mind was clear.

A soft scuffling upstairs made him look up.

The sound of bony paws traveling, two by two, slowly down the stairs.

Gaster only managed a few more steps away from the machine before he collapsed to his knees.

He gripped at the carpet like it would tear away out from under him at a moment’s notice, lifted his head only when he heard the scuffling of feet.

Doc followed him out, staring at the walls. At the pictures. The room that had given him so much security and comfort so long ago.

He looked to the staircase, eyes widening as he placed the sound.

Sans shuffled the last few steps down, now the size of a tiger--even with his head drooping, his tail hardly off the ground.

He was halfway to warbling something out when he spotted Doc and Gaster on the livingroom floor.

Froze.

The lethargy in his frame vanished, his dark eyesockets brightening, and he raced down the remainder of the stairs in a single bound, barreling straight for the two Gasters.

They weren’t his sons, not really, but he was still overjoyed to see Sans. He didn’t reach out for him, having never really been able to touch them before they had vanished, but he started crying tears of joy all the same, his body trembling as he sat crumpled on the carpet.

Mid-trot, his front legs left the ground and Sans stumbled into being two-legged, a new oversized hoodie covering his frame, and he raced the last few feet to them as Doc crumbled to the floor beside Gaster, holding out his arms for the first time in months, able to hold his boy.

“Dad!” Sans shouted, crashing into Doc’s arms, clinging tightly.

One arm reached out and wrapped around Gaster with no warning, pulling him tight into the hug despite the awkward positioning as Sans began to cry, shaking.

“Dad, Dad, you’re here…. How…”

Doc wrapped his arms tightly around his boy, clinging to him, shaking and sobbing right along with him, mumbling his name.

“Sans, oh, god, Sans, I was so worried, I missed you so much… Papyrus, where’s Papyrus…?”

Gaster was shocked as he was pulled into the hug with him, but it wasn’t at all unwelcome. He clung to Sans as well, sobbing and shaking.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” He mumbled, even if he wasn’t sure why he was sorry to begin with.

Sans just continued to shake and sob, holding them both tight and shaking his head in disbelief.

He reached into his hoodie pouch, still sniffling, and pulled out a cellphone. Dialed a number without looking at it, and put it to his ear.

“....D-dad’s here… they’re both in the livingroom…”

A loud, familiar voice shrieked on the other end.

Sans hung up again before any questions could be asked.

He just kept holding on, as if scared he let go then they might disappear again.

It had been months.

Gaster held him and shook, choking out sobs and trying to form words. “M-m-my boys. I-I need--”

He needed to call them. He needed to see them. Oh god he needed to see his boys.

“They’re with Paps,” Sans said, putting the cellphone away and curling close again. “Th-they’re on their way.”

Doc froze a moment, old fear creeping up. “Th-they know about you?”

Sans snorted and looked up at him, eyes weary and dark. “...couldn’t keep going on our own…”

Gaster nodded, mouth wobbling and hand shaking as it wiped at his eyes. He choked out a laugh, just… so happy to be home.

Soon he would see his boys.

“I’m s-sorry.” He said again, “We-we didn’t--”

They didn’t mean to leave. Good god they had never meant to leave this wonderful place.

It really put things in perspective.

Just how wonderful this world was. Just how precious.

If Doc weren’t already crying so hard he couldn’t see in front of himself, clinging to his son, he would’ve cried all over again, just because he was back here. Safe. Sure, this world had it’s problems, but--but it was wonderful.

It was precious, and it had cared for his sons.

Sans just shook his head again at Gaster’s stuttering, holding him and his dad tight, still teary-eyed when the door burst open and a young, fully-clothed Papyrus burst in.

Gaster turned to look at the door, his eyes first locking onto the younger version of his own little boy before they looked up at the two other figures in the doorway.

His own Sans and Papyrus.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling halfway to them as Papyrus dropped everything and raced to catch his father in his arms, holding and squeezing him tightly as Sans joined in faster than he had ever joined in on anything in his life.

