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akaashigiri · 3 years

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Sleepy Jaegers

summary: eren and y/n are at a gathering at armin’s place, and their 2 year old is exhausted. eren is equally as exhausted.

pairing: dad!eren jaeger x fem!reader

word count: 1.69k

warnings: none, fluffff

a/n: sigh my baby fever possessed me to write this 💔 might make armin a father as well if people end up liking this one (i will anyway) 😋

These gatherings were almost like a ritual to the group.

There wasn’t ever a specific place they met, they would always gather in different places, wether it’d be the beach, a park, or at one of their homes. It didn’t matter where it took place, just as long as everyone was there. Everyone was obligated to come.

So of course that includes the littlest Jaeger.

It was mid September, and although the weather wasn’t bad at all, some didn’t really feel like going out to public places like the local park, so the group decided on Armin’s new place, since Sasha and Annie still have yet to see it (their homes are farther from the rest)

They were all gathered in the spacious living room; Jean and Sasha on the long couch, while Mikasa and Armin sat on the smaller one. Historia and Ymir shared the beige-colored chair in the corner of the room, while Annie sat on one of the kitchen stools as she watched Y/N and Connie do the dishes (Armin insisted, but the two almost threatened him if he were to touch a dish).

As soon as Eren walked in, he all but restricted anyone from sitting on the big beige reclining sofa, claiming that he deserved it for helping Armin pick it out. Eren was grateful for going to Ikea that day with Armin to pick out the sofa he was now slouched on, recliner out and all. It was now his favorite spot in the whole house (besides the kitchen, since he loved playing around with the smart refrigerator).

As Y/N passed another dish for Connie to rinse and dry, she suddenly felt a tug on her pants, looking down to meet the tired eyes of her daughter.

She was quick to rinse and dry her hands to pick her up, giving all of her attention to the little girl. “Aw, what’s wrong Mimi? Everything alright?” She asked, already noticing the fatigue on her face.

She only snuggled into her mother’s neck, giving her the simple response of, “Tired.” Her vocabulary was fairly short, due to the fact that she was only 2 and learned her words from the ones around her (Eren got in big trouble the day Y/N heard the word ‘shit’ come out of her daughter’s mouth).

Y/N wasn’t surprised she got tired easily today, since Jean gave her more candy then Y/N would usually allow. And with the way her, Ymir, and Mikasa were running around in the yard earlier today, Y/N already saw this coming.

“You’re tired?” she asked again, earning a nod from the crook of her neck. “Okay, mommy’s almost done. Go sit next to daddy until I finish, okay?” She tells her, moving her head back to face her daughter again. Myra nodded, allowing her mother to put her down.

Walking tiredly, Myra slowly moved through the kitchen and made her way to the living room, spotting her father laidback in the corner of the room, limbs sprawled out on the sofa.

Eren wasn’t sure if it was the father instincts, but he was the first to notice her presence in the room, stopping the ghost story Jean swears is real to bring his full attention to his daughter.

“Mimi’s come to save us, everyone!” Eren exclaims, throwing jazz hands up as everyone joined and cheered her on for simply walking in. Jean didn’t like what Eren was implying, but clapped nonetheless.

“You’re not funny. Aren’t dads supposed to tell good jokes?” He questioned, attempting to steal a fry from Sasha’s plate, but failing miserably as she only swats his hand away.

“No Jean, I think it’s the other way around, they’re supposed to be corny.” Armin butts in, watching with a smile as Myra finally starts walking towards her father.

Eren could already see the fatigue on her face, holding his arms out for her once she got a little closer. “What’s up Mimi, you tired?” Eren questioned, laughing as she instead of answering, simply lifted her arms up for him to take her.

She responds with a nod, her hair falling over her face as she was lifted onto his lap. As soon as she was situated, she wasted no time in making herself comfortable, wiggling out of her dad’s grasp and laying her stomach down on his, her head right above where his heart was.

“Nevermind.” he sighs, making the whole room burst out into laughter. This only made Myra whine, the loudness distrupting her attempt at sleeping. “Sorry Myra!” Sasha whispered, finally giving a fry to Jean afterwards.

“I wonder what got her so tired.” Annie questions, making Jean sink into the couch out of guilt as Eren sends him an irritated glance.

“Jean went and gave her a sugar rush before we got here. It was absolute hell.” Eren’s eyes furrow in frustration as he remembers earlier today and how hard it was for him to catch a nap without his energetic 2 year old jumping all over him. All while Jean was happily eating lunch with his wife.

“Okay, but I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to have that much candy! Kids eat candy like crazy, right?” He attempts to defend himself, looking around the room for support, only to be met with silence.

“Yeah, thing is she’s not a kid! She’s a toddler! Dumbass.” he mumbles the last part, hoping that Y/N somehow wouldn’t hear. But she always found a way how.

“Can someone please slap Eren for me?” She yells from the kitchen. “Stop cursing in front of Myra!”

Eren has no time to defend himself as volunteers step up to do what their friend asked, but Mikasa was the quickest, and Eren was even quicker. He swiftly grabs Myra’s frog blanket from the bag sat beside him and hids his face in it, saving it from the harsh blow of Mikasa’s hand.

“You’re lucky I didn’t miss completely, I just don’t wanna wake Myra.” she confesses, walking back to her seat.

“God, I cant believe we almost named her after you.” Eren groaned, blanket still clutched in hand.

“Mimi’s close enough for me.” She smiles, noticing the way Myra starts to squirm a bit. “Throw the blanket over her, I think she’s cold.” She suggests, bringing Eren’s attention back to the little girl on his chest.

Eren is quick to unravel the rather big blanket from his grasp and take it in both hands to bring it in the air, watching it fall perfectly onto her small figure. The blanket basically covered his whole torso, the end tickling his neck a bit.

“Thanks again for the blanket, Historia. She loves it so much, a little too much.” he says, feeling his daughter move under the blanket so that her little arms were wrapped around his torso as far as she could go. “She won’t use the one I got her anymore.” he says with a slight frown.

The group laughs again, but quietly this time, not wanting the little girl to possibly wake up in a fit.

“I wouldn’t blame her, to be honest.” Jean shrugs, giving Eren a knowing glance, as well as a sly smirk. He knows how mad Y/N would get if he were to disobey her, especially a few minutes after she scolded him. Since Y/N was only a few feet away, Eren aggresively sticks his middle finger up to the man. It’s not like Myra could see through the blanket anyway.

“Are you gonna finish your ghost story, Jean?” Annie asked, although she didn’t believe a word. She just wants to see him make a fool out of himself.

Jeans eyes light up, snapping his fingers together as he sits upstraight again, ready to go into full detail once again. “Right! Okay, okay, so right when I went to shave my beard...”

Eren let’s Jean’s apparent ghost encounter story fade in the background, focusing on the shallow breaths coming from his daughter. He felt himself getting a little drowsy himself, as if her sleepiness was seeping into him.

He doesn’t waste time lifting the blanket a bit to wrap a protective arm around her small figure under it, adjusting his posture on the sofa and crossing his ankles over one another. His let his neck sink into the back of the couch, letting his head go as well so he facing the ceiling. With the warmth of the blanket and the little girl under it, he couldn’t help but close his drowsy eyes as well, finally giving in.

A few minutes pass and Jean is done telling his story, but of course, no one believes him. All except Historia. “Thank you, Historia! See I’m telling the truth. Morons.” Jean rolls his eyes at the way Armin and Sasha curl up as they laughed, Mikasa and Annie trying their best to hold in theirs.

Jean soon notices the person who would’ve regurlarly had the most to say was being awfully quiet. Getting ready to scold him for not listening, Jean is met with a site he has to admit, is the cutest thing he’s seen all year.

Eren was deep in slumber, soft snores coming from him and the little girl that rested as peacefully as he did on top of him. The print of his arm around her could be seen through the green blanket, as well as both of their steady breaths. They looked so comfortable, it would be a pain for them to get up soon, which they would have to eventually.

“Awww, they’re adorable!!” Historia exclaims from the other side of the room, which seemed to catch Y/N’s attention all the way from the kitchen.

“What’s happening? Is something cute happening? Someone take pictures!” She exclaimed, wanting to abandon the plates and take them herself, but thinks that would be rather rude to leave poor connie alone.

“On it!” Sasha and Jean say in unison. Both are quick to pull out their phones, Jean getting the more unappealing angles, while Sasha actually put some effort into it and snapped a few photos.

These were being sent to every single person on her contact list.

this was written at like 2 am sorry if there are typos i swear i reread 💔

also i’m currently working on a mob fic idk if ppl still like those but i most definitely do so watch out for that one :p

hope y’all liked this one lol

-aysha <3

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thatsamericano · 3 years

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The Unawesome Assumption

Characters/Pairing: Awesome Trio (Denmark, Prussia, and America), with America having an obvious crush on Romano and established Gerita. If you squint, there might be mild implications of one-sided Pruita and Prumano. Also mentions of Spamano, but that’s pretty much all in America’s paranoid brain. (Note that America does rant about the idea of Spamano in an anti-ish way, but it’s based on jealousy. I have nothing against Spamano shippers.)

Summary: The Awesome Trio is enjoying a day out at a carnival when America gets a phone call from “Little Italy” and acts strangely during the call. Believing that “Little Italy” is his brother’s boyfriend, Prussia warns America that Italy is off limits and gets a response he wasn’t expecting.

Rating: Teen for some crude sexual humor, cursing, and mentions of violence

Word Count: 1971

Notes: Credit to @bitchapalooza for the idea of what the Awesome Trio would do when hanging out together, including some specific details that got mentioned in this story. This will be posted on my AO3 account soon, if you’d rather read or comment there.

America took a bite of the snack he had just purchased from the carnival booth and made a satisfied noise. “Damn, these things are good. I swear, deep frying an Oreo just makes it better.”

Denmark grinned at him. “Try dipping it in that huge Slurpie you’re holding.”

America dipped his deep-fried Oreo into the Slurpie, took a bite, then closed his eyes and moaned in a way that was, quite frankly, obscene. “Holy shit! It’s like a flavor orgasm in my mouth!”

Prussia laughed at him. “You like having orgasms in your mouth, Al?”

America’s face turned red as Denmark joined in on the snickering too. “Shut up, dude! You know what I meant!”

Prussia reached over and ruffled America’s hair fondly. “Of course we do, kiddo.” America wasn’t really a kid anymore, but he was younger than Prussia and Denmark, and not just in physical age. And as far as Prussia was aware, America had never been in a relationship or done anything that would involve orgasms in his mouth. Maybe he just wasn’t into people that way, Prussia mused.

America rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you guys want to do next?”

Denmark glanced around. “It looks like there’s a petting zoo over there,” he said, pointing with his index finger. “That could be fun.”

“I’m up for it,” Prussia agreed. They’d already done most of the rides anyway, and seriously, who would pass up the opportunity to pet a cute farm animal? Not Prussia.

America nodded too, and they all started heading towards the petting zoo, which was a fair distance away from the deep-fried Oreo booth. Right after they finished up their deep-fried Oreos, an old-fashioned song began to play. Old-fashioned as in more than 50 years old, but still played often enough that most people could recognize it from the first line.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore

Prussia looked around in confusion, wondering what could have been playing a Dean Martin song over carnival music and kids running around and screaming with delight. “Does this place have an Italy-themed booth?” Prussia wondered aloud.

“I think it’s coming from America,” Denmark replied. When Prussia glanced at him, America was scrambling to retrieve his cell phone from his jeans pocket and trying to shift a giant inflatable alien he had won at the bottle shooting booth into his other arm at the same time. In the process, his cell phone bounced out of his pocket and fell to the ground, but the screen didn’t crack. Denmark swooped in to pick up the phone before America could bend down to get it.

His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he read the contact name on the screen. “Little Italy is calling you?”

America scowled, face flushing just as red as it had earlier when Prussia had been teasing him about his accidental sexual innuendo. Prussia felt a strange, foreboding sense that something just wasn’t right. “Give me back my phone, Denmark.”

“Sure.” Denmark handed the phone over. “Wouldn’t want to keep little Italy waiting, huh?”

America shot Denmark an irritated glare as he answered the call. But as soon as Italy started speaking to him, America smiled fondly and took a few steps away so he could speak to Italy without Denmark and Prussia overhearing everything he said.

“Well, that was weird,” Denmark said.

Prussia’s eyes narrowed as he watched America talking to Italy. “Ja, it was.” America had a lot of customized ringtones for his cell phone, and it made sense that he would have one for Italy. But Prussia had never heard America’s phone ringing with a love song before. And America’s demeanor was strange too. Prussia had spent a lot of time around America, and he wasn’t normally this quiet. He smiled often, but it was a big, bright grin, not the small, almost shy smile on his face now. Did America have a crush on Italy? If he did, Prussia couldn’t really blame him. Both of the Italian brothers were cute, and Italy was especially sweet and adorable. But Italy was Germany’s boyfriend. Everyone knew that. America knew that.

America giggled in response to something Italy said. “Aww, Vene, you worry too much! I doubt I’m gonna get sick from the carnival food. But if I did, I wouldn’t mind having you nurse me back to health. I know you’d take great care of me.”

“Dude. Isn’t Italy dating your little brother?” Denmark whispered in a worried tone of voice.

“He is,” Prussia answered, nearly growling out the words. “And if America keeps talking to him like that, I’m gonna have to beat him so badly he won’t be able to walk for the next two weeks.” America was clearly picturing Italy “taking care of him” in more than just in a medical way. He was flirting with Ludwig’s boyfriend, and that was an incredibly stupid thing to do right in front of Prussia. Gilbert would protect his baby brother with his life, and he would not allow anyone to hurt him by attempting to lure Feliciano away. Not even one of his closest friends.

America talked to Italy for a couple more minutes, but Prussia didn’t overhear anything else he said, other than the goodbye that was way too affectionate for a friend. America hung up the phone and walked back towards Denmark and Prussia with a content expression on his face, and Prussia immediately began to question him.

“What the fuck were you just doing?”

America’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I answered a phone call?”

“We saw you trying to flirt with Italy over the phone,” Denmark explained. “Your attempt was so cheesy I doubt it was effective, but it was also really obvious. Iceland’s puffin could have picked up on what you were doing.”

“What? Dude, that’s crazy! I don’t like Vene that way.” America wheezed with phony laughter, and he shifted his gaze around like he always did when he was attempting to lie. America was a notoriously horrible liar, and that’s why Denmark and Prussia usually got the beers for Alfred if they wanted to hang out in the US and drink together. America might have an excellent fake ID that said he was 21, but no bartender would believe Alfred when he showed them his ID with such a guilty expression. And Prussia didn’t believe him now.

“Listen, I don’t care if you’ve got some silly little crush on Italy,” Prussia told him. “That’s something you can’t help. But you can’t talk to him like that ever again. Italy is off limits.” Gilbert thought he was being incredibly reasonable, given the circumstances. The fact that America wasn’t lying on the ground bleeding was a goddamn miracle.

But apparently, America didn’t see it that way. He scoffed and put his hands on his hips. “Off limits? Why? Because you’ve got a thing for him? You can’t claim dibs on a person, Gil. That’s not how it works.”

“What?! No, this isn’t about me!” Why the hell would America even think that?

“Oh, I see. This is about Spain.” America’s lip curled into a disgusted sneer, but before Prussia could interrupt to correct America’s bizarre assumption, he continued, launching into a tirade against Prussia and Spain. “I guess he’s your real friend, and I’m not! It doesn’t matter how I feel, because Spain has a permanent claim on Vene just because he’s known him for longer. Well, you know something, I think you’re full of shit! And I think it’s up to Vene who he wants to be with! Maybe he wouldn’t want to be with the guy who fucking raised him from the time he was a toddler! But guess even considering that makes me the crazy one!”

Prussia was aware of some nearby humans turning to stare at them in surprise, and many of them seemed almost as shocked as the lady who guessed people’s ages had been when Denmark told her his real age. But he was pretty startled too, because America was much more bitter than he had been expecting. Prussia was also startled by the realization that his righteous anger had all been based on a ridiculous misunderstanding.

“Really, Spain too?” Denmark murmured. “I don’t get it. Is Italy emitting some kind of magic love pheromones or something?”

Prussia shook his head without taking his eyes off America. “He wasn’t talking about Italy. He was talking about Italy’s brother. Romano.”

America’s face cleared in understanding. “Oh… oh! You thought I was talking about North Italy! No wonder you got so mad at me!”

Prussia nodded and chuckled a little, at both himself and the situation. “You didn’t exactly help when you started calling him ‘Vinny.’ I thought that was short for Veneziano.”

“No, dude, that’s based on his human name, Savino. I started calling him that back when we lived together.” America sounded pretty damn nostalgic, and Prussia felt a little silly for assuming Alfred had been talking to Feliciano. He’d sounded nostalgic about the 1920s before, but Prussia had assumed it was just a friendship thing.

“Did you come up with the Little Italy thing around then too?” Denmark asked.

“Yeah.” America smiled, and his eyes went all soft, like he was staring at the world’s most adorable kitten. “It’s not just ‘cause he’s little compared to me, though he is. It’s ‘cause most of the people who lived in those neighborhoods were from his part of Italy. It would feel pretty weird to call North Italy that.”

Prussia rolled his eyes as all three of them started walking towards the petting zoo again. “Right, and we’re supposed to believe you don’t have a crush on him?”

“I don’t!” America insisted. “I swear.”

Denmark snorted. “Okay, then why’d you pick that song to be his ringtone?”

“Well, it mentions Naples. It’s a nice song, and it reminds me of Romano. Honestly, you guys should’ve known I was talking to him based on the ringtone alone.”

Prussia exchanged a smirk with Denmark. “He knows where Naples is, but I bet he couldn’t locate either of us on a map.”

“That’s not true! I know for a fact that Prussia is East Germany. Denmark is directly to the left of Finland and right above Norway.”

Denmark burst into a fit of raucous laughter, and Prussia did too. America sounded so confident about Denmark’s location even though he was completely off, and it was hilarious.

America pouted as they all got in line behind a group of children. “You guys are mean.”

Denmark shoved America’s shoulder playfully. “Cheer up, Al. We’re just teasing you a little.”

“Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about with Spain,” Prussia added. “I mean, sure, he might go overprotective on you if you try to date Romano, but I don’t think he’s into him like that. So, you’re in the clear there.”

For someone who had denied having a crush on Romano twice in the past few minutes, America looked incredibly relieved that Spain was not going to be romantic competition for him. But then, the guy running the little petting zoo announced that the next person in line would get a chance to milk a goat, and Denmark pushed past multiple children to the front of the line, so Prussia naturally turned his attention to that. The man running the zoo had a flabbergasted expression on his face as Denmark ran up to him and the goat, and both America and Prussia found it hysterical. This carnival was turning out to be one of the most awesome things Prussia had done in a while, and he was glad he got to hang out with his friends today and make entertaining memories like this one.

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Black Dog - part three Word count: ±2700 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part three summary: Two leads point into different directions. Which one are the Winchester brothers going to follow? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

Dean gives his Chevrolet Impala a final clean up and looks at the end result. Ronny nods satisfied, too. “Good as new.” They mechanics carefully beat out the small dent in the lid and restored the paint with a polisher. The lock of the trunk took some time to replace, but now it closes perfectly.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says gratefully, offering him some money for the work. “Any time. Put that away. I owe you Winchesters more than that,” Ronny reminds him. “Sure you guys don’t want a beer?” Dean hesitates, but then shakes his head. “I’d love to catch up, but we should get going. The world isn’t rid of all evil motherfuckers just yet.” Ronny chuckles at that. “Fair enough. Good to see you again, though.” “You too. Take care, Ron,” the oldest Winchester brother returns.

The ex-hunter retreats back into his garage, and Dean glances at the trunk for the second time and smiles satisfied. He’s glad he got it fixed. The clunking sound every time they hit a pothole was driving him crazy, and with enough arsenal for a small military operation inside, he wasn’t really keen on leaving it unlocked either.

As he takes a look around the abandoned street, he realizes he’s missing the tall individual that usually occupies the passenger’s seat. Where the hell did Sam go? Instinctively, Dean scans the area, uneasiness evident in his stomach, a sensation which arises ever since he was a kid, whenever he loses sight of his little brother. Then he spots him a bit further down the road. He’s on the phone with someone, and for a second he wonders if it’s Zoë he’s having a conversation with.

Waiting for his brother to return, he leans against his car, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sun feels nice and warm on his back as it burns away the coolness of the night. Now that he has nothing to do for a moment, his thoughts sneak off. He doesn’t like it one bit, but he can’t help but think of the huntress they crossed paths with a little under a week ago. He may pretend that he doesn’t give a shit, but he has to admit that she has been on his mind more than a couple of times. Not that he likes her, fuck no, but Sullivan left an impression that has him wondering. She has been through more in the twenty-five years that she has walked this earth than most endure in an entire lifetime. Maybe that is why he deep down cares; he can relate to her.

Dean exhales, not dwelling too long on the reason behind the intrigue. Instead, he wonders if Sam’s presumption is actually true. The fierce Zoë Sullivan being in deep shit; he can barely picture it. She always seems in control, even when things don't go as planned. She caught him off guard. He, Dean Winchester, can you fuckin’ believe that? The older Winchester sibling rolls his harmed shoulder, testing its mobility. She shot me, for fuck’s sake.

Even though he has been in the field longer than she has, Zoë seems to expertly know her way around the world of monsters that is their reality. She’s a bright girl, skilled, fast, fearless. She has every aspect of a perfect hunter. But after those last words back in Paragould, he was left with the impression that the battle she was going towards, is one she didn’t expect to win. It truly felt like a final goodbye. A disturbing question pops up in his head; did he make a mistake not going after her? The two guys they saved from a werewolf in Waco probably don’t think so.

Dean stares ahead, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth while contemplating his choices. Maybe they should go after her anyway, see if they can pick up her trail. North is indeed a big place, but then again, a hot chick on a Harley Davidson would stand out. It’s a long shot, but if they play this right, they may be able to find her.

The matter escapes his mind when he feels his phone vibrating, the buzzing device startling him slightly. Somewhat annoyed by his own reflex, the hunter takes his Motorola and notices the small icon of an envelope in the right upper corner; he has received a text message. It’s probably Erin, his hook up back in Waco, who had to wake up alone this morning. She must be wondering where the man she met in a bar three days prior has gone. But when Dean opens his inbox, his eyes widen in shock.

At the top of the list of incoming messages, it says ‘Dad’.

Dean’s heart has picked up speed, now pounding twice as fast than it was seconds ago. Last time he checked, his father’s phone was inactive, and now there’s a message coming in from that number? Different scenarios flash through his mind, not sure if he should prepare for good or bad news. With shaky fingers, he opens the text.

Job: 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W

Dean exhales, still staring at his cell. He can’t fucking believe it. John disappeared from the face of the earth, nowhere to be found, and after all this time he sent a few numbers and letters. The older Winchester brother huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t matter, though. Relief frees Dean from the crippling worry that he has tried to stuff down for over a month now, but kept him up at night nonetheless. This text confirms what he’s been hoping for; Dad is alive.

Thrilled, Dean turns around and glances down the street, noticing Sam, who hastens towards the car. He can’t wait to share the news, knowing they have both been so desperate for a breakthrough.

“We’ve gotta go,” they both say at the same time. “Me first,” Dean demands, childish. “What are you? Seven?” Sam huffs, raising an eyebrow to match with the sass. Despite his accusation, he counters in the same manner. “What I’ve just heard is bigger.” “Bigger than this?” Dean brags while flashing a grin, victoriously handing his brother the Motorola.

Curiosity wins and Sam takes it, attentively reading the message. His eyes narrow, but then his jaw falls open when he realizes who the sender is. John’s youngest son isn’t impressed, though. In fact, what shows on the display infuriates him.

“That’s it?” he scoffs, agitated, giving the phone back to his brother. “After a month of silence, that’s what he gives us?” “Sam, don’t you realize what this means? He’s okay!” Dean brings to mind. “Don’t bitch about this.” “Just because he’s able to send us a text message, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. We’re not even sure it’s him!” Sam returns bitterly. “Oh, come on. This is so Dad. One word and coordinates, that’s straight up Marine Corps right there. It’s more convincing than his fuckin’ signature,” the older brother argues.

“And what the hell are we supposed to do with this? Trust him blindly and do a job he can’t find the time for because he’s hunting whatever the thing is that killed Mom?” Sam assumes, his arms flying up before he lets them come down to his sides again. “Exactly,” Dean states, matter of factly. “Don’t you see, Sam? This is what I’ve been telling you. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants us to hunt.”

Dean opens the passenger side door and rummages in the dashboard locker. When he straightens his back, he pulls out a brown notebook; it’s John’s journal. “This book. This is dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. He could’ve taken it with him, but he didn’t. He’s passed it on to us.” Dean looks deep into his brother's eyes while he points at the leather bound book that is the representation of the Bible to the Winchesters. “Dad’s journal, the text... Dad is telling us he wants us to do what we were trained for.”

“You know what I want? I want to find him,” Sam returns determined, handing back the phone. “And how the fuck were you planning to achieve that, huh?” Dean returns. “I don’t need a plan, I already know where he is,” the younger brother states.

Puzzled, Dean stares at him, waiting for an explanation. There has been zero contact between their old man and Sam for years, and now all of a sudden he has figured out where John is at? “How?” he questions, suspicion rising. “I just received a call. He’s in Tennessee. In Nashville to be precise,” his sibling states. Dean frowns. “A call? From who?”

The shrug of Sam’s shoulders is nonchalant. “I think she might be a hunter or something.” “She? Does this mystery lady have a name?” Dean questions further, trying to get details while frustration bubbles in his chest, triggered by his brother’s short answers. “She didn’t give it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to Tennessee,” Sam decides.

Dean laughs out loud, dropping the journal on the passenger’s seat before he turns away. Then he returns to glare at Sam as if he just made a joke. “You wanna go to fucking Nashville based on an anonymous call? Did the sun fry your brain or something? This could be a fucking trap, Sam!” Dean shouts, indignant. But his sibling is determined. “I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m going.”

Dean steps closer and halts right in front of him. He has to look up to stare into the eyes of his taller brother, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating.

“Dad has given us an order,” he growls, his words spoken in a low tone. “I said: I. don’t. care,” Sam battles him. “Well I do, you stubborn dumbass!” Dean counters with a raised voice. “What you are planning to do is fucking dangerous! Dad doesn’t want you on his tail, you’ll blow his cover!”

“You’re calling me a dumbass?! Dad is after an incredibly powerful monster by himself, alone! He’s the dumbass for not accepting our help! We already lost Mom, I lost Jess, I’m not going to lose him too. I want answers, I want a piece of that son of a bitch that ruined our lives and I want it right fucking now! If Dad doesn’t want me there, that’s his problem!” Sam shouts angrily.

“You’re going against him?” Dean isn’t impressed with the outbreak, and slightly shakes his head. “Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you always do; the exact opposite of what he asks!” he continues cynically. “He doesn’t ask. He orders,” his brother corrects. “And you follow those orders like a fucking lapdog.” “It doesn’t matter how he tells us what to do, Sam! He’s our God damn father, so you better suck it up and fucking LISTEN!!!”

Dean is sure one of Ronny’s neighbors is going to emerge from one of the houses, telling them to shut up and take this argument elsewhere, instead of fighting it out in the middle of the street. He doesn’t care, however. His little brother has forgotten his place, and he needs to set him straight.

“I do whatever the hell he tells me to do because I trust him, because I respect him, which is something I’m gonna strongly advise you to do as well, because your attitude fucking stinks,” Dean lectures, his moss green eyes penetrating, fire burning in his irises. “Now get in the fucking car, because we’re going to drive to wherever those coordinates lead us to.”

Puffing his chest while straightening his back to make himself seem even taller, Sam crosses his arms. His older sibling might think he has all the authority, but he’s not a little kid anymore who he can boss around. Those days are long gone. He thought his departure to Stanford taught Dean a lesson or two, but apparently he needs to remind his brother that he plays by his own rules, and no one else's. “I’m not going with you,” he decides, standing his ground.

For a moment, Dean just stares at him, giving him a second to reconsider that conclusion, but Sam doesn’t even blink. Their gazes battle, the air between them almost too thick to breathe, rivalry carving a deep canyon between the two. “I’m gonna give you a choice,” Dean snarls. “You can come with me and solve that case, or you can go fuck yourself.”

