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cdarkheartzero · 3 years

Text

Diary of a Security Guard

For the always wonderful Rissy @rissynicole who I promised this to for being just...amazing.

Prequel found here-

https://cdarkheartzara.tumblr.com/post/622506786343288833

Data log entry 6555

Been watching Zim battle his PAK for a few (days) now. It has been SO mentally exhausting just to see, let alone experience. But that determination to get his PAK legs working. Imma be honest, it’s downright inspiring seeing him spaz, spark and struggle just to get back up n’ try it again once he catches his breath.

He even got Skoodge trying to activate his- few of the other smeets too, actually. I can’t tell whether he knows it or not (he’s pretty oblivious to the world around him so I doubt it), but he has a lot of fans among the youngins. They might find him annoying (cuz let’s be honest here, he is) but he has this unique…. charm(?) to him. Little bastard just doesn’t know when ta quit.

I can see the stress and strain of his struggles are starting to get to him though. He just hasn’t been himself lately. Physically Exhausted. Less destructive (again- lemme be honest- I AM ALL FOR but under normal circumstances). Hasn’t been doing much eating or sleeping. He’s just so fixated on this that it’s basically taken over his entire life. Can’t tell you how many times I have found him in the incubation room the past few shifts, tryin’ so damn hard to stand on his legs he basically passes out.

The smeets should be sleeping now. It’s pretty late and I see all the other guards settling into their seats relaxin’. Now’s the time to piss around, the break we all deserve. Alas, I can’t get that little shit outta my head. The pain on his face. The dedication and exhaustion in his eyes. It’s been burned into my organic brain ever since I had to stun him the first time. I don’t think I have ever been that scared before. I thought… I thought I could have killed him. That he wouldn’t be there the next morning. That this little ball of chaos would be erased from my life. And it was worse than anything I coulda imagined.

I wanna do something for him. I know I shouldn’t. ‘Specially after all the shit he puts me through. And I really shouldn’t play favoritisms but I dunno. There is just something about Zim.

Now, don’t get me wrong. He drives me crazy. He’s a little demon spawn. A selfish little piece of shit. More than once have I seen him sacrifice a playmate to make a quick escape or use poor Skoodge as a flesh shield. His bomb gifts haunt me very soul- I swear I hear them ticking in the walls relentlessly, taunting me. But he brings me such a calming ease. It’s so weird. Like… I wanna ring his neck sometimes but just having his little body in my arms brings me such warmth. His voice makes me want to slam my face against a wall but I honestly can’t fathom it not being there. I just want to be there for him. And do everything in my power to make him as happy as I can.

What did he do to me?

Ugh. I’m pulling my lekku out at my desk. Think, Zara. Think. There’s gotta be something I can do. I’m mindlessly fumbling through my clutter, still rackin’ my brain around what to do next. Suddenly, a sweet scent fills the air and I realize I opened my candy drawer.

Hmmmm…. it’s not much but it’s the thought that counts.

I look over to Kira and tell her imma need to take 5. “Candy break?” She asks, watching me sneak a few pieces away. “Something like that” I reply.

Walking down the hallway to the smeetery felt like an eternity. What do I say? How will he respond? Lord, what if he wakes the other smeets and I gotta clear out my whole snack stash to not upset the others? What if he cries? If his PAK spazes out again, what if I have to shock him again? What if I fail my mission? What will the control brains do to me? what if… what if I have to kill him? How would I live with myself if I...hurt my smeet? Shit. I gotta stop doing that. He’s not MY smeet. He belongs to Irk. I’m just a guardian, nothing more. But… I never want him to leave my side. But he also has a job to do! For Irk! I hope he never becomes an invader. Keep him here, where it’s safe. Maybe the science division or something… hmmmmm.”

“Uhhh…” I hear next to me, a random voice sounding concerned. It breaks my concentration and I see another guard, head slightly tilted, staring at me. “You good, man?”

Oh! Seems I have been standing at the door for some time. I laughed. “Yeah. Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

“It’s cool” she smiled “just don’t let the higher ups catch you wandering around aimlessly.”

“I appreciate it. Thanks!” I said waving as she went about her way. “Higher ups?” Yeah. Not a whole lot of fear there. Nothing can be worse than what we’ve already experienced.

The door opened, inviting me to the darkness of the smeetery. Was it always so cold in here? The only light shines from a few wires and screens on the walls but other than that, it’s pretty pitch black. A totally different feel to the liveliness of the early shift when spirits are high and bodies are active. Luckily, our vision is enhanced in our tubes, far before we go online so nighttime is never an issue for us.

I creep over to the nesting area, where all the little bodies are snoozing (or snoring in Skoodge’s case) and see those ruby eyes staring at the ceiling. I notice his antenna perk and he looks my direction, instantly making a face of aggression.

“What?”

That the hell kinda greeting is that? Little rude shit. I wanna smack him outside his little skull but I take a deep breath and calmly whisper. “Ain’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m your guard. It IS my business. Why ain’t you asleep?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Something bothering you?”

“No.”

I can see it written all over his face in glow in the dark paint. “Ah-ha. You really are a bad liar. Is it cuz your legs?”

“NO.” He turned to face away from me.

“Hey. Listen: you’re going to get it. I know you will.”

“But how come Tak could so easily? All mine do is attack me.”

“Just because she got it faster than you, that doesn’t make her better than you.”

“Zim never claimed it did.”

He’s hurt. His words and his feelings are battling against each other. Tak being able to activate her PAK legs without any difficulties was eating him alive but he would never admit it.

“Listen… Zim. It’s going to get easier. You just gotta keep at it. Small steps get you far in life.”

He shrugged, sitting up, curling into himself. “Zim wonders about that sometimes. Maybe… he isn’t meant to get it.”

There it is. “Of course you are.” I said, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “I believe in you. You are going to find a way. You never give up. I don’t think you know how.”

He looked my way, eyes wide and glassy. SHIT. Imma make him cry!? I didn’t mean to!

“You… you do?”

Huh?

“Of course I believe in you, dummy. And I will be here every step of the way. I got you.” I said, grazing my thumb across his cheek. A smile took the place of that awful frown and his eyes lit. “Here. I got you a little something, but only if you try to get some sleep. You got a long day of training with your PAK and you need all the rest you can get. Oh, and don’t let anyone know I did this.” I said putting my finger to my lips.

I reached into a belt pocket and grabbed a wrapped hard candy. With two fingers I held it in front of him, he looked at it inquisitively. His grubby little hands reached for it and I let him grab it. He stared at it, slowly unwrapping it and Then glanced back at me. I guess he didn’t trust it.

“It’s not drugged or nuthin’. Just some sweets.”

Again, he stared at me.

“What?”

“Your accent is really weird.”

“Just eat the damn candy and shut up” I said, pushing the sweet into his mouth. He just huffed but suckled on.

“Now DON'T cause anymore problems and get some shut eye. I will see you bright n’ early.”

He just puffed his cheeks and rolled over. Think I handled that well. And maybe, hopefully tomorrow will be a better day for him.

Smiled and waved on my way out. Dunno if he saw me but it doesn’t hurt. Walked into the hallway, into dread. Leaned against the wall and slid down.

Us E.L.I.T.E.S can’t disobey orders from the Control brains but… I pray with everything I have in me that things stay like this forever. Cuz’ if i ever had my mission changed or if I had to hurt him… idunno what I would do.

Zara out

#invader zim #iz #zim #zero’s art #sketch #invader zim fanart #iz fanart #zero’s oc zara #diary of a security guard #smeet zim #long post

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darthmaulification · 3 years

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15 with Maul for the Angst Prompts? 🥺

A/N: dropping this at nearly midnight, but i’ve finished it and i’m proud of it so here’s a late night snack. 😤

also, the song that inspired this one was hard feelings by lorde (also technically loveless, which is the 2nd part of this particular audio, but mostly hard feelings) and i do use a lyric from it in my story. 😊

thank you for requesting the prompt, and i hope you enjoy!! 💗

prompt: 15. "i think we'd be better off alone."

content: angst (but a tad more mild), gn!reader, a break up yet again, but also more mutual, like two people collide to share just enough of a relationship that it hurts when they part, but also the relationship is implied to be Toxic, an embarrassing amount of figurative language, slice of life type deal going on here

word count: 1,504

You met Maul when the weather was good. The vast sky had been pulled taut in all directions— a cerulean blue overwhelming in its vibrancy. Most days nothing had broken up the azure, cloudless and thus without rain, but the sun, which followed it’s charted course day in and day out dutifully, bringing with it a near boiling heat.

When you met Maul, the sun had been sitting in it’s throne like a king, at the very peak of the crest it would slope down as hours ticked by. It shone so brightly that it bathed everything, exciting the flowers that rose to meet it and angering your fellow farmers who complained that the intensity was too much for the infant crops. It obscured, only for a moment, when Maul’s ship had passed beneath it.

He caught everyone’s attention, even yours, but only you caught his.

He approached you amidst the wavering haze above flat ground, that tricks the eye into thinking it’s there. You thought he was part of the mirage, how could you not? The strange visitor from his silver ship, his skin a flaming red and tattooed, wearing black robes far too heavy and dark for your planet. You almost had yourself convinced until he closed the distance between the both of you so hastily that it was like he fully intended to be standing amongst the crops alongside you all along.

(Later, Maul would tell you that he had only stopped for fuel, but had caught sight of you in the fields, angelic in your white linens.)

“Hello.” He had said, his voice like the thick purr of a Loth cat and his gaze the molten glaze of honey. He smiled, and his teeth were pitch black and glossy.

(A dye, he would also tell you later.)

“Hello.” You had replied politely, and when he extended his hand to shake yours, you had marveled at how his black-decorated, crimson skin felt like the heat surrounding you, only a living warmth instead. Maul then exchanged his name along with a suave flirt, and you gave him your name as well, gifting him with a blush on your cheeks. That’s when you learned he was bold and did everything with confidence.

The interest only grew from there, of course.

All the while, the sun sat stiff and blistering in the blue, blue sky and the air was dreadfully torrid, made even more unbearable by the lack of a breeze, but there were no shadows in sight, not while you and Maul talked, or when he offered you a drink, or when he walked you to his ship with his arm in yours, or when you both laughed and smiled and drank and swapped stories and even cuddled.

All in all, a good sign. A very good sign.

Until it wasn’t.

Maybe it was the lack of wind.

You learned very quickly that Maul was not only the charming, intelligent, if not hot-headed and cocky, Zabrak that you had made him out to be. You cottoned on very quickly and abruptly to his aggression, his brutal temper that would flare at the slightest provocation to the thin thread it hung from. Maul demonstrated to you, on multiple occasions, his wrath, and his willingness to kill instead of maim, or otherwise show mercy on his selected enemy. It bothers you as much now as it did then, and you would consider his anger a billowing red flag.

But at the time he was so new to you that you forgave his outbursts and strokes of cruelty because you had thought that since people could change, Maul surely could as well. And to be fair, you did what you could, successfully quelled his fury more often than not. But it was still hard to want to be close to a man who burned so intensely at his core that it hurt to be near.

And that made the dry season even hotter. For better, and for worse.

(Mostly worse.)

As weeks passed with Maul, and the summer reached it’s fever pitch, you and Maul had softened up enough to each other that you shared intimacy and closely-held secrets, often both under the delicate watch of the moon, when the night brought with it security and a tender break in the heat. Nighttime was always easier, you realize now, when there was no pressure from wandering third parties from the village, or duties to attend, or the sun to make you squint.

It made you realize just how difficult daytime could be, how consumed those hours were by work and people, how busy it all was. It made you loathe the dawn, wanting to keep the star-dappled midnight sky for as long as possible because that’s when you didn’t toil away in the fields, and when Maul was yours and only yours, and when you didn’t have to worry about his temper igniting, or the switch of his lightsaber, or the pain he’d inflict, or the crimes he’d—

Thinking of it now, your only good memories with Maul took place during nighttime.

Except one. The last memory you have of him.

You had been drained and tired by the oppressive heat that the sun had wrought during the day, and the almost constant pleading with Maul not to slice down any more of your fellow villagers that were terrified of him. You were drained by the effort of dousing his fire, the glares of your once friendly neighbors who’d believed you betrayed by picking Maul over them, and of course the heat made you sweat the life from you.

And of course, it was that night when the darkness didn’t quell the oven-like heat suffocating you.

You and Maul argued. It was venomous, spiteful, hateful— but you won’t dwell on it, it doesn’t mean much anymore anyways, besides the last few words you spat at one another.

“You are an ungrateful, pathetic bitch!” Maul had roared at you, his lips pulled back in a snarl and nothing but contempt in his eyes. It had felt like a slap in the face at the time, but now when you think of that moment in all it’s infamy, you only sigh and shake your head. Maul only ever knew cruelty, how was he to act without it?

“And you are evil!” You had screamed back like some wild animal howling, sobbing so hard it sounded like shrieking. Maul only laughed, humorless and mean, and he cocked his head, palm flitting to rest on the hilt of the lightsaber that you knew could flash it’s fear-inducing red at the press of a button.

“Have you just noticed?” Maul had cooed, and that was the first time you had ever been scared of him.

“I want you out of my home, my life. I think we’d be better off alone.” How you managed to say that to him when you had been so stiff with icy dread and a wavering voice, you still don’t know.

Apparently though, it may have been the heat that hammered the final nail into the coffin because Maul left, bitterly throwing you one last insult by telling you that being in your house was like choking on magma. You didn’t say anything back, not while the fear still gripped you by the throat, but once he was gone fully that’s when you cursed his name, his bloodline, his everything. You let yourself get as angry as him in the privacy of your home, for as long as your body allowed it, and until you were shaking and raw.

And despite everything and yourself, and how much you knew he didn’t deserve that hypothetical satisfaction, you wept. But strangely, and a bit curiously, it felt more like the relief of the dry season’s long-awaited rain, not the heartbreak of the love, if any had really been there, lost.

It was comforting.

Months later, when Maul is long gone and the wistfully childish part of you daydreams, you think of all the possibilities that could have been, had the heat not been so sweltering. Maybe, in some other reality, a different timeline where different choices were made, you and Maul met when it was raining. Maybe then it could have worked out, if everything had been dampened, simpler... more cold.