Papyrus skidded past Gaster on the way to his own father, dropping to his knees to join in Sans’ hug, clinging to him tightly.

“DAD!” he said, pressing his face into Doc’s chest, his little arms shivering. “DAD, YOU CAME BACK! WHERE WERE YOU? WHAT HAPPENED!?”

He’d just been going to the Dump for a day. Just heading out with his friend like usual. And then they hadn’t come back.

At first they’d thought it had just been a long day. That they’d be home late.

Then the second day dragged on.

Dragged into the third.

And into a week.

And they hadn’t known what to do.

Gaster was a sobbing, delirious mess as he held onto his boys, shaking and trembling as they lowered him to the ground and held him tight.

They were adults. They had handled their father’s disappearance better than the two terrified children who had called them days later, but it had still been hard. They were still crying as they held onto their father and squeezed him, unwilling to let go.

Unlike his younger counterpart, Papyrus didn’t ask where he had been, not yet. He just waited, held his father and squeezed him tight, gave him all the time he needed in order to regain his composure.

“WE WERE SO WORRIED. WE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.” He said, looking over at Doc and his own kids. “SANS AND PAPYRUS CALLED US AND SAID YOU HAD BEEN GONE FOR DAYS.”

“I’m so sorry,” Doc whispered, holding both boys tight. “I’m so, so sorry… I don’t know what happened… One minute we were walking and the next…”

His voice failed a moment as he was wracked with another sob, bony hand cradling the back of his kid’s skulls, holding them closer.

“...we were there… we were back there…. I’m sorry…”

Papyrus didn’t fully understand, but Sans seemed to, going rigid and pressing himself all the closer to his father in the same motion.

Gaster couldn’t form any words, still wracked with sobs as he held his kids.

“... YOUR WORLD?” Papyrus asked, looking distraught, holding his dad a little tighter, who could only nod in response.

Doc looked up, trying to blink tears out of his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken loud enough for Papyrus to hear, but he just nodded dumbly along with his friend, shivering.

“I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t… so much kept happening... his arm, and…”

“... HIS ARM?” Papyrus’ eye sockets widened and he looked down at his father, “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Gaster wasn’t sure what gesture to make, caught up somewhere between shaking his head and nodding.

Sans frowned and repeated what his little brother had asked, “dad. are you ok?”

He made a sort of mumbling sound and waved his hands a bit, “F-fine now. F-fine.”

“YOU NEED TO REST!” Papyrus said, scared now that he knew what had happened. Where his dad had been. He’d always been so tired when he came to visit them in the castle. He’d always said he needed to rest. “COME ON, WE HAVE…. THE BED AND THE COUCH! SANS, HELP ME!!”

Sans reluctantly let go of his father--but the only thing in the world that could’ve ever gotten that task accomplished was definitely his little brother asking for help.

He transformed back into his enormous quadrupedal form, nudging himself under his father’s arms and offering to carry him.

Weakly, smiling, Gaster laughed.

Sans peeled himself from his father, “i’ll make you guys something to drink.”

It was always what their dad had done during troubling times like these, although nothing had ever happened quite this horrible. Papyrus was able to lift his dad to his feet all on his own, holding him and guiding him to the couch to rest. The stairs would be a bit much right now.

Doc got to his feet on his own, but did use Sans to steady himself, one arm on his son’s massive shoulders.

Sans steered him towards the couch as well, following the elder Papyrus’ lead while his own brother darted through the house, pulling blankets off beds and out of closets to lay over their battered dads.

Doc sat quietly beside Gaster, no longer making noise as he continued to cry. He slumped against him, relief still overwhelming him.

Gaster leaned into his friend and tugged the blankets around them when offered. His body continued to shake and tremble, his tears slowing as he breathed in and out.

Papyrus sat beside him, gently rubbing his back. “WHATEVER HAPPENED, YOU’RE HOME NOW.” He smiled, “WITH US.”

Sans curled by their legs, his bulk resting gently against them, not unlike how Endogeny might’ve lain against Gaster to keep him safe.

They wouldn’t be going anywhere without Sans noticing their movement.