Sam gulps, but stands his ground. His facial expression doesn’t change as he steps back, away from his brother, and heads over to the back of the Impala without breaking eye contact, until he opens the trunk to grab his duffel. The glare Dean receives when he slams the lid closed says enough; he’s not coming along for the ride.

Stunned, Dean stares at him and huffs in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable. He has always known Sam was stubborn, but now he takes the cake. Disappointed, the older brother shakes his head. This is the second time Sam has chosen a different path and leaves him without even batting an eye, but it scares Dean just as much as when he left and went to college. He’s not alright with what he’s about to do, but he can’t give in. He has to listen to his father. Frustratingly, he pulls open the door of the Impala. “Goodbye, Sam.”

Trying to hide his unpleasant surprise, the man left in the road watches him. He didn’t expect this, Dean taking off without him, but then again, how could he not expect a soldier to follow orders from his general? It doesn’t change anything, though. He is dead set on investigating this lead and finding his father.

The man who is about to put a distance between himself and the one person he swore to never part with again, glances in the rearview mirror. He wishes he hadn’t, because the coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes seems foreign, yet familiar. As Dean starts the engine, he realizes he is either having a major deja-vu, or is reliving one of the worst days of his life. Despite the painful pressure that’s building in his chest and the panic that floods his brain, he lowers his right foot on the gas pedal, and the car rolls away. He doesn’t drive off as fast as he normally would, because he’s fighting the urge to turn around. Pained, he glances in his mirror again. “C’mon, Sam. Move,” he begs.

But Sam doesn’t even lift a finger, and he remains in the exact same spot. Then he does move, but not in the way Dean hoped. His little brother turns his back on him and heads towards downtown Hillsboro, in the opposite direction.

With a deep sigh, Dean shakes his head, clamping his left hand around the wheel until his knuckles turn white. “Stubborn bastard,” he sighs.

His jaw clenches, as West Elm Street flows over in Route 22 and the landscape around him changes. Small homes and sheds make room for stretched out farmlands. But he doesn’t notice the scenery. His conscience is fighting his heart. He wants to hit the brakes and pull the car into a 180° so badly, but he has to listen to his father. Never in his life has Dean done anything else than that, disobedience not being a word one could find in his dictionary. Yet in this situation, both of the options are pitfalls. It doesn’t matter which way he goes, he will make a mistake either way. Because the one line that his father drilled in his mind over and over again keeps haunting him.

Take care of Sammy.

He grinds his teeth, but continues to drive further and further away, his upbringing leaving him no choice. The hunter has made his decision; he’s going to find the location of those coordinates and do the job his Dad has given him. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just hoping Sam does too, because if something happens to his little brother, Dean knows he will never be able to forgive himself.

Well, shit. The boys have gone separate ways. Who do you think will find what he’s looking for?

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part four here

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anonymous0writer · 4 years

Text

Saving You III JJ Maybank

Part Two: Toeing the Line

Author: @anonymous0writer

Summary: You and JJ had been best friends for as long as you lived. But the feelings that would change your status haven’t been said. Will the words ever be said?

Warnings: Parental abuse/abuse, (more in detail..) swearing.. Going into detail about emotions? I don’t know...

A/N: This one is really long bc I went back to edit and added a shit tom of detail and angst ig. Also, I tried to edit it the best I could.. Anyway, I really like this series, and I’m gonna be so sad when its done even though I’m on the second part, lol.

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There was something in the air. Maybe it was the tang of rain just before it hit. Or maybe it was the way the clouds looked a little darker than the hour before. Whatever it was, it was there. Twisting and churning feeling that sat in his gut, making his face twist in sickness. It was like stepping off a plane, the indescribable feeling of you not begin right. Like you were meant to be in the air, pressure against your ears and flying in the sky, not dropped to the ground, heavy and lost. But no matter it was, the foreboding was there. Settled into his stomach like a lithe creature, ready to strike when the moment came.

He didn’t know what it was, but it was like the calm before the storm. The crispness of the air, the sharp tang of rain about to fall, and then it hits. The consuming, hoard of dark clouds, rolling over the sky in a furious march. Clouds that left the bone quivering, earth shaking booms of thunder and the wicked crack of lightening that light up the world for a second, before plummeting it into darkness.

The storm that brought destruction and havoc and sorrow. But so elegant in the way it destroyed you didn’t even think about it until you were left with the pieces of its aftermath.

It was like a hurricane. Blowing and whipping furiously, making it way to you, eating up the miles in its path, determined to destroy everything. It was hurtling toward you, and you were powerless to stop it, only able to hunker down and let it happen.

Whatever it was it was going to bad, and it made him sick. It was a knot in his stomach that tightened and made him sicker. He leaned forward, eyebrows pressed together in worry. What the hell was going to happen today?

---------

Y/N batted her friends grabby hands away, laughing at the same time. JJ smirked, able to get a loose fry with his agile fingers. Y/N squawked, her lips tugging into a frown as she watched the boy munch on the food happily.

“JJ!” She called, her agitation masking the way she melted and loved that he felt so comfortable to do the simple act of stealing a fry.

The boy smirked. “I’ll let you beat me to a wave today,” The boy winked, trying to make it up to her.

Y/N hide her smile as she moved her head so her long hair slid off her shoulder, dropping in front of her face. However JJ feared that he had actually made the girl mad at him, and leaned forward, fingers subconsciously brushing her hair back, tucking the loose stands back in place.

“Are you mad at me?”

Y/N gasped softly at the feeling of the edges of JJ’s fingertips ghosting her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear. Her throat bobbed, and her eyes flickered to meet JJ’s. But Y/N was good at recovering fast, and she giggled, pushing the boy away again,

“JJ, stop!” Her lips split, revealing a full smile that lit up her face and made the edges of her eyes wrinkle. JJ loved that smile with everything he got, and always hated the way it disappeared. So, trying to get the smile back, his fingers reached out to attack her sides in tickles.

Soon enough, Y/N was laughing madly, head thrown back and hair in her face, as she tried to take a much needed breath, her hands pushing away the relentless ones of her best friend. JJ grinned, blue eyes shining as he continued his playful assault, coaxing gasps and squeals from his best friend.

“Alright, alright! J!” Y/N gasped, and the blonde let up, allowing her to catch a breath.

Across from the best friends sat the rest of their group. Pope was staring with eyebrows raised, and John B. was smirking at the pair, while Kie was cleaning up their mess so her father wouldn’t get mad.

“You two are on crack, I swear.” John B. muttered, popping a fry in his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, tipping it slightly.

“Shut up, John B!” Y/N yelled, a mischievous smirk plastered on her sunlit face. She reached into her basket of quickly diminishing fries and hurtled one at the tall boy across from her.

A thud sounded as John B.’s chair dropped and he retaliated with a fry in Y/N’s face. The revenge blew into a full on fry fight, and the friends were laughing and ducking from the onslaught of fries headed their way.

As JJ chucked a ketchup soaked fry toward Pope, he felt so happy. His eyes wandered to see Kie and Y/N huddled together, battling away the fries raining down on them with loud rounds of laughter. He took a split second break to admire his best friend since he was eight. She was beautiful, with her laugh that made everyone join in, with her kind words and big heart and her smile that had every person that met her falling in love.

But the fun was ended by Mr. Carrera and his sharp yell through the empty restaurant.

“Hey, knock it off.” He frowned, eyes landing on his daughter. “I thought I told you not to waste my food.” He grumbled, soon focusing on cleaning a spot on the counter.

“Sorry dad.” Kie winced, and smacked Pope’s hand with a glare as he tried to pick up a fry. “It’s getting late,” She comments, looking out the window of the Wreck, watching the sun sink lower into the horizon. “If we want to catch some waves,”

“We gotta go now.” Y/N finishes for her, hands scrambling to clean up the table now littered with grease soaked fries and splotches of ketchup and mustard. “John B, come on!” She chided as the boy waited a second too long to join in the collective work to clean up.

He jumped in, but JJ held back, struck frozen by the sinking feeling in his gut. His stomach knotted, giving him the feeling he woke up with this morning.

The calm before the storm.

“JJ?” Y/N prodded, eyes finding his as her eyebrows pushed together. She stood, brushing off her cutoffs with harsh wipes of her hands. Her eyes fixated on her friend, confusing pulling her eyebrows together. “Hey, J?” Her voice cooed, calling out to the blonde.

“Shit,” The surfer muttered, taking his hat off to run a hand through his messy hair. His blue eye seemed distant, but they were wide, like a child who forgot to do a chore and their parent was soon to catch them. “Fuck, you guys I gotta dip.”

“What? Where are you-” Kie started, but the boy was already off, spiriting through the Wreck’s door. His figure jumped on his bike, and soon he sped away, gravel spewing and the blue shirt he wore fading into a small speck until it was gone from sight.

Kie sputtered, eyebrows pulling down as her lips curved into a soft frown. “What the hell was that?”

Y/N takes a second before pulling her eyes away from where JJ ran off. Worry churned in her gut, as she finally lets her eyes tear away from the scene.

“I don’t know.” She breaths, trying to quell the bad feeling.

But she knows it hopeless. She’s always had a sixth sense when JJ was in trouble. Yet this time, that horrid feeling is coupled with another. It feels like her fear of something bad happening, but you have no control of it.

To Y/N, it felt exactly like the calm before a storm.

--------

“You worthless piece of shit!” The screams curl into JJ’s face, stale beer and bad breath hitting him in a wave. The boy presses himself back farther, the untamed wood digging into his back. His face scrunches up, and he tries desperately to block out the words.

The words crest and break in the blonde’s ear, settling deep into his brain, and joining the other nasty words thrown at him by his father. The words shook him to the core, bone quaking, eyes swimming and blood sizzling. His anger built higher and higher, growing rapidly, morphing into a beast. Anger at his father, for the shitty life handed to him and the only thing in the refrigerator was a week old beer his father downed every day. Anger at the world, for turning its back on him, shutting him out and letting him suffer. Suffer at the hands of his father. Who couldn’t stay sober for his life. And couldn’t ease the anger towards his son either. It all came to a 360, didn’t it?

But another feeling roared in him, unable to be put out like a simple fire. This feeling was almost as powerful at his anger, close, but not quite. This feeling wasn’t powerful in the ascend. Only in the descend. The emotion, the feeling that ran through his veins, running with the anger and doubling its strength was helpless pain. It was like being too close to the edge, where you looked down, breath catching, eyes watering at the wind, heart speeding. Where even though you tried to calm yourself with ragged breaths, your heart sped up into a gallop, beating wildly in your chest cavity, palms slick with sweat and ragged breaths pulling your chest in and out. It was when your hands shook, and your eyes burned and you were so angry that it took over every sense. When the anger was the only thing. Anger at nothing and everything. Anger burning in your chest as your hands lost control, and your mind reeled. Anger that clouded your brain like a disease, so fast and quick you didn’t even realize. The feeling that brought you to your knees when it rose to its height. Where your thoughts streamed so fast you could process everything and nothing. Where your bones stopped, and you sagged, the fight escaping you like a soul to a body. The fight, the survival instinct, the anger, it all faded, leaving you to break down, mind still reeling, hands still shaking, breaths still ragged. It was that feeling. The feeling of everything in you giving up to a break down. Where your thoughts broke on you, turning against you and watching you fall apart.

“Shut up!” JJ screams back, face contorting as he tries to handle the emotions raging in his chest. They were too much. He didn’t handle emotions well, not when they were like this. Not when they exploded and raged and screamed like this. He couldn’t handle the wailing symphony of his fathers words and the feelings of pain and anger rose to a crescendo in his ears. “Just shut up!”

He was yelling. Trying to block out the orchestra in his ears. To stop the emotions beating in his chest like they were alive. To stop his fathers lying, withering words from taking root in his mind and growing like a weed. He was trying to shut everything out. Because he couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle the way his fathers hands never failed to hurt, and his father words never failed to sting, and the way eyes never failed to pity as they landed on the bruises that seemed like permanent markings on his skin.

Luke’s fist slams into his son’s cheek, filed by rage and the abundance of alcohol. The hit sent JJ sideways, knees slamming into the floor with a hard thud as pain split across his face like a rapid spiderweb. It worked it’s way into every fiber of his face, searing and never ending. His jaw clenches, sending another wave of pain through his body, making his brain go fuzzy as his vision danced. His mind was slipping, trying to process the amount of pain, but failing to do so.

But magically, it cleared. The fog dispersed and gave way to sharp images, sending the boy back into reality, where his fathers fists were too real and the pain was too clear. But the haze only cleared to let another emotion peek through as he heard it. Heard the sound of gravel crunching under tires and brakes squeaking as the engine rumbled, dying. Pain slithered away into the corners of his brain to give way to a more powerful emotion. Fear. Fear because he knew exactly whose there’s that care belonged to. Knew exactly the way the gravel surrendered under the weight of a certain tire. Of a certain car. The car belonged to her. Y/N.

She was here, knowing something was terribly wrong the second the boy stopped reveling in the childish food fight. Because she always did. Her gut always twisted a certain way, giving her a bad feeling that never faded until she investigated. She always seemed to know when he was in trouble and came running, eager to ease the feeling and help. She’d gotten that sense the moment the boys eyes landed on her all those years back. It was a gift. A gift, a connection between two people who’s love ran deeper than blood and deeper than words itself. But in most cases, the gift was a curse. Because every time her gut twisted that way, or she’d frown because she felt undeniably wrong, JJ was hurt, beaten bloody by his own father. Most of the time she showed up when Luke was passed out drunk on the couch, chest rising in falling in a drunken slumber, JJ visiting a world of pain on the floor or gripping his head like it was going to burst as he sat, door locked in his bedroom. But now she’d shown up when Luke was towering over the blonde, words bellowing out of his heaving chest.

“No,” JJ whispers, fear spiking in his chest, hitting a certain place in his heart. Everything- the anger, the helplessness, the crescendo of wails and words screamed by his father- died. Faded into the background to bow to the new comer. Fear. Not fear of his father. Not fear that his father would go too far and actually kill him. Not it wasn’t fear for him. This fear was for his best friend. His bright eyed, smiling friend who he’d fallen in love with,

His fear was for Y/N. Fear that she’d get hurt. And if she got hurt- JJ wouldn’t even allow the thought to fully develop or form into a real sentence. He couldn’t- wouldn’t go there. The thought brought too many already present emotions and more to the front.

As the surfer tried to scramble away, the pads of his fingers digging into the fought grain of the wooden floor, he was grabbed. Luke flipped JJ over, hands rough, and words hitting JJ’s ear, making the boy flinch. Fists started raining down on his face, head smashed into the worn floorboards of the house. The blondes eyes fluttered shut, his brain threatening to stop. JJ was in too much pain, his mind clouded and vision swimming to hear the porch door and the main door smack open. It was too late. Too late to get up, shove his dad off and beg Y/N to leave, let his father run his course. But pain was a powerful thing, leaving JJ prone on the floor as the door to the house of pain opened to reveal Y/N.

“Stop!” Her screams ran through the air, snapping her best friend out of his haze of misery. “What are you doing?” Her voice wavered, breaking as it gave away to fear and distress. Worry seeped into the words, making her cries desperate.

The boy on the floor groans, heat splitting in pain as he moves, picking himself up. He stumbles, knees threatening to give way, and face bruised and bloody. His lips are cracked and parted, blood leaking from an open wound, thick and dark. His cheek is swollen, red and puffy with purple blooming across it like a wildfire. It was like the purple of the fading sunset, elegant and soft for such an alarming, pain filled color. A cut mars his right eyebrow, breaking up the symmetry of his abuse. His eyes are sad, the azure color dulled and faded, weak without the light of his usual smile or carefree laugh. His lips don’t tug into a flirty smirk, but frown in a soft, giving up manner.

When he opens his mouth, he finds his might too dry and throat too clogged to speak. So he tried again, voice hoarse and broken. “Get out of here!” He begs, fear and desperation thick in his rough voice. His pleas reach his friend, sounding harsher than he intended. Subconsciously, the JJ places himself in front of Y/N and his seething father. His hands are still shaking, weak and bruised as he holds them up, trying to keep his fathers hands of misery away from the perfect light of his best friend.

“What is she doing her?” Luke barks, his voice rapsy with the gruffness of a man with only anger and cheap alcohol in his blood can obtain.

“I’m gonna get her out dad. Alright? We’re gonna leave.” JJ’s hands shake more as he plays mediator, eyes beseeching his unforgiving father. He swallows the lump in his throat, trying to quell the soreness. He’s begging. Begging with his father to let them go- or at least Y/N. And begging with his best friend to leave, leave so his father can keep his reign of terror focused on the blonde and not her.

“You’re not leaving!” Luke thundered, brows glaring down as he surveyed the two kids. His stained tank top lifted at uneven intervals as his chest heaved, ragged breaths pulling in and out of his frowning mouth. His lips were screwed into a disgust filled sneer.

But Y/N wasn’t having it. JJ’s cerulean eyes flickered to meet hers, seeing them spark with fire and sadness. A combination her best friend knew too well. So, with a rare surge of bravery, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins at the best of her thundering heart, she stepped forward. Her feet groaned against the wood as she went forward, short, quiet gasps falling from her dry lips. She was now exposed to Luke’s fury. JJ was no longer in front of her, protecting her. And it was her own doing.

“Stop it! He doesn’t deserve it.” Y/N’s voice was ragged, seeping with desperation as she begged with the inconsolable man in front of her.

JJ’s heart twisted at the words, squeezing painfully as it hammered against his bruised ribs. Breath caught, he stopped, but he was too late. He wasn’t in front of her in time, wasn’t meditating like he was begging for life. He was too late. Luke’s hand was already flying, and the loud sound of skin hitting skin filled the room. The sound was enough to make JJ flinch, a smack and cry sounding. The cry ripping from a familiar throat, provoked by the shock and pain. Y/N fell, the power of the slap sending her to her knees. She hit the floor, ground thundering as her hands flew to her cheek. Her fingers were gentle, exploring the source of pain now stinging across her face.

JJ was positive that he could hear his heart crack. Positive that the sound of it was breaking wasn’t only in his ears, adding to the decrescendo of wails and words in his ears. The boy was sure, if you looked hard enough, you could see the soft, yet strong webbing of his heart break and fall into tiny, sharp pieces, lost in his rib cage.

“Dad!” He screamed, shock forcing the words from his constricted throat. His ocean eyes brimming with tears and clouding his vision as he watched you gasp, red blooming fast on your cheek from where his father hit you. His father. Leaving his own abuse mark. On you. On the one person JJ cared about more than himself. On the one person he wouldn’t think twice about giving his life for. On the one person he promised nothing would happen to. On the one person he loved with every bit of his fucked up self.

He broke his gaze on your to look at his father. Despite his mind still trying to process everything- everything from the downhill spiral of his roaring emotions and the increased climb of his pain- he thought fast. Quicksilver. Turning to his father, he put his hands- now less shaky- up in surrender. His cerulean eyes were back to begging. “Alright.. We’re leaving. I’m getting her out of here, alright?”

Luke’s lips curled into a sneer, and he spit on the floor, eyes hard and filled with disgust and to JJ’s relief, disinterest. His father turned away, searching for a beer like a lost man at sea for land. Once he was sure, his fathers mind was only on the cheap alcohol littering the house, JJ spun, eyes zoning in on his best friend. His blue eyes locked on your figure.

Breathing her name in a ragged whisper, JJ dropped to his knees next to her, ignoring the pain exploding like rouge fireworks in every part of his body. The wince didn’t hide the pain, but the boy was used to hiding. He ignored his pain, lips pressed together in a thin, determined line. Because the bruised ribs and face that were throbbing and screaming were nothing compared to the way his heart broke and seized at seeing you fall victim to his fathers vicious hands.

“Hey,” He whispered, voice barely audible as he called out to his friend. His fingers reached, touching the soft underside of her jaw as his hands cupped Y/N’s cheeks like they were glass.

Y/N’s heart ached at the way JJ cupped her face. Like she was so fragile and could break with the slightest pressure. Like he didn’t want to hurt her, and only craved to protect her. Alike he was sorry, and he couldn’t convey it in words, so he tried in touch. Like he was heartbroken over seeing her like this.

JJ’s eyes swam with unshed tears as they pooled. His attentive eyes saw the familiar welt form on your cheek bloom like a flower in spring. The welt was big and angry, making the boy clench his jaw tightly. His nostrils flared as his ears registered the gasp falling from your parted lips and the hurt look in your eyes.

And he realized. The bad feeling this morning. The creature settling in his gut, waiting to strike. The feeling that reminded JJ of the times a hurricane would be broadcasted on the TV screen, the brightness of the pictures blaring and the detached voices of newscasters loud. This, this right here- his best friend sitting on the floor, bruising cheek cradled in his rough hands, both of them victims of his father- was the foreboding in his gut in the early morning.

Before- that was the calm before the storm.

And this- this was worse. This was the crashing of the waves after cresting to a scary height. This was the raging wind, coupled with the stabbing rain. This was the crescendo of the deafening music where you covered your ears with your hands, eyes squeezed shut. This was the sharp crack of lighting exploding across the night cry. This was the moment where all the fight left your body, leaving you empty and hollow, a husk of your emotions. This was the silent scream of mind tearing pain. This was the rising panic in your chest. This was the feeling of seeing Y/N and her abuse. This was the feeling of helplessness as you looked up, neck craning back as your eyes tracked the rising wave, fear heavy in your chest as your realized your fate and there was nothing you could do about it.

This was the storm.

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thelastspeecher · 3 years

Text

D&D AU - Elf Kid Adventures, Finale

I’m calling this “Elf Kid Adventures” even tho the only person who is a kid for any amount of time in it is Stan, and it’s for like five minutes, because that’s what I called the previous installments of this story arc, here and here.

Do you want some D&D-themed angst? Here’s some D&D-themed angst! Plus more McGuckets trying to set up the good ship Stangie. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Stan stood in front of Mrs. McGucket, nervously watching as she set out various spellcasting ingredients. The McGucket parents had finally come up with a way to remove the curse, and Lute had suggested Stan go first. Thankfully, the McGucket parents insisted that the spell be done without Angie or Lute observing, as they might cause distractions. As such, the siblings were inside the house while the spellcasting happened outside. Mr. McGucket squeezed Stan’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, son. Sally’s the best sorceress you’ll ever meet. Even if the curse don’t get removed right, the sit’ation won’t get worse.” Stan nodded.

Dunno how much I believe that. He had never informed the McGucket parents of his orcish heritage, so they were in for a surprise. If the curse reversal worked properly.

“All right, Mearl, get over here,” Mrs. McGucket said. Mr. McGucket smiled reassuringly at Stan, then joined his wife. “Ready, Stanaximus?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Stan said weakly, excitement and dread warring within him. Mrs. McGucket raised her hands. Stan closed his eyes. He let out a gasp at the sensation of being splashed with a bucket of cold water. This was quickly followed by all the growing pains he’d had in puberty, occurring at the same time. He barely subdued the cry of pain at his tusks tearing through his gums.

“Oh, no,” Mrs. McGucket whispered. Stan opened his eyes. The McGucket parents stared at him in horror. Mrs. McGucket covered her mouth, tears sparkling in her silver eyes. “Oh, no!”

“Now, calm down, dear,” Mr. McGucket said quickly. “Stan actually told me not long ago he was the subject of an additional curse, passed down from his father. This is prob’ly the result of that.”

“I don’t-” Stan started. He paused. The distinctive rasp to his voice was back, as was its lower pitch. Wordlessly, Mr. McGucket handed Stan a small mirror. Stan looked at his reflection. A male orc with golden eyes, pale skin, and pointed ears looked back. Weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying lifted from his shoulders.

I’m me again. Stan prodded his tusks, fighting back a smile. Damn, I was dumb to think staying a kid was preferable to this.

“Is Mearl right?” Mrs. McGucket asked. Stan looked up.

“About what?”

“That yer appearance is from the curse ya got from yer father.”

“No,” Stan said. Mrs. McGucket let out a soft gasp.

“I messed up!”

“Should we try to put the curse back on him?” Mr. McGucket asked his wife.

“No, don’t,” Stan said quickly.

“Son, ya look like an orc,” Mr. McGucket said gently. Stan took a deep breath.

It’s okay to tell them the truth. They love you. They even gave permission to court Angie. Not that you needed it.

“That’s because I am,” he confessed. The McGuckets stared at him blankly. “I’m half-elf and half-orc. When I was a kid, I looked like my mom, but when I got older, I looked like my pops.” The confusion on Mr. McGucket’s face warped into rage. He grabbed his nearby staff and pointed it at Stan, the end of the weapon mere inches from Stan’s throat.

“Leave,” he snarled. Stan felt like he was being doused with cold water again.

“What?”

“Get off my property, boy!” Mr. McGucket roared. Stan looked to Mrs. McGucket for help, but she merely continued to stare at him in shock.

“I’m-” Stan tried. Mr. McGucket made a gesture. Thorny vines burst out of the ground, lashing Stan’s ankles. “Ow!”

“You lied to us!” The fatherly twinkle in Mr. McGucket’s eyes was gone. “This whole time, you claimed to be an elf, but you were orc. You pretended to be somethin’ you weren’t.” At the harsh words from the previously gentle and warm Mr. McGucket, something snapped in Stan.

“Fine!” he growled, baring his tusks. Mr. McGucket blanched. Stan felt a twisted satisfaction in causing the man to be visibly unnerved. “You want me to go? I’ll go! After everything you told me, that you never turn down people to help for their race, I expected better from you. But you’re just as bad as all the other elves I’ve met!” Before he could see the effect of his words on the McGuckets, Stan turned on his heel, fleeing into the woods.

-----

Stan slumped against the trunk of a large oak tree, staring up at the small bits of blue sky he could see through the forest’s thick canopy. Desperately, he tried to hold back the tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

You’re not gonna cry. You’re not gonna cry. Sure, the first person who acted like a halfway decent dad to you just chased you away from his home, but- There was a faint rustling. Stan reached for his dagger, only to find nothing there. Shit. I left my weapons at the farm.

“Stan?” a voice said softly. Stan looked over. Angie melted out of the woods; like her father, she blended in with the trees almost perfectly.

“I see you’re back to normal,” Stan grunted. Returned to her proper young adult age, Angie sat next to him. The sunlight trickling through the leaves dappled her hair. “How much of the shitshow did you hear?”

“Not much. But we were watchin’ from a window, so we saw it all,” Angie said.

“We?”

“Lute ‘n I.”

“Great,” Stan muttered. “The guy who hates me most saw your parents kick me off their property.”

“Now, I highly doubt I hate ya more than anyone else in the world might,” Lute said, emerging from the woods to join his sister. He was also back to being a young adult. “What about all the people you’ve robbed?” Stan rolled his eyes. “Anyways, if I hated you, I wouldn’t have stuck up fer ya.” Stan’s head whipped up. “I’m surprised, too.”

“The second we saw things goin’ south, we raced outside, but we were too late,” Angie said. Lute sat next to her. “You were already gone. And Ma ‘n Pa were fit to fry.”

“I shouldn’t have been surprised that they were racist. Elves never treat orcs well,” Stan said. Angie raised an eyebrow. Stan sighed. “Present company excluded.”

“They weren’t upset you were an orc, though they definitely don’t exactly have a good opinion of ‘em,” Angie said. “They were upset you lied to ‘em. Tellin’ the truth is important to ‘em.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them I was an orc the second I started lying?”

“It weren’t my truth to tell,” Angie said with a shrug. “And…” She sighed. “I was worried that yer concern was well-founded, that my folks wouldn’t respond well to the truth.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I’m sorry things went down the way they did.”

“You should be,” Stan said shortly. One of Lute’s eyes twitched.

“Maybe in the future, you should also not try to hide somethin’ this big from allies,” he retorted. Stan opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t find fault in what Lute had said.

“…Fair,” he muttered. Angie put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are ya ready to come back to the farm?” she asked. Stan shook his head. “All right.” Angie leaned against him. Stan’s heart began to race. “I’ll wait with ya until you are.”

-----

Stan pulled the drawstrings of his pack tight. The bag was fit to burst, filled with enough provisions to last them the trip back three times over. Angie and Lute had already left the kitchen, apparently because they knew the trick to packing all the food their parents insisted they take. Mrs. McGucket, hovering nearby, swooped in.

“I do want to apologize again for our reaction to your adult form,” she said softly, resting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. Stan shrugged his pack on.

“C’mon, Mrs. McGucket. You’ve apologized a million times. Where’s that sun elf dignity?” he teased. Mrs. McGucket smiled. After Stan had come back with Angie and Lute, the McGucket parents practically fell over themselves in apologizing. Stan didn’t feel as positively about them as he had before the curse was removed, but he also didn’t feel as negatively as he had when they chased him off the farmstead. He could hear his mom’s voice in the back of his head.