But the sun shines bright, sucks all the moisture from the ground and leaves plants wilting and the freshwater low, and it means you are once again sweating in the middle of a crop field tending to the struggling new shoots.

You sigh, a long exhale from your nose, and you wipe the gathered droplets from your brow. The sun rays beam down, infinite and unforgiving, until you walk to the canopy of a tree, to the shade where they can’t touch you. The semi-coolness dimples the skin of your arms with goosebumps, and the drop in temperature is a welcome change.

You sigh again.

I think it’s time to let go of this endless summer afternoon.

#star wars #star wars darth maul #darth maul x reader #darth maul x you #darth maul #writing prompts #angst prompts #anon ask #anon #orion answers

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vagrantblvrd · 3 years

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AU where Luke and Leia are the children of the queen of Naboo and powerful and well-respected Jedi Knight, just about the age to marry and it’s this Responsibility hanging over their heads.

Their parents would never marry them off to someone horrible, but that’s not the point, and anyway, anyway, they know their duty.

(It breaks their parent’s hearts, but barring the same sort of Very Specific and Unique events that conspired to allow Padme to marry Anakin the best they can hope for is to like their future spouses, so.)

But then!

Conspiracies and the whatnot, and whispers of war spreading across the galaxy thanks to some faceless warlord pulling strings from the shadows and so on.

Worlds that co-existed, thrived, suddenly at one another’s throats and out of fear for their children’s safety they arrange for them to visit dear friend Bail and Breha on Alderaan.

(There’s meant to be a celebration, eligible suitors for Luke and Leia while keeping them far from skirmishes that have taken place too close to Naboo.)

Unfortunately Leia gets sick just as they’re about to leave, nothing too worry over, lose sleep over, but travel would only make it worse so she’s to stay behind while Luke and leaves for Alderaan on schedule.

(He visits her, the night before he leaves. Sneaks into her rooms the way he used to when they were younger and supposed to be asleep hours ago but young and foolish and the kind of reckless rebellion of the young and so on.

Leia’s tired, still recovering but she still manages a smile, a laugh, when Luke tumbles in through the window a though their parents haven’t been training them since they were young.

Politics, of course, but their father is a Jedi Knight and their mother is the queen, and anyway, anyway, any clumsiness they show these days are deliberate, so.

They talk, aware this may be one of the rare chances they’ll get like this again, what with their duties and responsibilities and privileged as they are the universe is far from fair.

Luke smiles, jokes, but there’s a flat tone to it that Leia hears all too clearly and Luke -

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says, wry twist to his mouth.

It’s a childhood joke borne of the stories their father and his former mentor would tell them at bedtime, well-worn phrase that heralded the kind of adventure that made them into legends, and now -

Leia grips Luke’s hands tight in hers because she does as well, dread a heavy weight in her chest.

“Don’t go,” she tells him, knowing he has no choice in the matter. “Luke, please.”

It’s on her face, in her voice, her yes, and there’s nothing they can do.

So.

Luke smiles, jokes, reminisces with Leia about the adventures they had running around the palace and its grounds and causing no end of trouble to their minders when their parents were busy until Leia falls asleep and Luke slips out the window and back to his own rooms without waking her.)

Leia knows long before word reaches Naboo that Luke’s ship was attacked in transit, all hands lost.

(Knows when their father senses it too, his rage and grief enough to send her to knees, draw the tears she refused to shed until then. She’s Force-sensitive, yes, but her father and brother are stronger, and if he’s so certain Luke is gone, then there’s no hope left for her.)

BUT THEN.

Luke’s not dead, of course he’s not, what kind of story do you think this is?

As it turns out, Luke’s ship was attacked, but one of his guards, escorts, manages to get him to an escape pod and away from the ships painted to look like one of Naboo’s allies turned jealous and bitter and angry over years and some insult or other.

(Conspiracies on conspiracies and so on.)

Lands on a planet, rocky and desolate and very much alone, injured.

Stumbles out of the escape pod, emergency supplies held tight in hand and absolutely certain he can’t stay there. Can’t wait for rescue to come, not knowing if whoever attacked his ship might find him first and finish the job that claimed his ship and the lives of people he’s known since he was young.

Manages to get a decent ways away from the escape pod before exhaustion and his injuries lay him low.

Cave in the distance he might be able to seek shelter in, assuming there are no native predators or otherwise living there, and he almost, almost makes it before he passes out.

Comes to however many hours later to a voice he doesn’t know pitched low and annoyed, but the hands checking him for injuries - he hopes, would be the worst luck to be robbed, looted, after recent events - are surprisingly gentle.

“What?”

Luke said that out loud, didn’t he.

“...Yes.”

Luke would laugh if it didn’t feel as though his head might burst, result of his skull meeting with a bulkhead at inadvisable speeds, and that had happened before the escape pod landed, so.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbles, because he does have manners. “But if you are robbing me I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer.”

There’s a long pause then, whoever is there with him so still Luke has a moment to wonder if they’ve left, offended by Luke’s words or disappointed he’s not worth robbing and then -

“Hmm.”

Luke frowns, risks opening his eyes and sees a kneeling beside him, oddly shiny.

“’Shiny’.”

Luke squints, tries to make out the figure, but it’s difficult as there seem to be two of them, and -

“I think I might have a concussion,” Luke informs the oddly shiny figure, and passes out again.

Later, however many hour later, he comes to with that same annoyed voice in his ears, but now there’s a fire merrily burning.

Nice, because it’s nighttime now, and cold and -

“You’re awake.”

As far as observations like that go, it’s incredibly unimpressed.

“Hmm,” Luke hmms, fuzzy memory of his oddly shiny companion doing the same, and also Luke being a natural-born smartass,

(Hereditary, he’s been told, along with stubbornness and fondness for eschewing things like common sense and a flair for the dramatic.)

There’s a sigh, long and heavy, and then the sound of the oddly shiny person moving closer, shadow falling over Luke that he can’t see with his yes closed the way they are, but, well.

His father is a Jedi Knight and he and Leia take after him in noticeable ways.

Luke opens his eyes and thinks oh, and hmm, and Leia is going to kill me, because his companion is indeed oddly shiny.

Or, well.

Perhaps not so odd, what with the armor and all.

Din - because of course it’s Din - is super unimpressed with Luke and his everything and Luke is just ??? because Mandalorian???

Not known to be BFFs with Jedi or Jedi-in-training, like Luke???

But Din can be excused for not partaking in this old feud/rivalry/animosity between them because Luke isn’t dressed as it befitting someone of his position, no.

He’s wearing the clothes he prefers on long trips when the are no other dignitaries along because to start with, they’re comfortable? But also Luke likes to tinker??? Little projects and such and maybe his father sent along a speeder or some other tinker-able vehicle to keep Luke occupied on the trip, use when he gets to Alderaan or...whatever.

Doesn’t look like the royalty, especially after recent events, and nothing to mark him as the prince of Naboo, or a Jedi-in-training and sworn enemy of the Mandalorians, and really, it’s incredibly, amazingly convenient, but it is what it is.

Din grumbles and complains, but he stays with Luke until he’s able to stand on his feet and even walk a fair distance without falling on his ass, and sighs when Luke invites himself along later that day when he says he has business elsewhere,

And then the two of them traveling to...somewhere, Din didn’t volunteer that information and Luke was too grateful to be headed away from where his escape pod crashed and potential search parties (doesn’t feel like trusting to the fact they’d be friendly towards him) and so on.

Doesn’t chatter incessantly as the annoyed set of Din’s shoulders heavily imply, because Luke is still injured and while his head isn’t an agony at the moment, it’s hardly a joy to deal with.

But, he does talk.

A lot.

About everything and nothing, off on a tangent here, there, wander far and wide the better to annoy Din into forgetting what questions he asked Luke. (The ones asking who he is, how he got there, and where the hell he’s going next, because Din’s patience lasts only so long.)

To Dins quiet horror, however, he actually starts to like Luke???

Like.

Annoying, yes, with the talking? But he doesn’t complain about all the walking they’re doing, or sleeping conditions when they make camp for the night and so on.

And, alright, sometimes it does get a bit lonely out here - conveniently far enough away from settlements or cities where someone would definitely recognize Luke - but he doesn’t tell Luke that, goodness no.

They run into trouble, after a while.

People who took part in the attack on Luke’s ship and other baddies on Mandalore connected to them and it’s a matter of bad luck meeting worse luck, and anyway, anyway.

There’s a fight, and some guns with the pew-pew shootout and Luke being the one to save Din’s life, escaping with him to some abandoned mine or underground tunnels, something and -

“Ah,” Luke says, breathless from the running and hiding and saving Din’s life and then hauling him somewhere that was supposed to be safe, even with the help of the Force.

(His head is killing him again, nowhere near healed enough to expend as much effort as he has just now, but it that or die, and he’d rather not get Din killed as well since the man’s only shown him kindness - and his special brand of charm - and anyway. Yes.)

He’s expecting it to be the people who ambushed them, but to his surprise, wariness, dread, it’s a Mandalorian. (Armor’s a dead giveaway and all.)

One who cocks their head when they see Luke’s face, blaster dipping slightly at the sight of him.

Luke tries for a smile, but Din groans, low, pained, and the best Luke was able to do was check the wound wasn’t life-threatening and slap a patch-job bandage over it before they made a break for it, and -

“I don’t suppose it would be asking too much if you had medical supplies, would it?” Luke asks, expecting to get shot for his trouble - sass, snark - but the Mandalorian holding them at blaster-point huffs out a laugh and holsters said blaster.

Jerks their chin towards a side tunnel and strides off, clearly expecting Luke to follow, and after a moment’s hesitation - no way to know if the Mandalorian is taking them to their deaths - but no better option available to them, so Luke follows.

(Murmurs an apology to Din when he groans again, guilt heavier than Din’s arm slung over his shoulder, the weight of Din and his armor, knowing he wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d left well enough alone after stumbling on Luke. So.)

Mystery!Mandalorian leads Luke to a room with medical supplies stored neatly. Clean and well-lit and after getting permission - nod of Mystery-Mandalorian’s head and wave of their hand that seems more amused than mocking - Luke sets about properly treating Din’s injuries.

Fumbles a bit, because Luke’s still injured himself, over-extended himself in the earlier fight, and it’s catching up to him now they’re somewhere arguably safe.

(No one actively trying to kill them, anyway.)

Mystery!Mandalorian watches as Luke tries to et his hands to stop shaking - stress, injury, exhaustion, any of a dozen reasons and he swears, low under his breath because now isn’t the time -

He startles when Mystery!Mandalorian takes the medical supplies out of his hands, didn’t notice him moving close enough to do so, and allows the hand on his shoulder that guides him into sitting on a stool as they do for him what he can’t in that moment and looks after Din.

Watches quietly, closely, but Mystery!Mandalorian knows what they’re doing, and truthfully Luke knows if they intended them harm there would easier ways, more efficient ones than this.

So.

He watches Mystgery!Mandalorian tend to Din’s injuries, and blinks up at them stupidly when they turn back to him, head tilted just so.

“What?” Luke asks, and Mystery!Mandalorian huffs out a laugh, quiet breath of laughter and then it’s Luke’s turn to be treated.

Careful, gentle hands and Luke’s mind drifts while Mystery!Mandalorian cleans and dresses a blaster burn on his shoulder, graze courtesy of a shot he hadn’t seen coming, attention on Din instead and he knows if it were a normal (...somewhat) normal situation he’d get a lecture on that lapse.

(A lecture, his father’s face stern, and under it worry, concern for him Luke’s never doubted, and after that his mother and quiet, soft words interwined with the same firece love his father has for his children. .)

As it is...

“Thank you,” Luke says, hopes Mystery!Mandalorian hears the things he can’t find the words for, the gratitude he feels.

Mystery!Mandalorian studies him for a long moment, Luke returning their regard best as he can even as he feels his mind going slow, stupid, as exhaustion rolls over him.

He can feel Mystery!Mandalorian watching him, them, unexected guests, visitors, complications, and there’s another sigh.

A gesture towards an unoccupied medical bed, slight tilt of his head that feels of that same brand of amusement from earlier.

Luke eyes it longingly because he’s tired, isn’t he, too much happening in too short a period of time and this feeling in the back of his mind that something is happening.

Whispers and rumors building towards something catastrophic if left unchecked and murmurs though the Force he’s known all his life.

“Rest,” Mystery!Mandalorian says, gentle, kind. “I’ll keep watch.”

It shouldn’t be a reassuring as it is, shouldn’t feel like Luke is breathing his first full breath since the alarms on his ship started wailing, intangible dread he’d felt once they left Naboo’s made real.

And yet...

There’s something about Mystery!Mandalorian he can’t help but trust, and Luke’s mind is tired, muddled, clear thought a struggle but the way the Force coils around them is enough to set his mind at ease.

“Thank you,” Luke says, and the words aren’t enough to articulate what he means, but it seems to be understood anyway.

He makes his way to the medical bed, and it isn’t long until he falls asleep, swears he hears Mystery!Mandalorian say, before he does, strangely soft, fond.

“You really are just like your father, aren’t you?”, and with no little amusement, “Skwalkers.”

And then shenanigans???

Luke waking up to Din staring at him from his own medical bed, at a loss regarding their situation, everything, and annoye (at himself???) about it, because Luke saved his life, didn’t he?

Saved it, and saved it again by getting them to safety and out of the hands of whoever attacked them, and that’s about the time Mystery!Mandalorian shows up, and Din is -

Not thrilled???

Doesn’t recognize the armor, person, regarding the two of them with this underlying amusement. (It rankles, that amusement, leaves him wrong-footed.)

Still, he follows Luke’s lead when he insists Mystery!Mandalorian is a friend - “Well,” Luke allows, at the look Din gives him when he says that. “He hasn’t tried to kill us. Yet.”

Which.

Fair, if not a ringing endorsement, but it’s not like they have much choice in the matter when Mystery!Mandalorian tells them to follow them, and off they go.

Underground tunnels and such until they get to some sort of base.

Other Mandalorians and Din is like oh, no, because these ones he does recognize.

“Resistance,” he says to Luke who’s picked up on his unease, gaze flicking to Din’s behind Mystery!Mandalorian’s back as they’re led down corridors to meet with what must be leadership.