The younger Papyrus climbed over his brother and onto the couch beside them, curling up.

“...WOULD A STORYBOOK HELP?” he asked, genuinely curious and nervous at the suggestion. “IT HELPS ME AFTER NIGHTMARES.”

Gaster managed a wobbling smile while his own Papyrus answered for them, “I THINK THAT’S A WONDERFUL IDEA.” He stood, walking over to the bookshelf just as Sans returned with two cups of hot chocolate for their dads.

Papyrus grinned and snuggled down next to his father, curling in on his side while waiting for the elder Papyrus to return.

Doc took the offered hot chocolate with trembling hands.

Held it carefully.

He’d forgotten. He hadn’t had the drink in… ever since they vanished. It simply didn’t exist in his world.

He held it close and breathed in the smell of chocolate, new tears slipping out as it began to sink in that he was really, truly home.

Gaster’s hands were trembling so badly there was no hope for him to be able to hold it on his own.

Sans frowned and stepped around his quadrupedal double, sitting beside his father and taking his hands, resting them against the cup and letting it sit in his fingers in his lap, letting him feel the warmth even if he couldn’t quite manage to drink it yet. Papyrus returned a moment later, smiling, “THIS IS A PAPYRUS FAVORITE.” He said, holding up the same book he liked to hear before bed as well as his younger self.

Doc gave a wavering smile back, remembering the book, even if it all seemed like a strange, fuzzy memory now.

He held the mug more than drinking it, his sons both around him, and slackened some as he relaxed more.

He was home.

Papyrus settled in beside the other Sans on the floor, one hand holding the book while the other pet his skull, much like he had done to comfort him through the many days that their dads were missing.

He read the story, a very calm and happy story about a fluffy bunny.

Gaster closed his eyes and relaxed, finally, his son gently hold his arms as he trembled even though he knew he was safe now.

Eventually he could be able to take a drink.

Doc knew he was being a little weak. A little pathetic.

He couldn’t help it.

As the story drew to a close, he did what he always did when he felt safe. When he felt like he didn’t have to be constantly on edge.

Half-empty mug of hot chocolate still precariously left in his hands, he fell asleep.

Sans would reach out across to Doc, very gingerly taking the half-empty mug from him to set it on the table before it would fall.

Their dad was very soon to follow, leaning against his friend and letting himself drift to sleep as the story ended. Sans stood, taking his cup and setting it aside before making sure they were both covered.

Then, Papyrus and Sans would do what they always did. They moved about, Papyrus giving the other Sans and Papyrus a blanket, knowing they wouldn’t want to move away from their father after getting him back to quickly, and then both of them preparing a meal together for the two kids.

Sans’ laziness had vanished when he had been suddenly thrust with two mouths to feed.

Sans’ laziness had come in full force when his father vanished. Once the other two were there to care for them and--most importantly--take care of Papyrus, Sans had.. Stopped.

He’d stopped a lot of things he’d been starting to like about their new world. He’d stopped reading as much. Stopped quietly exploring the house.

Stopped leaving the room entirely, almost. Too miserable to leave the bed, sometimes, wondering where the only monster he’d been able to trust had gone. Wondering if it was intentional to leave him and Papyrus behind.

This was the longest he’d been downstairs in a long time, and he curled contently at the foot of the couch, not about to leave anytime soon.

His laziness hadn’t been mocked or pointed out or tried to be corrected by the two others. Papyrus would still come in and read him stories, still bring him food even though his cooking wasn’t as good. Sans would come in and say nothing, just wordlessly sit beside him for awhile and know how he felt, catch a nap with him, then have to get up and go right back to work.

Because as much as he wanted to crumble like the other Sans, he couldn’t. He was an adult and had to help his brother care for two abandoned kids.

So that’s what he did. He and Papyrus had moved back to the capitol and tried to pick up where their dad had left off.

Feeding, clothing, washing.

It was a learning experience, but they all managed okay.

Papyrus began to wander out of the house with them, once they’d moved back to the capitol.