“There will be a lot of people who have a negative reaction when they first meet you. If they don’t move on from it, by all means, hold it against them. But if they try to grow as people, if they work to know you as the wonderful young man you are, let them. Learning to be a better person is, I think, more important than being born one.”

“I was never one to follow the sun elf ideals,” Mrs. McGucket said. Stan nodded.

“You’d get along with my mom,” he said. Mrs. McGucket’s smile broadened.

“From what you have told me, I agree,” she replied. Stan picked an apple off the kitchen table. “Maybe I’ll have a chance to meet her at the wedding.” The apple slipped out of Stan’s hand.

“What?” he asked. Mrs. McGucket sighed.

“Mearl said he passed along that you have our blessing to court Angie.”

“Well, yeah, but that was before you guys found out I was half-orc.” Stan stared at her. “You don’t have a problem with that?” Mrs. McGucket shook her head. “Really? No concerns about potential future grandchildren having orcish blood?”

“Look, once Lute stood up for you, Mearl and I knew we had made a horrible mistake,” Mrs. McGucket said softly. “For him to tell us we were wrong, after what he went through during ranger training…” Mrs. McGucket trailed off. Stan didn’t know the details, but apparently, Lute had some sort of traumatic experience involving orcs while training to be a ranger. Angie claimed that was the reason Lute had hated Stan on sight.

“Yeah, I was pretty surprised by that, too.”

“You’re a good man, Stanaximus, half-orc or not. We’d be honored to have you join our family.” Mrs. McGucket took a hold of his hand. “Don’t be afraid to try.”

Why do they keep pushing this? I mean, yeah, I’d be an idiot to not make a move. But they won’t stop telling me that!

“Why won’t you and Mr. McGucket let this drop?”

“Because I almost didn’t act on my feelings for Mearl.”

“You didn’t? With how you and Mearl talk about it, you abandoned your whole life on a whim.”

“It felt like that, yes,” Mrs. McGucket said with a sigh. “But in reality, I nearly lost my nerve. It’s a big decision, leaving your family and everything you know.”

“Yeah…” Stan said quietly, thinking of the day he left home. Mrs. McGucket smiled ruefully.

“Yes, I thought you would understand.” Stan nodded. “But I did leave my home for Mearl, and I’ve never felt that was a mistake, not even for a moment. Don’t allow yourself to have regrets in love, Stanaximus.” To Stan’s shock, Mrs. McGucket embraced him. “Best of luck on your journey,” she said in Elvish. Recognizing the traditional farewell, Stan completed it.

“And best of joy while you stay,” he replied in Elvish. Mrs. McGucket squeezed him as tightly as she could, which wasn’t much, given her sylph-like figure and how bulky Stan was. She let him go. Stan picked up the apple he’d dropped and exited the farmhouse.

“It’s ‘bout time!” a voice said. Stan turned. Angie stood up from the stump she’d been sitting on. “Ya took so long that Lute went ahead.”

“Really?” Stan asked, pocketing his apple.

“Yeah.” Angie cocked her head, a ghost of a grin on her lips. “But I knew you’d be hopelessly lost without a guide, so I stuck ‘round.”

“I’d figure it out eventually,” Stan said dismissively. “I definitely have enough food to last me for however long it’d take to find my way back.” Angie laughed. Stan’s heart melted at the sound.

“Yeah, Ma ‘n Pa go a bit nuts makin’ sure we’ve got supplies. Now, c’mon, we can make it back ‘fore night falls, but only if we get goin’ now.”

“All right, all right.” Stan walked over. The two headed into the forest. “So, Lute’s really not gonna be going back with us?”

“Nope! Like I said, he went ahead. My guess? He’s been so nice to you lately that he wants some time apart. Can’t lose that important tough-guy image or whatever,” Angie said. Stan snorted. “It’s just us.”

“Good,” Stan said. Angie eyed him.

“Why?” she asked warily. Stan noticed, to his disgust, that his palms were sweaty.

Really? Still? I thought I left that behind when I stopped being a kid. Well, whatever. At least I’m not a mess of anxiety and hormones anymore. Stan grinned at Angie.

“I’ve got a question to ask you.”

#I've been going through my Word docs for Stanuary inspiration and have been finding some unfinished scenes #this is one. I have another I wanna finish and post soon #and THEN I'll get my ass in gear for Stanuary I guess lmao #DnD AU #Stanley Pines #Pa McGucket #Ma McGucket #Angie McGucket #Lute McGucket #McGucket Family #Stangie #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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followyoursecretsmutblog · 4 years

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the lies you tell II.

Summary: You and Henry dated for 2 very happy years, when it all came crumbling down. Protection was the only thing on your mind. And now, 3 years later, on a lunch with a common friend, you are hit with the lies you told.

the lies you tell.

This can’t be happening, how is it possible? Out of all the places to eat, he had to choose this place?

Is nothing sacred anymore?!

He stares at me, eyes searching mine. But I can’t say anything, my brain is making dial up noises and I think my heart has stopped.

“Do you two know each other?” Chris asks, looking between the two of you, confused.

“Hey.” I give a weak smile, and an even weaker wave.

What the hell was that? What is wrong with me?

Henry’s eyebrows pull together, confusion settling on his features. He takes a deep breath, looking to Chris and back to me. “Are you two...?”

“No!” I shout, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. Clearing my throat, I try again, “No, Chris and I are only friends. He is like a brother to me.”

“Words hurt, Ava.” Chris jokes, but still watching Henry, who is watching me. “So...”

“Ava and I used to date.” Henry says, his eyes leave mine, looking at Chris.

Chris’ face looks like a child in a candy shop. The excitement and pure wonder in his features made him look 10 years younger. “Wow, you guys dated? I would have never guessed. No wonder she won’t go for me, you already ruined her taste in real men.” Chris laughs as Henry just gives a sad smile.

“Can we talk?” Henry asks, his voice so low, I almost didn’t hear it.

“I promised Chris I’d babysit him today. You know him, he can’t be by himself for long of else he is bound to do something stupid.” I force a laugh, pushing my lack of wanting confrontation onto the man-child at the table.

“What? Of course, you guys can talk. Hell, we can all talk. Henry, join us for lunch.” Chris, the nicest man you will ever meet. But sometimes, he is so damn dense.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. I don’t want to have this conversation in public or with Chris. And I also don’t think I can stay this close to Henry without crying much longer.

“I appreciate the offer, but I will have to decline. I just come to pick up some food, I have to get going.” Henry smiles at Chris, giving him that bro hug thing. He looks back down at me, a sad smile in place, “My number hasn’t changed, please call me. We need to talk.”

I just nod, looking down, twisting my ring around my finger, trying to breathe.

In and out.

“I can’t believe you used to date him. What happened?” Chris asks, popping a fry in his mouth.

“I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

“How could I be so stupid! I can’t believe it, it has been 3 years and I couldn’t form a fucking sentence!” I tug my hair from the roots, groaning like a mad woman.

“But, damnit! He looked so good!” I drop my hands, looking up at my ceiling, “I need to move again.”

I walk into my small kitchen and pour a glass of wine. A small smile playing at my lips, remembering what Henry was like when we first met. I thought he was a man then. But holy shit, he is a God now.

Picking my glass up, I take one sip when my phone rings.

Swiping at the screen, I put it to my ear. “For the last time Chris, I am fine. I promise not to do anything to get myself arrested.” I sigh, bringing my glass to my lips again.

“I’m glad you’re fine, because I’m not.” I choke on my wine, slamming the glass down.

“Shit! Henry?” I gasp for air, my voice coming out in wheezes.

“Are you okay? You don’t sound too good.” He asks, concern laced in his voice.

I can’t help but laugh, “Only you would be worried about me, right after you just said you weren’t fine because of me.” I take another sip of wine, letting it soothe my throat.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you. Or that I don’t still think about you.” I can hear rustling on his end, as if he was moving around. And then a car door slammed.

Where are you going?

“Don’t say those things, Henry. You can’t say that. Not after everything.” Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath.

“Why? You don’t want to know how I feel anymore? You used to always want to know what was on my mind, how my day was.” He says, an engine starting and a gear being shifted. “What changed?”

“Everything.” I whisper.

“I don’t believe that for one moment. Something happened all those years ago, and I want you to tell me what it was.” He says roughly.

“I already told you.” I choke, but take another drink. “I don’t lo-” I stop, hearing him growl.

“I don’t want that bullshit lie you gave me. I want the truth! How hard is it to tell me that!?” Henry shouts. I can hear him hit the steering wheel.

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” I shout back, holding back tears.

“I want you to tell me the truth!” The passion in his voice, the conviction in it, it startled me. He has never been so angry with me before. Never had a reason to raise his voice.

“I picked the lesser evil.” I say softly, draining the rest of my glass. “I have to go. I have things I have to do.”

“No! Don’t hang-up! We aren’t finished talking!” Henry shouts.

“Goodbye.” Click.

My love.

I step into the shower, ready to let the steam take me away and make me feel brand new.

Letting the water cascade down my body, feeling like millions of tiny arms are wrapping around my body, holding me together.

Running my fingers through my hair, my mind turns to a particularly steamy memory...

****

The pipes creak as water rushes out of the shower head, the lukewarm water starting to fill the bathtub. Once the water got warm enough, tipping a bottle of bubbles into it.

“Oh, this is going to feel so good.” I say as I slip into the water, letting the water and bubbles engulf me. I close my eyes, letting my body and mind drift away.

“Move up darling.” A soft voice calls, nudging my shoulder a touch.

Opening my eyes, I see my boyfriend of a year, Henry, in all his naked glory. Looking him up and down, I smirk.

Lord, if my mother could see the thoughts going in my head, she’d make me go to a nunnery!

I scoot forward, letting him slip in behind me, caging me in between his legs and arms.

I lean back, resting my head against his chest, playing with his fingers. “I always feel the safest, in your arms.” I whisper, turning my head up to kiss his chin.

“I will always do my best to make you feel safe when you are with me.” He whispers back, kissing my lips softly.

When we pull away, I lay back down on his chest, his fingers playing with the ring on my finger that he gave me just a month earlier for our anniversary.

“I love you, Ava.” I take a deep breath, and push myself off his chest and turn around, facing him. “What’s wrong?” Henry tilts his head, using his thumb to trace my lips.

“How could anything be wrong when I have you?” I smile, straddling his thighs, my hands running up and down his chest, my fingers memorizing the details of his body.

I move closer, my breasts pushed up against his chest, our lips grazing each other’s with every movement, eyes locked, wanting to see the others face as he pushes himself into me.

“Henry...” I gasp as he slowly moves inside me. His hands on my hips, pushing me down farther, taking him to the hilt. “Fuck, you feel so good.” I moan.

“That’s my line.” He chuckles, sliding one hand up my body, and wrapping around the back of my neck. “But I need you to start moving, or I’m going to embarrass myself.”

Placing my hands on the tub walls, I start to push up. Inch by slow inch, loving the way he feels inside me. When just the very tip of him is left, I drop, taking him all in, causing water to spill out of the tub.

My pace increases. My hands move to his shoulders, wanting to touch him and only him. Both of his hands back on my hips, holding me in place as he fucks into me.

“Fuck, I love your cock.” I moan, twining my fingers into his hair, nipping at his jaw. “So fucking big. Fills me right up.” I clench around him, sucking on a particularly sweet spot of his, the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Do that again.” Henry grunts, his hips jerking with the need to release. But ever the gentleman, he waits for my release.

“I’ll do anything for you.” I do it again, my legs shaking, my orgasm right at the edge.

He picks up speed, thrusts harder into me, water gushing out like waves.

“Fuck, I’m going to come. Don’t stop Henry, don’t you fucking stop!” I meet his thrusts with my own, my orgasm making me come undone. My lips crushing his, taking all his moans and dirty words.

“Ava!” He calls, his own release taking him.

We take a minute to collect ourselves, him still inside me.

I pull myself off him, but fall back onto his lap, laying my head against his chest, kissing his chest and neck.

His arms wrap around me, kissing the top of my head.

The water was lukewarm again, but I am warm all over.

“You do love me more than just my cock, right?” He asks, chuckling.

“Of course, I love you, but your cock is, other worldly.” I smile, looking up at him. “And so is your tongue.”

Henry smacks my ass, making the remaining water ripple around us.

“Yes, I love you, Henry.” You kiss his lips, “With all my heart.”

I will do whatever I can for you, my love.

****

Getting out of the shower, I wrap a silk robe around my body, combing the knots out of my hair with my fingers. The last bits of my memory just at the surface of my mind. I look into the mirror, swiping the fog away, “With all my heart.” I whisper to myself.

With a sigh, I walk out of the bathroom, only to find a body sitting on my bed.

I gasp, clutching my robe tightly across my chest.

The invader picks their head up, bright blue eyes stare back at me.

“We need to talk. And I’m not leaving until we do.”

Henry.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #your local human disaster here #yoursecretsmutblog #the lies you tell

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nofive · 3 years

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This meta will heavily feature physical abuse and the discussion of physical abuse. trigger warning for this headcanon: physical abuse, and child abuse.

One line that has bugged me from the beginning of my venture into the show and fandom is when Diego says that Five “missed out” on the “golden years” which implies that Five missed out on the worst of Reginald’s abuse. My two problems with this line is not only does it diminish what Five went through and compare the two traumas like they are the same, it also ignores what Five went through before he left and diminished his time with Reginald and the family to him not being impacted at all by their childhood. This is of not fault to Diego as he is angry, and we have all had slip ups, I fully blame the writers for it, and I would love to actually unpack that scene with a Diego and have Five and Diego discuss it.

Anyways, there are a few things that need to be mentioned before I dive deep into why I believe five was physically abused by Reginald. The first is that Five while being 45 years removed from Reginald’s abuse has never fully been able to process it. We know that Five is the king of compartmentalizing shit which is why he makes a good assassin. Five has bigger fish to fry in the apocalypse, namely survival, so he does not process the abuse then. In the Commission Five receives a completely different type of manipulative abuse, and straight up abuse than he did with Reginald. He has not dealt with that properly, so he certainly hasn’t focused on what Reginald did.

When Five returns he is able to fully accept that he was abused, that does not mean he has dealt with it in a healthy way. In a way being confronted by his siblings who have all faced their share of abuse from Reginald makes it be placed in the forefront of his mind again. Yet he still has not properly learned how to deal with it, as we learn in season 2 when not only does Five say that their father’s voice taunted him every day he was in the collapse with an “I told you so” but also in the fact that Five apologizes to his abuser for his behavior which was a result of said abuse which is not dealing with it in the slightest.

Five very much likes to pretend that he has his shit together, and largely he sort of does, at least when compared to his siblings, Five appears to be a man with a plan. However, he does not. For as much as Five insists he is an old man in his conscious, he certainly has moments where he acts very much like a child. A grown up being in an adult body is a difficult concept to pull off, and it is done brilliantly here. When we see actually 58 year old Five, he seems like an actual cranky old man, rather than an annoying as fuck teenager. But it is still the same man. We know Five was always a bit of an arrogant prick, he tells us so when talking to Reginald, and honestly we see it in the bank heist in season 1. Seeing that become a more hardened version in current Five is only natural, until you realize that Five while 58, and while both physically old Five and mentally old Five act the same you realize something, and that is maybe Five has not grown up as much he likes to pretend.

Five growing up in the apocalypse made him loose many social interactions that are important in your developmental years. Five very easily acts like both a child and an old man because he is very much both in both the physical and mental capacity. Physically he holds himself as if he were older, but he looks younger. Mentally he has the experience of 58 years, but has a stunted developmental period because he lost that due to going into the apocalypse.

All of this is important I promise, as it all plays a role into how we see Five react to certain things. There are a few scenes in particular that stand out as to proof that Five was physically abused by Reginald, and by that I mean hit. Before I go any further, I should mention, I am not going to discuss Five’s personal training in this, only allude to the fact that Five’s training also had times of physical abuse in them.

The first of these times is probably also the strongest. Five is often not shown to the audience as vulnerable, and I wont lie the few times he is, he gets brushed aside, which a whole different issue. One of these moments takes place in season one when he has woken up from being passed out drunk, and Luther stands between him and Diego who is angry that Patch died, and he is blaming Five. Five ever one who is typically in charge of his emotions backs up, and Luther stands in the way, something we see happen with Luther and not just for Five. Luther stops Diego, and I can guarantee that if Luther hadn’t been their Diego would have hit Five.

Another moment, is actually a series of moments, and it is any time a sibling is yelling at Five. Five backs away, and gets smaller. He never fully argues back with what they are saying right away because he has to compose himself. He has to put himself back in the mind frame that they wouldn’t actually hit him or hurt him.

Another moment is when Luther throws Five off the stares, Five is utterly calm as he tries to stop his siblings from leaving. He doesn’t want it to escalate like he knows is very possible. He lowers himself even more from Luther, by physically placing himself on lower steps in order to seem small and unimposing in his request. This is one of the first, if not the only time where we see a sibling actually hurt Five, or touch him in a way that is beyond protective, and it comes from the protector.

The last moment I want to point out is Five in the elevator alone, before his siblings come to join him. At this point we know Five is not removed from his trauma of Reginald as we were lead to believe, we know how the others view his time with Reginald and his trauma as a result, and we know that Five more or less faced physical abuse. His face in the elevator before his siblings join him is one we have seen two times before. The first is when he realized it was his siblings he found in the apocalypse, and the second is in Gimbles after the shootout where he is clutching Delores like a lifeline. Five rarely shows that he is scared, but in this elevator we see a scared little boy who hasn’t seen his father in 45 years, who has not fully realized just how bad his abuse was, and is about to face him again with the same fears that plagued him as a child if it goes wrong will he be hit? His face is of one who has to face their abuser and is going to challenge them in a time when they are not sure they are going to be able to win, and it is heartbreaking.

So lets actually get into the more speculative portion of this post, and that is Five’s physical abuse under the hands of Reginald. I will say Five will never view his siblings being paired up against him as abuse, even though Five is one of the smaller siblings, and one of the physically weakest, being placed against the stronger siblings, namely Luther is not something Five will ever blame them for. He knows that is Reginald’s doing.

Five however was often the subject of Reginalds ire. Five was beat, and more often than people realize, which could be a potential reason why Diego said what he did about Five missing out on Reginald’s golden years. The one who probably knows about Five’s abuse aside from likely Vanya, is Luther as we know from their security camera conversation that he and Five talk about alot, and Five asks Luther if he is going to run away with him before that fateful meal.

Five may be arrogant, and he has no qualms speaking up to Reginald, but he also pays the price for it. Part of him running away is clearly fueled by the fact he knows what will happen later if he doesn’t. Five has more often than not been hit by Reginald for his mouth, no matter what he did to make Reginald mad. Five over the years has found subtle ways to stick it to Reginald, from taking “too long” to pick a name for himself, to other things. And Reginald does not like it. Five being compared to Reginald is not wrong, and the fact of the matter is Reginald knows Five is capable and like him, and putting him in his place must be physical because nothing else will work.

Another point to prove that Five is physically abused is his knowledge of where medical supplies are within the house, not that he knows how to start working on wounds, but where medical supplies are despite being removed from the house for 45 years. Why does Five know where these things are? Because he had to find them himself because god forbid Grace heal the wounds Reginald inflicted, that was forbidden, and could potentially ruin the programming Grace has for the kids.

When Diego said that Five missed out on the golden years, the abuse may have amped up for the the rest of the siblings, but what’s to say it wasn’t already like that for Five. Diego has no way of knowing this because much of Five’s trauma is dismissed, but more importantly Five does not talk about what happened to him in detail to anyone, he compartmentalizes it, and attempts to forget it. He talks about how hard it was for him to see his dead siblings over and over, but when it comes to what he went through he does not talk about it, because the times he has it has been brushed off. This would be tenfold when they were all actual children. Diego has no way of knowing how bad Five had it as a kid, and Five doesn’t tell him which is his own fault.

But Five had it bad, just because its not discussed and Five doesn’t wear his abuse as openly as siblings does not mean he escaped the ire of Reginald just because he ran away and was not with him as long as they were.

#tw: physical abuse #tw: child abuse #headcanon: a single drop of coffee

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cait-with-luv · 4 years

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J.JK Soul Ink - Chapter 07

Previous | Next

¬ Bad Moon Rising - Mourning Ritual ft Peter Dreimanis

The boys look around in awe at the cars and the people. But Jungkook. Jungkook just stares at you. He notices the light in your eyes that had now appeared. He noticed the smile on your face from how comfortable you were. He noticed the serene look on your face of being where you belonged. He knew this was where you belonged. This was your safe escape. He noticed every small detail about you no one else would. His heart fluttered and could only let a small smile slip onto his face. What was he feeling?

"This is fucking amazing". Jungkook hears Taehyung say out of disbelief. You let out a chuckle and nod. You turn to face them, arms crossed before you stretch them out with a smirk on your face.

"Welcome to where I learnt how to street race and drive." You say happily.

Hoseok goes to say something but was cut off when someone screams your name.

"Y/N!"

You turn around but a body throwing them self at you makes you stumble and you're unable to know who it is until the familiar scent fills your nose as the picked you up. You squeal and hug the person tighter as they spun you around.

"Baekhyun!"

He places you back on the ground and grabs your shoulders staring into your eyes smiling happily.

"Where the hell have you been! You just disappeared! Holy shit, you got a tattoo?!" Baekhyun exclaims, eyes widening. You let out a sigh and nod,

"I know, I know, a lot of shit has happened the past six months I haven't been able to come, I don't know how long I'm gonna be gone again after tonight, but if Lay comes here and asks you if you've seen me, you haven't okay? Lay isn't who we thought he was, he could get us killed, okay? He finds out I've been here, I'm going to literally have to flee the country."

Baekhyun places a hand on his heart and his other in the air and smiles at you cheekily making you laugh as he says,

"Mouth will stay shut and I'll make sure everyone else does to unless they want to face a consequence."

You nod and fist bump him. Someone clears their throat from behind you and you turn and realization sinks in that the seven boys behind you have no idea who the guy is in front of you.

"Um, yeah boys this Baekhyun, the guy who taught me everything I know about cars." You say pointing to Baekhyun who gives them a small wave.

"Baekhyun, this Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and lastly and sadly the most annoying, Jungkook".

Jungkook lets a huff and crosses his arms, rolling his eyes making the boys chuckle. They give Baekhyun a nod of acknowledgement. Baekhyun holds up a pink slip, playfully waving it around and you smirk.

"A guy wants to race the queen of the streets for pinks and 70k, what do you say?" Baekhyun teases. You nod and walk to your car pulling out a pink slip and handing it too him along with with 35k and Baekhyun rushes off to find the guy challenging you.

"That's a lot of money and a risk you're taking there Y/N..." Namjoon says trailing off. You shrug clearly not caring.

"Did you not hear what the guy said Hyung? She's the queen of the fucking streets, she's very clearly got this!" Taehyung exclaims. You let a small smile slip on your face but it was immediately took off your face when a wolf whistle echos from behind you. You turn around and glare at the man that had appeared with Baekhyun beside him.

"Damn princess, you look hot from both front and back, you just a pretty face or are you really the queen of streets?"

"What did you just say?" Jungkook spits stepping forward, subconsciously. You grab his arm and squeeze slightly telling him, you can handle this and he stands down moving back to leaning on the bonnet of the car.

You let out a sarcastic chuckle and you poke your tongue into the side of your cheek in annoyance as you pull a cigarette out your pocket, bringing it to your painted lips and lighting it.

"Was that meant to be an insult? I take pride in my looks and style, even if it means getting compliments off dogs like you. As for the snide comment about being just a pretty face, lets just wait and see when we've raced and your face is covered in the dirt off my car and mine is well... you know...pretty." You shrug letting out a breathe of smoke.

The man snarls and stomps over to you to get in your face but stops when he notices the seven men behind you that had practically pushed themselves up against you in protection.

"These your guard dogs?" He smirks. You smile teasingly and walk closer to him so your in his face, taking a drag of your cigarette and blowing it into his face making him cough,

"No but if they feel threatened or you try anything on me, they won't hesitate to break every single bone in your body slowly." You growl making him shiver at thought of the pain.

You drop your cigarette onto the floor making sure it lands on his shoe and you stomp down aggressively and twist you foot hardly and slowly down on his foot with your heeled boot making him wail out in pain. You step away from him walking backwards and you shrug smiling,

"Oops?"

Baekhyun snickers but covers it up with a cough before yelling,

"Okay race starts in 3 minutes everyone set up!"

Everyone cheers and begins to clear a path and crowd around the race area. You turn around and the seven boys are staring at you blinking a few times and Hoseok blurts out nonchalantly,

"That was hot."

Seokjin smacks the back of his head making him whine and put his hands up in surrender. You chuckle and walk over to your car, climbing in and turning the engine on, before driving it slowly to the start line where the guy was waiting for you in his car, revving his engine cockily.

Jungkook walks over and leans down so he's eye level with you and says,

"Okay I know we don't get on much but here's a tip of advice, keep it on 9000 rpm, he's gonna fry his pistons by the first 200 "

You chuckle and nod, "Jungkook, I appreciate your advice and support but I already knew that."

He bites his lip in debation whether to snap but just nods his head tapping the top of your car letting the shot caller know you were ready. The girl stands in between your cars and raises her left arm for the guy, he revs to tell her he's ready. She turns to you, raising her right arm and you rev. She gives you both a look before bringing her arms down and you speeded off, before letting the guys take the lead.

You stare at the rpm meter waiting until it hits 9000 and you hear a pop from in front of you and you see shrapnel go everywhere as the guy spins out of control from his pistons frying. You speed ahead and pass the finishing line as the crowd begins to cheer and whistle at your undoubted victory. You smirk to yourself before doing a u-turn and driving back up to the start line and climb out where your crowded by everyone cheering and clapping for you. Baekyun whistles to gain everyone's attention and everyone goes quiet.

"So the queen of the streets has done it again! Not only has she won 70k in cash but pinks! Another car to add to your collection your highness!" Bakehyung yells and pretends to bow as he hands you your winnings. You laugh and mock curtsy grabbing the money and pink slips. You stare at the totaled car and frown and look at the guy that had now walk back over.

You slam the pink slip onto his chest making his eyes widen in surprise you shrug and say,

"I can tell your a newbie, you got cocky and thought you could take me on head first, work your way up instead of throwing yourself into the deep end. I've seen it happen to many times and besides, no offence but your car is a hunk of trash, I couldn't have that in my collection, it'd just be insulting it. I may be a bitch but I can show some people mercy, put the next time you come onto my streets and offended and insult any of these racers, I'll show you my bad side and you'll wish you'd never step foot on these streets, you got that?"

He chuckles nervously nodding and stuffs the pink slip into his pocket before scuffling away. You shake your head and the boys appear in front of you as the crowd began to disappear.

"Okay, you're scarier than you look." Jimin says eyes wide. The boy slowly nod in agreement and you smirk and go to reply but a gun shot goes off. Everyone begins to scream and run to their cars as the gun shots continue. The seven boys reflexes kick in and they pull out their pistols forming a circle around you and all you could see was their backs.

"How did they find us?!" Jungkook yells and he shoots the guy in front of him. You frown and rack your memories for anything that'd give it away and then realization kicks in.

"Shit!" You yell pulling out your lighter and opening the bottom of it and slipping out a tracker before stomping on it. Yoongi quickly turns to you and growls,

"Are you fucking kidding me?! Anymore trackers you're aware of having!"

"I didn't know about my phone being bugged! My lighter is something Lay came up with so we could find each other if we need help! I totally forgot all about it! It's kind of something I cared less about right now!" You yell back.

"Now's not the time for arguing! We'll split up and once we're clean meet at the safe house clear?!" Namjoon yells. The boys yell their agreements before running off to the cars you gave them. Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist and pulls you down to hide behind your car and holds you close to his chest, his heart pounding from adrenaline. He peeks before looking back at you.

"Hand me the keys and get in the passenger seat and for the love of god Y/N don't argue with me on this please?" Jungkook says desperately. You nod quickly and pull the keys out your back pocket and handing him them before opening the car door and slipping in whilst Jungkook runs to the drivers side and climbs in starting the engine quickly before racing off.

You turn around in your seat and look through the back window and notice a car following behind you. You squeal as Jungkook suddenly takes a sharp right and you fall into his lap accidentally making him groan then yell,

"Now's not the time Y/N!"