Because Mandalore and unrest and that same something Luke’s known about his whole life and the way it affects the universe around him and just, yes.

Mystery!Mandalorian cocks his head as the lift they’re on descends, listening in, and still that amusement.

“Indeed,” he says, and something about it snaps Luke’s attention to him, makes Din...wary.

Just as well the lift stops, doors sliding open and then more corridors that seem to go on forever until they reach a set of doors.

Mystery!Mandalorian glances back at them for a moment, and huffs a quiet laugh at whatever he sees, and then they’re pressing forward.

It’s...not what he was expecting.

An office of some kind, with a holomap table off to one side and monitors and consoles beside it. A stripped down version of the control room they passed by floors down, and a slight figure in armor, head bowed over the holomap table.

Mystery!Mandalorian clears their throat, a courtesy, and the armore figure lifts their head, looks over at Luke and Din.

At Mystery!Mandalorian, and there’s a look exchanged between the two, silent conversation before Mystery!Mandalorian glances at Luke and Din again.

Sighs, and reaches up to remove their helmet, crooked smile on their - his face - at the way Luke goes so, so still beside Din.

Silence stretches long enough for Din to feel it, the weight of the revelation even if he doesn’t understand it.

“Hello, Luke,” he says, tired, aching.

Sharp inhale, and Luke tears his eyes away from Mystery!Mandalorian to look at Din, something so very wrong with the smile on his face.

“It’s Ben,” he says, and his voice cracks as he looks back at Mystery!Mandalorian, laughs at something Din doesn’t understand, something that makes Mystery!Mandalorian wince, even as he holds Luke’s gaze when he looks back at him. “Old Ben.”

Din frowns, because the man is older than them, Luke, that much is certain, but surely not old enough to have earned a title like that.

Because, look, alright.

Look.

Obi-Wan and sekrit missions because everyone knows trouble’s brewing, and a duchess of Mandalore contacted Padme, and things kind of just. Grew from there, to the point Obi-Wan went to Mandalore as an emmisary, ostensibly for political reasons, but really to help root out what information he could with Satine’s help and things went wrong.

Had him, and Satine, presumably killed in an uprising, no longer a threat to an unknown enemy.

Until the resistance took root, grew, and other such things.

Satine and Obi-Wan at the head of it, getting what information back to Padme, Anakin they could and everyone agreeing it was best for the time being if they stayed dead.

And then Luke’s ship being attacked and everything that followed, and anyway, anyway welcome to the resistance Luke Skywalker and friend, glad to have you.

Luke is understandably confused, angry at having been left in the dark, and angrier still that he has to admit to the necessity of it.

(He understands, but he’d still mourned for Obi-Wan, his father’s former mentor, teacher, and beloved uncle to Luke and Leia. He understands.)

And then there are briefings, because it’s very much a war the resistance is waging, against a common enemy and while Luke pay close attention to everything he and Din are told, he watches Obi-Wan, Satine.

Thinks oh, of course, when it hits him why the way the two of them interacts seems strangely familiar, known, because it’s the way his parents are, isn’t it?

Familiarity and trust, a knowing, and that little knot of anger buried deep in his chest at the deception involving Obi-Wan’s supposed death all those years ago unravels until he’s no longer breathing around it.

And then!

Shenanigans in which Din very much tries to NOT be part of this madness, because no, okay, no.

Simple bounty hunter and so on, and Luke don’t look at him like that, it won’t work -

So of course that’s when things go to hell and the base is attacked and Luke is taken and Din finds himself staring “Old Ben” down in the aftermath because this may not be his war to fight, but Luke is an idiot.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, corner of his mouth quirking. “He does take after his father that way.”

Dramatic Rescues and Dine being So Done with everything, but also, like. Being heroically injured by shielding Luke and Luke’s pale face and fear in the back of his eyes as he leans over Din to keep him from bleeding out.

Striving for calm, soothing Din in between yelling for help, Obi-Wan and the others on their way, and Din laughing at him because he was told Jedi didn’t panic.

“Shut up,” Luke says, laugh all wrong. “I thought nothing could get through Mandalorian armor?”

Well.

Things go fuzzy for a bit, Din remembers pain and blood and yelling - a lot of that - and then he wakes up in a medical center somewhere.

Not the resistance base, but he doesn’t recognize it.

“Idiot,” is the first thing he hears, and then, “Stupid,” and so on, and when he turns his head Luke is glaring at him.

He must make for a terrible Jedi, Din thinks, because Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachment, are they?

Dangerous, terrible, and yet.

“You are, yes,” Din says, voice haorse, more of a croak, and when he laughs at the affornted look Luke gives him for that it hurts - still healing and all - but so very worth it.

And then, okay, and then.

It comes out that Palpatine has been building a base of power for himself for years, slow patient, and setting his enemies at one another’s throats to weaken them.

Conspiracies on conspiracies and Din watches Luke as his father - his father, mother, and sister who hasn’t left Luke’s side since they arrived - tell them.

(Because, you know, because. Luke’s family and secrets weighing heavy and of course, of course Leia would not be held back, would not just let Luke’s death go so easily.

Would investigate, relentless, until she stumbled over everything and her parents and a shared look and she gets it from you, you know, and me? you have to be kidding, and I get it from both of you, now tell me what’s going on right now.

Adventures, because Skywalkers. A chance meeting with a scruffy smuggler and his long-suffering Wookie friend, and a rickety, rusty freighter

.Hey, that’s no way to talk about a lady, and as if you’d know, and don’t encourage them, Padme, and Of course not, Anakin, and heavy, resigned sighs because Leia has always been terrifying like her mother and somehow more stubborn.

A resistance - “Rebellion,” Obi-Wan says, glint in his eye when Anakin looks at him, “seems more fitting don’t you think?” - growing as well in secret.

Both brought into the light with recent events and untold battles ahead, and just.

It’s a lot.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Luke says, and Din doesn’t tense at his voice, quiet, something sad to it under his amusement.

Din hmms, glances towards Luke.

So much has happened since they meet, learned of things far bigger than them, and still -

“We’re meant to be enemies,” he says, a Mandalorian to a Jedi, albeit one still in training if what Luke told him is true.

Luke cocks his head, and still crosses the clearing to sit beside him.

Hmms, right back at Din and Din bites back a sigh, watching Luke from the corner of his eye.

With everything that’s happened, they’ve learned, the old grudge seems petty in comparison.

Also, Obi-Wan and Satine, and it hardly seems important anymore, long before his time as it was, and while Luke’s certainly many things, he’s never felt like an enemy.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, calm, cool of the night and so much between them they don’t have words for yet, and none of it unwelcome.

When Luke gets to his feet, holds his hand out to Din, he doesn’t have to think about it when he takes it. Lets Luke pull him to his feet with that surprising strength of his, and falls into step with him just as easily.

And then they have Adventures and death-defying shenanigans and such. Steal kisses here and there and never put a name to this thing of theirs, but it’s strong enough to last through a war and to the other side of it.

Would-be Empire scattered and broken and a good bounty hunter’s experience is invaluable in stamping out the remnants.

Almost as much as a Jedi Knight who earned their title through countless battles and conflicts, steady familiar presence at his side.And really, really, it shouldn’t surprise him so much when Luke gives him this soft little smile when Din comes home after a solo mission, small green gremlin of a kid he’d found (rescued) in his arms and knows their little family has gained another member.

(And again and again, because Luke’s just as bad as him and Finn and Rey are fine on their own, but Grogu? An absolute nightmare and evil mastermind and Din doesn’t care what Luke says, the small green gremlin child gets it from Luke’s side of the family.)

Also, though.

The day Finn and Rey met Poe (Ben a little confused, bemused, blissfully unaware of what he was witnessing) signaled the beginning of the end and Luke is absolutely laughing at Din, don’t think he doesn’t know what that looks like by now. >:(((((((((((((((((((((((((

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #i absolutely wandered away from the main plot with this?#but yes #/o\#long post

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twinrowcitizennews · 3 years

Text

snapshot

Note from the editor:

This is the first letter of this nature that I’ve received from someone who wanted their question published. Other than editing for formatting and grammar, it’s in their own words and their own words alone. Please send an email or ask if you know how to solve their problem-- and quickly.

I have to warn you, this letter isn’t for those who are put on edge easily. Reader discretion is advised.

I don’t know if I’ll still be around by the time this is posted, but that doesn’t matter. So long as this reaches whoever might need it.

I first saw it last October. The 27th, I think. Kind of cliché for this sort of thing to be happening right around Halloween, but truth is stranger than fiction. It was late in the evening, almost nighttime, when I saw this stray dog roaming around in my front yard. I grabbed my dog’s leash and went to get it, thinking I could keep it in my backyard until I could find the owners, but the second I left the front step, it started off towards the bike trail. I sped up to a jog and followed it, hoping not to scare it off any further.

The bike trail veers away from the neighborhood and through this piece of undeveloped land that separates the suburbs from a nearby farm. The dog was mostly sticking to the path, moving along at a trot, stopping every once in a while to look over its shoulder and wag its tail, like it was waiting for me to catch up before starting off again. After a few minutes of this, I called for it-- tried to whistle, asked it to heel, etc. It came over when I pretended to have a treat in my hand, holding my fist out like there was something inside. When it leaned over to sniff, I clipped a leash on its collar, a simple fabric band without any tags or ID. I’d never seen the dog before, so I got out my phone and took a picture of it to post to the neighborhood Facebook page, asking if anyone knew its owner, before walking it back to my place and letting it out in the fenced back yard. After feeding my own dog, I sat down to check Facebook to see if there was any response.

No one recognized the dog from the photo. One comment asked me who was standing in the background.

There hadn’t been anyone else in the woods, as far as I remembered, but I double-checked the photo anyway. In the background, about 20 feet away, it looked like there was a figure-- vague, kind of person-shaped if you squinted-- standing just to the side of the bike path. It was all indistinct and fuzzy. Probably just a smudge on the lens. I responded to the comment before trying to clean off the lens on my shirt, then taking another photo down the hallway to see if the smudge was gone. There didn’t seem to be anything. The rest of the night was relatively normal.

The next morning, I ended up trying to clear out my camera roll, to save some room for any pictures I might take of my baby cousins in their costumes. I deleted a bunch of screenshots, old photos, and the image of the dog, before going to delete the hallway picture.

The smudge was still there. Like before, it was around 20 or so feet from where I’d been standing when I took the photo, around the size and height of a person. Unlike before, it was peering around the corner from the door to the bathroom.

I was freaked out some, to be honest. I scrubbed the lens down with a Lysol wipe and took another photo down the hallway, trying to prove to myself it was just some sort of shadow. Nothing that would show up in the daylight. And it didn’t-- nothing strange, no smudge, just a block of sunlight from the windows. I didn’t delete the picture from the night before, though. Just in case.

It was a few more weeks before I took another nighttime photo. My cousins are too young to stay up late, so they’d been out trick-or-treating around 5:00 in the evening, back before it was even dark, so I didn’t really take anything on Halloween. The dog was returned to its owner a few days after, so nothing there, either.

It was around the middle of November when I ended up catching it again. I was on a nighttime walk and passed the home of this older couple down the road who always put up their outdoor Christmas decorations about a month too early. I wanted to get a picture of the setup-- they had this new animatronic Santa, sitting on a throne and waving to the road. I can promise that no one else was in the yard. I used the flash (on accident, but still), and if someone was there, I would have seen them. When I got home, I sent the picture to a friend of mine for her to make fun of. She messaged back with a few laughing emojis before asking who took the photo.

(ID: Two texts from my friend reading “lol” and “really who took it”. My response says “wdym?”. She responded with two texts saying “I see you in the background, genius” and “just vibing by the garage”. End ID.)

I checked the photo again. By the house’s garage, a little under 20 feet from where I’d been, was a clearer, more distinct figure. For once, I could make out its face.

I don’t know who or what it is, or how it got there, but it definitely looked like me. It was even wearing my clothing, had its hair done the same way, everything. Just standing there and smiling for the photo, like someone just out of frame was telling it to say cheese, looking right into the camera.

I immediately turned all the lights on that I could reach. I almost deleted the photo, staring at it for too long, before closing out of Photos and reopening my camera. I figured this had to be some weird hallucination or something I was making up, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. I aimed the camera down the hall and took a video. Nothing. I checked it, sliding the scrub bar back and forth to inspect each individual frame. All of them were just empty, illuminated hallway. That didn’t shake the feeling, though, so I turned the hall light off and tried again. Nothing showed up on this video, either. I took a photo.

It was there. Again. It wasn’t peeking out from around anything, just standing in the middle of the hallway, the same distance it had been from the camera in the yard.

I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few.

I ended up searching the internet as much as I could for anyone with similar experiences. I saw things about ghosts, things about illusions, things about solid doppelgangers that people saw with their own eyes and not through pictures, but nothing like this. Over the weeks and months that followed, I took investigating into my own hands.

My fears were quieted some-- some-- when, after the first few nights, I realized that it wasn’t hurting me. It never even moved, staying in the same poses each night. The only change was, no matter where I was, inside or outside, it was always the same distance away.

I started taking pictures almost obsessively. Every day, every night, I tried something new. I tried every condition I could think of to see when and where this thing would show up. It became a part of my routine-- almost a companion. I’d even jokingly wish it goodnight.

I could put walls between myself and it. At one point, I stood inside my closet and took a picture, only showing racks of coats and clothes. It could be seen through windows, if there was no room for it to appear indoors. I could take pictures out my bedroom window to show it standing right there outside the window on the front walk. It always looked exactly like me, down to the smallest detail, except for the face. It never had any expression other than a smile. No matter where I was, inside or outside, it could be there. I got pictures of it at home, at work, out of town. It never showed up in well-lit photos. Things in the dark with flash were okay, but it would just be a little indistinct. Dimmer lighting, pictures taken at night, all of that was free game. I never got a picture of it in daylight.

Around February, I sat down and tried to sort all the successful photos into one album to clear up my camera roll. At this point, it was mostly just pictures of the thing, since I was sometimes taking up to dozens a night. I deleted all the failures, saving all the pictures of it into one album. That’s when I noticed.