Latched onto them like a second pair of big brothers. Delighted to have his family bigger, even if it was a delight that he used to try and cover the terror and grief of his father’s vanishing.

He tried to stay upbeat, though. Tried to keep his brother entertained, watching television with him and making sure to tell their new old-older brothers all Sans’ favorite foods, translating anything he said, helping them find a new hoodie when Sans finally grew too large for the old one--

So it was only now, once they were back, that Papyrus crumbled after holding himself together for so long.

He’d take the meal when it was given to him. He’d curl under the blanket.

But he’d also sit beside his father and sorta-uncle, his face buried in his knees, crying quietly where no one would be allowed to see.

If they did hear Papyrus’ crying, they didn’t show it.

Sans knew what his brother was like, knew at how hard it was to stay upbeat sometimes, and they both knew sometimes you just needed to cry.

So they let him. They let him curl under the blankets next to his father and cry. They would wash up when finished, make sure they were comfortable, and then go to bed themselves upstairs when the night drew on.

Gaster would sleep all throughout it.

Doc would wake once or twice.

Look around.

Take in the room all over again.

The two skeletons pressed against him.

His friend leaning on his side.

He’d cry again, quietly, and slip back to sleep.

Still there, still in the world, still safe come morning.

Morning would come and the two older brothers would start breakfast, Papyrus doing most of the cooking and Sans very sneakily making sure none of it ended up burnt or tasteless.

Gaster would wake to the smell of coffee.

His eyes would open and for a split second be filled with panic until he realized where they were.

Home.

He settled again and sighed, eyes still sore and heavy from crying the day before.

At his feet, Sans shifted, having felt Gaster wake and panic.

His lifted his head and set his jaw on Gaster’s leg, watching him with drooping eyes.

He whined softly.

Gaster looked down at him and smiled, eyes drawn. Slowly he reached out, only hesitating slightly before letting his hand rest on his snout, not for fear, but unsure if Sans was comfortable with it. “I-I’m alright. Just… f-forgot where I was for a m-moment.”

His stutter had never left, even after the King had died.

Sans whined again, but just rested his head there, allowing Gaster to pet him.

Concerned.

He hadn’t had the stutter before.

Sans nuzzled up against the hand, nosing it a little, trying to be comforting.

Gaster’s wobbling smile stayed even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes, like something behind them was still scared, still terrified.

The brands had never healed fully, even with the sealant Gaster had provided. By that point they had already started to heal, already left a vague shape of the royal mark on his collarbone, arm, and shoulder blade.

The one on his collarbone could never be fully covered, not unless he took up to wearing turtlenecks.

As it was right now, however, the strange mark was easy to see if you were looking at it.

Sans noticed it, blinking and pushing up a little more, sitting up to get a closer look.

As he sat up, it would become perfectly clear what he was looking at.

He began to whine again, calling for the older set of brother and waking his father.

Gaster shied away a little. Then, realizing what exactly he was looking at, tugged his collar up a little to try and hide it.

“It-it’s fine. It’s… it’s healed.”

Sans came walking in a moment later, “somethin’ wrong?”

Sans’ jaws snapped carefully on Gaster’s shirt, tugging it down again for his son to see, whining louder and pointing at the brand with his nose.

Doc sat up quickly, accidentally startling his own Papyrus awake.

“It-it’s okay, Sans, it…”

...it wasn’t okay, and Sans clearly knew it.

Gaster looked up at his son as he got close enough to see what all the fuss was about, fearful not of them, but for having to tell them why it was there.

“... dad, what is that?” Sans asked, frowning.

“It-it’s nothing!” He stumbled, shaking a little again.

He didn’t want his kids to know.

“Sans, please,” Doc said, raising his voice a little, trying to get his friend’s son’s attention

He didn’t know this Sans very well. Had only met him when they visited Snowdin once over half a year ago.

But he still looked at him with pleading eyes, and tried to let his friend catch a break.

Sans straightened up a little, his grin turning downward as much as it could. “... ok.”

He wouldn’t ask. Not right after they had gotten home. Not when it made his father so distressed.

“as long as you aren’t hurt.”