"Oh you think I did that on purpose?! Next time I'll make sure to hurt you!" You yell back as you climb back into your seat. You jump as you hear a gunshot then the glass of your back window shattering. Jungkook growls in anger and speeds up but the car behind just speeds up with him.

"Take the wheel, I'll give you directions." He says hold the wheel with one hand to hold it steady for you, you climb over and sit in Jungkook's lap, grabbing the wheel and his breath hitches slightly from the sudden pressure before he climbs out from under you and into the passenger seat.

He opens the passenger window and leans out of it slightly and aims for the car tires. He takes a shot but misses and he yells out in frustration.

"Jungkook left or right?!" You yell as you realize you needed to turn.

"Left!"

You quickly change gear and press down on the break slightly so you drift around the corner before accelerating further down the road. You look through the car mirror and growl when you see the car still tailing you.

Jungkook takes another shot and this time you hear the tire pop then screeching off the car breaking before it loses control and flips over. You change gear and continue to accelerate watching as the flipped car get smaller. Jungkook climbs back in and leans his head back against the back of the seat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he breathes heavily. He peeks a look at you and breathes out,

"You okay?"

You nod silently before looking at him quickly and say, "Yeah, you?"

He hums in agreement and points to the next left turning and you take a more softer turn now that you had lost your father's henchmen. Jungkook lets out a low chuckle and you frown sneaking a look of him,

"What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing, just find it so stupid how desperate these fuckers are to get you,they must be really scared they'll get killed if they don't show up for you."

"Beom-Seok,is out the country, I know he works. He won't have any idea that this is going on. This is all Yixing's doing. Yixing has always mentioned how Beom-Seok has dirt on him and if he were to step out of place, something would happen. I never believed him at first but now...I can definitely see this as him trying to save his ass."

You purse your lips and Jungkook sighs,

"We'll figure this all out Y/N but don't forget this whole chase isn't just about you to. I'm a walking target right now, who knows how many people have been paid by the scum to kill me. Look this is gonna be a long drive so pull over and I'll drive us to the safe house, I don't want to be pointing every five minutes."

You nod curtly swallowing to rid of the lump in your throat and pull over, quickly getting out and switching sides of the car. You stare out the window and watch the lights as you go by and Jungkook can't help but admire how beautiful you looked under the soft orange hue of the lights before quickly looking back to the road and thinking to himself,

What are you doing to me Y/N?

-------

"I guess no one has made it back yet".

"Well baby girl looks like it's just you and me". Jungkook smirks throwing the car keys onto the kitchen island. And back to being a prick, you thought to yourself.

"Yeah unfortunately I am". You sigh crossing your arms staring at him glaring at the use of the nickname. He smirks at you and says,

"You know if you keep crossing your arms like that, they're gonna stay like that one day. "

"Go to hell Jeon."

"Already there, I'm stuck with you aren't I?"

You glare at him and snap, "You're such a dickh-"

Before you could finish you were pushed up against the wall by Jungkook and he pinned your hands above your head as you were both chest to chest. Your eyes widen and he leans down letting you feel his breath on your face. He grazes his lips against yours and your breath hitches. He smirks loving the reaction he got out of you. He was loving your submission.

"Oh I'm sorry noona, do I make you nervous? Stop testing my patience with you."

You gulp and take a deep breath, gathering your bearings and lean forward so your lips are almost pressed to Jungkook's. He stares down at you, eyes darkening with one emotion. Lust. You slowly slide your tattooed leg up Jungkook's leg, before letting it rest on his hip and he holds his breath slightly and lets one of his hands that were pinning yours graze across your thigh making you shiver.

You smirk to yourself before quickly spinning you both around so Jungkook was now the one up against the wall and your hands were free. You move your head closer before taking his pink, plump bottom lip between your teeth gently and tug it making him groan and flutter his eyes closed. You let go of his lip and slid your hands up from his stomach to his chest feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You lean closer to his ear and smirk to yourself as you whisper,

"Don't start a game you're gonna lose Jeon."

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kristaloohoo · 4 years

Text

Birthday Surprise

:// Hello all! Here is my first post here. I know it’s not great. I’m working on improving my writing. My A03 account is kristaminamino and I would love if you looked at my other works there :D This was a late birthday fic for the Choi Brothers. Hope you enjoy <3

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I had never been good at surprises. I could barely keep my mouth shut around my sister when my parents were planning a surprise birthday party at the age of twelve. Again I almost spilled the beans when my friend was getting engaged while we were both finishing college. And now, here I sat in the bedroom I shared with Saeyoung, busily scribbling certain details in a notebook. Laying on the bed I mumbled to myself as I sketched out an image of a cake, marking certain details in the decorations and flavor. I was so into my notes that I jumped when I heard Saeyoung’s voice at the doorway. “My love! Join me as I attend a tour of the Naro Space Center!” I slowly sat up, the notebook clutched tightly to my chest in fear that he would see the crudely draw cake design. “When? Right now?” “Well not right now…” He paused to glance at his watch, giving his wrist a little shake to adjust the position, before happily cheering, “In thirty minutes! We gotta move!” I froze on the bedsheet, trying to rack my brain for a believable excuse.

I opened my mouth to speak, and popped it back shut. “Sae…I’m not sure if I can…” His face fell immediately, slowly walking over to me. To remove any suspicion I closed the notebook and set it on the floor on my side. He kneeled on the bed as he stared at me, but he murmured, “You okay?” I nodded quickly, and soon an idea popped into my head. My hand immediately covered my stomach, giving a small rub. “I haven’t been feeling too well since last night. I’m not feeling too hot…” His brow furrowed and his hand instinctively reached to my forehead, testing the temperature of my skin. After a moment he spoke softly, “You don’t have a fever…” I chewed on the inside of my cheek before I whispered, “I’m not sure… I’ve just been feeling run down since yesterday…do you think I can sit this one out?” His expression fell as he watched me, but slowly a smile replaced the sadness on his face. “I suppose…but I hate to leave you here while you aren’t feeling well.” I shook my head and gave my own smile. “No, you’re fine. I’ll rest here and you can take Saeran with you.” His eyes lit up at the mention of his brother and his smile became larger. “Right you are!” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, but whispered, “Get some rest yeah? Hopefully, you feel better when we get back.” I gave a slight nod as he planted another kiss to my forehead before stepping out and shutting the door. As I picked up the notebook I heard a yell from Saeran’s room. “No! Idiot leave me!” “Saeran love me! Go with me please!?” I giggled as I rolled the front of the notebook back, continuing to sketch things out. Once the front door shut and the noise from Saeyoung’s car echoed away, I slid out the bedroom to complete my preparations. I first began with straightening the living room and kitchen area. Vanderwood had been absent the past few days and with that left a small clutter of potato chip bags, empty cans, and takeout trays to scatter the area. I quickly cleaned it all and settled into the kitchen to begin the cake. This cake wasn’t just for Saeyoung, it was for Saeran. Of course, they shared the same birthday, and I couldn’t leave one out of the celebrations. Carefully I mixed the cake and poured it into three separate molds. Saeyoung was my everything, but Saeran…Saeran was different. We weren’t romantically involved, but we bonded over so many things. Before he was apprehensive of me moving into the bunker, and in the beginning, our conversations were few and far between. Now after a year of being together, we had bonded over so many things. Saeran had come to rely on me for my, as he worded it, famous ice cream recipe. And in return, he offered a shoulder whenever Saeyoung was gone and nightmares plagued my mind. It was a mutual acceptance, one bound on silence and sweets, and I was completely content with the situation. I knew Saeran trusted and cared about me, even if he didn’t use any words. I placed all three molds in the oven and set the timer, closing the door cautiously. Now I found time to prepare the main dish. Of course, Saeyoung’s favorite food was his sacred Honey Buddha Chips, but even I draw the line at serving it for the main course. I quickly opened a bag and poured them into a ziplock bag. That fact didn’t stop me from attempting a recipe for him. I quickly found my rolling pin and smashed the chips in the bag, turning them into a crumbly mess. I poured them into a separate bowl and moved them into line with my other ingredients. My idea was to crust chicken breast in the chip mix, creating a nice crust to bread them with. As I went behind myself and cleaned up, I heard a few beeps from the door. I froze suddenly, staring at the front door. They couldn’t be back so soon could they? Shit, how do I explain this? I bit my lip but soon the image of Vanderwood stepped in, carrying a bag in one hand. As he shut the door he turned to see my doe-eyed face, and he stopped. His eyes glanced around the kitchen but he muttered dully, “I’m not cleaning this up.” I shrugged and meekly said, “I don’t expect you to.” He gave a nod and walked to the spare bedroom, and I quickly continued to prep my foods. He walked back into the kitchen, and I glanced up from my procedure to see him dressed casually. He wore dark jeans, slack against his legs with a long sleeve purple button up. He crossed his arms to see me studying him, but he muttered, “What are you planning?” I looked up at his face to see his intrigued gaze, and before I could say anything his phone rang. I stared as he pulled it out, glancing at the screen before putting it to his ear. “Yes?”

I could hear a quiet mumble on the other end, and his eyes caught mine. “Check on Marlee for you?” I immediately dropped the pair of tongs and waved my hands, cutting across my throat. He made a face and mumbled, “She’s not feeling well? I suppose I can check on her.” I took a deep breath, covering my chest in relief. I continued cooking as Vanderwood hung up his phone, but he glanced at me and muttered, “So you’re planning something.” “Just a quick birthday party.” I gave a small smile as I continued to stir the egg mix. From the corner of my eye, I could see him eyeing my set up before sighing and pushing his sleeves up. “Okay, where can I step in?” I glanced around before pulling the chicken breasts from their packaging. “Just maybe keep an eye on the cake?” He nodded and stepped into the kitchen space as I made a process as breading the chicken. We were quiet for a moment as I worked in silence, but he spoke quickly, “I do care about Luciel you know…” I turned my head with a smile. “I know.” He crossed his arms as I continued with the chicken, but I spoke lowly, “I understand your line of work asks you to hide your emotions, but Saeyoung is special to you.” He gave a slight nod but soon a timer beeped from my phone. “Cake,” I ordered, and he opened the oven to pull the pans out.

Saeyoung had texted me to let me know they were on their way back home, and Vanderwood and I busily finished our preparations. I busily iced the cake while he set up streamers and balloons. Soon I set up the pans to fry the chicken as he moved the cake to the side. He even helped me decorate the cake, complete with bright blues and greens. In the last stretch, he prepared a salad while I made a mixed veggie bowl. I took a breath as I set everything out on the counter, and I eyed our accomplishments. “Okay…seems good,” I whispered, mentally counting everything in front of me. I jumped however as Vanderwood snapped a conical hat onto my head, and I turned to see him already situated with one. I smiled at him, but he threatened, “You tell Luciel I helped and I will end you.” “Understood ma’am.” I saluted quickly and he rolled his eyes, understanding immediately that I had taken on Saeyoung’s mannerisms. Soon we both heard a loud engine pull up into the garage and I ran behind the counter. My fingers tapped impatiently on the surface as my ears strained to hear the doors shut, as well as the twins arguing about a topic. I glanced at Vanderwood and he nodded as we both ducked out of sight. I held a breath as I heard the door beep and then mumbled speaking outside the door. Once it cracked open my gaze turned to Vanderwood who nodded. We both jumped up from our hiding spots, crying, “Happy Birthday!!” I grinned as I noticed a stunned Saeran and a very excited Saeyoung. My cheeks started to ache with how hard I was smiling, but as Saeran slowly walked in Saeyoung ran up to me and took me into his arms. “Oh, Marlee? I thought you weren’t feeling well?” I squealed as he held me, but as he brought me back down I spoke quickly, “All a ploy my dear.” He grinned and took my face in his hands, kissing me gently.

The rest of the night was full of birthday festivities. Saeran seemed uninterested until I mentioned cake and ice cream, to which he perked up and suddenly seemed invested in the celebrations. After our meal and dessert, it was time for presents. I froze suddenly, gripping my legs tightly. With all the thought going into the dinner I completely forgot about gifts. As a line of obscenities ran through my head Saeyoung looked at me with a grin. I looked up and bashfully said, “I, uh…forgot…” His face fell immediately and I felt guilt flood my mind. But to my surprise, his face changed into a sweet smile. “Marlee, this dinner is our gift.” My head jerked towards him as he continued. “I can’t tell you how happy for my brother and me to celebrate a home-cooked meal on our birthday. And cake?” He happily wiggled in his chair as I glanced at Saeran, to see him peeking up at me from a forkful of cake. He pulled it from his mouth and nodded quickly, but we turned to see Vanderwood walk out of the spare bedroom with two bags. “Since Marlee’s gift was dinner and dessert, I brought gifts.” My eyebrow perked as I watched him sit a bag in front of each of the brothers. Both of the brothers stared at their gifts, then at each other, but both jumping to Vanderwood exclaiming, “Well come on! We don’t have all day!” I watched as Saeyoung ripped open a box, while Saeran carefully pulled tissue paper from a bag. Saeyoung was first as he pulled a box from a mess of tissue paper. I recognized the box immediately, but he cooed, “Oh Vandy you shouldn’t have…” His present was a new processor, ready for a desktop. Now just any processor; this was a rumored processor that was supposed to release in the Fall. Saeyoung cradled it gently, but I glanced over to Saeran as he pulled a potted plant from a bag. He stared at it for a moment before looking up at Vanderwood. “This is…this is a mimosa pudica…” Vanderwood spoke as he gave a bashful look to the side, but I turned back to Saeran. “Oh Sae, that’s the bashful plant right?” He gave a slight nod and I watched as his finger gingerly touched a stem. Suddenly the tiny leaves folded in, and my eyes widened to see him give a wide smile.

I sat on the bed as Saeyoung assembled the processor to a motherboard, engrossed in his project. I wouldn’t say it out loud, but the second part of his present sat under the sheets in the form of baby pink lingerie. I shifted slightly as I watched his brow furrow, but I questioned, “Was this birthday good Sae?” He turned to look at me with a grin, but he spoke softly, “Are you kidding me? This has been the best birthday ever!” My lips creased into a soft smile as he turned back to his work, focusing on the computer open in front of him. After a few more minutes I grew impatient and sat up in the bed with the covers tossed back. “Saeyoung Choi!” He turned and his eyes widened at my lingerie, and his gaze slowly turned towards my face. I pouted but spoke, “Your second birthday present might expire if you don’t hurry up and get over here.” I stared at his frozen form for a moment before he gave his computer a second glance and then dropped the hardware, pulling his +shirt over his head as he climbed onto the bed. I giggled as he pushed me back into the mattress, and my arms wrapped around his neck. “I mean, you can work on your computer a little more,” I cooed, but he leaned in and kissed my collarbone, and replied, “No ma’am. This present has all of my attention…and I can’t wait to unwrap it.”

#saeyoung choi #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #saeyoung x mc

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filmfanatic82 · 5 years

Photo

AO3 link (HERE)

Chapter 16: I Am Hers And She Is Mine…

Surreal.

No. Scratch that. Surreal is too tame of a word to describe the emotions that are currently coursing through Trini’s veins.

It’s unbelievable.

Even for someone who’s come face to face with a 50 ft monster comprised solely of gold.

Less than 72 hours ago, Kimberly Hart was just a bittersweet memory buried within the darkest recesses of her mind and now…

Now Kimberly Hart is laying within her arms, drawing lazily circled upon the surface of her tan skin.

“What are you thinking?” Kim asks. She gently brushes a stray lock of hair out of Trini’s eyes and then proceeds to trace her fingers down the side of her face.

“How insane this whole thing is,” Trini replies, leaning into Kim’s touch.

“The Jinn?”

“Yeah. But not just that… Everything that’s happened in the last 72 hours. You… Max… The storm… The disappearances… And…” Trini trails off as her words escape her.

“And?” Kim instinctually wraps her limbs even further around Trini’s body, blanketing the smaller Latina with nothing but warmth and comfort.

“And this… You and me.”

Kim hums in response. “Oh, it’s beyond insane. That’s for sure. Not at all what I was planning on.”

“You had a plan?”

“Not exactly. I didn’t know what to expect. Figured I’d just be lucky if you’d even consider talking to me,” Kim replies. She continues to gently draw circles on Trini’s arm, semi-lost within the hypnotic motion of it.

And Trini lets herself get lost as well. Not wanting the simplicity of this moment to ever end.

“What made you come back?” Trini asks after a few moments of silence pass by.

“Tommi.”

“Tommi?”

Kim nods. “Showed up on my front porch randomly one afternoon about a month ago. It was only me that was home at the time, so she didn’t meet Max or Richard. In fact, I don’t think she even spotted my ring… Cause knowing Tommi, it would’ve been a way different conversation if she had.”

Trini shifts her body a bit to look Kim in the eyes. “What did you guys talk about.”

“You,” Kim replies with a hint of a smile.

“Me?”

“Amongst other things. But mainly you… And how it was time to pull my head out of my ass and come back home,” Kim says with a laugh.

“Sounds like Tommi.”

“Oh yeah. She didn’t hold back with her thoughts.”

“Tommi’s not a sugar coater. That’s for sure… She’s kinda the reason I was able to my shit together after you…” Trini trails off once again, as a wave of long-forgotten emotions attempts to bubble up to the surface. She lets out a shaky breath of air and runs her hands through her hair.

“It’s okay,” Kim replies and plants a tender kiss on Trini’s forehead. “She told me.”

“She did?”

“She didn’t go into too many details, but yeah, she did.” Kim kisses Trini again, letting her lips linger a little longer than necessary. “T, I--”

“Don’t do it, Princess,” Trini cuts Kim off, with a sudden authority to her voice. “No more apologizing. Remember?”

“That rule applies to you, not me.”

“Oh, really?” Trini cocks an eyebrow only to be matched by a devilish smirk from Kim.

“Yes, really.” Kim slides her arm over Trini and plants both hands on either side of her head. She pushes herself up until she is hovering over Trini’s body, only inches away from contact.

Fuuuccck.

This is NOT what they should be doing.

No. Not at all.

They should be with the others, trying to figure out a way to defeat the Jinn and--

Kim playfully rolls her hips, and instantly, Trini’s skin combusts from the momentary friction.

Fuck.

This is wrong.

But God… It’s so right.

Just a few more minutes…

Just a few more… Before they need to come back down to reality and deal with what is transpiring.

“Kim…” Trini moans. She feels her body automatically react with her hips bucking upwards, desperate to continue the contact in any means necessary.

“Yes?” Kim hums with yet another roll of her hips. This time at even a slower and more excruciating pace than before. It’s torture. Plain and simple. And Trini can’t help but secretly love it.

“We don’t have time…” Trini voice gives out as Kim continues her relentless assault with a series of scorching kisses outlining the natural curves of her breasts.

“Says… who…” Kim mutters between nips.

“Says me.” An all too familiar voice cuts through the room, causing both Trini and Kim to come to a crashing halt. Their eyes dart towards the source of the sound and find Tommi leaning against the doorway, arms folded, and an all-knowing smirk plastered across her face. “Seriously?”

“What?” Trini fires back as she reaches for a nearby blanket crumpled up on the foot of the bed and pulls it up over herself and Kim.

“We left you guys alone for fifteen minutes… Twenty tops.” Tommi moves into the room, shutting the door behind her as she does.

“We were just talking,” Trini grumbles.

“I bet Kim’s tongue was getting quite the workout with all that ‘talking’, Pillow Princess” Tommi laughs. She gives a slight disapproving shake of her head but can’t hide her smile.

“Hey! I’m not a pillow princess.” Trini looks towards Kim to back her up but is only met with another, all-knowing smirk. She lets out a sigh in defeat and flops her head against the bed. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t. But nice try, Small Fry,” Tommi responds as she takes a seat on the edge nearby bunk bed. “We need you back at the grid. The boys think they found something.”

“Like a way to defeat the Jinn?” Kim asks. She reaches down with her free arm and scoops up her shirt up off of the floor.

“Not sure. Didn’t ask too many questions before coming to get you guys. But assume that’s the case.” Tommi grabs the rest of the scattered clothes from the floor and tosses them at Trini.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Trini replies catching the clothes and then slipping her t-shirt on over her head.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

By the time Trini, Kim, and Tommi make their way back into the morphing grid, the boys are already huddled around one of the consoles, deep in discussion.

“How much?” Jason asks, spinning his red power coin against the surface of the console.

“Need to run a few more tests, but it looks like there’s only enough for one of us at full strength. Maybe two but there’s a larger risk of our power draining faster,” Billy responds as he pours over the data on the console screen.

“Tests on what?” Jason, Billy, and Zack all visibly tense up at the sound of Trini’s voice and whip around, greeting them with a mixture of apprehensive looks of concern.

“Our coins,” Zack says. He snatches his black coin up from on top of the console and tosses it at Trini. “B-man’s been trying to figure out just how much juice is left in these bad boys.”

Trini studies Zack’s coin for a moment or two, taking note of how dim the black metallic light is and then reaches into her pocket and pulls out her own coin. Just like Zack, the yellow light that usually radiates an array of vibrant sparkles is faded, with barely any signs of life to it at all. “What does it mean?”

“There’s only enough collective power for one of us to safely morph.” Jason rubs the back of his neck and lets out a long sigh.

“Is that even doable?” Kim questions.

“Based off of what Billy found in the archives, yes. We would just have to ensure that whoever does it has all of our power coins with them before attempting to morph.”

“Okay. But what about the Jinn? Did you guys find out anything else about it? Like how we can defeat it?” Kim ping-pongs between Billy, Jason, and Zack, searching for an answer but is only met with tense silence. Jason lets out yet another sigh. This one is more weighted than the last. His eyes fall upon Trini.

Fuck.

Of course.

It’s her.

She started this mess, so naturally, she’s the only one who can fix it.

“We need to destroy the Epithymía stone and only the person--”

“Who can destroy it is the one that made the wish,” Trini finished Jason’s words with a steady resolution to her voice. As if she has already come to terms with what she needs to do. Jason gives a small nod in confirmation, unable to bring himself to look Trini in the eyes.

“No,” Kim says with a firm head shake. “That’s not an option.”

“Kim…”

“I’m with Kim on this one, Small Fry. You going out there all alone… without any sort of backup? Yeah, over my dead body,” Tommi chimes in.

“What other choice do we got? Jason said it. There’s only enough power for one of us to morph. How are we supposed to fight the Jinn without our powers,” Trini fires back, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. “Not like I’m thrilled about it either, but it’s gotta be me.”

“Zack?” Tommi shoots an exasperated look over towards Zack but is only met with a helpless shoulder shrug in return.

“She’s got a point, babe,” Zack responds. Tommi lets out an emotion-driven sigh of frustration and runs her hands through her wild name of hair.

“I’ll go,” Kim pipes up. “In place of Trini. I’ll do it.”

“But you’re not the one who made the wish,” Trini replies without missing a beat. “It can be you, Kim.”

“Says who?”

Trini whips around and throws an exaggerated gesture at Jason. “Are you fucking kidding me? He did. Literally, five seconds ago. Unless someone else made another wish that we don’t know about, I’m the only one who can destroy the stone.”

“I heard him, Trinity. I’m not deaf,” Kim responds, putting extra emphasis on Trini’s name.

Fuck.

Kimberly used her full name.

That’s the emotional last resort move. The one that usually signifies that she’s only seconds away from…

Instinctually, Trini reaches out to touch Kim’s arm, but Kim pulls away, too wrapped up with the tsunami of emotions swirling within her to allow herself to succumb to any sort of comfort. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Bullshit,” Kim replies, shaking away the hint of tears forming within the corners of her eyes.

“Kim, I--”

But the rest of Trini’s words go unheard as Kim up and storms straight out of the morphing grid, not even once hesitating to look back.

God, she’s so freakin’ predictable.

“Fuck,” Trini exclaims. She starts to follow after Kim but suddenly is stopped by Jason.

“You stay. There’s more than Billy needs to go over with you. I’ve got her,” Jason responds with an understanding nod and a brotherly squeeze on Trini’s shoulder.

Trini matches Jason’s nod with one of her own, unable to find her words. She watches Jason jog after Kim, down the metallic corridor as the unsettling reality of what’s potentially in the cards for her starts to bubble up in the back of her throat.

What if Kim’s right?

What if her going alone isn’t the right move?

What if…

No.

She’s not going there.

Not now.

Pull it together, Gomez.

Trini swallows down the dry lump of doubts and then turns her attention back towards Billy. “Okay. What else do I need to know?”

Billy produces a sympathetic smile. The one he reserves for those moments when he has to deliver not the best of news. And Trini can feel her heart start to crack. She’s seen that smile one too many times for her liking, and it’s the last thing she needs to see right now.

Fuck.

What else?

What more can there be?

Haven’t they been tortured enough?

“We were able to locate the Jinn. It appears that he’s residing on the top of Angel’s Outlook. Or at least that’s where the main energy spike is coming from,” Billy says matter of factly.

“The highest point in all of Angel Grove.” Trini exhales and runs her hands through her hair. “Awesome.”

“You can teleport in and teleport out. There’s enough of a good clearing up there that you can kick that Jinn’s ass without ever once having to even give a second thought to how high up it is,” Tommi replies as she moves closer to Trini, somehow sensing Trini’s rising levels of anxiety. “Right, Billy?”

But Billy doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. His face says it. Teleportation isn’t an option.

“I’m gonna have to go on foot, aren’t I?” Trini asks.

“Well, that’s the thing. Given the current strength of the storm, it would take you roughly two and a half days to reach the base of Angel’s Outlook.” Billy shifts from foot to foot as his hands mindlessly fidget with his blue power coin. All tell-tale signs that the shear stress of their situation is starting to get him.

“What about taking the Zords? They’re like the ultimate all-terrain vehicles,” Zack offers up.

“The ground-based ones would still take too long to reach the mountain but...” Billy trails off as he hesitates with his next words.

“But what?” Tommi says impatiently.

“But maybe the Pterodactyl might be able to bypass some of the more aggressive elements.”

A deafening silence settles amongst the four of them as they let Billy’s words fully sink in.

Fuuuuuuuck.

No.

Not again.

Not the Pterodactyl.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Trini has spent a good part of the last thirty minutes hiding out within the Zord cavern, eyes locked in on one thing and one thing only… The cockpit of the pink metallic pterodactyl.

It’s not like Trini meant to end up here. No. That hadn’t been her intent when she had slipped out of the morphing grid unnoticed during Tommi and Zack’s third round of fruitless debates on whether or not Pterodactyl should even be taken into consideration given what transpired the last go around. Trini had originally meant to go find Jason-- and possibly Kim-- in hopes that he had worked his magic and managed to talk some sense into Kim. But something had drawn her to go another direction. One that for the last few years that Trini had all but avoided from wandering down.

The one where the heart of her newly-formed fear resides.

“There you are.” Jason’s voice echoes throughout the cavern, making his presence known well before he comes into view.

Trini lets out a sigh and runs her hands through her hair. “How’d you find me?”

Jason climbs up onto the lip of the ledge where Trini is camped out, taking a seat directly beside her and then offers up a hint of a smile. “Simple. I just looked in the most unlikely of places first.”

“I’m that predictable?”

“After a decade of all of this, I think we all are predictable.” Jason shrugs with the ever so slightly nudge to Trini’s arm.

They sit side by side, just staring out at the Zords in the near distance as a comfortable silence all but blankets the two of them. Words are not needed… Nor would be helpful in a moment such as this. At least not to Trini. And Jason has come to learn this too as well.

Yet another predictable element.

A moment or two passes, and then--

“How is she?”

“Kim?” Jason asks, already semi-knowing the answer before the words leave his mouth.

“Yeah,’ Trini responds. She picks at the hem of her t-shirt, trying not to appear too concerned, but it doesn’t matter. Just like with everything else, Jason knows the truth. He always has.

“Eh… She’s Kim. Angry and annoyed that she can’t control the situation. Had to talk her out of doing something stupid like up and stealing our coins--”

“Jase…”

“Don’t worry. She’s not. I made sure of it,” Jason responds with a smirk. He reaches into his sweatshirt pocket and pulls out the pink, blue, red, and black power coins. “Besides, I figured you might attempt to slip out without taking these with you.”

“I wasn’t…” Trini trails off as she catches sight of Jason’s face. There’s no use offering off a half-ass excuse. So instead, Trini simply takes the coins from Jason and gives him a nod. “Thanks.”

Jason matches her nod. “No problem… So, the Pterodactyl again, huh?”

“Yup,” Trini responds with a large exhale of breath.

“And I’m sure this has already been discussed, but there’s no other option, right?”