It was getting closer.

I guess I had ignored it over the first months. It had been too gradual for me to notice, only an inch or two each night, but looking at all the photos in order, it was obvious. Instead of being around 20 feet away, the thing was closer to 15, still just standing and smiling.

I had to tell myself it was coincidence, or something I was imagining, or I think I would’ve done something I’d regret later just then. Now that I knew it could move, I didn’t really think of it as a friend anymore.

I kept taking pictures throughout the following months. Only at night. It stopped showing up outside my bedroom window-- in retrospect, probably because the ground wasn’t close enough for it anymore. It stopped lurking at the end of the hallway, drawing nearer until it was standing right there in the living room. It started putting its hands against the glass of the kitchen windows. Then it started showing up at the kitchen table.

I got desperate, some. I tried everything. I burned incense, I tried to talk to it, I bought fucking crystals. I’m an atheist, but I even considered calling a priest or something. All spring, I was constantly scrambling to find some way to get that thing to leave, or at least stop moving. Every night I took more pictures, too many, before scrolling through my photo album with a looming sense of dread. Nothing worked. It kept coming, slowly, always dressed like me and always doing that smile. It got close enough that I could see the whites of its eyes. I almost wish I could say that there was something messed up about it, something that made it obviously inhuman or dead or anything, but there wasn’t. It was just me, just exactly like me, and somehow that was worse.

I’m sending this in now because it’s really close and I don’t know how to make it go away or if that’s even an option anymore. These past few nights, it’s been right in front of me-- I could reach out and touch it, if it was solid. Hell, I could probably feel its breath, if it had that. I’ve been taking pictures every hour or so, sometimes every couple of minutes.

Last night, around the fifth or sixth picture I took, it wasn’t there. Just gone. I took a few more pictures, and it didn’t matter where I was, it just wasn’t there. I don’t know why I did it, but I turned the camera around to selfie mode and took a shot.

That thing was standing right behind me.

One of its hands was hovering right over my shoulder, like it was about to touch me. I freaked out and took another picture. It hadn’t moved more than a hair. I turned all the lights on and haven’t slept.

I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not turning any of the lights off. It can’t get to me if the lights are on, or I hope so. If anyone knows what to do or what this thing is, please respond. It might already be too late, but I don’t know what this thing will do or who it’ll go for when it’s done with me. I don’t have much advice to give, other than to sleep with the fucking lights on.

#tw unreality #tw paranoia inducing #||OOC: This was written by the mod! Based on a dream I had #tagging all future content of this sort as #twinrow tales #hopefully there will be more soon||

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paganvamp · 3 years

Text

Saving Grace: Chapter Six

Maja realizes her curse may not have completely failed after all...

1001 AD: The Curse

Maja had been feeling strange for days now. The dreams of the girl had continued, some happy, some tragic and bloody, but that wasn’t what was causing the ill feelings. She had been having headaches, different from the psychic headaches she’d become accustomed to. These were throbbing, every noise too loud, every light too bright. Even smells were too much, sending waves of pain through her skull. She had begun to avoid going outside in bright sunlight, preferring evening or nighttime. The sun was too much — too hot, too bright. It wasn’t just her senses that seemed heightened, though. She was growing stronger, despite having less food in the caves than in the stable village, and faster, her stamina and endurance increased seemingly overnight. Perhaps even worse than the physical changes, though, were the emotional ones. She was moody, sometimes seeming even more kind and dedicated than usual, and sometimes seeming bitter and impulsive. Her siblings couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. Esther’s grimoire, which they had managed to save from Mikael’s rampage, offered no explanation, nor did Maja’s own. Nils, Maja’s brother, had even come across a healer who had assessed Maja, but he too was perplexed.

No one knew what to do, who to ask.

But Maja did.

She always trusted her instincts, even when her emotions seemed in complete disarray, and for the past three days, every instinct in Maja’s body was telling her to find Elijah. It was more than a hunch that he would provide some answers, it was a need — she needed to see Elijah; only then would she understand, only then would things be okay again. Of course, explaining that she wanted to track down the family that had caused them so much misery in the first place was not going to be easy.

She began with Frida, her closest sister.

“I know that it doesn’t make sense, sister.” Maja couldn’t explain her feelings and didn’t desire to. “But this land is plagued with werewolves and newly turned vampires, and their constant, bitter battles. Fleeing to Arles might be our best chance.” She’d heard tell that the majority of the original children had fled their father’s rage by way of southern Gaul, so that’s where she would go.

“How would we get there? Our family cannot afford passage on a ship, Maja.” This was the worst part of her plan, the part she dreaded the most.

“Not our whole family, that is true. But we have enough for two of us.” Frida looked aghast at the suggestion of further splitting their family apart.

“You would have two of us find shelter in Arles while the other suffer here?”

“Of course not, Frida. I would have two of us go to Arles, where we could find a home and send for the rest when possible.” Frida worried her lip, considering.

“Which two?”

“Tyvold is needed here, as are you, to care and provide for the little ones. Ludvig and Linnea are too small. It would have to be Nils and I.” Nils, the second son, was old enough to make the journey with Maja, but young enough that caring for the twins, Ludvig and Linnea, had never truly been his duty. Frida was a capable enough witch, and Tyvold good with an ax and a sword. Maja and Nils could part from the family with little chance of harm to either of them. Maja watched as her sister’s resolve crumbled, and together they went to convince their brothers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maja and Nils had not been in Arles a week before they heard the news of the Mikaelson family, as the Gauls called them. Despite Nils’ protests, Maja found herself wandering through the door of their stately home with two goals in mind. The first, and her main reason for coming, was to speak to Elijah about what might be happening to her. The second, though no less important, was to persuade him to either send for the rest of their family, should they need to stay longer, or provide for the journey home. It won’t be a problem. Everyone seems compelled to do anything they ask.

“Maja?” She turned to find Elijah, clothed in finery and obviously stunned to see her. Relief like a tidal wave poured over her at the sight of him; that strange moment where you finally draw in a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Elijah looked furtively around, likely to make sure none of his siblings had spotted Maja, before crossing the room to her side. “You can’t be here. If they find out what you attempted… you must leave.”

“I need — “ how to explain this? “I need to speak with you. Please, Elijah.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, it’s been happening to you, as well.” Maja blinked at the calm, pensive man before her, confused as to why he seemed to have all the answers, despite that being the exact reason she had tracked him down. Then his words sunk in.

“You mean the same things have been happening to you? The headaches and mood changes?” Maja doubted that, even if he had experienced the sudden surge in physical ability that she had, he would have noticed. Vampire strength and speed were already unmatched.

“No. That is, not exactly.” Elijah guided her to a chair. After giving in to her pleading, he had ushered her into a rarely used backroom and away from any inquiring eyes or ears, ‘just to be safe,' he’d said. He was remarkably paranoid that something awful would happen to her should she be discovered. Finally able to think clearly for the first time since they’d fled the village, Maja had asked Elijah to compel one of the serving girls to bring a note to her brother, informing him that she was all right and all was going to plan. Nils had also been paranoid about Maja’s safety, though for slightly different reasons. “The things you’re experiencing, Maja…” his tone brought her out of her thoughts; he sounded like he was dreading what he was about to say. “It almost sounds like you’re… transitioning.”

“To what?” He couldn’t possibly mean…

“Into a vampire, Maja.”

“That’s preposterous!” She cried. He hurried to quiet her. “I have not ingested anyone’s blood and I most certainly haven’t died.”

“I know. That’s what is so strange about this whole situation. As I mentioned, I have experienced strange feelings lately as well. Not as though I were transitioning, but as though I were feeling someone else’s feelings.” Again, Maja was dumbfounded by what he was suggesting.

“But you can’t do that. I do that.” But then Elijah shook his head, as though she’d misunderstood him.

“No – I don’t mean I’m feeling everyone else’s feelings. I mean the feelings I have aren’t always my own. At least, they don’t feel like my own.” He’s talking about the mood swings. A voice in Maja’s head was shouting at her that she’d been an idiot because they weren’t always just mood swings. He was right. At times, she felt things she’d never felt before, felt them as though they were completely natural to her — a stubborn, almost destructive loyalty to her family, a rigid moral code, and a very handy ability to keep remarkably calm outwardly even though she was panicking inside. While she certainly had her sense of right and wrong and loved her family very much, it wasn’t to that level, and Maja had never been able to master that last one. She tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve — or at least, on her face. She sometimes saw those traits in others — her father’s unwavering nobility, her friend Ida’s stubborn dedication, Ayana’s calm and quiet demeanor — and envied them, but those were isolated incidents, something she never paid great attention to. In fact, she’d only ever made notice of those three traits in one person: in the one person standing across from her right this moment. A picture started to form in her mind.

“What, specifically, are those feelings?” She spoke the words carefully as if the both of them might shatter any moment.

“Well, first there was an uncharacteristic… stubbornness. I may be determined, but I have never been defiant, until recently.” That was true. Out of the two of them, Maja had certainly always been the more ‘defiant’ one. “I’m also more intuitive lately, especially concerning other people’s character.” Again, something Maja was familiar with. “Along with that came a greatly appreciated, though uncommon, sense of optimism. Traveling through the countryside with my siblings was… draining, to say the least. But there were times when I couldn’t help but point out the bright side of the situation to everyone, much to their annoyance I’m sure.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? Sometimes pointing out the bright side is the only thing you can do to make it through.” Elijah looked at her like she’d missed the point. It took her a moment, but his meaning finally clicked. “Me. Those all sound like… me.” And, as she’d already noted, her own mood swings mirrored Elijah’s typical emotions quite clearly. “So, what, we’ve… traded personalities?” How such a thing was possible, she had no idea.

“Not at all. Most of the time I’m completely myself. Though there are other times when I am neither you nor myself.” Yes, Maja had experienced other mood swings uncharacteristic of both of them. “I am angrier, more prone to impulsive decisions. I’m short with my siblings, cross with the servants.” Maja nodded, showing she had felt the same things.

“I feel as though I’m… spread too thin. Stretched across an insurmountable distance until pretty much anything can get under my skin.” When Elijah next spoke, Maja felt her world slip from under her feet.

“‘An insurmountable distance’… such as an ocean?”

#saving grace #masterlist #kol mikaelson #oc #elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #finn mikaelson #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #elena gilbert #katherine pierce #matt donovan #tyler lockwood #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson

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taexual · 4 years

Text

HOLIC - 46 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angst + some conflict resolution

words: 3k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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You’d left a hundred voicemails. You'd called a thousand times. You’d sent a million texts. And yet, even despite your ruthless ambush, Jaebum – in an equally as ruthless manner – still did not reply to you. That was understandable, however, and, more than expected, really – but it still brought you great distress.

You didn’t know where he was and, after having stayed awake the entire night, trying to get ahold of him and waiting for him to return home, you suddenly weren’t too sure where you were, either. Your own room felt foreign and the apartment itself lost all of its’ familiarity.

Finally, at around five in the morning (or, in other words, about five centuries later), your phone rang with a text from Jaebum. You nearly gave yourself whiplash as you leaped from your spot on the bed to reach your phone that you’d left charging across the room.

His text was short and right to the point – he was simply letting you know he was with his friend – but the very fact that he had texted you lifted some of the heaviness off your shoulders. There was plenty more of it still there, though, and you crouched down, hugging your knees to your chest as you re-read Jaebum’s text message another dozen times.

You wanted to call Mark and Jackson to see if he was with them but then you paused. Jaebum obviously needed some space – and time – right now. And, although you felt like he’d left the apartment a long while ago, it was obviously not long enough.

You were dying to explain yourself but you also recognized that he needed to be away from you for a little while longer. The text he’d sent you sparked a new hope that this period of you and him being away from each other wouldn’t last long. You just had to endure it without losing your mind completely. The text had to mean that he knew you cared about him – even despite what you’d done – and he didn’t want you to crawl out of your skin with worry – even if that was precisely what you’ve been doing since he’d left – which, in turn, had to mean that he cared about you, too. But you knew that already – you didn’t need his text to show you that; his reaction when you told him about Jiho was proof enough.

You’d postponed the conversation so you wouldn’t hurt Jaebum and, predictably, you ended up doing so anyway.

Giving him some space was the right thing to do now, so you let him be. Until, a few hours later, you couldn’t take it anymore. It had started to feel like the more space you were giving him, the more place you left for his doubts to take over him. Soon, there would be no space left in his mind to hear you explain what had happened in the past few weeks.

But, just like before, no matter how much you called or texted, Jaebum didn’t answer. Shortly, he turned his phone off altogether. The phone could have died, of course, but still, hearing the operator announce that the person you were trying to reach was unavailable felt very personal. It felt like he’d turned his phone off specifically to avoid seeing your name on his screen.

You knew you called this upon yourself by not telling him earlier but knowing didn’t make this easier. If anything, the guilt you were feeling only seemed to magnify whenever you allowed yourself to think about how easily this could have been avoided.

Jaebum didn’t return home the whole night—this wasn’t the first Sunday night you’ve spent awake but it certainly was the most significant one—and, although your heart had already torn itself into the smallest pieces, you resisted and gave him the space he needed. You still called periodically and left as many messages as you could before your service provider got concerned, but you weren’t going out of your way to get him to respond to you.

By Monday afternoon, you were really only leaving him voice messages so he'd know that you really did care about him and you were aware of how big of a mistake you’ve made by not talking to him about this sooner.

By Monday night, however, you’ve started to have auditory hallucinations and lost count of how many times you thought you’d heard the lock of your apartment door click. Choosing to wait until nighttime, in case Jaebum would choose to return home after all, you sat patiently in your kitchen, doing anything and everything to keep your gaze from shifting to the door.

You wondered if Jaebum would have admired your loyalty – he’d have certainly called you clingy and, perhaps, even compared you to a dog waiting for its’ owner to come home – or if he’d have hated to know that you were still waiting for him to return even after what you’ve done. Frankly, you didn’t spend all of this time sulking – you got angry a couple of times, too. Sometimes, you’d think you didn’t do anything wrong – really, nothing happened between you and Jiho; you were just working on your career in the only way that was possible – but, immediately after, you’d find yourself admitting that this wasn’t even the real problem here.