“N-no. It-it doesn’t hurt. I’m not hurt.” Gaster said, hoping to reassure his son, his collar still held down by the other’s teeth.

Sans growled a little, but released his collar, settling down on the floor again before moving towards his own Papyrus and giving him a whine.

“UM…” Papyrus said, glancing back and forth. “...SANS SAYS HE’S WORRIED ABOUT YOU AND IS EXASPERATED.”

Still, Sans laid down all the same, back in place.

Gaster sat back, quickly pulling up his collar with shaking hands. “I’m-I’m fine. Really. I’m fine now. We’re back home.”

He tried to smile, tried to use his own words to convince himself.

Sans frowned, but moved away to go back to helping with breakfast. He wouldn’t ask if it made his dad so upset. He would talk about it when he was ready.

Doc reached out and took his friend’s hand, squeezing tightly and trying to comfort him.

“...let’s just… have breakfast and figure out where to go from there.”

Gaster nodded, taking his friend’s hand.

Why was he still scared? The King had been dead for months but he still felt on-edge. He still stuttered. He still shook when faced with uncomfortable situations.

He shouldn’t have been scared anymore. He was safe. He was home.

So why was he?

He held onto Gaster’s hand, turning to his Sans and Papyrus.

“...can you go help them make breakfast, maybe?” he asked.

Sans made a face and a disgruntled grumble, but got to his feet, a nodding Papyrus right behind him. They left the room, both frowning and concerned.

Doc looked back at his friend and moved closer, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into a hug.

“...”

Gaster leaned into it, one hand still grasping at his collar and tugging it close against his neck. He didn’t speak until the two kids were out of the room, voice soft.

“I-I don’t… get it… wh-why am I still so nervous? I shouldn’t b-be nervous.”

He was shaking again, as though the King would walk through the door at any moment, as though he would step forward and suddenly be back in that horrible world.

Doc only held him closer, trying to think of what to say.

Because. Because he knew exactly what Gaster meant.

“It just…” he said, squeezing tight. “...it just happens. When you’re that used to looking over your shoulder. ...You remember when… when you had your Asgore over to visit, don’t you?”

He gave a nervous smile, a small grin.

“...and I was so, so scared? I’m. Always like that. I just learned how to not always let it show..”

Gaster nodded, now knowing exactly how his friend felt.

It was horrible. Oh god this was so horrible. He just wanted to relax and be happy and enjoy life again. But he couldn’t. He was scared and anxious all the time and he didn’t know how not to be anymore after over a month of feeling like this every waking moment.

“D-do you think… it… I can…”

Gods. He couldn’t even put together a sentence anymore. He felt like a horrible nervous wreck even when he didn’t have anything worth being nervous about around him.

“W-will it go away?” He finally asked, looking at Doc, pleading for him to say yes.

Doc.

Doc couldn’t lie to him.

Not about this.

He shook his head slowly, eyes down, and rubbed his friend’s back slowly.

“...it has for me, at least…. Maybe it’ll be different for you,” he said, hoping to give at least one small ray of hope. “But it gets easier.”

He leaned back against the couch, still looking down.

“...I was already sort of used to it when I first came here, but.. But being here helped. Even though I was so scared. Even after I knew there was nothing to worry about, I still… did. But You can live with it. I promise.”

He squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“Just think about the things you can do to make yourself safer. Make you feel better. If we fall into that world again? We already made a machine once. We can escape again. The King is dead. Alphys will help us if she finds us.”

He nodded again.

“...and for now, we’re here. The kids are safe. We’re safe.”

He swallowed again.

“...we have time to feel better.”

Gaster’s eyes fell and he listened to his friend’s words, nodding along to them.

He worried he would always be like this. He worried he would never feel safe again. But… Doc was right. They had time to heal and try to feel safe. Try to adjust back to the peaceful life they had.

Safe, nestled inside a mountain far away from any human or ruthless King. They had their kids. They had their home. They had each other.

Maybe Doc could help him adjust again, just like he had helped him at first.