Trini shakes her head as her eyes wander back towards the cockpit of the pink Zord.

Deja fuckin’ Vu

That’s the only way to describe it.

And Jason has to be thinking the same exact thing.

He has to be.

It was literally only a few years ago they sat here… In these same positions… side by side… Staring down the Zords and talking about the potential threats to come.

“What can I do?” Jason asks, breaking the silence once again between them.

“You got a spare beer or two?” Trini replies with a bit of a smirk. She knows it isn’t what Jason meant by the question, but it feels fitting nonetheless.

“God, I wish,” Jason chuckles. “I could use one right about now.”

“You and me both… There is something though you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

Trini shoves the extra power coins into her pockets and pushes herself up onto her feet. “Let her know I’ll be okay.”

Jason gives a nod. “Of course.”

“Thanks Scott,” Trini says. Then, with one final shaky exhale of breath, she proceeds to head straight towards the all too familiar pterodactyl.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

In and out.

Just keep breathing, Gomez.

Keep breathing and concentrating on the mission at hand.

Trini takes a deep, sobering breath of air as she continues to ignore the ever-present tremors running rampant up and down her limbs. She re-adjusts her grip on the steering handles and scans the horizon for any sign of an identifiable landmark.

But there’s nothing.

Nothing but dense yellow fog.

Trini glances down for the fifth time in the last few minutes at the souped-up GPS screen nestled within the array of endless buttons and lights on the console. Thanks to Billy and his love for tinkering, it had been a post-Ivan addition made to all of their zords, and in this very moment, she is nothing but eternally grateful for it. If it not for it, Trini would have all but given up well over twenty minutes ago.

She’s sure as hell she’s not flying in circles.

At least there’s that.

And the coins.

She can’t forget about the power coins.

Trini lets go of one of the steering handles and gingerly touches the pink power coin residing on top of the dashboard. It glistens in the overcast light of the yellow fog. A small but still valid reminder of what’s on the line if she doesn’t succeed.

If…

No.

Don’t go there, Gomez.

“Trini?... Trini? Are you there?” Kim’s voice rips Trini right out of her thoughts and back into reality. A smile spreads across Trini’s face as she pushes the comms button on the console.

“Hi Princess,” Trini nonchalantly replies, trying to mask her ever-growing nerves.

“Thank god.” There’s a pause for a moment as Trini recognizes the familiar sound of Kim letting out a lengthy sigh of relief. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You know already know the answer to that one. I was thinking that I’ve got a Jinn to track down and a gem to smash, so--”

“No. You up and leaving… Without even saying goodbye to any of us.”

Trini dryly swallows down a lump of emotions. “Thought it was easier. Besides, you would’ve never let me go if I had.”

“You’re damn right. It’s a suici…” Kim trails off before finishing the word. But Trini doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what she was about to say. The lingering thought is in the back of her mind as well. Ever present and terrifying.

“I’ll be okay, Princess. I swear.” Trini says and then exhales, closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds.

THUD.

Trini’s eyes jolt back open as the zord suddenly shakes violently with gut-churning turbulence. “Shit… Shit… Shit…”

“Trini?!” Kim’s voice calls out once again, this time laced with overwhelming terror.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Trini replies with a shaky breath of air. “Just a little turbulence. That’s all,”

Fuck.

In and out.

Just keep breathing.

It will be okay.

It has to be.

“Bullshit… I can hear it in your voice. That isn’t just a little turbulence. You shouldn’t be up there. It should be--”

“Kim?” Trini says, cutting Kim off. “Can… Can you just talk to me?”

“Talk to you?”

“Yeah.” Trini nods. She continues to focus her concentration on both her breathing and the task of flying as the ever-looming panic attack creeps closer and closer. “About anything… Anything you like. Hell, you can even talk about Richard. I just… I just need to hear your voice.”

Silence washes over the cockpit for a moment or two as the constant roar of the storm seeps back into Trini’s consciousness and then--

“You haven’t asked yet why I named him Max.”

“No,” Trini replies through slightly gritted teeth. The turbulence kicks it up a notch, causing her arms to shake as she tries to keep the zord steady within the air.

“I was in denial for the longest time about being pregnant. I mean, I knew. Who could I not? My body was transforming right before my very eyes, but still I… I dunno. I couldn’t bring myself to accept the fact that I was going to be someone’s mother. I mean I could barely manage to take care of myself… How the hell was I supposed to take care of another life? Anyway, I went on pretty much living in denial for the most part until one day roughly two months before I was due, I up and passed out. Right in the middle of an aisle in some random grocery store. Didn’t come to until two days later in a hospital room. The doctors were a bunch of assholes and scolded me left and right about not taking better care of myself. But there was this one nurse… Mindy. She was the only one who seemed to somehow piece things together. No clue how. But it was like she just knew… And late one night she showed up to my room with a bunch of Indian take-out food, and we just talked for well over five hours straight.”

“What did you talk about?” Trini asks, momentarily distracted by the story.

“A little bit about family. And Angel Grove,” Kim responds and Trini all but swears that she can hear a smile spread across Kim’s face. “But mainly you… And how you were someone that I hoped my child would turn out to be just like. Strong-willed and fiercely determined. And loyal… and brave… and loving… God, so loving… And the more we talked, the more I found myself at ease because I knew that there was only one name in the world that would be fitting enough for a child who was going to grow up to be just like you…”

“Max,” Trini whispers unsure if Kim can hear her or not.

“Max… My little piece of you. Maybe not in DNA, but in every other way possible.”

Trini can’t help but smile as she takes a moment to fully embrace Kim’s words. “I’m going to get him back.”

“I know, Mi Vida. I know.”

“Kim, I love--”

But Trini doesn’t get the opportunity to finish her sentence. A monstrous gust of wind, slams into the hull of the zord, instantly sending it into an uncontrollable tailspin. Trini yanks back on the handles, in a hail mary attempt to straighten it out, but it’s no use. It’s going down, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Just before the world goes fully dark, Trini reaches out and snatches up the four power coins as well as her own in a fleeting hope that she can hold onto them no matter what’s to come next.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“TRINI!!!!!!”

The scream from a familiar voice rips through Trini’s subconscious, jolting her back into the land of the living with a harsh breath of air.

She knows that scream.

It’s Max.

Max is screaming.

But from where?

Trini pushes herself up into a sitting position as the world once again comes into view. She’s somehow in one piece and on the ground, surrounded by nothing but a sea of dense yellow fog.

“What the…?” Trini says to herself. She takes another look around and instantly spots a shimmer of metallic pink in the near distance. She somehow not only managed to survive the crash landing of the zord but also with only seemingly minimal damage.

Thank fucking god.

Small miracles.

But what about--

Trini blindly gropes around the forest floor as a wave of sheer panic crashes down upon her. “C’mon… C’mon… C’mon…”

And then she feels it. The cold glass-like surface of their power coins. Trini grabs hold of the coins just as another scream bursts through the roar of the storm.

“I’m coming, Max. Hold on!” Trini yells back. She jumps up to her feet and with one final sobering breath of air, morphs into her yellow armor.

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #kimberly hart #trini #power rangers #power rangers 2017 #wlw #ao3 #fanfic

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thrandilf · 6 years

Text

So Distracting Ch 7

The DA2 crew on an adventure

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000896/chapters/35367981

Qunari pirates were the problem of the week. Hawke led his rogues plus Merrill, Anders, and Fenris to The Wounded Coast. It was a full day cross country trek, but traveling with Hawke and the company he kept was never boring.

"You gotta give me SOMETHING," pressed Varric, trailing behind Anders and Fenris. The wild coast was a pleasant walk filled with trees and sunshine when not overrun with bandits and slave traders and one could almost pretend they were out for a picnic if it wasn't for all the heavy armor and weaponry. "Hawke has his romantic comedy going on with his fish out of water over there, but you two? You hated each other! You're angsty! It's what people want."

Merrill wrinkled her nose. "I'm not a fish!"

Anders was used to having a reputation for sexual trysts and tricks, but it hadn't mattered before. And now, with someone like Fenris? "I'm not saying a thing. You'll have better luck getting details on Prince Charming's quite dead love life."

"Don't need 'em!" Varric grinned, teasing. "He's handsome, pure hearted, fierce, faithful, probably good with kids- and completely unattainable. Someone has to stay single for the ladies and a few gentlemen to guiltlessly pine for. He's perfect."

Prince Sebastian laughed, a blush creeping over his face. "I'm a mere chantry brother, Varric. Nothing so high and divine as you say."

"Humble too. Maker, you do it on purpose or what?"

"If only you'd come into my life before I swore my love to Andraste, Varric!" Sebastian playfully pretended to swoon. "In a different life-"

"Oh if only- my rogue in shining armor-"

"Good GOD you two!" exclaimed Hawke over a few giggles. "Varric, aren't you straight?"

"I like to keep people guessing."

Fenris rolled his eyes at the bantering and teasing, but a smile threatened to appear on his face. Never before Kirkwall had his companions been so filterless and free with affection and insults. He watched as Hawke led the group like an exasperated mother hen, as if their verbal entertainment wasn't at least half the reason he brought them anywhere. Merrill and Isabela followed him with arms around each other's waists, Merrill laughing often and Isabela smirking. He wondered if Hawke knew his girlfriend had a crush on Isabela, but then again anyone having a crush on Isabela was nothing new.

"Okay but really, Blondie. You weren't so shy about Isabela putting your electricity trick out there on the table."

Anders sighed. "Drop it, dwarf! Fenris and I-"

"He's loud," stated Fenris. Anders choked and Sebastian suddenly looked away and rubbed his neck while Isabela tuned in with grin. Fenris took Anders's hand in his and shrugged. "You all know we're together. Just stating the obvious."

Varric snorted. "Yes, Broody, I definitely knew that one. Who swept who off their feet?"

Isabela hung back to elbow Varric. "No one sweeps anyone off their feet for hate sex!"

"Correct," said Anders with relief. "No sweeping at all."

"The real question is who said 'shut up' and who said 'make me'!"

Fenris and Anders's silence was telling. Anders squeezed Fenris's hand and flashed a smile. Fenris wished he didn't think that grin was so light and beautiful. "Whatever this is between us, consider yourselves lucky we know how to behave in a camping tent with other people, since there's only two tents," said Anders. "Unlike some people I know."

Merrill giggled and Hawke's ears turned red.

"I wanna be in the shenanigans tent!" declared Isabela, looking at Hawke and Merrill.

"Pass," said Sebastian.

"Pass," said Anders.

"Pass," said Fenris.

"Pass," finished Varric. He looked at his three temporary roommates. "Great, I'm sleeping with a bunch of glow-sticks."

Sebastian shrugged, the metal on his armor glinting particularly bright in the sun. "Just the blessing of the light of the Maker."

The Maker also blessed them with an ogre to fight. The group sprang into action, rogues diving in all directions to confuse it while the mages hung out in the back. Fenris rushed in front alone, swinging his sword with deadly strength and phasing partially into the Fade when the beast swung at him. Isabela took the ogre from behind (ew) and her blades thrust in deep before she sprang back with lightning reflexes. Actual lighting crackled past Fenris's head alongside arrows and crossbow bolts. The ogre roared.

Fenris was the only one it could directly attack- and so it did. He couldn't phase entirely out of a blow and groaned as the ogre's fist collided with his shoulder as he cut into it's thigh. "THIS IS A VERY UNBALANCED TEAM!" he shouted in pain.

Anders's healing magic immediately mended his wound as Isabela took a backhanded hit. "I need healing!" she yelled.

"I need healing!" said Hawke.

"I need healing!" shouted Varric with a smirk.

"I need healing!" Merrill laughed.

"I need healing!" roared Fenris in genuine need as the ogre dislocated his wrist.

"ANDRASTE'S LIPS ON SHARTAN'S COCK!" bellowed Anders, drawing on Justice to heal Fenris first and to instill a stream of healing energy inside the elf. Perhaps Fenris should've taken the healer to bed long ago if this is how he showed his affection. He sank his blade deep into the ogre's chest as Isabela stabbed its neck, killing the beast.

"Ha!" Isabela exclaimed. "Dead!"

Anders scowled and healed her wound, suddenly angling his head up. "My darkspawn senses are tingling!"

A group of darkspawn rushed the party and Fenris charged back, lyrium glowing bright. Darkspawn fell around him from magical blasts and arrows as Fenris ripped through darkspawn in front of him with a snarl. His sword and gauntlets tore and sprayed blood all over his armor and skin as he relished in the gore he could so easily inflict. Anders kept him shielded and healed and Fenris was almost invincible, drunk off the unnaturally murky blood that gushed at his command, the final living head of a darkspawn exploding as he thrust his fist inside the Fade and then caused it to materialize inside the monster's skull, yanking with dark pleasure as it died.

"Holy shit." Hawke stared at Fenris in the center of his blood hurricane. "Remind me to never ever get on your bad side."

They cleaned up and checked for serious wounds- one of which being Sebastian's ears. "Maker, Anders! Could you have said anything more offensive? Andraste's- no I can't even repeat it?"

Anders shrugged. Being both Andrastian and a mage, he danced between devout belief and mandatory blasphemy. "I probably could if you gave me time to brainstorm."

Isabela laughed. "I suspect that particular exclamation came from personal experience?" She eyed Fenris. "Recent experience, perhaps?"

"Oh shut it Isabela!" groaned Anders, albeit without venom. "The priest doesn't need to know how much I like being on my knees!"

"Maker no." Sebastian sighed deeply. "Maker forgive your children..."

Fenris eyed Varric. "Everything you say can and will be used against you, Anders. The dwarf will remember that."

Varric feigned innocence. "Remember what?"

-~-

They set up camp a ways from where they were to make their attack on the pirates before dawn. Isabela, Hawke, and Merrill retired remarkably hastily to their tent and the other four exchanged looks.

"I'll take watch," volunteered Sebastian.

Varric shrugged. "I'm not sleeping yet. I've got fish to fry, quite literally."

"Ew." Fenris moved upwind of the cooking fire Varric was starting and sat by Sebastian. The chantry brother smiled at Fenris and opened his copy of the Chant of Light. It was a wordless invitation and he simply started speaking, not missing how Fenris's eyes followed his voice across the words of the page.

"'Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,

An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.

You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr.

Within My creation, none are alone...'"

Sebastian might've irked everyone with his faith or appear too righteous for the likes of their company, but Fenris couldn't help a wave of appreciation for Sebastian wash over him as he let Fenris read alongside him without pushing his beliefs or making a scene of teaching him. Didn't matter that he was an elf, uncertain in his faith, a killer, or anything else.

Fenris was a person, and Sebastian seemed to be one of the few who made him feel just that.

Varric cooked him and Anders dinner in a small frying pan Anders imagined doubled as armor when against his back. "So, Blondie. Justice will let you both eat AND sleep in one evening?"

"Surprisingly, yes." Anders stretched out by the fire, basking in the warmth like a cat and ignoring a high pitched sigh from Hawke's tent. "Possessing a dead body when we first met meant he wasn't prepared for a living one. It's taken time for him to understand my needs beyond activism, but he gets it. Mostly."

Anders flickered blue and Varric huffed. "Seems like he disagrees."

"No, sorry about that." Anders sighed and inhaled the aroma of cooking fish. "I think he still longs to interact with this world more. He appreciates beauty, but feels torn whenever he's distracted from his purpose. A life is going to be many things. Justice, funny as it may be for something usually represented by scales, has no sense of balance."

"So you're trying to teach a Fade spirit to change? What would he be then, a spirit of Freedom?"

Anders paused. He grinned and a flicker appeared on his skin again. "More like indecision is how it feels like. Justice has already changed since joining with me and is confused. Perhaps you're not far off- don't we fight for Justice so others may have freedom?"

Varric served them both their fish and sat back, happy to not have to share his ale with Anders. "I've got characters who talk in my head all the time- call it overactive imagination. I can't imagine a spirit."

"Ha! A lot is direct conversation, but even more so are impulsive and intrusive thoughts." Anders sighed. "Sometimes we really do agree and have the same mind on things, other times it's confusing. My organic impulses tend to be 'run after the stray kitty cat' or 'oh wow, what a good butt', while Justice's impulsive thoughts tend to be 'that's a starving child and I should dump out my pockets for them' and 'gravity is boring outside the Fade'. It's a bit crowded in here."

"Ever think of letting him out to say hello to more people?"

Anders snorted and covered his mouth. "Justice and Sebastian together. Just imagine it."

"Point taken."

"He also has no filter."

"Are you implying YOU do?"

Anders finished his fish and lounged back. Varric took in every word and book ammunition or not, Anders needed someone to listen. "In all fairness, I'm pretty sure Justice has saved my life. He doesn't sleep. Sure my body does and I do, but he's in the back of my mind in case anything happens. He's something of a guardian to me."

"You sound attached- literally."

Anders's grin faded. "Friends are more important than anything, Varric. Maybe I've finally made one no one can ever take away from me."

Varric put a hand on Anders's shoulder. "Look around. You can count more than one, Blondie."

Anders wished he had Varric's certainty.

-~-

Sebastian took first watch as promised as Varric, Fenris, and Anders went to bed. Varric apparently had the dwarvish gift of heavy sleeping and slept almost immediately after unfurling his sleeping mat. Fenris unrolled his sleeping bag and Anders blanched as he looked inside his backpack.

Well, shit. Anders curled up on the ground and rested his head on his hand. Justice sent a small wave of apologetic guilt through Anders. Anders had been tired and rushed to get the clinic together and had been distracted by Fenris- so while Fenris got to go back to his mansion and grab a pre packed bag, Anders and Justice had enough Lyrium potions thrown in their backpack to put on a fireworks show while healing everyone Anders had ever met, but no sleeping bag. Figures.

"Mage?" Fenris propped himself up on his elbow, under his bedding. "What are you doing?"

"I was in a hurry to pack when Hawke showed up and uh, um. Justice forgot too so I don't have a bedroll." Anders squirmed. The evening sea breeze wasn't particularly warm, but he'd live. "I've slept on rocks before, the grass is fine."

"Stupid forgetful idiot!" Fenris's scolding might've sounded more threatening if he wasn't trying to tug Anders into his sleeping bag. "Be useful and get in here."

Anders's heart leapt but he still felt sheepish. "I don't want to impose-"

"Cuddle me." Fenris gave an order rather than a request and Anders grinned. Fenris rolled over and sighed with satisfaction as Anders spooned him and held him close in their bedding, bodies pressed together so Fenris only felt warmth and softness. "Good. This shall compensate for having to share."

Anders's height helped him be a good snuggler, Fenris's head tucked under his and their legs twined together. He kissed Fenris's hair and pet his chest, nuzzling him and pushing up Fenris's tunic to rub his abdomen. It was tactfully under their blanket and facing away from Varric, but not an available route after already teasing Hawke for his displays of affection (made relevant by another moan from the other tent).

"If you arouse me-" growled Fenris under his breath, turning his head back to hiss near Anders's ear, "I'll have you crying and screaming your throat raw over whatever I damm well feel like the next time we set foot in my house."

It occurred to Fenris after Anders shivered and bit hit his lip that maybe growling and threatening a man who liked his growls and threats was not a good way to diffuse the situation. "If I behave myself, can you promise to do that anyway?" murmured Anders. Fenris hoped he was only imagining Anders being turned on behind him.

"If you behave, I'll be open to a great many things. Requests, if you will."

Fenris could hear Anders smirking. "Oooooooh, I could definitely give you ideas." Anders stopped his petting but still cuddled Fenris close. "Alright, lets sleep then."

Fenris, who was generally a horrible insomniac without his alcohol, passed out within minutes of being snuggled in Anders's arms. Anders wished he could sleep as easily, his body eager at the idea of showing Fenris what Anders could do on his knees, or kissing every single line of lyrium and making Fenris's nerves sing with pleasure. He wondered if Fenris would enjoy tying him up-

'Sleep,' rumbled Justice inside Anders's head.

'I can't. You know why. You can feel it too.'

Justice took over partial control of Anders and tuned him into Sebastian reading softly under his breath outside, the words of Andraste and the Maker quelling both Anders's desire and his will to stay awake. Justice also started reciting historical timeline events of the Blights and Anders was gone. 'I'm impressed but not surprised by your capability to kill boners,' thought Anders at Justice before he slipped into the embrace of deep sleep with Fenris.

#fenders #fenris dragon age #anders dragon age #da2 fic #fanfic #this is 60% banter oh well #my writing

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the-headbop-wraith · 3 years

Text

1_7 Simpler

The flutter and murmurs churned in the back of his mind as he swayed. Below, years away, was a dark pit swirling with green coils of fog. The contrast lazed around sharp spikes that shimmered like deep galaxies full of stars glittering under a haze of light, with no feasible origin. As if the shadows had peeled back from his eyes to reveal what he had no desire to witness. A truth so solid and cold, as only life could deliver in its most critical and indiscriminate moment.

Pain burned through his arm, embers igniting in each nerve as they were severed one by one. Arthur groaned in his daze and gripped his wrist, or tried to. He couldn’t feel his arm. And he could scarcely hear the echoes that clattered off the walls of the cavern. Arthur remembered thinking, Shit. It hurts so much. He didn’t understand why or what he had done, but he was suddenly alone.

Lewis was gone.

He was there a second ago, doing something. Arthur’s heart throbbed harder when he realized he couldn’t recall the most recent events. There was a blank spot, and then the pain. Lewis said something to him and then—

No.

“Lewis?” Arthur shrieked. “Lewis!” He dropped to his knees at the edge leaning far forward, so far he nearly lost his balance as he screamed into the vaporous waves below. “Lewis!” Arthur inhaled the dusty air, and a throaty cackle bubbled out of his lungs. He was laughing hysterically and sobbing, the sensation so awful to his mind he began shrieking until his throat felt parched and needles punctured his lungs. “For god’s sake Lewis, answer me! I said ANSWER—”

The sizzling torment pulsing up his arm vanished in an instant. It was replaced by an emptiness and a sense of falling. This can’t be happening, Arthur remembers thinking. It’s too awful. Too awful.

The old back road was littered with segments of advanced deterioration, but hardly any other vehicles used the out of the way roads so Arthur could steer the van onto the center stripe where the asphalt still clung together. The three of them sat in silence for the drive, Arthur vouching to drive first and get them away from the area; Vivi sat curled up against the passenger door staring out the window as the gnarled trees flashed by, an occasional bird would flash by in the early dawn. Mystery had selected to hop into the open back of the van and lay curled up, presumably just under the passenger seat. The orange sun seemed to rise quicker as the hours worked by, until it was full and yellow in the cloud burdened sky.

Sometimes Arthur would notice Vivi begin to shake, and he would glance over in time to see his friend bury her face down into the soft folds of her scarf. Arthur said nothing, he didn’t sense he was allowed to after all that had happened. True he wanted to speak with Vivi, comfort her and fulfill the promise he made to her back in the mansion. But it wasn’t the time. A part of him hoped she would forget again, forget the place of memories, solitude, and resentment. But that would be selfish, and Arthur was done with that. Selfishness had ruined them in the first place. He wondered though if he was being too hard on himself, but the recollection of months in rehab, the funeral – everything crashed back into him in a new wave of agony and he couldn’t bear it.

Vivi was mourning Lewis for the first time, Arthur reckoned, and the delicate scars that decorated his memories were torn asunder. How would they get through this? Arthur wondered. How could they go on now?

A small concern did nip at Arthur. If they left these old roads, would Vivi forget? Would it trigger her memory loss? That enigma did eat away at him.

“It’s so weird.” Vivi’s voice spooked Arthur. He had been so accustomed to the engine of the van and the rattle of rocks kicking into the undercarriage, Arthur had forgotten other sounds existed. He turned to Vivi as she gazed through the windshield at nothing, her magenta glasses murky with dry tears. “I can’t remember anything about him, but I still miss him so much. I don’t get it.”

There was shuffling in the back seat, before Mystery poked his head over the passenger seat and whimpered to Vivi.

Vivi went on, “When we were in the mansion, I remember seeing a mirror.” Vivi kneaded the end of her scarf between her fingers. “My eyes were gone, but I felt a connection to the reflection. Like, that was the real me but,” She sighed and sat for a moment. In the place of her voice the engine hummed, patiently waiting for her to resume. “I didn’t want it to be. It scared me.”

Arthur waited a few moments. It wasn’t safe but he was driving with one arm, his mechanical prosthetic lay across his lap and near useless due to the abuse it suffered. His body ached but he didn’t notice it then, probably due to his lack of sleep and high level of anxiety. The rush of adrenalin hadn’t died down yet.

“Did you wanna talk?” Arthur asked.

Vivi shook her head and adjusted herself. Mystery leaned up over the seat more to lick at the top of her blue hair, as Vivi sank down into quivers. “Not yet,” she whispered.

“Take your time,” Arthur assured. “I’m not going anywhere.” He winced inwardly after he said that. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

It was late morning when they finally left the back roads and made it into one of the small towns that still lingered at the edge of oblivion. The town was about one courthouse and one gas station, but it did have a few restaurants for the obscure or lost passer-byer. None of the group felt much want for nourishing their over taxed bodies, but Arthur stopped anyway to pick up some fries and shakes, and a burger for Mystery.

They sat on the back bumper in the large parking lot of a dollar store, picking at their food and turning eyes to the overcast sky. Anything to avoid a conversation that would designate some normality had been restored. Mystery ate about half of his burger before he lay his head down on his paws and stared up at his companions.

“Vivi,” Arthur asked. By now Arthur had put his arm in a sling and this made people stare at him more frequently than when it was just his prosthetic. He didn’t mind. “Do you think things will ever be the same between us again?” Vivi had the lid of her milkshake off and was drinking the froth down. She looked at Arthur, prompting him to continue. “I’ve tried.” He looked over when Vivi tugged at his sleeve.

“It will,” Vivi said. “You’ll see.”

Arthur lowered his head more, his metal thumb poked at one of the fries in the box he held. He could still work the fingers, and raise the arm some. Make it useful. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Vivi released his sleeve and set her hand back on the cool sides of her beverage. “Ask me later.”

Arthur bobbed his head a bit, while he began rearranging the fries by shape and color with his good hand. “I love you,” he mumbled.

Vivi leaned her shoulder into his. “I love you too.” And for a while they watched the occasional car roll by on the main road through the town.

They had been done eating for an hour, merely poking at their food in a vain attempt to make it disappear rather than the valid effort of consumption. In these cases the stale french-fry tastes better than the freshly cooked order. There were a lot of orders of stale fries in the past and their presence remained consistent into the future. They watched traffic for a bit longer before Arthur decided to take the van around and fuel up, while Vivi and Mystery disposed of the trash at the stores front. Much wasn’t said, it was routine when Arthur made the comment that the van needed fuel.

With the bare minimal of necessities replenished it was back to the long roads of aimless travel, of navigation and waiting, watching and thinking. Vivi trying to come to terms with the contradiction of her thoughts, and failing; Arthur struggling to make some peace with himself, and failing harder. For a while Mystery had sat up front beside Arthur, head on Arthur’s lap and staring up at his companion over the rim of his amber glasses. When Arthur had reached a fidgety hand to Mystery’s head, Mystery had judged his presence was more of a hazard and without a sound sprang into the back of the van.

Back amongst the tall gnarled trees, it felt to Vivi like they had never stopped in the first place. The thought crept into her mind and she began to panic. Vivi thought to ask Arthur if they had stopped, had they gotten gasoline to keep them going? Had they already eaten today? The details were foggy in her head, she couldn’t decide if the town existed or not, like the mansion. The mansion in the woods was never real, but she remembered a place like it from her childhood. She and Arthur had gone to a place like it before when they were little, and Mystery too. Mystery was always with her wherever she went.

There had been someone else, hadn’t there? She couldn’t remember his face. And the mirror. Each of them had taken turns looking into the mirror, she remembered that part vividly like she was there right now. His reflection, though. What was his reflection?

The van began to sway on the road. Vivi looked over to Arthur unsettled as the van began to decelerate and pull over to a clear spot on the roadside. Dust kicked up and the heavy tires growled through the overgrown weeds as he brought them to a stop.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, as he slumped over the steering wheel. “I just got to stop and rest some.” Mystery poked his head over the seat to see what the problem was, and Arthur gave the dog a gentle scratch.

“That’s fine,” Vivi said. She began to feel the faint drowsiness that infected Arthur, as it made itself known to her heavy eyelids. “I’m amazed you got us this far.” She began to clamber over the seat to the back of the van, but stopped and looked back at Arthur. “Maybe…” she hesitated, and thought about the mirror. “Maybe Lewis wanted us far away from there?”