Jaebum didn’t really storm out of your apartment just because you were working with Jiho and he hated the guy. He left because you worked with Jiho behind his back, purposefully dodging his questions about your work just so you wouldn’t have to admit the truth. Even after giving you a fair amount of openings – not that you needed an excuse to share the events of your day with him, considering your relationship status – you still stayed quiet, choosing vague words and plain silence as a way to answer his questions. It was a form of defense in a way and, consequently, a form of lying.

While you listened to Jaebum give you breakdowns of his day and updates on his career, you did not reciprocate and secretly cherished his carefulness – how many times did you thank God that Jaebum was so understanding and so willing to ignore your unusual behavior? – and that was so much worse than just lying about Jiho to him.

When your alarm clock rang the next morning, you got out of bed with a definite plan – you would seek both Mark and Jackson out to see if Jaebum was staying with either of them and you would do anything in your power to talk to him and explain. You could only give him space to think for so long before you drowned in your own thoughts and watched him to drown in his.

Before you could follow your plan – although, perhaps calling it a plan was generous; you really had no idea what you were going to say to his friends if they even agreed to help you – you still had to get through a full day of work at the gallery.

Having always dreaded to see Jiho there, you didn’t really expect today to be any different but a surprise awaited you on your phone when you picked it up to check the time after exiting your car outside of your gallery. It was a text notification from Hyojin, warning you about an article, evidently recounting the photography event you and Jiho had gone to on Friday night. Your stomach sunk before you even opened it, completely disregarding the message your friend wrote before she attached the link.

Instead of reading Jiho’s recap of the event – he’d sworn he would use your pictures for it but you ended up not taking any – you were forced to read through another pile of tabloid-like garbage that, predictably, focused completely on your relationship with Jiho.

Now, on the one hand, the article proved that Jiho’s publicity stunt was a complete success – you nearly suffocated when you saw a picture of yourself leaving the gallery and Jiho storming off after you, an ominous “young photographer couple” written in the description of the shot; clearly, you and him have been noticed – but, on the other hand, not a single sentence in the entire article even mentioned your aspiration to become a successful photographer.

Not only did the writers – tipped off by Jiho, no doubt – assumed that you and him were together but they also allowed themselves to speculate if, perhaps, you and him were going to be the next big artist-and-his-muse names in the world of photography. They even went as far as to compare you and him to Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick – which was right on point, considering that Edie was, really, one of many Warhol’s muses – further proving that they didn’t even consider you a photographer. At least, not in the literal sense of the word – they saw the camera in your hands and pointed it out in the description of another photograph of you by the entrance to the gallery. But Jiho was “the photographer” and, according to the writers, in the relationship hierarchy, you were either Jiho’s apprentice (the writers dismissed the possibility after merely toying with it for a sentence of two) or his muse. Not his colleague. Not a photographer. Barely even a person, really.

Beyond frustrated, you walked through the double doors of the gallery and, before you could toss your phone across the empty foyer, you caught sight of Jiho, talking to someone on the phone next to the staircase. You really considered strangling him for a hot minute but, after taking a few deep breaths, you decided to handle this like an adult – or, as close to one as you could get with your blood boiling and pulse pounding in your ears.

“Did you fucking read this?” you demanded as soon as you reached him, pushing your phone to his face. “This is the second god-damn time this happens.”

“Wh—I’m—l-let me call you back,” Jiho said before hanging up the call and putting his phone away so he could focus on yours. He squinted as he read the headline. “Oh, so we’ve definitely been seen, huh? That’s good.”

“That’s not good,” you disagreed. “And we were not seen at all. You were. I was your shadow if even that. Again!”

Jiho wasn’t listening to you as his eyes continued to scan the contents of the article.

“Your little stunt of leaving early worked out nicely, too,” he added in regards to the last bit of the article that recounted, in epic little detail, how you left the event early and Jiho “followed right after like a love-sick puppy”.

“It wasn’t—Jesus, how much money did you pay to get them to write this bullshit?” you asked, retrieving your phone after noticing that it didn’t bring the expected result – not that you knew what you were expecting; it was hard to imagine Jiho doing something other than grinning like a deformed jack-o-lantern.

“You think I paid for this?” Jiho’s eyebrows reached his hairline. “Wow, you must think I’m a millionaire.”

“What are you talking about? You knew so many people who were there—”

“So, I talked to them,” he said as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Probably rolled his eyes, too, but you weren’t looking at him – you were reading the article and further fueling your anger. “I mean, some damage control had to be done, you caused quite a fuss there. I tried to give the others the impression that—”

“This is your fault, then!” you cut him off with a high-pitched shriek that he seemed to flinch away from.

“I’m not sure I understand what I’m being accused of, here,” he said as calmly as he could. The calmness was a façade, as you’ve already learned, and the veins on his neck were becoming more prominent by the second. “We needed exposure and we got it. What’s the problem?”

“What kind of exposure is this? You told me this wouldn’t seem like a romantic relationship. That they would focus on our professional relation instead of twisting it around to make it seem like—”

“Professional relationships don’t sell nearly as well as—”

“Sell?” you scoffed. “What are these people buying, exactly? That you’re a photographer? Well, they knew that already, I would hope. Or you’ve surely wasted the past years of your life.”

“Right—”

“There’s not really much else in there about me. Except that I’m—”

Seemingly having had enough of your endless tirade, Jiho crossed his arms over his chest, cutting you off, “maybe if you wanted there to be more descriptions of you, you shouldn’t have left early.”

“Oh, so they could have taken more pictures of us to strengthen their narrative of us being romantically involved? No. That’s not okay,” you shook your head, finding it difficult to voice your thoughts rationally and not start screaming. Screaming would have felt so nice. “These articles… they’re not helping anyone but you. Next week, they can write one about you and some other “muse” you’ve brought to a photography event. No one will give a shit about me. I agreed to do this to get myself more exposure as a photographer. Instead, I’m just a new toy you can play around with to get yourself more well-known.”

“Listen, you have this warped sense of how this works,” Jiho said. His patronizing voice made you clench your fists. “These things take time. You think you’ll get popular overnight—”

“Don’t tell me what I think!” you yelled, your patience wearing thin.

“Okay, alright. I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding one bit apologetic. He just felt like he was winning because you were suddenly shouting and he was still successful at resisting to raise his voice. “Let’s not talk about this here—”

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a second or two – purely a precaution so you wouldn’t punch him and get yourself fired – even if you were already one step away from quitting – and probably arrested.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said then. “This is the last article depicting me as someone’s rumored girlfriend.”

Jiho didn’t seem surprised to hear this.

“See, that’s good because, actually, I’m having second thoughts about this, too,” he said, the bitter tone of his voice dripping with arrogance and entitlement. “Clearly, you’ve got it in your head that you’re in a position to demand an exhibition when you’re virtually nothing in the photography world. You don’t listen to a single word I say and you have enough guts to give me ultimatums as if you know how this works better than I do. I don’t know who you think you are but this is not how any of this works. All I did was try to help you—”

You thought you could only recall one other instance when you felt this frustrated – and more than ready to either rip all of your hair out or to beat Jiho to a pulp – and that was when you met up with Suji and had to listen to her boast about her happy relationship with Jaebum. My God, what a pair her and Jiho would have made – both bull-headed, arrogant, and so unbelievably thick, it was a miracle they’ve gotten this far in life without getting all of their teeth knocked out.

“This was no help for me,” you said through clenched teeth and then unlocked your phone to see the headline of the article again. You pointed your phone at him as proof. “This was all for you.”

“It was meant to help both of us and the gallery we represent—”

“Oh, open your fucking eyes, the gallery’s not even mentioned in the article,” you groaned.

Jiho swallowed, an undeniable – and very well-executed – image of someone who felt wronged and disrespected evident on his face.

“This isn’t working,” he stated, then, obviously taking immense pleasure in having the ability to say this. He knew he was above you in this situation and he relished it. “I’ve lost count of how many rules listed in the contract you’ve broken and yet I closed my eyes, thinking it’d be worth it. I don’t really think so anymore. I think you’re too full of senseless pride and I’m afraid I can’t work with that. You told me you’d quit if we didn’t host your exhibition and, admittedly, that caught me off-guard and, perhaps, even impressed me. But I can see everything clearly now – you’re absolutely not the sort of artist we’re looking for.”

“What sort of artists are you looking for?” you asked, your blood hot and about to pour out of your ears in rapid squirts of burning rage. “Pushovers, willing to follow you around like newborn puppies? Fresh, vulnerable university graduates who lack the spine to tell you that what you’re doing is preying on their lack of experience and using them to your own gain?”

“I’m sorry if that’s how you feel,” Jiho said. “Unfortunately, this partnership is over. Don’t worry about the contract anymore. We’re not going to be hosting your—”

“Oh, good! Perfect!” you shouted before he could finish. “I never wanted to work with you in the first place.”

You turned around, walking away, but Jiho couldn’t resist not having the last word. He simply felt too proud to let you leave this easily.

“Hopefully you’ll continue to feel that way,” he called out after you, “because you can forget all about your dream of hosting your own exhibition.”

You didn’t want to turn around and say something else because it felt like admitting defeat but you couldn’t resist it. You’ve still had a few things you’ve always wanted to say to him and now was finally the time to stop holding yourself back.

“Fuck you,” you dropped over your shoulder, your expression – finally – calm. “And fuck that exhibition. That’s not what my dream is.”

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llycaons · 3 years

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47. strap in everyone, this is going to be a long night

wwx loves wen ning so deeply and wants so much more for him than for wen ning to follow him around his entire life like a servant. this is what I tell myself as wwx very sincerely discusses this with lwj while allowing wen ning to get harassed by children just behind him. one of his flaws is staring lovingly into his soulmate’s eyes as his bff is cornered by hooligans

in l*ving de*d as I recall, children screamed and ran when they saw him because ohh scar black veins, but in actual canon everyone is like “oh hey a funny looking harmless man we will now impede his progress and laugh at him while he tries unsuccessfully to scare us” god poor guy. but also like, wear a neck wrap perhaps? or maybe they’re just drawn to his mild-mannered-looking face

wwx, so lovingly, to one of the people he cares about most in the world: you have to get off the streets dude people are literally noticing you and it’s super inconvenient for us

meanwhile their little recon mission to the temple is ??? bc he’s like “we have to get out now or we’ll be too conspicuous” and then IMMEDIATELY reveals to one of the “monks” that he knows he’s not really a monk. did you really leave your foolish youth behind, wwx? really?

cut to that night (thank GOD the writers didn’t try to do any platonic equivalent of that scene in the novel and just omitted it entirely)

lwj’s massively tall silver headpiece is really not the most inconspicuous for nighttime scouting missions on the roof but I guess fashion beats practicality and wait, jin ling is here?

you can practically hear wwx think “oh you stupid brat why are you on the fucking roof with us”

I wonder if anyone reads these long things. they’re mostly just for me but sometimes I have a coherent thought that I’m very pleased with so I hope so. not that this relates to anything in this post

the first image we see of jgy after his reveal is the hands behind his back ith the fingers interweaving which is cool but idk if there’s any symbolic meaning to it or anything

“I have never blamed you” *pleading face* the look lwj gives jgy is pure murder. I don’t think we’ve ever seen him that hateful. not contempt, or rage, or annoyance. pure loathing. he wants to kill

jgy’s actor here is phenomenal. he’s always had terrific performances, but jgy with no mask of servility or false humility, in a position of power over everyone else, in control and enjoying it, looks very different than any of his other appearances (except for the flashback to his father’s murder ig)

speaking of, why do we still have to see and hear about xue yang? in two separate flashbacks he’s there fucking things up even after he’s dead! I don’t want to see him! at least not without seeing song lan again too :(

it’s dreadful that the temple finale takes a full two hours, but it is at least a gorgeous setting for the drama to play out. and in the novel it was way worse it took me like four days to get through I was ready to murder mxtx for that alone

I think it’s fun that the main climax of the untamed isn’t even really the fight here, it’s the conversations between jc and wwx, between lxc and jgy, the betrayal of nhs. I’m just used to climaxes being fights because of uhh shonen anime. I guess it’s not that unusual.

if there is one thing that’s unique to the untamed in comparison to any other show I’ve seen, it’s the story structure. I still think it’s brilliant. I prefer the cql flashback sequence organization to the novel because I love the sense of looming dread that builds continuously as you realize how close you are to wwx’s death, I was eager to see how lwj and wwx interacted postres as they got closer and more intimate in the flashback storyline, and the solid chunks of flashback make both storylines feel more cohesive and less nonsensical/confusing. there’s a real sense of time passing and wwx does feel like an older man reflecting on his youth. novel wwx was older than the juniors and I didn’t pick up on any age gap intent in his writing, but he also didn’t really feel like a much older or mature person. idk.

but the novel structure had its own merits and I really do see the appeal in having both climaxes at the same time. the parallel narrative kept us invested in both by jumping back and forth and provides nice comparisons to like, the two BM sieges. also because the readers didn’t know a-yuan existed until late in the novel, the lsz reveal seemed more timely, but in the novel narrative lwj, delaying was the same and therefore just as stupid

anyway jgy with jin ling being like “yes second brother I know who this is :) do you think I’m going to murder him? hmm? do you think I’m going to do a ton of fucked up things to you all?? :)))” and just leaving things to the imagination is terrifying. I wasn’t really scared of the other villains

lxc has dropped “a-yao” in favor of “clan leader jin”

maybe it’s because I wasn’t paying attention, but I really didn’t see much in the way of romantic undertones for these two this go around. I remember them, I know they were there, but I can’t remember them making much of an impression. jgy was...very background for a good 15 episodes so I kind of forgot about him

those diggers are so slow I swear one of the guys is moving as little dirt as he can get away with. paid by the hour, huh

when su she comes over you can see wwx go “oh not this fucking guy again” and lxc has to be like “literally dude why do you keep harassing my younger brother what’s your problem”