Gaster leaned into his friend and tried to stop his hands from shaking. Even on his best days back in the other world while they built the machine he almost always had some sort of tremor in his hands.

He couldn’t seem to stop. He couldn’t stop shaking or stuttering and he hated it.

Doc watched him. Watched his shaking hands.

Took a deep breath and wrapped his own hands around his friend’s, just holding them gently.

“Stop trying to fight it,” he said. “Just accept your body is nervous. And let it go.”

Gaster swallowed and took his friend’s advice, sighing outwardly and trying to stop fighting how much he wasn’t to tremble. He leaned back, his tremors growing larger but but as quick as he let himself just… be nervous.

Tried not to fight it.

Shake and breath unevenly.

It felt so silly.

He had nothing to be nervous about.

“It makes sense you’re scared,” Doc said, leaning back a little again, letting Gaster breathe. “It’s okay to be scared after all that happened. It’s okay to do that, now.”

He hoped this was helping.

He’d only really coached himself through it. And only done so in his head. Sometimes he’d given advice to battle-shocked soldiers, trying to help them breathe through their rest, help them relax when startled badly. Just letting them ride it out and accept that they were scared seemed to work better than the ones who had simply bottled it up or lashed back out at him in their terror.

...Most of the monsters he knew lashed out and bottled things up.

But this world was different.

Maybe Gaster wouldn’t feel he had to do that.

Gaster listened, took his friend’s words to heart. His breathing slowly started to steady and his tremors grew a little more manageable.

Never in his life would he think to be so scared in his own house.

He was starting to calm when Papyrus’ voice came from the kitchen, “BREAKFAST IS SERVED!”

No one came out of the kitchen after the announcement. Sans and Papyrus had passed on the message that the Gasters were doing something and probably wanted to be left alone. Still, the announcement was enough.

Doc turned to his friend, speaking softly.

“Do you feel up to it yet?”

He looked at Doc and couldn’t believe that he actually had to think about whether he was feeling up to eating breakfast with his own sons.

He… he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with the looks or questions yet, but…

Fuck.

He wanted to eat breakfast with his kids.

“I… I want to try.” Gaster said, nodding.

Doc nodded.

“Wanting to try is a good place to start.”

He stood, reaching out his hand to help Gaster up, and walked with him to the kitchen.

Sometimes, it was worse being safe again after having gone through things. But Doc was glad it was an option, all the same.

He managed a shaky smile, taking his friend’s hand and standing on uncertain legs to be lead to the kitchen where breakfast was waiting.

Sans had already made it clear to Papyrus not to ask about anything. So, in true Papyrus fashion, he ignored his father’s tremors as he drank his coffee, ignored the strange mark by his collar, ignored how little he smiled even as he told the story of seeing a little version of himself for the first time and how it had doubled the amount of greatness in the house.

Doc managed a smile at the story, already slowly falling back into the routine of a new world--but, then again, he’d adapted quickly before, and he’d adapted to this world before. In its own way, that was an advantage.

The little Papyrus puffed up at the story though, piping up that he’d also been thrilled to meet the bigger version of himself, loving him even more than he thought he would, despite the worry of the situation.

Sans, this time, ate on the floor under the table, quietly snatching scraps and anything that fell down.

Papyrus would continue all throughout breakfast, telling the story of meeting their double’s for the first time, how they had lead them outside for the first time, their first couple of baths when Sans managed to roll in something he liked.

That had been a challenge.

Gaster smiled too, eventually. His tremors stopped being so noticeable and his face relaxed a bit more.

As breakfast finished and the kids started to clean up, he looked down into his coffee, feeling as relaxed as he had since arriving back home.

Doc would smile, listening. Like Gaster, he didn’t offer any stories or explanations of where they’d gone. Those could wait--most of them could wait, anyway, and the rest could go unsaid indefinitely--until Gaster was at the very least out of the room.

He stood halfway out of his seat when the meal was over, unsure of if he should help or not. “...Um.”

“NO, NO.” Papyrus said, shooing Doc back into his seat. “YOU JUST GOT BACK HOME. NO WORK FOR YOU.”