Arthur kept his eyes downcast as he fiddled with his arm in the sling. “He wanted you away from there,” he said, and shook his head. “He doesn’t give a crap about me.” Arthur turned his head up when Vivi set a hand on the back of his neck.

“I think,” Vivi began, her voice soft, “I think he was trapped for too long.” It was then that Vivi realized she had no idea how long Lewis had been gone. “And that evil entity may have gotten ahold of him like it did with you, before we ever showed up.” Mystery popped back down behind the seat as Vivi joined him in the back. She leaned over to Arthur as he sat in silence. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Arthur leaned onto the steering wheel more, the old plastic covering smelled of the hands of dozen nameless faces and cold coffee. “Yeah,” he muttered. Arthur only raised his gaze when Mystery leapt over the seat to join him. “Hey Mystery.” He closed his eyes as the dog leaned over and licked at his brow. “Thanks bud.”

The back of the van had thin carpet and was not the most comfortable place in the world, but it saved money, and more than often between the tag-team driving, they couldn’t in all sanity reach a motel before crashing - in the figurative sense – on a random back road was necessary. The sparse few electrical equipment owned by Mystery Skulls was stored on the floor where one could work while the other drove, a few side cuvees on the walls of the van held necessities such as extension cords and their travel luggage, backpacks of supplies, extra flashlights, and many other items deemed useful to long road trips and investigating the paranormal.

Viv moved some of the discarded gear bags aside as she lugged out her ruffled sleeping bag and worked to put it into some order before she lay down. The walls of the van were insulated enough to keep out the harsh temperature variations of the high noon sun, but she still pulled out another blanket in case she fought free of her cocoon. Unlike the front of the van in the tinted windshield and the sunlight crashing through, the vans back was fairly cool and comfortable. It boggled her mind how Arthur could sleep in the direct sunlight the way he did, but the way Arthur twisted about in his dead sleep she never probed him about it. Then again, Arthur was skittish when it came to the shadows and confined areas, and perhaps waking to an open window and sunlight set him to ease. Vivi did wonder though.

Before snuggling down into her warm nest, Vivi removed her glasses and set them beside the wall of the van within easy reach. In the front seat she could hear Arthur settle down, Mystery probably already curled up on his lap and resting comfortably. Vivi couldn’t remember when Mystery had begun to keep close to Arthur, but now suspected it must have had something to do with the accident. Mystery was a mysterious and intuitive creature, it didn’t come as a surprise to her anymore.

A thought came to Vivi as she edged towards dark and placid ripples in her thoughts. She raised her voice until she thought Arthur was listening. “You think it’s safe to stop here?” she mumbled.

A heavy sigh came from the front of the van. “I don’t know.”

Vivi thought about it for a moment, her eyes slipped shut and she felt her mind falling, diving into the warmth and comfort of oblivion. “Okay,” she said. Maybe she should be worried, but they had been through too much to consider further dangers rationally. If a threat was present, it could wait until they had rested for just a bit.

Those that studied dreams would argue that even when dreams are not recalled, the mind still dreams. Vivi always disagreed with that and would tell Arthur that she only counted the dreams, if they could be remembered. There were no dreams for a long time to Vivi perception, and she began to forget the day’s events, her mind wiping away the hurt and the sorrow until it was replaced with happier memoirs. Investigating a potentially dangerous case, sending in reports, contending with a tenacious spirit, unmasking a disgruntled employee, editing photography - the excitement of adventures and traveling, long road trips with friends.

Always it felt like something was missing.

Vivi opened her eyes to a wall of black. It took a few minutes for her sense of setting to upload and she recalled that they had stopped to rest and now it was dark. The sun set some time ago but that didn’t shock her, they had been beyond their limits to begin with and had kept going. Driven onward, as Vivi had coined the term. She felt moisture under the blanket her face was curled up in and knew she must’ve been dreaming something good. A sense of peace filled her, but she knew it would be a short reprieve. Unfairly short.

Though the light of the half-moon was cutting through the windshield there was little of her immediate surroundings that made sense to her, but for the bags and luggage shuffled around from her sleep. Vivi pushed herself up to shift some of the soreness out of her side, and was startled when she felt a tug at her scalp. She froze in the dark aware now that something was amiss. She couldn’t see yet but she could sense it, a presence.

Vivi let herself relax. There was Arthur or Mystery. One or both of them could have gotten tired laying in the sun and crawled into the back. But, as Vivi prodded her perimeter with her available senses, she could swear Arthur’s comatose snores were coming from the front seat.

She fumbled along the stiff carpet for her glasses and put them on. Vivi nearly screamed.

A bleached skull lay on its side mere inches from where her own head had been resting. But as Vivi examined its features and the clothing beside the inert thing, her mind began to recognize the characteristics. She reached out and placed her hand upon the sleeve that had been beside her head. It felt solid but not quite, like dry ice or thick smoke. Between the two. The moonlight glistened over ribs protruding from the side of its coat but the prone shape was dark and still, its back pressed into the wall of the van.

“I’m dreaming,” Vivi thought. “This is just a dream.” She wished it wasn’t. The disappointment of her comprehension stung, nearly the same as the many times she thought she could pull an artifact of significant interest with her from a dream and when she awoke, her hands were empty.

Vivi pulled her blanket with her as she crawled over to the silent ghost. She poked at the solid looking shoulder a few times, feeling how airless and empty they seemed. It was fascinating, but not uplifting. New tears slid down her cheeks as she curled up beside the exposed ribs, when Vivi was comfortable enough she gripped at the coat and held on tightly.

“Not this time,” Vivi whispered, “it’ll be different.” She was so tired of crying, but the pain was unbearable. She wondered, as she fell back into the deep pit of dark memories, if she would ever stop crying. Or if she would continue to resent Arthur for what he had done.

As the hours ticked away, Arthur must have fallen into the persistent nightmares he couldn’t seem to escape. Vivi recalled he had nightmares often, she couldn’t recall much of what Arthur babbled about between twitching restlessness but he was always screaming and crying. Vivi would ask if he wanted to talk about it but Arthur would always refuse, his body stiff and his good arm clutched at the wrist of his prosthetic. Now she understood why.

This was different. Arthur’s panic had escalated as if he was being skinned alive, and it awoke Vivi fully. She might have to throttle him to break him from the attack, and surprisingly it had worked in the past.

There was so much noise and confusion Vivi couldn’t get a grip of what she was looking at. A dark shape was huddled at the back seat, and beyond its sides she could just make out the wild movements of Arthur as he tried to dig his way out of the driver side door. Arthur’s cries remained little less than animalistic shrieks, but Vivi could pick out words, “kill” and “sorry,” among the rapid stammers that Arthur might have mistaken for speech.

“What’s happening?” Vivi yelped. Her question went unanswered as Arthur’s voice broke into sobs.

“Did you really think I was gone?” a low voice snarled.

There was a click, as Vivi guessed, Arthur figured out how to operate the door and was taking off. “Arthur! Wait! Who—” Vivi stopped herself as the skull swiveled back to give her a look she did not understand. The skull was vacant of identification, but for soft and distant pink light within the deep eye sockets.

Then it was gone. Through the wall of the van pursuing Arthur, if his peeling shrieks were any indication.

“I am through with you!” The voice again.

Vivi lunged to the front of the van searching for the two figures, but didn’t see them through the windshield. On the floorboard of the passenger side was Mystery huddled down, his white fur unmistakable under the silver moonlight above. Vivi ducked away to the back of the van doors, screaming, “Wait! W-wait! Lewis!” She thrust her shoulder to the door when the latch held. It sometimes got stuck if the lock wasn’t pulled up all the way. She jerked the lock up and jammed her knee to the door. “Don’t kill Arthur! Lewis! DON’T!”

She was losing her mind. This wasn’t a dream, it had never been a dream. She was cuddling up to the phantom that wanted to kill one of her few living friends, and now she had to stop vengeance incarnate. That’s what he was now, wasn’t he? Lewis? A wraith. He wouldn’t stop until Arthur was dead. Rationally speaking, he couldn’t stop. That’s what a vengeful wraith was.

“Arthur! Lew! Wait!” As Vivi tore out of the open back and stumbled across the rocky ground, she could hear the thump-thud of shoes and an eerie scraping on the van’s roof. It reminded her of the urban legend of the girl and her boyfriend out in the woods, parked under a tree.

“I swear! I didn’t do anything!” Arthur shrieked. He was already sliding to the opposite side of the vans roof, away from the fearsome spirit gliding around the side of the vehicle. It looked odd with its gaze fixed on Arthur and moving, but not rising up to catch the panic stricken victim. “It’s a misunderstanding!” Arthur said, out of Vivi’s sight. “I – juz – geh — LISTEN!”

A guttural howl came from the other side of the van, once the spirit had decided to fade through the amber walls to cut Arthur off. Vivi dashed around the backside in time to snare the sleeve of the spirits arm and shook its bleached hands away from Arthur’s leg.

“Stop it! Stop it now!” Vivi screamed. She forced herself between the vans side beneath Arthur’s feet, and the annoyed glare of the spirit, scorching focus now fixed down on her. “That’s enough,” Vivi said.

Lewis’ eye sockets blazed brighter as he lowered his arms. “I swore I would never hurt you,” he said. “But he has gone too far this time!” Lewis jabbed a finger over Vivi’s head, in the direction of Arthur. Vivi refused to lower her eyes from the spirits eye sockets.

“Tell me,” Vivi said, voice low, “what he did this time.”

Lewis, if possible, appeared disgusted as he shifted back and set his boots down on solid ground. “He took my locket,” he said, and in the same instant Arthur shrieked out:

“I didn’t take it! I didn’t!” Arthur moved his legs away from the van’s edge, and away from the ghosts reach. “I protected it. I… I’m, it was for Vivi.”

Vivi took her eyes off the hovering skull and looked back at Arthur. Arthur’s prosthetic hung pitifully across his lap and dragged when he moved his shoulder, causing more eerie scraps to come from the vans metal.

“You don’t remember? Do you?” Arthur said. He didn’t move forward, but Vivi could detect a note of disappointment and sadness in his voice. “Lew. The locket is your anchor? Isn’t it?”

Lewis’ rage had not dispersed remotely. He hissed through his jaw at the question. “That’s why you tried to take it,” he accused.

“I didn’t take it!” Arthur snapped. “You can’t remember, or maybe you won’t. But when that evil spirit possessed you it tried to… it was going to break it.” Arthur fumbled with the loose fingers of his metal arm, trying not to meet the gaze of the spirit.

Lewis leaned back, the moonlight fluttered through the vacant holes of his skull. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” He sneered, “I can’t be possessed like you.”

“But…you were,” Vivi said. Her mind went back, rewinding to the moment when Arthur was gone, when she had lost him too. What had Arthur said before that? “I wasn’t the target. It wanted Lewis.” The thing in the cave wanted souls, it stole souls in every manner possible. Humans were worthless. But….

“You really don’t remember,” Vivi said. Lewis turned his skull down to her, his aggression melted away. “You threw Arthur out a window when he tried to stop you. When he tried to save you.” Vivi took a step toward the spirit and he recoiled, skull lifting higher above his collar. “Then you attacked me.” Lewis stared at her with no note of comprehension in his bleached skull.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lewis said. “I would never. I couldn’t.” An odd expression bloomed in the hard white features, odd and unbefitting to the recent ferocity that had burned so brightly before.

“But you did,” Vivi insisted. “Or, it tried. You resisted.”

“You’re wrong,” Lewis whispered. He retreated from Vivi a few inches and began to fade. “No. No. Never in—” Lewis regained some of his solidity when Vivi took one of his hands.

“I thought you left,” Vivi murmured. She moved her hands over his hand until she gripped his fingers in hers. “I thought you were lost.” She pulled his hand to her face and pressed his knuckles to her forehead. “Don’t leave me again.”

Lewis stared at her, eye sockets thinned, darkened, brooding. He lowered his free hand a bit as he curled his fingers tightly, and opened his fist again. Lewis did this a few times, imitating a slowly thudding heart, before he tore the captive hand from Vivi’s grasp and wrapped her up in his heavy arms. Vivi shook as she cried into his coat. “Don’t leave,” she begged. “Please, no more empty dreams. I just want you. Don’t disappear.”

Lewis lowered his skull to her head and cooed, “Shh. I’m here. See? Please don’t cry, mi arandana.” He stroked her back and adjusted his skull, nearly perched upon her head. “I never wanted you to shed tears over me.”

As silent as a shadow, Arthur slipped off the side of the van and away from the two. Arthur cradled his metal arm to his chest until he was on the gravel, over on the opposite side of the van and stationary. Without a glance back, he gave a shallow sigh and climbed into the open driver door. Mystery was still there, curled down in his spot on the passenger floorboard. Mystery raised his head as Arthur climbed over the seat and into the vans back, careful not to make the vehicle shift under his weight.

In the dark Arthur fumbled for a flashlight in one of the cuvees of the vans side. When he found it he snapped on the flashlights pale yellow beam, and began going through the bags shoved beside the vans wall. He paused, listening to the steady tempo that was muffled but present on the air. He found the bag that the sound lifted from and opened the zipper, a few bottles and a small tape recorder was in the way, but he easily located the spare shirt he had wrapped the glossy locket in before he packed it away. When he pried back the edge of the shirt, the soft sky blue sheen reflected off his face and Arthur felt the glean swell up behind his eyes. He set the flashlight aside and sat on his knees, as he held the weightless heirloom in his palm watching it gently quiver with the same pace of his own heart. Arthur wondered if it was the same for Vivi. When she was drawn to it, was it because she felt the same steady thrum in her chest?

Arthur clutched the glistening heart to his chest. He sat for all the time in the world recalling good memories, fun times. All in the past, too many moons ago; so distant they might as well have been wishful dreams he could never exist in. When Arthur looked up, a white face was peering over the backseats at him. Mystery had his head tilted in a bored manner, and gave a large yawn when Arthur noticed him.

In due time, when he felt interrupting Vivi and Lewis would not be immediately life threatening, Arthur quietly climbed out from the back of the van and hid beside the open door. He cleared his throat and tensed, ready to bolt if that may extend his short life.

Lewis’ eyes blazed dark red when he turned to acknowledge his ‘friend,’ the light of those eyes glint in Vivi’s glasses. Arthur didn’t step out immediately, but he held up his hands and the locket still wrapped partially in the shirt. The look of utter betrayal in Lewis’ gaze hurt Arthur somewhere deep.

“I didn’t know,” Arthur began. He chided himself not to look into those burning eyes, or his soul would tear free of its own body. “But I did know I couldn’t let it… break.” He felt his hands shaking as he raised the locket to Lewis, strained between protecting himself and returning the possession. “I was going to give it to Vivi, when the time was right.”

Lewis gazed on Arthur’s with tangible distrust, as if pending for the exact moment Arthur would shatter the gently thrumming heart between his bare hands. He still held Vivi in his arms, as if protecting her from the inevitable event. After a long moment of debate, Lewis raised one hand from Vivi. Arthur flinched back but held his ground; he could feel what weight the locket did have fade from his palms. Arthur shuffled forward fearful it would fall, but the locket did not. The pulsing shape swayed under the silver moonlight toward Lewis’ awaiting finger tips. With a gentle gesture of his hand, the glimmering heirloom fastened itself just above the ribs of Lewis’ suit and there it stayed.

“Thank you,” Lewis said softly, skull averted. Arthur made to speak but Lewis cut his voice off with the slight raise of his hand. “This… it’s not the time for that.”

As the night continued to drift by, the three stood in silence mulling over their personal existence and current standings, as if sentinels to the watchtower awaiting the scourge of gravediggers to the cemetery below. Vivi couldn’t bring herself to untangle from Lewis’ solid arms, and Arthur remained steady but unsure of how to approach the barrage of anguish that littered his mind.

“Did you like the mansion?” Lewis asked, at last. His sudden voice from nowhere caused Arthur to spook and knock the door with his metal arm, generating an audible and pleasant resonance. To Lewis’ question, Vivi nodded and gave a small smile. She placed her hand over the blue locket on his coat and felt the warm little pulses it produced. “It’s gone,” Lewis supplied. Vivi sniggered. “You find that funny?”

“It’s the way you delivered it,” Vivi said. Lewis made an odd noise of acknowledgement that didn’t sound right.

The gravel crunched under Arthur’s feet as he turned away. “I’m going to get some more sleep,” he said. “Lewis.” Arthur peered around the open door enough to catch the harsh smolder of the eye sockets. “Don’t…” he hesitates, faltering under the irritated gaze. “Don’t go anywhere without telling me. Please?” Arthur wouldn’t leave until the skull gave a very miniscule bob.

“You won’t leave? Will you?” Vivi asked, as she pulled back from Lewis and looked into his eye sockets. The matter that he had not restored his plush hair style throughout their most recent interactions was not lost to Vivi. Faint fire burned in his eye sockets, but the skull remained bleached. It appeared off to her, since she never saw him without the style upon his scalp and she had attributed to his weakness. After he had—

“Let’s sit for a while,” Lewis said, puncturing her thought bubble. “And enjoy the night.”

This didn’t bode well in Vivi’s mind, but she walked with Lewis to the back of the van. Arthur was silent at his usual post at the front, either asleep or pretending, but Lewis didn’t seem bothered at this point. With Vivi cradled in his arms, Lewis glides back a few feet before settling down. The effort seemed to take a toll on Lewis, but he makes no comment and is content to keep his arms folded over Vivi. Together they stare out onto the long dark road that was bypassed earlier that day. No traffic was out this late, not on these old forgotten roads. They were alone and isolated here, and for them it was safe.

The wind whistled through the bare tree branches, and Lewis made an odd whistling sound with them. For a short time Vivi tried to discern if he was making the sound on purpose, or if the wind was cutting over the exposed teeth of his skull face. Maybe to a normal person it would look morbid or frightening, but to Vivi it was Lewis. This was Lewis.

Vivi curled up more into his arms and out of the breeze, and listened to the soft thrumming of the locket. “If you leave,” she warned. “I’ll find you somehow.”

Lewis seemed to melt around her, his skull again nestling down onto her head. “Pease don’t,” he hummed.

“You can’t stop me,” Vivi said. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the soft magenta tie he wore. “We’re you… buried in this suit?” she whispered, fingers gripping the edges of his coat. When she woke up, he would be there, she willed it. Dream or not, it didn’t matter.

“I don’t know,” Lewis admitted.

Vivi sighed. “It’s nice.” She would never let go. Even if it was one more day, or one more year, there was still time. Time enough left to reflect and remake lost memories, and turn the minutes into years and the hours into lifetimes.

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gospacegay · 7 years

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Dreams and Possibilities

So... This thing started out as a rusame short and grew like crazy! There is swearing. Get over it. There is mentions of suicide but It’s a very fluffy piece otherwise. Kinda smutty. Enjoy the alternate universe cuteness!

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The argument during the world meeting had spiraled out of control so fast. Alfred had something, or possibly lack of things that were wrong. Then Russia was on his case, completely angry beyond reason. Totally surprised, the always armed American whipped out a pistol. That was when Ivan took out his pistol, whispering “Nothing but broken promises.” Shocking everyone, he shot himself through the mouth. He then fell to the ground, limp and dead.

Alfred ran over but he knew it was far too late. The angle of the bullet was just too good. It ripped out so much brain matter on the way out, the guy would be retarded as all hell when he inevitably recovered. The living nations were not invulnerable, after all. “He killed himself because of me.” the freckled blond grieved, Ivan's blood still staining the carpet. “I thought you'd be happy, boy.” England replied coldly, having the nerve to kick the corpse on the floor of the meeting room. Everyone gasped at his rude behavior.

“Why would I be happy a defining part of my culture is dead?” America hissed, training the gun on his terrible father figure. “It's just Russia, lad. No need to do anything regrettable...” the English man begged, backing up from the lifeless body. “He taught me how to skate, and ice fish, and sail a boat, and cook pies. He visited me all the time when I was a lonely colony. He was a better role model than you. He knew how to make love, not rut like a sick goat. He was mine.” Alfred spat, advancing with the gun safety off. “But you said, but he just...” The emerald eyed Brit sputtered, crumpling as he was shot between the eyes.

Despair and loss shredded his rational mind. His long time crush and former nemesis had killed himself. Alfred had been so sure they could be friends again. It was nothing like being lovers, but it was better than total deprivation. Then Ivan killed himself. This was all Alfred's fault. The arguments, the bloody cold war, the bombs, the deaths of children in gulags... it was all indirectly Alfred's fault. He always had to be so stubborn and proud. A world without Russia was meaningless, no one to rival Alfred's light with shadow. There was only one solution now.

Not waiting to be stopped, Alfred put the gun to his own temple. Pulling the trigger, everything faded painfully to black. Death was a funny thing. Before this point, dying had been like falling asleep painfully. This death was different. For one thing, it hurt way less on the way out. He had never seen anyone after the fact. Even recovering and waking up, there had been no one there. He was always alone forever.

Yet Alfred was wearing white, in a bright white room, with Tony seated beside him. The short red eyed alien just stared at him. It was hard to tell if he was disappointed due to lack of eyebrows or notable mouth. “Hey cool space buddy. I haven't seen you since the 90's.” Alfred greeted. “So you had to fucking kill yourself. I stop paying attention for two decades and you fuckin' kill yourself.” Tony cursed, clearly not impressed. “You, don't understand... he killed himself because of me, and... I thought... were...” Alfred attempted to explain with watery eyes, the event still overwhelming. “The Russian dumb shit killed himself too.” Tony summarized sourly between Alfred manly not-sobs. Giving the distraught nation a pat on the back. “Don't worry about it idiot. Your space buddy will fix this. Don't fuck it up.”

“What?” Alfred squeaked, confused and distressed.

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Alfred sat up sharply in bed, heart racing. He instinctively reached for a reading lamp he couldn't recall owning. God, what a horrible dream. There was guns... and some kind of court room... and Russia died? The details were falling apart the more he recalled them. Everything felt super surreal right now.

He was Alfred Foster Jones. But that wasn't accurate either. His mind kept pronouncing Alfret, then a very unfamiliar jumble. It was just the fog from waking up, confusing him. It was time to get dressed quietly and make breakfast. He didn't want to wake people so soon. What people was he edging around again? Stretching his arms a little, an elbow bumped one of said people.

It was a big sleeping somebody all cuddled under warm morning blanket. The covered up somebody was taking up slightly over half the bed, sharing the blanket Alfred was trapped in. The freckled blond was terrified to look under. The physical urge to squeeze and tickle the half asleep bundle was stronger, and Alfred had always been impulsive. He gave the mystery person a big morning hug. Hearing a happy sigh, the nation was pulled back under all the blanket. Alfred nearly had a heart attack.

It was Ivan, sleep tousled in sleeping pants. He had been shot, he had been dead in the memory. He killed himself because of Alfred. Maybe it was a dream. It had to be, otherwise life was even more terrible than ever. With trembling hands, Alfred grabbed the Russian’s face and peppered it with kisses. That big nose, that brow, that sexy jawline, nothing was missed.

He was stopped mid neck. “Dearest, calm down. It's a Sunday.” Ivan grumbled in Russian, draping an arm over Alfred to pin him lazily. “I can't help it. I saw you kill yourself, and I don't know if it was a dream or real. Maybe it was a prophecy, it was so bad.” Alfred rambled, scared. Ivan freed the tanned blond's hair from it's scrunchy prison. Alfred eventually calmed, allowing his surprisingly long hair to be disentangled. He had never had it long at all, yet it had been long for over a century. The conflicting memories were both right.

“I suppose this nightmare had England in it.” Ivan soothed sleepily, now the bigger spoon and holding Alfred close. “It did, I shot him in the face. But it didn't make you alive again.” the younger nation admitted. “When I killed England for mistreating you, I promised you he was dead. I made absolutely sure of it sunshine. I even crushed the bones into dust and put the dust in a jar.” Ivan promised casually, clearly having made this oath before. Alfred remembered such a thing. It had been a first year anniversary gift along with a nice boat ride.

“It just felt real.” the younger nation whispered, still uncertain of reality. Ivan kissed that last shred of doubt away, snuggling slightly closer. “My god, how can you be so handsome and rugged at the same time?” Alfred flirted blatantly. Ivan blushed the slightest shade of pink, giving Alfred a squeeze. “I'll dress the kids if you make breakfast.” the ash blond volunteered, clearly not fond of cooking.

Alfred seemed both reviled and joyful over having to cook. An angrier short haired version of himself wanted to tell Ivan to shove a frying up his arse. His kinder souled self was faster, answering “Of course. I was thinking fluffy western omelets.” The additional statement of children, as in more that one was a bonus. He had always wanted a son, or a daughter. He would even be fine with anything in the middle.

He forgot about words when Ivan dragged his lazy ass out of bed. The Russian was fit, like underwear model fit. He could probably punch a hole through concrete or scare physics into letting him walk to the moon. Alfred drooled, raking into those sexy back muscles with his eyes. Then Ivan dumped an ugly university sweater over a carved body of god's finest marble. A low whine came from the freckled blonde. Ivan swiveled to look, just noticing. “What?” he asked, adjusting the drawstrings on his hooded sweater. “It's a Sunday. We should have crazy sex.” Alfred ordered more than asked.

God could Ivan blush when he had the tan of a snow man. “They're down the hall! They'll hear everything!” he whispered hoarsely. “I'll be good and quiet, We can do anything!” Alfred tempted, already tugging at the sweater impatiently. Ivan looked at the door, then Alfred. Like any other sex deprived overworked parent, the Russian jumped at the opportunity.

Alfred was face first getting ground into the mattress, a moaning mess. “This... was.... good idea.” Ivan panted, thrusting deep like a wild man. “More! Don't stop for anything.” Alfred ordered lowly, a bruising grip on his hips. The rhythmic fucking was amazing but Alfred had already come. It was all about Ivan now, for he always took a while to push over the edge. The ash blonde was easily the more sexually frustrated of the couple because he couldn't get out a quick orgasm in the shower.

Ivan's breath hitched as his pace turned erratic and rough. Finally he gasped, thrust deep inside, and came loudly. “Oh fuck, oh, your my angel.” he uttered, both men turning into a pile of blissful nudity. Not even a second later, there was knocking on the door. “Mama, Papa. Are you practicing fighting bears again?” a small boy asked. “No.” Alfred lied sheepishly, blushing as well. Still inside Alfred, Ivan stammered “I'll be right down. Go brush your teeth with your sister.” “Okay Papa.” the boy cheerfully obeyed, heard skipping away.

Ivan was quick to shower and leave, making Alfred suspicious. After languishing in the heat of the bed a few more minutes, he felt his used hole. There was a pearl of cum on his finger. That bastard never put his condom on. If Ivan made him pregnant again, he was getting shot. The last child had been ten long months without coffee, chocolate, or rum. Alfred damn near lost his mind. Between all the former British colonies giving him bad medical advice and Ivan treating him like glass, it was a miracle no one was murdered.

After spermicide type products strong enough to kill, Alfred washed, and cleaned some more. Not a single Russian swimmer was getting anywhere near his uterus this time. Hastily dressing, Alfred stomped downstairs while loading his pistol. Ivan was hiding behind his daughter, Alaska, at the kitchen table. “Annika, my little darling, lay flat so I can get a clear shot at your father's throat.” Alfred asked sweetly. Obeying, the platinum blonde batted sky blue eyes at him while climbing off the chair. It was normal for her not to talk much, despite having the appearance of an 11 year old.

“Don't kill Papa! He didn't build the pool yet!” Oregon protested with a mouth full of cereal. Ivan looked at his son with a disapproving frown. “You tried to make me pregnant again you sneaky rat!” Alfred hissed, the pistol only a foot away from Ivan's handsome face. “Just one more child, maybe it'll be Moscow!” Ivan cheered, having been at gunpoint over this before.

“I will not live without coffee or chocolate for nine months. I need them.” the freckled blonde threatened, slowly holstering his weapon. After a sigh, he kissed Ivan on the nose and began cooking. “New plan babies. Mama's gonna make you chocolate chip pancakes. Papa was bad, so he's getting one plain pancake with no toppings.” Alfred announced. The children were quick to turn on their father. He put on a pout, replying “Now I will starve!” Alaska was back in her chair, leaning in to whisper “I'll feed you some of mine, Papa. I love you more than Nikolai does.” The younger Oregon, appearing seven years old by human standards, snorted. “You want the pool too.” he muttered. Such loving children.