“oh how the tables have turned, huh?” “not...really..?” kjdkshfksdfa

and then su she is like “he thinks he’s better than everyone else just look at him he’s got that cold face” and wwx is like “he’s autistic you jackass” and then he tells him of course lwj isn’t arrogant and su she is probably recalling the time lwj told him to his face “you are not qualified to talk to me” so actually I don’t know who’s right

lwj definitely does see some people as beneath him but only if they...deserve it...?like in general he’s a very fair-minded person with a good handle on his own skills and abilities but just being skilled doesn’t mean he thinks he’s better than everyone. and he only treats people disrespectfully if he personally doesn’t like them and even then he’s generally pretty restrained.

ngl though there’s a very odd trend in cql about unskilled people being morally inferior to skilled people. it’s not everywhere, it’s just...well...around

omg but wwx saying “if you were in yunmeng jiang I would have eaten you alive you little bitch I thought I was such hot shit” is so jaskdshfdf

anyway fairy chasing him out is SO FUNNY too like this little dog sends a adult cultivator running and jin ling is cheering him on and jgy is RIGHT THERE and he must be like oh my fucking god someone get that dog why is this taking so long”

okay. I was mad at him for 46 but I was so happy to see jc show up again as an ally. with the thunder and lightning blood-streaked umbrella and zidian! what an entrance! characteristically angry but also looking like he’s going to burst into tears at any second. classic jc.

again jgy with the big smug smile and melodramatic clapping and playing jc and wwx off each other as soon as he smells the slightest weakness - too bad jc is always a piece of shit to wwx so it’s not even phasing him wwx is like “no this is normal he’s just a huge asshole”

lxc telling jc that jgy is an expert at emotional manipulation...damn, you’d know, huh?

he does hold his own for a while even though the way he fights is stupid as hell but jgy getting into his head messed up his concentration. which is a such a shame because with wei fucking wuxian’s golden core he really should have been able to defeat someone with such weak cultivation

in the novel the fight making terrible noises made wwx cover lwj’s ears which was sweet but they didn’t do it here :(

oh the reveal that fairy is actually a huge coward is hilarious

jc telling his 16 year nephew to shut up omg jc he was just worried about you!! all his uncles are either evil, murdered, or grievously wounded

jin ling genuinely really loving jc who has nobody else at all makes my heart feel so soft I just wish jc like wasn’t such an abrasive dick all the time to him. jc is not good with kids. he’s not good at being nice, or gentle, or understanding, or encouraging, or supportive, or being a teacher, or raising spirits, or making anyone laugh. what he is good at is um fightinf off bad guys. he’s pretty good at that, usually. he’ll fight the bullies

but when I think about jin ling’s childhood (half of which, according to the novel, he spent at yunmeng), I can’t imagine jc being an especially good caretaker. jin ling overall does feel safe with him and knows that he can trust jc to fight for him if he needs it, which is more than jc had with myu, but parent of the year he most certainly is not

and I like that the story gives us those nuances. there’s a lot of shades of gray in this show, left to interpretation or audience preference. as always, I wish we’d gotten more from lwj - he can’t have been a perfect parent either no matter what the author wants us to think, and I do think he probably struggled with telling the truth to lsz about his own family, and he probably wasn’t the most umm engaging or expressive caretaker to anyone, but the kids are alright, you know? he learned to express affection in a way they heard even though it wasn’t what he was used to

but like I said, jc has looked to be on the verge of tears this entire time. it’s happening, folks. we’re going to get into some theatrics next time

#cql rewatch #long post #if you think this is a tanget-riddled post just wait until the ep50 one

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

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Underwater / Ben Hanscom Imagine

Request: May I request an Adult Ben Hanscom imagine where the reader, who is married to Ben, is down in the sewer with the Losers and gets pulled under water by Penniwise? Our man Ben needs some reassurance from his wife that she's okay. Fluffyness! 🥰

@may85 eek thank you darling!! <3

Warning, some swearing!

You wished, with all your heart, that you never had to smell the stench of this place again.

When you all finally arrived into the depths of the sewer, Mike and Bill leading the way as everyone else trailed so slowly, so unsure, behind them, that’s when you finally allowed your heart to sink.

This was real. This was actually happening. You’re no longer thirteen, you no longer have an excuse, a way out, a way to forget this. You either die here, or you die out there.

The water the gang jumps down into is a turbid brown, the colour of sewage, or as Eddie fondly calls out again,

‘It’s still the same old fucking grey water.’

Branches have been blow in by the storm, and you gag a little, pressing your face into your husband’s thick back as he raises his eyebrows, wrapping one arm around your own as the two of you watch a small, glittery pink shoe swirl pass, like a relic from a time long forgotten as it floats by without a ripple.

‘Was that- was that Betty Rip-’

‘Don’t think about it hun’, Ben whispers, his thumb trying to tenderly stroke against the goosebumps that flash painfully against your arm, but his grip is tighter than he realises and he ends up digging in a small welt. The water eddies around them, but not that relaxed way water usually does: harshly, more like mini vortexes. You can hear Richie swear softly in front of you as Eddie bumps into him, loud ‘ah-ah, nope nope nope’s escaping his mouth as a half chewed teddy bear floats by his chest.

‘Come on guys, we need to get out of the water, it’s n-not f-far now.’

‘Is that supposed to reassure us?’, Richie whispers with a sigh, slapping his wet leg up onto the jagged stone mound as Eddie reaches down to help him up, his flashlight bouncing around on his head and illuminating different patches of the water in a shimmering light that reminds you of-

the deadlights.

Cold water is the most efficient thief of heat you know. It takes what it does not need. The water surges around your skin, rising up my leg on one side, making tiny eddies on the other the further you follow your friends. The weight of the water is almost enough to topple you, the temperature a dare, as if you were racing hypothermia with each wade through its murky depths. In front of you, your husband shivered against your arm, the water so cold it stung into his hips and flattened his shirt against him painfully. Every touch stole another part of his heat, leaching away a few more fractions of a degree. It crept up the fabric of his pants, clamping the icy fibres to his already frigid skin. But he kept going, because he knew in doing this, he could save you. And if killing a clown meant your nightmares would end, that you would be safe again, he would take on the universe one monster at a time.

Sensing your hesitation as the two of you finally start approaching the giant wall of rock where Eddie and Richie stand, brushing each other off with grimaced faces, Ben slowly turns around and pulls you slowly to him, wrapping his arms around you. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around your shaking body. The world around seemed to melt away as you squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through your veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside you.

‘I can’t do this Ben, not again, not after last time. What I saw-I saw-’

‘You are so brave, sweetheart, but this time, I’m not leaving you alone for a second. Plus,’ he says, elbowing you slightly with the biggest smile he can muster at the moment, ‘if you see the deadlights, I’ll just have to kiss you again to pull you out and back to me.’

‘Ben Hanscom, I swear!’, you mutter with a hoarse laugh, pulling your arms around his neck and burying your head into the curve of his shoulder. You just needed a moment, just one more moment with your husband in your arms, his hands tight against your hips, safe.

Everything was okay.

Through the darkness behind your head came the glow of two yellow eyes, like sallow lamplight eight feet off the ground, if only Ben’s had been open to see them, and if only Richie and Eddie hadn’t been having a mock fight over who’s married to who’s mother.. They moved with a slight sway, as if the unseen body prowled like a big cat. The monster advanced on them, its physique hardly discernible in the shadowy twilight of the sewer. With each slow movement that belied the speed it was capable of, slime dripped, oozing great globs of phlegm and depositing them with light splashes into the water; it’s skin was gnarled, but crumpled and folded as if in the midst of changing form. Over it's belly lay crusty flaps of concave skin. The beast reeked of raw sewage and rotten fish. A smell that hit your nose with a rancid pang only a few seconds before it had reached the edge of your shoulder, and Ben had drawn himself away from his warm daydreams of you to open his eyes.

In a split second, it had torn you from Ben’s grasp and dragged you down into the depths with it.

Darkness enveloped you. The water closed in around, filling you with a deep dread as you kicked out against it’s knobbly arms and screamed against the claws that dug into your cheek and left bubbling scratches. Red and black splotches danced in front of you as you gave the clown one final desperate kick in the shin, wiggling out of its grasp as a desperate hot wave enveloped you, warming even your frosted toes. Your heart was beating rapidly in panic, the urgency for air was apparent than ever. There weren't red blotches in your field of vision anymore. It was all black. You opened her mouth, gasping for air, fighting until you feel like your head is about to explode. You have to take a breath. So you do. For some reason it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would. You’re not scared anymore, it’s almost peaceful actually.

You begin to fall, dropping further and further into the darkness until it threatens to swallow you whole.

Ben knows he’s scared when those old fears run through my head, when he hears the taunting laughter of years past, when he was the ‘fat kid’ and punchline of teenage jokes. He knows he’s scared when these bad memories cut loose their chains and invade his confidence, eroding the person he had built since those dark days.

But this time was so much worse.

The adrenaline flew over his veins like licks of fire, but he couldn’t move a single muscle, not even to scream. The absolute horror completely paralysed him, and the more he thought about losing you, the more he thought each straggling breathe he pulled in as he dipped his head up above the water would be his last. If you died, he was going to die too. He didn’t remember being that scared in his life.

The rest of the group jump in after you with desperate cries, not one of them caring in the smallest bit for their safety as their stomachs and heads hit against the cold with tumultuous crashes and wake Ben from his nightmare, his own head being pulled down by his brain to desperately search for you in the darkness. Even Eddie dipped his legs in, not really swimming to search for you so much as drowning slowly. Every few strokes he was swallowing the shitty water and within metres he was fully submerged, the light dying out with him.

It took you a few moments to register that there were other shapes, big square blocks floating around in the water with you. Something in the back of your mind seemed to recognise the sandy curls that brushed against your forehead, the callused and raw hands that grabbed at your biceps, every pinprick touch registering a shock to your skin as you allowed yourself to be taken away. You thought, as you see the face of your husband warp in front of you, that angels had finally come to take you away.

As the two of you break out of the water, Ben taking in a massive, gasping breathe, his shouts echo around the cavernous walls as the other’s begin to rise up one by one with shaking cries.

‘She’s here! She’s here, I’ve got her! I’ve got you.’

In that simple moment he wrapped his arms around you and you let your head rest upon his chest. All your thoughts stopped as if your heart took over from your head, your breathe beginning to catch itself as water spluttered up from your lungs and escaped in gasping coughs out of your lips. Next he would squeeze as if he needed to check you were really there with him, really there and really real.

You looked sharply up as he took your hands into his. They felt like sandpaper or perhaps stone, rough and unfinished. It suited him, you thought, looking into his deep eyes, his hands warm in yours as he brought them up to his lips, your nerves tingling at the harsh comfort of contact, your body melting into his hard chest, his heartbeat comforting, if a little rushed for your liking.

‘It’s okay, Ben, I’m okay.’

You pull your head back to look at him, your heart sinking as you reach up with a shaking finger to wipe away the tears that littered down his cheek, his lips twitching as your touch brings more relief than his heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he can't quite believe you’re not part of an almost forgotten dream. When he leans down to kiss you, it's sweet, gentle, and it tastes of his salty tears as he laughs against your warm mouth.

‘Hey, what did I say about not leaving you alone ever again? Please, don’t go, don’t go ever again, I couldn’t take it.’

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #302

“heaven ain’t close in a place like this”