“we got it covered.” Sans said, using his double as a prewash, holding every plate down to him and letting him lick it clean before putting it in the sink.

Sans was quite pleased with this job of his--and had been quite pleased for a while that his older-self was comfortable enough with his preferred form to help him take advantage of it--and did an admirable job of cleaning the dishes of anything left on them.

Doc cracked a small grin and sat down again, nodding. “Right. Sorry.”

It had been a pretty huge shock at first, but… Sans understood, at least enough. Closer to the ground? Closer to a nap. Four legs? Less effort than standing up.

It all made sense.

Gaster watched their strange little family and smiled, content to sit and watch for a short while before he made a decision himself for the first time since being back. “I think I’m… going to t-take a bath.” He smiled, standing slowly.

… He was in his own house. He could do what he wanted.

And he felt very gross after spending such a long time without bathing.

“OH, VERY GOOD.” Papyrus smiled, “DO YOU NEED ANYTHING?”

“N-no… I think I’ll… be okay.” Gaster smiled.

“Alright,” Doc said, grinning up at him, proud, a little, at how well breakfast had gone. “Take your time. We’ll just be down here.”

We’ll still be here when you come back.

He drank a little more juice himself, content to stay at the table and be around his kids.

Gaster moved from the kitchen to walk upstairs, a little nervous to be alone, but… he was going to try.

He hesitated a little around every corner. Made sure he looked before stepping inside different rooms, kept the bathroom door slightly ajar as he ran his bath so he could hear the chatter downstairs and know nothing had changed.

Sans and Papyrus watched him go, Sans’ expression instantly falling and Papyrus’ having trouble holding upright a little more than usual.

They had noticed their father’s stutter. His hunched walk. Shaking legs.

Neither of them knew what he had been through, but it must have been terrible to make him so fragile.

Doc kept his face calm as long as Gaster was nearby.

Once he left, his face fell into exhaustion. He sighed.

Looked at his friend’s children.

“If you have questions,” he said, “Do it now, while he’s gone.”

“what was that mark?” Sans asked instantly now that he knew it was safe to start questioning what had happened.

Gaster had seemed to terrified over it, like he didn’t want anyone to know.

Doc sighed.

“...it’s the royal crest,” he said. “From my world. My King’s symbol.”

Sans’ brow furrowed, “... why was it on my dad? what happened?”

He wasn’t angry at Doc, not at all, but…

Doc cringed down all the same, frowning down into his drink.

“...please understand that I can’t tell you everything. Gaster doesn’t want you to know everything. But I’ll try.”

Sans moved from under the table, curling around his Papyrus’ chair, letting his head rest in his brother’s lap, trying to comfort him.

Papyrus was fidgeting badly. He was grateful to be able to pet his brother instead.

“...we stumbled into my world accidentally. I don’t know how. ...how much had your father told you of my world?”

“WHY DOESN’T HE WANT US TO KNOW?” Papyrus asked, worried.

“it’s ok, pap.” Sans tried to reassure him, “he’ll tell us when he’s ready about some things.”

Papyrus frowned, but nodded and turned to continue washing up, just to have something to do with his hands. His brother, meanwhile, took a seat. He didn’t want to move at all while having to hear what his dad and ‘uncle’ had gone through.

“nothing. not really. just that it wasn’t very pleasant.”

Doc grimaced at that.

He’d have to explain a lot more about his world than he’d realized to make it make sense. What had happened to them.

“...in my world, we won the war against humans,” he said, figuring that was the best place to start. “...We turned against each other. Civil war. Factions. Just.. we divided back into different Kingdoms at war with each other. Mine was ruled by Asgore’s father. I was his scientist. Others could work on their own projects, but I was… supposed to make things specifically to his requests.”

He glanced at his own Sans and Papyrus.

“...he had me creating living weapons. That should give you an idea of what sort of monster he was.”

Sans growled quietly.

The two listened, Papyrus only hesitating slightly at word of ‘living weapons’, but quickly going right back to his task.