As breakfast progressed, Alfred sipped his coffee while watching his babies eat. “So, what are you all doing today?” he asked. “Papa said we're gonna play with Catalonia while he's working. Spain's house is huge, Mama. Catalonia has an air hockey table!” Oregon explained excitedly, making a mess of his breakfast. “Work on a Sunday?” Alfred asked with a pout.

Ivan shrugged, then rubbed his temples. “A very big problem has not been solved.” he said flatly, not keen on going himself. “I'll come. Maybe I can help, motherly wisdom and all.” the freckled blonde replied. With a tired smile, the paler nation nodded in silent agreement. The adult topic of politics was never discussed in front of their precious young states.

After breakfast clean up, Alfred combed and braided his hair into one large rope. Putting on his best Russomerican colored Hello Kitty sweater, the braid was made to match with a navy blue ribbon. He took the time to admire the silly shirt. A white eagle with red wing feathers was on Hello Kitty's clothes, while all 136 stars of the Russomerican flag were displayed in layered rings. The rings were centered around the cute kitten's silly dance. The sweater was a birthday gift from the Japanese Empire, a good friend of the couple and old wartime ally.

Once the children were picked up by Spain, Alfred and Ivan departed. The drive was not very long, since it was hosted not far from their Washington home. Since the Russomerican Republic was so huge and powerful, most nations had regular places to stay for the monthly meetings. They would never dare complain how far Washington was from their actual homes.

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Alfred was already not impressed as soon at the couple arrived at the meeting building. “What?” Ivan asked, knowing every look of his partner. “This is a dump.” the tanned nation muttered. “No, its cheap and efficient.” Ivan countered stubbornly. It was a dump, an old brick building with a lazy government sign at the front. Not a single flower bed or wall mural spiced the place up. They could have easily taken a wrong turn and ended up at a mortuary.

The inside was just as bad, with whitewash walls and scratched up wooden floors. The long meeting table was dimly lit, due to one light being burnt out. “How much time until people arrive, dear?” Alfred asked, running a finger over the table. It came back thick with dust. “Twenty minutes, maybe.” Ivan answered absently, pouring over papers in his briefcase.

Accepting the impossible challenge, Alfred tackled the dinghy meeting room. After changing the dead light bulb, The table had a soft white cloth cover. Snacks and potted flowers were stolen from another meeting in progress down the hall. Alfred longed to dust and mop the large space, but nations were already beginning to show up early. Resigned to living in dusty filth, the north American dropped next to his husband. Ivan was still brooding over a peace treaty proposal for Syria and Turkey, putting a grouchy expression on.

“If you frown too long, your face will get stuck.” Alfred teased, edging his chair closer. He gave a few kisses, nothing graphic. It was enough to make Ivan's cold mood melt to a dopey expression. An unfamiliar chuckle was heard as a stranger approached. Alfred tensed until he recognized the long wavy locks and flirtatious blue eyes. The nation was an old one, suspected to be Alfred's illegitimate father by most. They shared too many physical qualities for it to be a coincidence.

“France, long time!” Alfred greeted with traditional kisses on each cheek. Welcomes aside, the french man looked over Alfred's currently strong but trim figure. “You look great. I haven't seen you in years.” the man complimented, his pronunciations butchering the Russian language. “You still strangle my language like a boa, dear Francis. You always look so good in your suits as well.” Alfred replied in kind. Ivan glanced up at the overtly friendly chatter, jealously threatening “Alfred is mine.”

“Of course, sunshine, and you are mine.” Alfred finished the possessive sentiment with a smile. “Forever.” Ivan whispered lovingly, losing his dark edge again. France grinned and took several pictures with his phone. Several others were arriving, sitting at the table. France bid Alfred farewell with a kiss on the hand, then took his seat at the far end of the table. The second the last nation sat his bottom to a chair, the low chatter began.

“Thank you for coming to this... emergency meeting...” Ivan faltered despite his loud introduction, completely unheard. Alfred analyzed the seating arrangements quickly, years of raising tempestuous young honing his instincts. Ivan was about to start again, when he was hushed by kisses. Alfred then stood, and whistled so sharply it made the whole room twist to look at the source. Without a word, he forcibly picked up each guest and shuffled the entire table.

The result was a mildly confused group of nations that had nothing to say. Several nations murmured while snacking on the stolen plates of cookies. Admittedly, Alfred had been overly sheltered in his colony days, only picking up Russian and English. A happy brunet nation directly addressed Alfred. “We are wondering who you are.” the cute nation said in decent Russian, heavy Italian accent coloring each vowel.

Relieved to understand, the freckled blonde replied “I'm Russomerica, or part of it.” “I don't understand. He's supposed to be Russomerica.” another Slavic nation protested, gesturing to Ivan. Flashing the simple wedding band on his right hand, Alfred silently answered the question. “He's my beloved. We share the responsibility of monitoring all 136 states and territories.” Ivan added seriously.

“Think of little brother as Russ, and his wife as Merica.” Ukraine said, loving to dote on Ivan in public and make him squirm. Alfred personally didn't care if he was called a wife, for he did many wifely things. A few chuckled at the joke, and the meeting finally began. Due to the odd new seating arrangements, no one felt comfortable enough to talk over Ivan.

Still, others eyed the docile Alfred fearfully. A few were unlucky to know Alfred as the bloody Valkyrie of Russomerica, always alongside Ivan in battle. He was no stranger to war and death. Alfred had only lost a few battles since the Russomerican Republic had initially formed. That was almost three hundred years ago.

After watching Syria and Turkey bicker with Ivan over border reassignments, Alfred felt tense. Being so close to his husband, the freckled blonde could almost feel Ivan's internal anger as it built. “Accept these new terms or we will enforce them. Everyone is tired of your petty war.” Alfred ordered. Both warring nations looked at him dubiously with his Hello Kitty sweater and adorable blonde braid. Syria laughed mockingly, having to adjust her partial hijab. Turkey smirked, asking “Does your whore wife speak for you now?”

Instinctively, Alfred rose in anger. “Take that back.” he growled, glaring holes in the man. “I would take that back unless you want to die.” Ivan warned lightly. The fool laughed at Alfred, laughed. Upset, the freckled blonde slammed his face into the table hard. “I'm loyal and cute, and I look good in sweaters. You don't know anything about me!” Alfred roared, slamming Turkey's face two more times. Letting the nation go, Alfred retreated to his husband's side. A consoling arm was draped around his shoulders.

Syria paled, quickly signing the peace treaty and returning to her chair. Spitting out several broken teeth, the bloodied Turkey grudgingly added his own signature. “I'm not a whore.” Alfred whispered softly, upset. “Of course you aren't darling. You're perfect.” Ivan assured with a chaste kiss. With that little war out of the way, there was still a lot of time left. A few constructive dialogues managed to play out. Global relations seemed improved by the end, with several trades proposed between the forty nations attending.

The meeting ended, with a few stragglers the last to leave. Alfred could hear a conversation in rapid fire English down the hall as he cleaned up. “Wales, you can't. You were my ride home!” a young voice whined. “I don't care. I can barely afford to attend as it is.” an older male voice dismissed. “But, I need you!” the younger appealed, no avail. There was a slamming of doors, then stifled crying. Unable to ignore a child in distress, Alfred peeked into the hall. A boy, almost a teenager was slumped against the wall.

Clearing his throat, Alfred attempted conversation in English. Due to not using it everyday, it was quite rusty. “Hello child. Why you cry?” he asked kindly, Russian accent thick. “Oh, oh, Mr. Russomerica. I'll leave now. I didn't mean to be so upset.” the boy answered quickly, fiercely wiping tears with his ragged looking shirt. The child was too thin for Alfred's liking, arms like twigs. “Nyet, you come with me.” the taller nation insisted.

“Um, that's nice. But I still need to find a way to get home. I live really far away.” the child noted. Alfred ignored this, scooping the child off the ground. He was a light little thing, almost too light. “You see, I'm Sealand. I'm the best little country ever, but it's really hard.” the boy prattled on. “Child of England, da?” Alfred asked, seeing the same sandy blonde hair as his own abusive mother. Sealand shrugged, shivering and snuggling into Alfred's fluffy sweater. “I don't know. I've always been alone.”

“I alone too, once. Was very unhappy, until I meet Russia. Ivan, good man, best comrade. We will talk with him.” Alfred conversed awkwardly, wishing the child knew Russian. A minute later, Ivan returned to the meeting room. Coats in hand, he clearly wasn't expecting a rail thin child clinging to Alfred's leg as it ate cookies.

“Honey, no.” Ivan refused prematurely in Russian. “But, he's stranded here, and he's so cute and little. Can I please take him as a state?” Alfred begged. “He's a principality at best, off the shore of Wales. Wales. It's too far away.” Ivan reasoned. “He is so skinny and sad. You said our navy didn't have enough influence there.” Alfred argued back. Ivan rolled his eyes, retorting “He doesn't even speak Russian. He's just another mouth to feed.” “Hey. You keep trying to get me pregnant every chance you have. I though you would want another state.” Alfred bristled verbally, still mad about the early morning sex.

“I suppose he would be a suitable navy base. Ask him then.” Ivan sighed, giving up. “Sealand, you hungry and poor, da?” Alfred asked in clumsy English. “Maybe. What's it to you?” the boy stammered defensively. “I wish keeping you for my own. Little son.” Alfred said proudly, realizing after just how fucking creepy he was being. Ivan was right after all.

Sealand was being surprisingly positive about all this. “Like you're the mom and he's the dad?” he asked, pointing at Ivan across the room. Alfred nodded, explaining “Da, but many rules. Must learn Russian like other little ones.”

“You can't get bored of me and return me to the sea. And you can't beat me or tell me I'm worthless. And... you can't touch me... down there.” Sealand grew more quiet at he continued, shielding his groin fearfully from sight. Poor child of the sea, what trials and tribulation had he already faced? Likely many since he was English offspring. The late nation had a habit of abandoning his children in fields, or in this case, at sea. “Nyet, malchik. I love my children. Fight for them, da.” Alfred assured, offering another stolen cookie. After eating the treat ravenously, the boy smiled. “Okay. I'll be your kid. I've never had parents before.” he replied casually.

Alfred crowed with joy, twirling the child around. “I Mama, or Alfret Arturovich Braginski. He your Papa, or Ivan Zimavich Braginski.” he instructed, letting Sealand down. “I'm Peter Lawrence Kirkland.” the boy introduced. Alfred pinched the sandy blonde sharply, correcting him “Nyet. You are son, Peter Arturovich Braginski.” “Ow! Fine I'm Peter art pants Braginski.” he grumbled, rubbing his sore cheek. And so the family grew a little larger.

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A few years passed by, and the strange white dream never returned. Peter quickly learned Russian, becoming one of the family. Meanwhile Sealand's actual infrastructure was repaired and improved. The former principality with a population of four was transformed. It was now a notable Russomerican navy base, with twenty people living there full time to maintain machinery. Oregon was pleased to have a big brother he could play games with. Even Ivan tentatively bonded with Peter, taking him fishing and taking time to help with homework. The boy would never be blood, but he was just as close.

After making Alfred heavily pregnant, Ivan managed to avoid getting beat to death in the hospital. Still, California was a cute little baby. She had her mother's deep tan and freckles. It took a year, but the baby aged enough to sleep normally. After a month of being horrible to everyone, Alaska realized she wouldn't be ignored forever. A few trips to the mall later, the girl's head seemed screwed on straight. Alfred's crazy life finally started calming down.

That was until he woke up one night, discovering himself propped up and thoroughly mounted. Ivan was thrusting in frenzied fashion, panting hard. Enjoying the motions, Alfred could feel his own sticky excitement spilled beneath him. Suddenly Ivan pushed deeply and came with a cry. Hot release filled Alfred's hungry insides, his ass forcefully tilted so none could escape. Riding out the bliss, something came to mind in the groggy nation's head. If the cum wasn't going out, it could only go his... no.

“You worthless bastard! Get out of me! I don't want to be pregnant again!” Alfred growled angrily, bucking and trying to roll. “Oh just... oh, a minute.” Ivan whimpered, his still hard cock giving a mighty throb inside that stuffed passage. Oh hell no, he was still pumping seed inside. It wasn't much, but even one little swimmer was enough to ruin the rest of the year. Resisting, Alfred rocked violently and clenched his anus for all it was worth. He only succeeded in fucking thick seed deeper into himself.

Crying hot tears, Alfred felt the cock swell slightly. “I thought you loved me. I thought you respected me. All you want to do is use me.” the mounted nation wept in frustration. Ivan paused, panting as he rode out the last shots of cum. Alfred could feel every bit of it, his insides swelled with the stuff.

“That's not true. I care for you more than anything else. I love you so much I need to touch you constantly. You fixed my heart, and you're raising four perfect states. You're eyes, your hair, your cheerful optimism. Everything about you is so perfect. It makes me want to make you so full of our children, make the world a better place. We could save the world, with our happy perfect children. We'd love everyone of them.” Ivan gasped between thrusts, clearly starting another round.

The love behind every word was palpable. Heart fluttering, Alfred asked timidly “Do you really mean that? You don't think I look hideous when I'm pregnant?” Ivan started roughly fucking the filled anus, making Alfred melt into a puddle. “I want you more pregnant. I want so many children we need a van.” he ground out, hips rutting rhythmically. Alfred's body rocked in sync, so completely in love. Ivan did love him, even as a whale bloated with unborn young. Ivan loved him in his grouchy day pajamas and wild hair. He even loved Alfred during his Japanese cartoon obsession phase. To give another child didn't seem like a high cost if this cosmic love was the prize.

Six. The agreed limit was six children including Peter. Until the limit was reached, Alfred gladly let himself be filled and stretched. After rigorous secret midnight sex, he agreed to butt plugs that would keep every seed inside. Eerily enough, seed from that first night vanished before the plug was removed. There was absolutely no doubt he would be pregnant. Even so, Ivan wanted to keep up the act until the womb had completely sealed. Taking vacation time, the couple visited Saint Petersburg. Visiting was a loose term, since they were locked together in lovemaking usually. That few days turned into a week. Alfred was so delirious from all the mind blowing sex, he didn't much care what the excuse was.

They only stopped so Alfred could clean out over a week for his doctor's visit. The poor children were probably tired of hearing them “practise fighting bears” at unusual hours as well. Alfred had a very special doctor, one that had helped him through all the other pregnancies and troubles. There was so few doctors trained to deal with nations in the world. Admittedly Alfred only shared the talented physician's existence with former British colonies. Lord knew there was enough of them. If the European union got hold of the man, Alfred would never get medical care again.

Sitting in the stark waiting room, Alfred felt confident everything would be fine. With Alaska, Alfred had discovered he was pregnant while drunk off his ass at a New Years party. The girl turned out alright, if quite nonverbal. Oregon's pregnancy had been a nightmare of nutritionists and nurses. He didn't eat a single drop of anything tasty for ten painful months. It basically ruined child rearing forever. California had been okay to birth, but Alfred dodged food specialists like they were assassins.

“Braginski?” A nurse called out from an open door. The couple stood, escorted to a small office. The doctor was an ageing human, followed by a woman in a lab coat. “Doctor Varkins. A pleasure as always.” Ivan greeted warmly, for the doctor was one of the few he trusted. He eyed the young protege acting as the old human's shadow. “Why is she here?” Alfred asked, holding himself and clenching his legs closed.

“Relax, this is my replacement in training. Her name's Tiffany, or doctor Kinley.” the older man introduced. “But I just got you. Annika just shed her last baby tooth. What if she needs braces?” Alfred protested. “It's been forty years. I have a family of my own, and I want to enjoy my golden years.” the doctor explained patiently. Alfred nodded uncomfortably, sorely reminded of human fragility. It had taken Alaska forty five years to physically age to preteens. Oregon grew slightly faster, taking fifteen years to reach his current state. California would likely grew at the same rate, representing a warm state.

“Tell me about your kids, they looked cute.” the younger doctor said kindly, her Russian carrying a distant Irish tinge. Alfred nervously glanced at Ivan while Doctor Varkins checked his vitals. With a nod, the pale ash blonde put a comforting hand on his husband's leg. “Well Annika, she's my little snow princess. Then there's Peter. I adopted him. He's my little sailor. Nikolai is second youngest. He wants to be a farmer when he grows up. California is just a babe, but I knew she'll do great things.” Alfred rambled, proud of his offspring.

“California... like the state?” the woman asked dubiously. “Well, for now. We can't seemed to agree on a first name. Ivan wants Katyusha, but I want Nadia. It's fine. We have five more months before she figures out things beyond pooping and sleeping.” Alfred explained casually. “I told you. Nations. States. All that.” the older doctor mentioned while listening to Alfred's insides with a stethoscope.

“Well your vitals are good, why visit so soon?” doctor Varkins asked curiously. Blushing, Alfred revealed the good news. “Well, we're trying again for another little one. I wanted to make sure things were alright. And Ivan needs a check up. He keeps coughing.”

Ivan looked shocked that he had been tricked into the doctor's office. When he tried to flee, Alfred's steel strength kept him trapped by the arm. The stubborn Russ was inhumanly strong, but his husband had always been able to match him. “I'm fine. I don't need help.” Ivan hissed stubbornly. His heart beat, blood pressure and other lesser things were measured and noted.

“Well there's your problem.” Dr. Varkins said confidently, pulling out a series of stock market charts. The dips in Ivan's health were still too closely linked to the price of oil. “You need to diversify your exports, so you stop getting these coughs. And you haven't been eating enough vegetables.” The ancient nation pouted as he was scolded like a child. Alfred grinned, with a pleased 'I told you so' attitude.

“Does this mean these folks are Russomerica?” the trainee asked. “He's the Russo, and I'm the Merica. But yes, we are Russomerica.” Alfred patiently explained, remembering when Dr, Varkins first freaked out over this. “Oh wow! I worked with Ireland, but I never though I'd meet my own nation.” the girl gushed. Alfred shied away from the attention, nervous around humans that could recognize and extort him. Playing nervously with a braid, Alfred's fidgeting was stilled by Ivan's arms. “He's shy, you can't be so direct with him.” Varkins corrected, approaching Alfred slowly. “Do you need anything else checked?” he asked courteously. Alfred shook his head, unnerved by how the younger doctor stared at him intently. They fled the office soon after.

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Officially two months pregnant, Alfred was feeling exhausted on the living room couch. Ivan and Alaska were enthralled in a show about big game hunters. Sealand and Oregon were on the floor, designing amphibious cars. Baby California was finally sleeping upstairs after wailing like a siren for an hour. Lazily dragging a couch quilt over his tired form, Alfred could afford to close his eyes for a second.

The dream was vivid and white. It was a white room with white tile and white benches. It was all so white and painfully familiar. Three gunshots, and one wrist cutting. Suddenly Alfred could recall being red haired, having killed himself in a bath tub by cutting his wrists. Blonde and shooting himself in the temple many times. Long haired and jumping to his death. It all felt frighteningly real. A short grey figure entered the room, using some sort of hologram device ripped right out of a movie.

Knowing and not knowing, Alfred had five confusing memories over lapping of this creature. It was safe, it was his space buddy, his confidant. Excited, he scooped the short figure up and swung it around the room. Despite never having met this creature, Alfred felt relieved to be reunited with it. It squabbled at him in a language he couldn't comprehend, until it was sharply changed to Russian.

“-ing Christ. What language is this time line in anyway?” the grey man cursed. “Who are you?” Alfred asked, refusing to let go. “You understand now?” the grey figure asked, resisting being cuddled. “Yes, little space buddy.” Alfred confirmed, the affection slipping out of him. “God fucking christ, you're going to ooze sugar if you keep this up. So, how's my favourite US of A?” the grey man asked, giving up on escaping Alfred's hugs and snuggles.

“I don't understand. Who is yuss of ah?” Alfred wondered, head cocked. Browsing alien symbols on his device, the short figure shook his head. “Wow, okay. Forget whatever I said. This line is damn confusing. What happened after 1776?” he asked bluntly. Absently petting the bald bulbous head of his friend, Alfred felt a name spring to mind.

“Well Tony, I was my own country of Americana. But it was really hard. England kept blockading my ports to starve me. Spain kept pressuring me. Ivan was courting me at the time, and became really mad. He fought off England so I could focus on Spain. After a while Ivan proposed to become a republic with me. Oh, it was so romantic. You should have seen the roses and the moonlight. I couldn't say no to that charmer. We've been married as the Russomerican Republic since 1889.” Alfred explained warmly.

“Was just checking. Normally I leave you idiots alone twenty years and you both end up killing yourselves. My boss wasn't happy about that.” Tony replied, still browsing his miniature projector. “Oh cute. Congrats on the twins. Fuck you have a lot of children. Breed like goddamn rabbits in this time line don't you?” he continued, browsing pictures of things that looked unfamiliar.

“Twins?” Alfred asked, confused. “Those things in you right now. Yeah. Fraternal twins.” Tony explained. “Why we would kill ourselves? I love Ivan too much to kill myself.” the freckled blonde protested, nothing cleared up at all. “Don't worry about it. I'm just happy that you're happy. Oh and by the way... The twins are Moscow and Washington, so Ivan can stop riding you like a used dirt bike.” Tony informed dryly.

“What?” the blonde sputtered, surprised.

----------------------------------------------

Alfred woke sharply, aware he was holding a napping Oregon and not a grey alien man. Ivan too had passed out on the opposing couch, the wildlife show still playing. Alaska and Sealand were long gone, but that was normal. The older states were becoming teenagers and highly independent. Looking fondly at his husband, five gruesome memories flashed by.

Ivan, throat cut and bleeding onto the cushions. More memories, his head with a variety of gun shot wounds. Another, his eyes lolled back in death, mouth foaming from poison overdose. Panic gripping Alfred's heart, the snoozing Oregon was nearly dropped on the floor. The anxious nation scampered over Ivan's still form. Checking for a pulse, he went giddy with relief when one was found. Clinging to the splayed man, Alfred kissed that pale skin, licked it, cried with joy to touch it. Ivan wasn't dead. Thank God Ivan wasn't dead. Sealand and Alaska strolled in on the odd scene, both eating three ice cream bars at the same time.

“Sex on the couch? Really?” Alaska snorted derisively. “Your papa isn't dead. I touched him. He's alive.” Alfred whispered loudly, still sobbing as he squeezed Ivan's rib cage. The older nation woke with a cough, surprised. “What?” he gasped, lacking air to make real volume. “Mama's losing her marbles.” Peter replied, in no rush to rescue his adoptive father. Finally taking a breath, Ivan forced himself to sit up. After Ivan rubbed Alfred's back and fed him the rest of the ice cream bars, the grieving nation calmed down.

“It's the hormones, Alik. Nothing bad happened to me, and nothing will.” Ivan promised, wiping a mess of melted ice cream off Alfred as he sniffled. “It felt real, and there was a white room. I died, you died. It was terrifying, Vanya.” the upset nation whimpered, clinging to his muscular husband. “It was just a dream.” the ash blonde soothed with a kiss.

Alaska and Sealand were gone again, probably off to play video games. Oregon was still sleeping like a rock on the couch. In the rare moment privacy, Alfred relaxed and sagged into the soft touches. “Marrying you was the best decision of my life. I can't even imagine the madness the world would suffer if we hadn't.” he murmured, lacing Ivan's collar bone with gentle kisses. Ivan returned the kisses with one of his own, reducing both of them to lovesick lumps on the furniture.

It was true. Alfred was so lucky fate hadn't dealt him a worse hand. He would continue to cherish his blessed life, and his happy family. No matter what war or ecological disaster befell him, Alfred would always be thankful for true love.

#rusame #hetalia #fluffy #russia #america

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riverdalefiction · 7 years

Text

Faded Scar Trails

Summary: Once Ms. Grundy is out of his life, Archie is battling the loss of his first love, wish to pursue music and his need for football. His father is there for him, as well as his friends, and Archie is struggling to accept things as they are and figure out where he stands.

Rating: M

Genre: Hurt, Angst, Comfort, Drama, Canon Compliant, Missing Scene

Pairing: Mentions of Archie x Grundy, Mentioned Betty x Jughead, Mentioned Archie x Valerie

Timeline: Post Chapter Seven: In a Lonely Place, 1x07

Warning: Mentions of abuse, Panic attack, Mentions of self punishment, Anxiety and depression

Word count: 5,328

Author’s note: This was intended to be angsty from the beginning, but as I wrote I included a lot of things I know about anxiety and self harm and mental illnesses from my personal life. There are few detailed panic attacks and the entire fic is written from the perspective of someone suffering from light version of PTSD and anxiety, bordering with depression. Self harm is subconscious, so nothing graphic on that. However, if you are triggered or feel uneasy about any of this things, I do not recommend you to read it. Do it if you will, but at your own risk.

Fingers tug at guitar strings, the melody rugged and dark. Note by note, sound by sound – all equal the conundrum within the boy’s mind. It’s too rhythmic to be chaos, yet too intrusive not to be chaos. Personal, invasive; the only way he could put his feelings into order. It’s a steady flow, from closed eyes through the back of his neck then quadriceps to settling like heat, making home in the middle of his palms until spreading to the fingertips.

His eyes flutter, breathing steady but shallow. Feelings gut his throat, like a knot from his lungs to the tips of his tongue. Red hair dishevelled and shirt lying forgotten on his bed, with the guitar pressed tight against his chest in a position that was all but comfortable, Archie Andrews is a mess.

One finger pulls the capo to second fret. His pinky remains on the E string, third fret and he tugs at it. Instead of hearing the melody, he feels the vibrations through his skin; a shaky breath escapes his lips.

The wood feels cold against his bare skin. It’s late and he should be sleeping, so everything he plays is quiet and melancholic, a pandemonium of his own. Another tug at another string at another fret but it feels all the same; a cry for something different, something better.

Images flash before his eyes. He sees himself and he’s younger, maybe ten, and it’s his first time carrying the guitar in his hands. It feels heavy and smells a little old, but his dad smiles at him as he follows him out of the basement. Archie’s small and the guitar is big, his fingers not quite long or skilled enough to pick at the strings but he does it nevertheless. He spends the rest of the afternoon with Fred, who’s teaching him the basics.

Archie hasn’t been that happy his entire life.

Loss of the sharp strings beneath his fingers feels like a puzzle missing. He ignores the strain of his fingertips or the suspicious looking lines on them. With the back of his hand he wipes his forehead, hair sticking to it in a mush of heavy humidity and his own sweat.

He takes in a deep breath before playing again, softer this time; slower. It’s a melody he’s played for weeks now, combination of a gentle strumming pattern, gravely minor chords, with a finger-picking intro that shifts according to his mood.

It’s sharp, now. It stings and he thinks music shouldn’t sting over his fingertips, but he presses them to hard against the strings it shouldn’t be possible sound’s still being produced.

His breathing gets heavy and strumming pattern fastens, new images forming right there in his room. He sees Jughead, angry and sad and almost breaking because Archie messed up; the strumming gets violent. He sees Betty, crying because he can’t be the man she wants him to; his hands fall and he has to struggle to pull them back. He sees his dad, disappointment lingering in his eyes when Archie told him he wants to do music; his fingers stop and he can’t do it anymore.

He sees Grundy on the 4th of July and he thinks how much of a fool he’s been. He sees her long hair, now a mess from the countless times he’s ran his hands through it. Sweat shimmering on her neck after they’ve made love at her place, and he feels her fingers on his bare chest before she kisses him on the lips.

Archie closes his eyes. He can feel them stinging more than Grundy’s fingerprints burned into his skin; it hurts more than it did when they sent her away. Now, he wonders whether any of it was real - whether she looked at him and saw just another boy, or she looked at him and saw someone she was genuinely interested in.

He’s always thought it was the latter. Now that he’s been forced to see the other side of the things, he isn’t sure which answer he needs.

He feels played; toyed with. He feels like none of it matters, because at the end of the day, it didn’t feel like he was anything special to her. She was his first - and he was just a number to her. He knows that. He guesses that. All he thinks is, he should’ve seen that when it was happening.

When he realizes he’s still playing and the entirety of his left hand is burning from the pressure on the strings, he releases them. The other one is red from the strumming because using a handpick wasn’t necessary when he picked the strings. All he hears is his heavy and raspy breathing, lungs filling with air but never full of it. He gasps for more, but oxygen keeps reaching only to the entry of his throat no matter how hard he inhales.

His heartbeat is rapid, he realizes. His hands are sweating and there’s saltiness on his lips and hair is glued to his skin and he knows it’s not from the overheated room. He feels so cold, so lifeless and he can barely lift his hand to wipe the sweat off his lashes.