What color are your eyes? Grayish blue. What's your favorite type of milk? If we're talking the basics, ig 1% is fine. What would you change about your appearance if you could? Oh, hunny, you got time for an essay? What would you change about your bedroom if you could? I need to fucking finish decorating it... It's not finished by no fault but my own laziness. Are you rich or poor? We're definitely pretty poor. Are you double jointed? I don't think so. What's the most physically painful thing you've ever experienced? I once had a large infected cyst that had to be drained by applying pressure to it, and I swear to Christ I don't know how I didn't faint. They gave me morphine and multiple numbing shots, but none of that did SHIT. I'm not even embarrassed by the fact I was shrieking and sobbing and swearing because I'm pretty fucking sure any sane person would've cried out many times. I'm convinced they either didn't numb me enough for someone of my size back then, or I should've just gone under for it. I have no words for how painful it really was. Do you like shots? Uh, given that nobody LIKES getting a shot with a needle, I'm going to assume you mean like, taking shots of alcohol, in which case I've never tried, but I can almost absolutely guarantee you I'd hate them. I hate the taste of alcohol (hence why I only drink sweet and weak stuff), sooooo, I've got my doubts I'd enjoy something so potent. Are you afraid of spiders? Yes and no? Small ones don't tend to get to me, and I LOVE tarantulas. Big spiders are absolutely fascinating and I love *watching* them, but if I was surprised by a sudden spider, I'm going to probably cry out and jump/scramble away. But on a real note, respect your spiders, whether they scare you or not. They are so important to the ecosystem. See one in the house, take it outside if you can. Have you ever had an allergic reaction to something? To some earrings, yes. I have to wear ones that don't have silver in them. Do you like to read? Yeah, but not nearly as much as I did as a kid. I'm even slacking on WoF lately... Do you know what your purpose in life is? *SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* BITCH I WISH I KNEW What's something you would like to improve at? Not being a socially anxious catastrophe. Do you believe you have great potential? Everybody does. You just have to use it. What is the most beautiful scenery you have ever beheld? Probably the mountains when driving to Tennessee. Or New York? I really can't recall either so clearly as to have a favorite. Are you flexible? Noooot anymore. Back in my WiiFit days, I was a gotdamn snake. List a song lyric that you like. Oh Jesus, don't make me think. Uhhhhh there's so many. Flipping through artists in my head with lyrics I tend to love, there's Otep with: "hey, hey, NRA, how many kids did you kill today?". Simple, but spine-chilling to me. Huh, time to listen to it actually, lol. That song murders me with the goosebumps. Do you meditate? No; I can't. You can't tell me to "free my mind," man. It's way too hectic at all times up there. What's one place you've been to that you want to visit again? I'd love to go back to Chicago one night when I actually learn how to do nighttime urban photography. What's one place you want to go that you've never visited before? I always answer "South Africa" to questions like this, so for variety's sake, I'll say the Bahamas. But a conspiratory bitch is afraid of the Bermuda Triangle, so... lmao. What's your favorite type of tree? I like big, impressive weeping willows. How many times have you seriously injured yourself? Only two occasions I can think of immediately. Maybe there's more, but idk. Did you attend Sunday School as a child? Yeah, even though I hated it. What is the longest your hair has ever been? Maybe a little passed the small of my back? What about the shortest? (not including being a toddler or baby): How it is now and has been for a couple years: shaved short on the left side, and it transitions to a length near my chin as you go to the right. Have you ever smoked a cigarette? No. Are/were you in the school band, and if so, what instrument did you play? I did, and I played the flute. I'd choose the saxophone if I could go back. Who does the grocery shopping in your household? Well, it's just Mom and me, so her. If you were to donate to charity today, what would you donate to? One that focuses on ovarian cancer for Mom. What is your favorite card game and when was the last time you played it? Even though I was never great at it or knew every single rule, "Magic: The Gathering" is honestly really fun, and I loved looking at the card art. I haven't played it since I was with Jason, so at least five-six years. Would you consider yourself to be good at spelling and grammar? Yeah, but I've somehow gotten worse with time???? I question the spelling and tenses of words I write a lot. What is your favourite seasonal candy? (only available at certain times): Probably like, chocolate rabbits. NOT hollow. Way to break my heart. Or gingerbread cookies. What was the last chocolate bar you ate? I think a Hershey's? It was a while ago. Who was the last person you talked to on Skype/video chat? I was in a Zoom session with multiple people for my partial hospitalization program. Have you ever dreamt about sleeping with someone other than your partner? If so, did that make you feel embarrassed? I've never had a dream like this while in a relationship. The last time you had butterflies in your stomach, what was the reason? I have no idea. Has anyone told you that they miss you recently? No. Has anyone ever asked you out or told you that they liked you, and you rejected them? Can you explain why you didn’t like, or didn’t feel attracted to that person? There was this one guy in the 4th grade who asked me if I would go out with him so much it almost became like a joke. I just... didn't like him like that. Then there's Juan; I'd just been warned that he had a bad rep by a very reliable adult, and the idea of dating him was kinda... intimidating anyway. Plus he was a smoker, which was and still is a no-no for me. What part in a movie would you love to play? The clinically insane villain or something because I feel with my history, I could channel that very well IF I actually wanted to act in the first place. What piece of furniture have you replaced the most? The couch. What’s the best part of your favorite movie? When Simba walks up Pride Rock in the rain and roars and all the lionesses join in. Chilling. What do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? Candy corn is repulsive. What was the highlight of your day? My mom was raving to one of my therapists in the PHP about my art and how badly she wants me to just get everything out there. I was smiling really big but looking down with how shy but also flattered it made me. Do you know anyone who is anorexic? I don't think so. Who has hurt you the most this year? Ha, myself. What's the last insult someone said to you? Hm. How much did your car cost? N/A What is the last picture you received on your phone of? Uhhh Mom mighta sent me a meme or Sara showed me a drawing someone made of Suriza, I think. Have you ever let someone go because you thought they deserved better? No, though I've felt that way before. Is there anybody you're really disappointed in right now? I'm still not over the fact Dad was a druggie before me and my sisters, apparently. It's almost like... hurtful in some weird way? Idk exactly why, it's just something I know I feel. What do you hear right now? I have Motionless In White's cover of "Somebody Told Me" playing in another tab. Do you do anything to help the environment? I do what I can as someone who isn't financially independent and reliant on another person for transportation. I won't litter for anything (and this includes shit like letting balloons go in the air, fucking stop), I'm trying to use my metal straw always in place of plastic, and to use less plastic bags, I try to spread out the times I clean Roman's litterbox to a few days; not to the point it's disgusting or uncomfortable for him, of course, though. Three days without is pretty much max. When's the last time you did something you knew was wrong? Ha, a little while ago... I was trying to avoid eating the two last biscuits Mom made for dinner 'cuz I really gotta lay off the carbs, but Mom "joked" that "it's your birthday, you get to do whatever you want," so I kinda just said fuck it lmao. Do you think that you have a pretty smile? No, because my eyes squint badly, and I also hate my teeth. When's the last time you cried over a guy? A few days ago a little bit, actually. I was reminiscing too much and recalling some of the warmest memories. Are you scared to lose the person you fell the hardest for? I already did. Oh well. Is there someone you wouldn't mind kissing right now? Yep. Do you have any friends that actually model? No. Do you care about the last person you kissed? A fucking lot. Do they care about you? Yes. Is there someone you wish you were with right now? Yes, just because of past birthday memories. I keep hoping a "happy birthday Britt" pops up in my FB messenger, and I hate myself for it. Have you ever imagined how it would feel kissing a certain someone? I legitimately just huffed in humor, guess, lmao. What are the bad things you've heard people say about you? That I'm a martyr, going nowhere, lazy, not trying hard enough, y'know, all that good stuff. Do you flirt a lot? Definitely not. What phrase or saying do you use the most? Probably "oof" lol. What mood are you in right now? I'm doing pretty all right. Kinda dreading Miss Tobey coming over, mean as it is, but I just... don't wanna deal with her and her judgments on my birthday. But I'm looking forward to seeing my sisters, and therapy went very well. Have you ever kissed someone that was high? No. Do you have a good relationship with your mother? Yep. How many exes do you have? I only consider two exes "serious," as I've only been in two deep and long-term relationships, but if we're counting everyone who's had the label of "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," there's six. Do you want to be single or with someone? Ugh, I don't know. It's probably better I don't 'til I figure my shit out, but I really do miss the companionship a lot. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed? Because I love her and I was leaving her at the airport. Does your mom think you’re a virgin? She doesn't know for the same reason I don't, really. I think she leans towards I am, but idk. Is there someone that wants you to give them a second chance? I don't know. What size bra do you wear? Uhhh I genuinely don't buy bras enough to know this exactly. C-something. Does the person you last kissed still like you? I don't know if she still like-likes me. Are your parents still together? Noooo. Was your first time good or bad? I dated an Italian, if u kno what I mean. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Which friend-turned-enemy do you miss the most? Colleen, sometimes. Have you ever used an epi pen, and it worked? I have not. What is on your top priority list for today? Make this fuckin' day for me. I'm trying to not let the depression sink in and make me feel worthless on today of all days. So I'm trying to stay in a positive headspace. Do you own any sand art in a jar? Omg, those are so cool! But no. Does the sun come in your window in the morning or at night? Not really; there's houses in the way. What was the last piece of art you created? A drawing of a meerkat with its mouth open angrily, done with colored pencils, against a black background. It's on my second dA. What time of day do you take medications? I have prescription meds for when I wake up and at bedtime. What's your newest hobby you've started? A new hobby? Huh... What are some things you wanted to do that your parents didn't let you do? They wouldn't let us stay home alone until a certain age, we had a timer on the TV at bedtime to shut off after a while, we weren't exposed to certain music or shows, no cursing... stuff like that. What YouTube channels do you recommend? This is a BAD question to ask me, 'cuz I could just about recommend channels for just about any niche. I watch soooooo many. What is your favorite day of the week? Tuesday, because it's reset day in WoW, haha. Meaning, I get to do my stupid mount farming raids again for the week. Blackhand, gimme your FUCKING clefthoof already. Ballet or cheerleading? Ballet is beautiful. What are your favorite sports to watch? Only dancing, really. Were you ever in the marching band? No. Which holiday has the best decorations, in your opinion? My contrasting aesthetics make this hard, haha. I love Christmas with all the beautiful light displays people can make, but let's not sleep on Halloween, y'all. I loooove Halloween decor, like c'mon, that's where I get shit for my room year-round, lmao. What do you want to be known for? It'd actually be kinda cool if I built up some sort of rep in the vulture culture community with my photography of roadkill. For how few shots I actually have on there and minimal interaction, my Instagram for it is doing quite well, if you consider those factors. They've gotten some pretty decent attention on dA, too. I would love for people to know why I do it though, of course: awareness and respect for the animal's life. How often do you wear make-up? Almost never nowadays. Think of the person you are jealous of...what are you jealous of them for? She's actually making a career out of her photography. Do you have art that you made in high school? Oh, plenty. Do you have trauma in your past? *clears throat* take a fuckin seat Favorite type of frosting? Chocolate. Have you ever tried cake decorating? No. One of my sisters is actually one, though! She's great at it. What clubs are you a part of? None. What was your favorite book that you had to read for school? The Outsiders. 6th grade, to be exact. Do you like to read classics, or do you usually read new arrivals? I don't prefer one over the other, honestly. Were you a big partier in college? No, I never partied. Is your college one you would recommend? My most recent one, fuck yes. They're amazing and care so deeply for their students. Would you go camping in the woods alone? Yikes, no. Would you name your kids after anyone? If I had a son and I had my way with the name, he would be named after the Most Selfless Man in the World, Damien from WKM. :'''''( Do you have any supernatural gifts? No. Are there any good churches in your town? You're asking someone who has a bad relationship with religion. Do you want an indoor or outdoor wedding? It really depends on the season and venue my spouse and I pick. Do you think you would be a good salesperson? HEEEEEEEEEEEELL NAW fam. I ain't pressuring people to buy shit.

#survey #surveys #questions #questionnaire #lyrics: ''somebody told me'' by motionless in white

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adventuresloane · 4 years

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“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” with hurloane, perhaps : o?

((Hey what's up I wrote this on a nine-hour flight and it ended up being almost 3k words lmaooooo. Sorry again for the wait!))

Hurley turned the corner into the alley and saw the blood black and bright as motor oil in the nighttime. She had been expecting and dreading it.

"Shit, Sloane." She didn't remember until a moment later about using real names out in public, nor did she particularly care at the moment. She ran forward to where Sloane sat slumped against the wall and slid to a stop on her bare knees.

Underneath the black, beaked helmet, her breathing came out ragged. She brushed away Hurley's hand when she carefully tried to lift the bird mask away. "Alright, Curls, I'd say you're the healer of our team, right?" Her hand rested on her belly, over the spot where the thin wooden shaft stuck out of her. "Do I leave this in me or pull it out now?"

"Sloane, you need a fucking hospital," she hissed. "I'm taking you."

"Oh, and you're going to check me in there, Lieutenant? That'll look good."

"I'll just drop you off and go if that's what you want! I'll be anonymous."

"No. They could still figure out who I am there, even without the mask." She pushed herself up slowly against the brick wall with one hand. "Besides, I'm not even that bad."

"Sloane..."

"I'm not! Just..." Behind the helmet's dark visor, it was difficult to see whether she was making eye contact. But she turned her head fully toward Hurley for the first time all night. "Just help me out a little now, alright? Then I'll take care of myself afterward, I promise."

She tried to give Sloane a glare that she couldn't sustain for long. She wouldn't be able to see her disapproval in the dark anyway. Hurley finally relented and let out her held breath, though it left her feeling no more relieved. Drops still fell from Sloane's stomach now and again. "If you're going to run, you should take the bolt out. You might bleed more, but it's better than risking more internal damage while you're moving around," she murmured. Then she paused and placed a hand over Sloane's, where it rested over her gut. "Would you...would you rather do it yourself or should I..."

"Could you?"

For a long time, Hurley took in the cold air. Still holding her breath, she wrapped her hand firmly around the shaft of the bolt. She kissed the only exposed part of Sloane's skin that she could reach, where her neck met her collarbone, and then pressed her forehead gently against her chest there, mingling their cooled sweat. Then she removed the serrated arrowhead the only way that one could when one was without anesthetic, surgical tools, and time.

The gasp that came out of Sloane would have been a scream if she'd had just slightly less self-control. "Sorry, sorry, shh..." At once, Hurley tore the fabric from the bottom of her gi--first-aid kit wasn't as easy to reach--and started to press it against the wound. She imbued it with what healing magic she could, but a few seconds of contact would never be enough. It took time to restore flesh. Sloane shook against her but still stood. She shouldn't have had to. Absurdly, she wanted Sloane collapsing into her, wanted to take on all her weight, though it would never have been possible now. "I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm..." She swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry..."

"No, it's fine," she croaked. "I asked you to do it."

"Well, you didn't ask for this! I'll kick their asses for you, alright? They're not getting away with this."

Sloane simply took the fabric from her hands and pressed it to her own stomach as she began to move away. "We'll talk later, okay? I'll get--shit." Hurley heard it, too, a second later. The click of crossbows being cocked and footsteps rushing down the street. Without another word, she took off running around the bend.

That left Hurley to turn around and face her troop of fellow officers as they rounded the corner--bows drawn, and by the gods, she was going to report every one of them later for aiming a weapon without a target in sight.

"Hold your fire!" she blurted. Only when they all stopped and stared at her blankly did she realize that she ought to justify that. "Ah...these are apartments along this alley. All of them, I think. I'm not going to have stray bolts going into folks' homes while they sleep!"

It wasn't a good lie. She would've known that even if she hadn't seen the confused glances they gave each other. There was a reason she normally left the lying and the acting to Sloane. But anyway, her officers were meant to listen to her whether they believed her or not. "The Raven's still running. Took off down Hoopoe Street in the direction of Town Hall. You both, head west and see if you can cut her off!" And like that, she sent them off in different directions, none of them the way in which Sloane had gone. Later, they'd talk around the water cooler at the office about how the thief had slipped off again, how they'd practically had her in the bag before she'd just vanished like shadow passing into darkness.

Hurley followed them, but before she did, she looked back to where she had last seen Sloane run, really.

It was difficult, when she got back to the office in the wee hours of the morning, to convince her superiors that she was simultaneously too hurt to perform the rest of her shift and not hurt enough to be immediately sent to an ER. The signs of a scuffle with the Raven helped, though--she hadn't even thought to point out her torn clothes until someone mentioned it. In any case, after filing the most perfunctory of reports, she sped on foot through the city to the safehouse that Sloane had set up for herself. It wasn't soon enough that she finally got to the door and rapped out the special, encoded knock signaling that it was her.

There was silence from the other side for so long that she started to wonder whether Sloane had gone elsewhere, or whether she had made it anywhere. Already, Hurley had wasted so much time trying to get the militia off her back without them suspecting how urgent it was. She might not have been quick enough.

She was just preparing to knock again when she heard shuffling from deep inside. It must have gone on for a couple of minutes before the door finally creaked open. Through the crack slipped a hand clutching the shining, gold-painted horn of her familiar ram mask.