Sans glanced at Doc’s hands, then over at Sans and Papyrus.

He didn’t question it, merely nodded and shoved his hands into the hood of his jacket.

“a big jerkoff. i gotcha.”

Doc grinned a bit at that description, chuckling softly.

“Yeah. And he wasn’t too happy that I’d vanished for five months. We got hunted down and brought to the castle.”

He hesitated again.

“...Gaster didn’t want to be separated, but we couldn’t explain our similar appearances. So we told him he was one of my experiments. A clone.”

Sans could already see where this was going, a frown tugging around the corners of his mouth again. “... i see.”

He couldn’t imagine his dad wanting to be separated from his only friend in a strange, scary world like that.

Doc nodded again.

Rubbed his eyes. Sighed.

His nerves were taking over. He took a moment to calm them again.

“...I tried to protect him, but he…”

Oh god. Could he really?

He didn’t.

“The King noticed I was ‘too attached.’ He was taken from me and sent to Alphys’ division, where I couldn’t protect him. I don’t know everything that happened, but… he must’ve angered the King somehow. And…. been forcibly reminded he was pretending to be…”

Property.

Sans quelled any questions that raised at mention of his friend’s name. That wasn’t important right now.

“‘to be’...?” He asked.

“...if he was my experiment, then he belonged to the King. To do with as he pleased.”

That was all he could say.

Sans fell silent and Papyrus stopped washing dishes.

The air felt thick.

“... so he marked him.” Sans finally said, feeling like garbage just for letting the words leave his mouth.

Doc nodded, not meeting Sans’ gaze.

“...yeah. And, like I said. He must have… really pissed the King off somehow.”

He fidgeted a little with his glass.

“...there’s three brands.”

The lights in Sans’ eyes went out and Papyrus turned to stare with wide sockets.

“what.”

It wasn’t even a question.

Doc curled down closer in on himself. Sans sat up a little higher, halfway to turning bipedal, just to try and comfort the others.

“...I’m sorry,” Doc said.

Papyrus didn’t know how to handle something like that. He… he kept cleaning. Just… doing something.

Sans pulled his hands from his pockets and let his head rest in them. He tried to soak in the information, tried to understand, tried to…

“... what else happened?” He asked after a moment, but didn’t move his hands from his face.

“....a lot that I don’t… think I can tell you,” he said, and paused. “...and a lot I’m going to have to ask my Sans and Papyrus to leave for.”

Papyrus had been sitting there, frozen, eyes down and holding onto Sans’ head to calm himself.

With another growl, Sans did his best to scoop Papyrus up, carrying him out to the livingroom.

Doc watched him go. Quiet.

“...there was severe trauma to one arm. Healed perfectly, but still a shock. Again, I’m not sure exactly what happened while he was with Alphys, but the King apparently summoned him more often than he… would’ve.”

Not constantly. Not like Doc. But too often.

“He was forced to participate and aid in my medical work. And was eventually expected to learn how do it as well.”

Sans watched the two go, hands folding in front of him and eyes dark, the circles under them appearing all the more prominent.

He sighed at the news and rubbed his eyes.

Papyrus was running out of things to do with his hands. He started to put the dishes away after drying them rather than letting the air do it.

Just… had to do something.

“...he’s dead, now,” Doc said after a long moment of silence. “...he’s dead.”

“the king?” Sans asked, eye lights reappearing for a moment.

“Yes,” Doc said, voice stronger. “He was murdered. Alphys became regent.”

“good.” Sans said, eyes going dark again. He didn’t ask who killed him. It didn’t matter.

“IS THERE ANYTHING WE CAN DO?” Papyrus asked, finally speaking up.

“Take care of him,” he said immediately. “Let him know it’s okay that he’s scared. He’s safe here, but it… it still might not feel like it. And that’s okay. He can still live and survive with it. Just… it’s okay now. ….he has time to get better.”

“...just take care of him and let him know he’s okay and it’s okay to be scared still.”

#undertale #rp log #boink!#life is better with you #doc gaster #teach gaster #gb!au #gaster blaster au #sans #papyrus

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