For a moment, there’s no panic. He feels like he’s weightless and the weight pressing on his chest and not allowing him to relax seems to float inside his rib cage, like an alien mass made of particles of his own. His eyes are still closed and he tries to picture it, green and blue and crimson in the heart of it – a geoid, just like the Earth, an irregular shape clogging up his body.

Until it erupts and he’s clutching the bed sheets, eyes wide in horror. His mind thinks of Grundy’s fingers on his body and he feels sick, then Betty’s heartbroken face and his hands fall limp, and the resentment in Jughead’s eyes when he cancelled their plans and Fred’s face and Veronica’s and Valerie’s and they all merge into one—

Somebody turns on the light in the room opposite of his. He sees Betty enter, even though it’s well past two in the morning, face a little redder than he’s used to. She doesn’t notice him, instead goes to bed and turns off the light.

Then he remembers that her sister’s pregnant and missing and Jughead is going to come back soon and Jason is dead and he has no right to act like this.

His breathing steadies only ten minutes later, when he’s so out of air he thinks he’s going to die. But he doesn’t, and he feels like shit and guilty because all his problems consist of a broken and betrayed heart. He doesn’t know how to deal with all this, but he has to, because everyone else has their own problems and his are minute compared to them.

So he puts back the guitar afraid to touch it again, pulls the covers to his chin and the light’s off until Jughead comes back, without a word. Archie doesn’t fall asleep for a while, mind racing back and forth around everything that’s happened since summer.

After first panic attack, Archie Andrews feels like an utter drama queen because it was over nothing.

“Hey, Arch,” Betty says as she topples down on the other side of the table, Jughead right by her side. “How are you?”

The redheaded boy looks up from his guitar. His light eyes are glassy and it doesn’t seem like he sees anything clearly, but he still smiles. “Great, yeah. You two? How’s the investigation going?”

It’s just the three of them and they’ve known each other since forever, but he still notices when the silence befalls. He thinks of the times they spent together not talking, or doing anything in particular, and it’d feel just right – now it was the two exchanging glances that didn’t include him.

He understands. It stings a little, but his smile doesn’t falter because he knows they have every right to exclude him from whatever is going on between them.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to tell me.” It’s honest. “I get it.”

Betty doesn’t look at him. Her eyes fall to her lap and he sees blush creeping onto her cheeks, but she doesn’t say anything.

Jughead, on the other hand, looks him in the eye and Archie knows the dark haired boy understands. Putting a fry in his mouth, he shrugs and grins – as Jughead Jones does.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” he says. “We know you’re busy anyway, wouldn’t bother.”

Archie nods. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Soon, Veronica and Kevin join them and he sees Valerie wave at him from the other side of the school yard. The two pipe in with the newest gossip, unaware of the fact that none of the three are paying much attention to them. Jughead and Betty are discussing quietly, eating fries and burgers and green apples, and Archie’s head is everywhere but here.

He wants them to stop talking, to tell the sleuths that he wants and can help. There’s nothing keeping him busy, as music’s not his getaway anymore because it drags him into feelings he’d like to forget. He can’t concentrate on the football field without feeling the pressure in his chest and his breath growing rapid every time he’d look to the bleachers and see a light-haired girl with glasses. He’s got nothing to do, nothing to occupy his thoughts with so it’s just running in circles.

It’s the same, every night. He sees all of them, looking at him like he’s failed them and he knows he did.

But he doesn’t say any of it, because he understands that Jughead and Betty don’t want his help because he’s not a part of their team. He’s been a dick to both of them, despite neither of them deserved any of it - and it’s only fair he’s paying for it now.

Instead he strums the guitar again, head in the clouds. His fingertips are sore and red and hard from the pressure he’s putting on the strings and he doesn’t notice when the four look at him, exchanging glances in concern.

He’s too far gone already to notice any of it.

Archie almost slips off the edge when they find Polly, without a scratch. He’s in class, not up to date with the current events in Riverdale because he’s trying to have good grades and he feels awful for not noticing Jughead and Betty and Veronica and Kevin were all missing from class.

He excuses himself for a hall pass and only reaches the bathroom in time to rid of his poor breakfast in one of the stalls. He’s coughing and there’s this all too familiar feeling in his chest that he’s learnt to accept as a part of self. He crouches above the toilet until he’s done, and then he has only a minute to prepare until the anxiety hits in full blast.

This time, he tries to get a hold of himself. He stands up, supporting his body against the stall walls and his back feel awful cold sliding next to it. Eyes still closed and mouth parted, he’s counting up and down but he’s not steadying, he’s not getting better.

He sees it, all over again. Feels her fingers over her body, hears Jughead say they don’t need him, Betty’s face now filled with resentment and he knows Veronica would agree with them. And he knows it’s okay, because that’s just what he deserves and he’s just being melodramatic again.

“Archie?” he hears Moose’s soft voice, right outside his stall. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. He lowers his oxygen intake until he isn’t so loud anymore, and his voice is steady enough to sound normal. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Mr. Willock’s worried about you. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

It doesn’t cross Archie’s mind that his teacher didn’t have to send Moose to check in on him. He could’ve been on the toilet for all Willock knew and it isn’t a regular thing for any of the teachers to send students after other students.

None of that was what mattered in the moment; Archie just needs to get a control of his breathing enough to not sound erratic. His palms leave wet imprints on the stall door when he exits, fingers shaking and knees barely supporting his decreasing weight.

Moose eyes him, up and down. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure,” Archie replies.

He doesn’t wait for Moose to follow, or check if he was behind. Until the end of the day, the feeling in his chest rises to his throat few more times and each is worse, because there is nothing left in his stomach. He barely eats when he comes home, dropping onto his bed as if it were his saviour.

He doesn’t stop feeling this way until he’s sound asleep, with Jughead back from his crusade with the girl next door. He doesn’t know Jughead lingers at the door, watching his best friend and noticing his pale he looks; doesn’t know that Jughead doesn’t fall asleep until he’s made sure three times that Archie’s covered in blankets, with a glass of water by his side, texting Betty for advice on how to deal with the situation.

He doesn’t know any of that, because he’s too tired to do anything but sleep.

Things get worse, gradually. It’s not abrupt – bruises on his knuckles aren’t obvious until they’ve been a constant for weeks. They only get bigger and darker, accompanied with cuts on his legs he gets from morning jogs through the forest. His eyes are darker now, wearier; the purple shadowing into blue beneath them don’t do much to hide that fact. He barely sleeps anymore, though he’s learned to control his breathing so Jughead, now a permanent resident of the Andrews household, doesn’t notice anything.

There’s a punching bag in his room. It’s his best friend, now that his other two have one another and are dealing with problems much bigger than those petty he has. Every time he feels her hands on his they carve into his skin a permanent mark of what he’s been true - and it hurts, hurts so fucking much but he never says anything - every time he feels it, he punches.

He punches and pounds and roars until his bare knuckles are itching and all too warm and he can see blood on them. He punches because he’s too angry for music and he’s broken up with Valerie a long time ago and his dad has problems of his own.

“I thought people use gloves for boxing.”

Archie slips and misses; his hand flies right by the punching bag and it lands on his face, followed by a deep groan. He turns to face Jughead. The dark boy leans against the doorway, arms crossed on his chest. There’s something in his eyes Archie can’t decipher.

“No, I—” he begins, but there is nothing he can say. “What are you doing here?”

Jughead raises an eyebrow. “I thought I live here?”

“I thought you were out with Betty.” He doesn’t mean to make it sound accusatory; it’s honest and simple, yet a shadow crosses Jughead’s face and he winces at the words as if Archie said something horrible. “I just wasn’t expecting you to come home so soon.”

“We finished sooner,” Jughead replies. There’s heaviness to his tone, one that doesn’t slip Archie’s notice.

He knows they’re together, but doesn’t say anything. It’s none of his business, anyway – there’s no jealousy towards either of them, only disappointment in the fact they figured it’s better not to tell him, and he understands. He didn’t give him a reason to tell him, after all; he barely even sees them anymore. Had it not been for the fact Jughead’s still his roommate, he would’ve fallen out of contact with them a long time ago.

Archie nods, taking a long look at his pulsating knuckles. He notices the way he can see them blister with blood and raw skin, sweat tickling and itching, irritating his skin. They don’t hurt yet, but he knows it’s going to be a pain in the morning and he’d have to use a disinfectant before he goes to sleep to prevent it from getting worse.

But he’s used to it, now. He’s used to the pain that comes with boxing without gloves, to the pain of branches sticking themselves in his legs and arms and sore feet from running around wearing bad shoes; he’s used to going to school with people not noticing how tired he looks and no one knows he hasn’t slept longer than three hours in a month.

“All right,” Archie says. “I’m going to take a shower and—“

“Archie.” Jughead’s tone is authoritative and decisive; enough for the redheaded boy’s eyes to shoot up. “Let me look at your hands.”

Instinctively, Archie pushes them behind his back. They’re beginning to get sore now, knuckles threatening to burst but his heart is still beating fast and his breath is hitched from the strength and will he’d given in to punching the bag.

“Why? They’re fine.”

“You spent two hours boxing without your gloves, Archie.” Jughead’s voice is tired, older than he remembers; he looks at his best friend and sees a boy—a man—he didn’t get to know. “It can’t be good for your hands. Let me see them.”

“I said it’s fine, Jug. Don’t worry about me.”

It slips his mind what Jughead says, and he doesn’t realize that the boy’s been gone for a little over two and half hours, spending his time working on the school paper with Betty. He doesn’t think of how he could know that he’s been boxing for two hours, because Archie doesn’t think anyone notices what’s been happening with him, because everyone’s so consumed with their own troubles his feel miniscule, insignificant.

He sighs, averting his eyes. It falls heavy to his chest but he knows that there’s nothing to be discussed about concerning the way he boxes, especially not with Jughead. He doesn’t wear gloves because it makes it feel more real, more like he’s fighting an actual person and not just a punching bag and when he’s done, when his hands are in pain and muscles sore, he knows he’s doing something to rid his emotions.

He tries to get to the bathroom, but Jughead presses his hands against his chest and pushes him back inside, closing the door. “You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Jughead—“ I’m sweaty and it’s freezing, he means to say, but doesn’t. He falls on his bed and realizes Jughead now has at least an inch over him and he’s not as skinny as he used to be.

His dark hair is a mess, with grey crown beanie half dangling off his head. He looks angry and mad about something and for the first time in a while, Archie feels guilty that he’s allowed someone to see him like this. It was his plan to box for another an hour or so and get to bed before Jughead comes back, with bandages covering his knuckles and a glass of water by his head.

Now that he stares into the grey eyes, he thinks he should’ve been more careful.

“If you stay like this you’ll get hypothermia,” Jughead states. “If I were you, I’d talk fast.”

Archie sighs. “I like boxing without gloves. It makes me feel good.”

“No, buddy, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Standing before him, Jughead seems big and threatening and Archie wonders what he did to make him this angry. He feels a little scared, because Jughead doesn’t get angry. “What’s been up with you?”

“Nothing. I’m serious, Jug; I’m fine. Now let me go to the bathroom.” He tries to get up but Jughead pushes him back down.

“Ah, no.” He shakes his head at Archie. “What you’re doing is punishing yourself for whatever reason you think it’s for.”

“I’m not—“

“No? All right, tell me then – why do you box without gloves on?”

Archie thinks about it, but there’s only one answer that makes sense and is honest. “The pain makes me feel good.” He thinks how stupid it sounds and how Jughead must laugh at him now, because Archie’s just so stupid.

But no laugh ever comes. Jughead’s poker face falls and anger rises and Archie can feel the same happening inside his throat.

“It’s called self harm, Archie. Punishing yourself. You likely don’t even understand that is what you’re doing, but your hands are crimson and all shades of indigo. You’re not a masochist, Archie. You know that. But pain releases stimulants to your brain similar to those of absolution. It makes you feel better because it feels like you’re redeeming yourself.”

Jughead falls silent and Archie averts his eyes because he feels looking at him would burn.

“I’m here for you, Archie. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to tell you that. Whatever’s been happening, you can rely on me. I know how it feels to be alone and you were there when I needed you and I’ll be there when you’ll need me. And if it’s at four pm after school or three am on a Sunday, I’ll be there. You don’t have to be alone.”

He feels Jughead’s stare, but doesn’t look up. He knows he’ll continue.

“You can’t sleep, you stay awake and think it’s the end of the world and if you fall asleep, maybe it’ll all end and you don’t know how to feel about it. Or maybe it’s not the end of the world and you don’t know which would be worse, because you walk around feeling like no one knows what you’re going through. They just don’t seem to pay enough attention and you know you should be mad about it, but you’re glad.”

Jughead swallows dryly; Archie can hear it.

“Self punishment is a psychological response to trauma, Archie, when people think it’s their fault when they’re the victim. They take all the blame on themselves and it results in a shift of their mind, slowly driving them insane. Whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault. Please, Archie – don’t slip. Don’t.”

Archie’s eyes linger on his feet for the longest time as his mind processes Jughead’s words. He thinks about the tone, emotional and deprived of any sign of sardonic or sarcastic remarks, honest and overwhelmed. He tries to think about what he said, but he can’t because he refuses to think Jughead’s wasting his precious time that he could spend solving murders with Betty on him.

His fingers feel cold again, blue at the tips. His lips are quivering and chest tightens more and more as he realizes that Jughead knows what he’s talking about – the only way someone could know it is from personal experience. And he recalls the time when he was without a roof above his head, forced to sleep at school and at the Drive-In and under bridges because no one noticed, and he thinks if the reason why he didn’t tell anyone was the same one why Archie keeps to himself.

It’s not; he knows that. Being homeless and feeling dizzy, distracted or anxious at times are quite differently positioned on the scale of bad and he’s just being overdramatic again because it’s far from being the same. It doesn’t help that his breath is getting hitched in his throat again, and his heart is ready to make a hole in his rib cage, fingers trembling as he brings them to his sweaty forehead.

“Archie,” he hears Jughead’s voice coming from far away. He thinks it might be his hand on his shoulder, but he’s not sure if there even is a hand there – his body is hypersensitive and his chest is cold and he feels like he’s losing his grip. “Archie, take a breath.”

He does. It’s painful and his throat stings at the touch of air, the redheaded boy clutching the bed sheets and blinking faster than is humanly possible because everything is blurry. His thoughts are a long string of one after another, following a trail of thing she can hardly even take hold of before they’re gone and only leaving the heaviness in the back of his throat.

Archie doesn’t cry. He pants and gasps with eyes wide open and there’s tears streaming down his face but it’s not tears, it’s his body reacting to the immense pressure and anxiety it needs to fend off.

Her fingers are imprinting themselves on his chest and he closes his eyes shut. Forces himself to feel his feet attached to the ground, his hands holding the bed sheets. Jughead’s hand on his shoulder burns but he uses it to anchor himself, just like he’s done countless times before.

When he can finally breathe again, his throat is sore and he’s sweating more than he did when he trained. There’s a blanket over his torso, source of heat he didn’t realize he needed. He doesn’t say anything and neither does Jughead, for a while. Archie doesn’t say it’s the first time someone witnessed a dramatic episode of his.

So he does the only thing he finds appropriate: he apologizes.

“Archie, no,” Jughead says quietly. His voice breaks and Archie wonders if it was that embarrassing, and he doesn’t look up. “Archie, stop doing this. Panic attack is body’s way of coping with the anxiety of your thoughts.”

“I’m wired up to be like this,” was all the exasperated Archie could muster.

The grip on his shoulder tightens, tugging him. He looks up and there is so much concern and worry and sadness and guilt on Jughead’s face he feels overwhelmed again. This time, though, he doesn’t look away.

“It’s a perfectly healthy response your body does to protect you, Archie.” Jughead’s voice is soft and so are his eyes. “It’s nothing to feel bad about. It happens to me, to Betty, to Veronica, everyone. It’s normal.”

“It’s pathetic.”

Jughead doesn’t say anything for a long time. “How long has this been happening?”

“Since October.”

There is a deep sigh from the other boy and he lowers his head. When he looks up again, something feels different. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” admits Archie. “It’s stupid and irrelevant and you all have bigger things to worry about.”

It comes as a shock to Jughead, judging by his reaction. “You’re my best friend. When I was in trouble, you took me in without a second thought.”

“It was—”

“No. Let me finish.” There is a shadow of something for the briefest of moments on the dark haired boy’s face. “I noticed something was wrong. We all did. Every time we tried to bring up the subject, you rejected us before we had the chance to begin. I tried to help you the best I could because I could see you were struggling.”

“Yeah, but—”

“God, Archie, do you ever listen? You know how much I hate speeches and now I’m giving you one so you better shut up and let me say all I want, all right?”

When Jughead rises his eyebrows, Archie realizes he’s waiting for confirmation. “Yeah. Promise.”

“Everyone tried to help you, but we let it slide because you didn’t want it, and it seemed you were dealing with it on your own. I hated it, I still do, but I thought you deserve to get through it without us being nosy around your business. Now that I know we were wrong about everything. . . Forgive me, Archie.”

“I don’t have anything to forgive, Jug.” It’s honest. “And I’m doing fine.”

“You’re doing horribly. Panic attacks alone are heavy shit and they don’t seem to be the top of your troubles.”

Nobody says anything and after a while, Jughead averts his eyes and glances at the house visible from the Andrews’ window. It’s odd, for Archie; the silence between them has been unsettling for so long he no longer recalls when it was like this. Having his best friend by his side after having a breakdown feels like healing herbs to his wounds, to say the least.

He leans into Jughead. Figuratively, at first, until they’re hugging and Archie feels a different kind of loose marching his way. Jughead’s holding him and he remembers how it used to feel when they were brothers and it reminds him of that, but Archie still isn’t crying.

“It’s all right, bud,” Jughead tells him. “If you want to tell me, I’m here to listen.”

Archie nods, recollects himself just long enough to say, “Tell Betty she can come in.”

All Jughead does is nod, then raise his voice and say her name. She barges in, red and flustered with worry washing over her, but neither of the two ask him how he knows.

He tells them, despite that. He tells them he’s noticed and known since it began, that he can see them communicating late at night through the window when they think he’s sleeping. He tells them he understands, and they don’t ask what. He tells them he’s happy for them and tells them that he knew she’d be waiting outside because it’s the only thing he could picture her doing in this situation.

He feels lighter when he’s done. Betty’s eyes are puffy and lips quivering and even Jughead by his side looks distraught. They exchange a glance and Jughead tightens his grip on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Arch. We both are,” he says, and Archie knows he means it. “We didn’t want to bother anyone with it and it was all kind of a byproduct of the investigation.”

“We thought you hardly noticed anything happening around you,” Betty adds and it’s not supposed to be mean or hurtful and it doesn’t hurt. “I’m sorry.”

They fall quiet and Archie feels gratitude swarm over him. Betty sits on the chair in front of him and Jughead’s still having his hand on his shoulder, what anchors him more than any other thing in the world right now.

When he’s ready and he begins his story, they listen without interrupting.

The next moment is when Archie finally cries.

A month later, things are still gloomy and he still feels her hands over his chest when he can’t fall asleep at nights. He hears her voice whispering his name, can’t look into the music room where they kissed and the movies they’ve seen together become poison for him.

But now, he has Jughead by his side all the time, Betty as well. When things go bad for him at least one of them help him through it, make sure it doesn’t get too bad for him to handle. He’s going to see a therapist soon and although he’s not looking forward to it, the two assure him it is for the best.

Things aren’t good – they’re far from it. But for the first time, there’s sunrise on the horizon and Archie feels a little lighter, a little happier and picks up the guitar two months after the confession. He’s learned to accept things as they were by March and by April, her hands don’t sting as much as they used to.

By the time June arrives, her hands are replaced by Jughead’s grip on his shoulder and his hat and Betty’s cheeky smile and high ponytail. It’s Veronica’s pearls and Kevin’s snarky comments, his dad’s honest concern and hugs he wakes up to. It’s the care from all the people in his life, and even though things are still bad, the horizon isn’t just sun anymore – it’s hope.

He’s not good when they he goes on the roadtrip with Jughead for the 4th of July. It’s sleepless nights and flashbacks they both try hard to wipe away, but it’s the only way he can get through this. And he’s glad he has Jughead, because if he didn’t, he doesn’t know what would’ve happened. Things are hard and he’s not good, and won’t be good for a while.

But he’s so, so much better.

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mindmmxvii · 7 years

Text

Nein

Hello Blog, how’s your blogosphere? Is it chilly like our atmosphere? Do you even have seasons or weather over there? Well if you don’t you aren’t missing much right now, though I have to admit I’m partial to the warm. Funny how I was considering moving to a place known as the windy city then. Anyway, on to things of more substance.

See the doc

Help Sis make goal list (much like mine)

I woke up at 9 today, considering I went to bed after 1. Did a quick 7 min workout, showered and took Al back to my Dad’s house. Work went pretty smoothly. Monday’s are typically a slower catch up day and today was no exception. I went by my favorite client for our 10 AM Monday onsite visit and was greeted by cookies and oatmeal (weeee). I had lunch at home and made a few pit stops for work before showing up for my doctor appointment. I was strangely calm all things considering. I filled out the patient forms and waited for my NextDoor recommended doctor. When the doc came, I told him everything. Well everything that pertained to me medically.

I explained that for the past... 7 years? I have been slowly having more and more heart issues. I explained about the one weekend where I woke at 4 am due to my heart beating so rapidly... Up until the sleeplessness and chest pain recently. I explained how it has been a slow decline in my heart’s “stamina”, that doesn't usually affect me during the daytime but has plagued me during times of relaxation or sleep. I went over how I sometimes feel spasms in my muscles at times, how I would wake up with no pulse in one extremity and after moving around slowly geting it back, about how I would have pain in one leg in sync with my pulse that would slowly fade away, or the terrified race my heart would have during the day at the early stages. God thinking back I must have sounded like a mad man or a hypochondriac. Maybe I am? Honestly I’ve never written down all the “symptoms” I have had, I’m sure I could have gone on longer if I prepared.

He was exceedingly nice and went to great lengths to make me feel comfortable while I was talking. He even brought me tea. He then proceeded to take my pulse, blood pressure, then sent me down for an ECG and a Holter monitor. Now an electrocardiogram (ECG) is basically where they hook little probes up to your chest and monitor the electricity of your heart for a little bit. It gives you a quick snapshot of how your heart is pumping. The test was painless, just hooking cold gel things up to my chest and laying down. A Holter monitor is basically a longer version of an ECG. As I type this I have little probes attached to my chest that are recording every beat my heart makes. I’ll keep it on for 24 hours then give it back so they can go through the data. Oh last thing is blood work, which I will do tomorrow, provided they have openings for me. The ECG readings and other minor checks, are available right away, so walking back to his office had me... hopeful? I have had physicals and blood work in the past years but I never told anyone of my problems, so they never dug too deep. I wanted these results to come back quick and for him to say “Oh look, you have some heart disease!”. I just wanted to know the problem so I could fix it. Haha see I want to fix my hard problems now, instead of ignoring them.

I didn’t get that. My blood pressure was 110/60, heart was at 55 bps, and the ECG all looked normal. He said the ECG and heart beat was a little on the low side but that was normal for very healthy people. Honestly I’m not too surprised as I am feeling great today and plus why would one visit to the doctor magically find my problem? I needed to show them my problem when it was happening. Sleeping would do that. Playing video games will also do it. I’m not even going to touch that statement right now.. So much to examine with my priorities and where they were at... Ugg. Anyway, looking at me, you would think “oh he is a physically fit skinny person, there is nothing wrong with him!”. I’m sure that’s what the doc thought, as he then proceeded to prescribe me sleeping meds. He had mentioned them before when we were talking, maybe he thinks I am just trying to scam him for some pills? I was throwing symptoms around like a monkey who just found some poo. mrahh I’m a mess.

I left shortly after and I figured my only hope at this point is to try my best to have the most restless sleep of my life so they catch some weird shit tonight. Ha, first night in a long time I hope I don’t have a full nights rest. I decided that I deserve a little treat so I stopped by Penn Station on the way home. First time eating out, by myself, this year actually. I get a 12″ veggie, a small fry, and a cookie (don’t tell them but I always steal an extra cookie, I’m such a kleptomaniac). I stuff my face as soon as I get back to my basement and watch the newest It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode. Humm I’m content. So I suppose people are right when they say happiness is a full belly, because today is the first day I went over my calorie count! I did so fantastically, like almost 900 calories over (not counting my activity for the day). Fast food, and cookies, strike again.

I dive into my guitar and play for a couple hours. I’m feeling better at this point so I grab my sister and we talk major shop. We decided to make a list exactly like mine and slowly work toward some agreed upon goals. We got her signed up for GPG (Gateway Pet Guardians) and had some pretty exhausting conversations about her aspirations and where she sees herself in a year or two. It’s a slow thing but I think I am reeling her out of her fantasies. They are a great place but we can’t stay there for any meaningful amount of time without causing damage. Sometimes irreparable damage.

Now I’m sitting in bed after my normal bedtime activities wondering about what this means for me. I mean, I told someone about my issues, something well I never thought would happen. I told him and I’ve told you blog. Well I really havn’t actually. I haven’t told you, Blog, the reasons that brought me here. How when it first was happening, when I would pace for hours till I thought my heart would calm down the entire time wide eyed and freaked. How I told my Dad and he said it was nothing to worry, just to deal with it, that we didn't want the ER visit expenses. At the time I was not insured for health care. I haven’t explained how 6 months later I finally found a job and had money to afford health care, then about 3 months later I mustered up the courage to see some one and admit my problem. I saw a doctor my family has been to who ran some tests (ECG I think and something else that x-rayed my heart) and gave me a pep talk about how I was most likely going to die. Honestly the entire talk seems like a fever dream at this point. I don’t remember a lot of the finer details but he made my situation seem like it would lead to a short lifespan. That doctor died a short time after that and I haven’t told anyone else of our conversations. I haven’t thought about that day in a long time. I dwelled on it so much at the time, and as time went on I just wanted to ignore it.

I was more of a carefree person but I changed to a more focused and analytical person after that. I honestly had faced the prospect of death before that day, on the numerous occasions I had thought I may be dieing when I would have one of my episodes. I was slowly but surely coming to grips with my own death. I didn’t want to die, just if it happened, it happened. I wasn’t going to sit around worrying about it when I most likely didn't have time to spare anyway. As I was saying, things became more clear. If they didn’t help me in the short term, then why was I doing them? College? Not worth it. Investments? Nah. Marriage? Irrelevant. I wasn’t a psychopath or uncaring though. I found I really couldn’t be completely selfish. I ended up taking out two life insurance policies, why burden my family financially when I’m gone? Marriage wasn’t for me but I still got the most out of longer relationships, so I had two 3+ year relationships since that time. Both were still ruined by me and choices that favored the short term.

We are all still animals and subject to the bodys wants. I have sexual urges and I figured with my new outlook on life, I should act on them as much as I wanted. I could end up hurting people but in the end I could just move on, it’s not like I could have built something to last even if I wanted to. I worked on things that mattered to me and ignored many of the problems in my life for a long as I could. I was a wholly good person, but I sometimes did things because I wanted to get the most out of my experiences. If I ever got the urge to do something that may upset someone, I put myself first and acted.

Man blog, I feel like I am rambling now. Glad you could listen to me drone on forever. Well things came to a climax recently and I fucked up so majorly, it flipped my switch. I mean I think I actually want to live. It’s like typing those words gave them new meaning, like they aren’t fragile anymore, they won’t just float away. I figured I’d be dead by now back when I first made my decisions, but here I am typing away, apparently a very healthy person according to my doc.

I’m not afraid anymore. To care and cherish, to embrace my feelings I cut off so long ago, to explore what the rest of my life could hold, to just plan for more than what I can get right now. It breaks me to say these things though because I may have health issues. I’m not sure what I would do if I was told all over again that my long term plans would most likely be fruitless, that these big questions didn’t need answering, that love isn’t for me. I’m sitting here crying I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose her. maybe I need support but I’ve made sure I’m doing this alone. Why does this hurt so bad?

Ha I didn’t mean to offend you blog, you andI are in this togther. Typing things out to you is... it’s collecting my thoughts and giving me time to process them. You are invaluable to me now blog and I would hate to lose you. Well look at me. It’s past 1 AM again. Ah I thin I’ve split enough of my guts, I need sleep. Horrible horrible restless sleep. My bed is so empty now I can spread out and never touch another soul.

to cheers -mind

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