She blinked at it. "Why--"

"Just put it on!" Sloane's voice hissed from inside.

Hurley obliged and stepped through to see Sloane still in the helmet that enclosed her whole head. Without a word, and without allowing for a chance to ask how she was feeling, she turned and walked away. Sloane was a good actress, Hurley reminded herself. She was pretending not to care. That didn't mean she might not have also been angry about being shot by people under Hurley's command.

"You know, Raven, I think I recall you being the one who wanted to keep this on the down-low." The call came from the living room of the abandoned apartment, slathered in mock-sympathy. "Just between us and all that. Wouldn't want word getting back to the other racers that you weren't in top shape."

"Yeah, well, you're shit out of luck, because it's no one you can gossip with here. It's just my partner."

That word again. It was the only one she had ever heard Sloane use to refer to her, to what they were to each other. "Racing partner" is what she meant, of course. Hurley wasn't sure if she intended for the plausible deniability about what sort of "partners" they were aside from that. But no other word like "girlfriend" or "lover" had been used by either of them, at least not out loud. The question had been, after maybe the third instance of supposedly "no-strings-attached" sex, Hey, so is this a thing now? and the answer had been, Looks like it. It had seemed simple and natural. They hadn't been anymore specific than calling it a "thing" at the time.

Though it wasn't like they talked about their relationship with anyone but each other regardless.

"Oh, I know who it is." Hurley pushed past the old woven rug that hung in the doorway to come face-to-face with someone who looked as though every part of them had been stretched out. They were human, tall and narrow as the gap between jail bars, with long arms full of measly muscles and straight hair down to their knees. There was smile on their face and a shine in their eye. "Well, hello, Ram! You clean up alright. I'm used to seeing you covered in dirt." They said this as Sloane sat down in front of them and they laid hands back on her belly, where the wound had begun to close up.

Hurley took one look at Crane and then glanced back Sloane's way. "Raven, seriously?"

"What? They know what they're doing!"

"Why, thank you! I absolutely do know what I'm doing," said the person who, despite not having won a race in months, could easily clinch the award for Shadiest Cleric on the Racetrack, and Most Likely All of Goldcliff. (Honestly, maybe they were lying and were actually some bizarre kind of warlock.)

"They're going to bleed you dry at best and might make it even worse if it suits them. You know that, right?"

"On the contrary, I think you'll find that I'm doing a fine job stopping her bleeding, no thanks to you."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to come and watch," Sloane said with a half-shrug, as though entirely unbothered one way or the other.

She was a good actress. But that, quite frankly, was a little much. Hurley chewed on the tip of her tongue until it just barely began to hurt. It was bad enough, she thought, that she wasn't the one doing the healing right now, that someone else was laying their hands on her. She could, just barely, watch strands of this asshole's foreign magic slither like worms into Sloane. But to imply that she'd ever choose not to be by Sloane's side was adding too much insult to injury.

On the other hand, it wasn't like this was anything new. Given how many racers engaged in worse illegal activity on the side, rivals were always loathe to show their faces to one another, let alone share personal details that could be used against them. For her and Sloane, that had always meant keeping their closeness under wraps in front of everybody. In front of criminals and law-abiding citizens alike.

Finally, Crane stepped away and let Sloane run her hand over the spot that had just healed. "See, now, you're good as new! Be back to eating shit on that racetrack in no time. That'll be 700 gold, my dear."

"That's a funny way of saying 300 gold," Sloane quipped back.

Seeing where this was going and not especially keen on a five-minute-minimum bargaining session over how much Sloane's actual life was worth, Hurley stepped forward to drop a sack of coins into Crane's hand. "That's 650, alright? Now please leave."

"Ram, fuck's sake, don't give into them like that!"

"Aw, very sweet of the little sheep."

"Fuck you," Sloane said. A selfish part of Hurley hoped that was for her.

"So it's true, then?" Crane's grin stayed smug, but it was no longer satisfied. There was something new in the way they held themself. The way their head tilted as though trying to see from a different angle, the little bounce in their knee as they stood there. Behind those thin, grinning lips, they salivated for an answer. "What they say about the two of you, I mean."

"They say a lot of things about us. Now kindly fuck off out of my safehouse." Her tone was flippant, but the skin stretched taut over her knuckles as her fist kept tightening at her side. She had one arm outstretched toward the door, and that was held tensely, too.

But she might have just said yes. There weren't many these days in the racing scene who didn't at least suspect, and these were people who would wear their "lucky" boxers for two months straight if they thought it would let them win a race or outrun a cop. If they had a suspicion, any inkling of what might give them even the barest advantage, then they were acting on it already. Sloane lost nothing by confirming what everyone already thought they knew anyway.

As for what the pair of them stood to gain? Admittedly, Hurley wasn't quite sure. Maybe freedom, or maybe just a way of knowing that they'd been free all along. Free to share their victory kiss out in the open, drenched in sweat and the sun and the clamor of the crowd and each other. They didn't always have to crash together rough and quick as they ducked down a shadowed alleyway after a race.

"Sure, sure." They sneered. "I was just wondering if I could tell everyone that I heard wedding bells."

Her fingers uncoiled only to snap to the handle of the dagger at her thigh. Her shoulders were forward, the ruff of feathers around her collar seeming to puff out like the neck of a frilled lizard. She walked at them quick enough to startle them back a step, the black beak of her mask inches from their eye. Hurley had seen her like this before, this posturing. There was a time when she might have fallen for it herself. That was before she knew to look for the quickening of Sloane's breath, the way her whole body stiffened as if bracing for a blow. "Crane, if you fuck me over--"

"Alright, alright!" Their hands were up in front of them. "Fantasy Jesus Christ, you woke up on rather the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?"

"I got shot."

"And you're a very bad sport about it." They spun on their heel and raised their hand without looking back. "Happy trails, you two."

Sloane slumped as soon as their footsteps had faded completely. She was stable now, and the only blood left in the room had long since dried to shit-brown, but exhaustion pressed down on her like a hand on the place where her neck met her spine. Hurley saw it and had the thought, as though it had been whispered to her without warning, One of these days, I'm going to make you honest.

As soon as she sat on the bench, Hurley joined her. "Sloane?"

Sloane turned her way. This time, when she tried to lift the raven mask away, she wasn't prevented. For the first time since yesterday, she saw bright green eyes underlined by dark crescents, looking her softly all over. She brushed aside the strands of hair that had been plastered to the side of her face by sweat since last night, rubbed lightly at the indents in her skin that had been left by the mask. She closed her eyes slowly when Hurley ran a thumb over her cheek, and she turned her head to the side when Hurley tried to get a better look to see if she was okay, and this was how Sloane loved her, by giving way to her like this. And this was why she loved to be loved by Sloane, because she relented for no one else, because she let herself be cared for by no one else. This belonged to Hurley alone.

Though that didn't mean it always had to he behind closed doors.

"What are you lookin' at?" Sloane finally murmured with a small, tired smile. "I know I look like shit."

"I'm sure I do, too. We both haven't slept." In the growing light just before sunrise, she could see what she hadn't before, the smaller cuts across her chest and over her arms. Nothing big, but there, and red. "They missed all of this."

Sloane raised her brows a little. "I didn't ask them to take a look."

"You shouldn't have to ask." Hurley stared her down on purpose as she said it, to make sure the words stuck out to her.

It was unclear whether they did. She glanced away and scratched at her hairline. After seeming to think for a moment, then, she quickly said, "Well, they would've charged me more for that, I bet. Speaking of which, I guess this means I'm paying you back, huh?"

"You're an ass," Hurley said just before kissing her, slowly this time. Sloane placed her hands over Hurley's where they rested against her damaged chest, keeping them pressed there. She had her eyes closed, since she didn't have to look to feel the way the warm healing magic flowed from her fingers and into Sloane's body. She could sense the cuts in her skin closing one by one.

If she could help it, she'd always be the reason Sloane turned honest. She'd be the reason Sloane showed her exhaustion, the reason she felt safe enough to doze at dawn in a run-down old apartment the way she was now. She'd be the excuse for Sloane not to play hard all the time.

And it didn't have to be now, but someday she'd love her so hard that they'd have to be out in the open about it.

#and that's all the fic requests! thanks everyone!#hurloane #hurley #sloane #taz balance #taz fanfic #fan fiction #taz #the adventure zone #the zone cast #taz hurley #taz sloane #ask meme #anonymous #injury cw #blood mention

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pitviperofdoom · 5 years

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Fundraiser Commission #3

Thank you for donating $20!

Prompt: “...can I get a commission from pitviperofdoom for a sequel/one shot to her fic burn and breathe? Maybe when Izuku gets hurt badly and Shouto is feeling the pain but really worried about Izuku and is trying to get to Him? Thanks!”

Burn and Breathe

Hey, guys! Sorry it’s been taking so long to get these out, I got more $20 commissions than I expected. I have six more in the works as we speak. Thank you all for your patience!

-----------------

He types out the message on a whim on the first day, riding on a wave of boldness, and hits the ‘send’ button before it can wear off.

Izuku: Maybe you shouldn’t have picked your dad’s agency for this.

It may be overstepping—it’s probably overstepping—but Izuku can’t help but say something. Gran Torino’s training has left him stiff and sore, with prolonged quirk use and countless wall collisions on top of the usual ache of exercise. He’s trying to decide whether it’s better or worse than the months he spent cleaning up Dagobah, but it’s almost impossible when he has an entirely separate section of pain that, technically, isn’t even his.

Izuku can separate the two enough to know that, as tired and tender as he feels after today, whatever Todoroki went through was even worse.

They haven’t spoken much since the Sports Festival. Izuku just hasn’t known what to say to him. He said everything he wanted—more than he wanted—after the festival ended and he caught Todoroki trying to slip away unnoticed. He had a lot built up inside him, and finally letting it all out had been terrifying and cathartic and mortifying and, more than anything, the greatest relief of his life. He thought—hoped?—that Todoroki felt the same.

Since then, they have exchanged phone numbers but not much else. Izuku gets the feeling that Todoroki doesn’t know where to go from here any more than he does.

His phone chimes. There’s a reply.

Todoroki-kun: You’re one to talk.

Izuku purses his lips thoughtfully. It’s true that he hurts, but he still feels that it’s different. For one thing, he knows very well what burns feel like. Gran Torino may not have the kind of quirk that can be used directly against someone, but Izuku’s pretty sure the old man wouldn’t even if he did.

But it’s not just the aftermath. Izuku has been feeling Todoroki’s pain all day. He’s felt it his entire life, and today’s pain has been no different from any other day—last week, last year, all the way back to when they were five years old.

That’s wrong, he thinks. That shouldn’t happen.

He sends another message before he can lose his nerve.

Izuku: It’s a cycle, isn’t it. Or, not a cycle. It just keeps going.

The little pen icon indicating that Todoroki is typing a reply blinks in an out for a while. In the end, all Todoroki sends is a question mark.

Izuku sits crosslegged on his mattress, bent over his phone as he tries to put his thoughts into words.

Izuku: It’s almost normal at first, just rougher. But it keeps going and going until you can’t go anymore.

Izuku: It stops, because you stop. But it keeps going because he won’t let you stop.

Izuku: It just keeps going until you can’t go anymore, and then it goes further.

He pauses, stomach turning as he waits for a reply, but Todoroki doesn’t seem to be typing one.

Izuku: It feels like you train until you drop, right? And then you get up again and keep going until you drop, and then you get up again. You never take a break. You just get up again and again until it’s nighttime.

The pen icon appears again. Todoroki replies.

Todoroki-kun: That’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. I knew what I was getting into, when I chose this.

Izuku frowns.

Izuku: That’s not good for you. That’s not healthy.

Todoroki-kun: Unfortunately, it’s the reason why I’m as strong as I am.

As he reads it, Izuku grips his phone so hard his knuckles creak.

Izuku: No, don’t you get it?

His hands shake with anger as he replies, because he spent ten months discussing rigorous health plans and schedules and nutrition to get himself to a point where One For All wouldn’t blow him apart when it passed to him, and he likes to think he learned a few things.

Izuku: That’s the worst way to train yourself. Strength training is just causing damage to your muscles so that it heals with stronger tissue. If you don’t let yourself heal enough, then you’ll just do more damage to yourself.

He sends the message and then regrets it, because the way he phrased it made it sound like Todoroki is doing this to himself, like he’s choosing to do this instead of being forced.

Todoroki’s reply comes quickly.

Todoroki-kun: Don’t worry about that. The old man’s plan is to shape me into the perfect hero, remember? He won’t accomplish that by damaging me.

In a twisted way, that should be comforting. Endeavor hurts Todoroki, obviously. He’s been hurting him for years, and Izuku has felt the pain alongside him since they were small. But more than anything, Endeavor wants him to be powerful. Endeavor wants him to be perfect. Hurting Todoroki beyond repair would be counter productive.

And yet…

Izuku: That’s what he wants to do, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to work.

The pen icon appears, then disappears. Izuku swallows against the lump of dread sitting at the base of his throat.

Izuku: Just because he doesn’t want to damage you too much, doesn’t mean he won’t do it by accident.

Izuku: Just because he wants to train you to be the perfect hero, doesn’t mean he’s going to be good at it.

He falls asleep waiting for an answer.

---

The clock strikes two in the morning, and Izuku picks him up off the grimy alley ground again.

“Attempt number twelve,” he murmurs to himself, then hurls himself at the alley wall. He clumsily rebounds off of it, misjudges the power he puts into his jump, and slams into the opposite wall. The garbage bags at the bottom feel less and less soft every time he lands in them.

The phone in his pocket buzzes with a new message from Todoroki.

Todoroki-kun: GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP

Izuku cringes, shoves it back in his pocket, and calls it a night.

---

Shouto manages to claw together a manageable night’s worth of sleep, in spite of Midoriya’s apparent determination to prevent that. He has no idea what his classmate (soulmate, still getting used to that) was doing at one in the morning, but it felt an awful lot like he was trying to put himself through a crash-course in parkour, and failing. Shouto had been drifting off after a hard day of preliminary training, only to be woken up up by a spontaneous bloody nose, followed by bruises blooming at different points of his body.

Fortunately, the pain through the bond is noticeably dialed back today. There are still a few bumps and bruises here and there, but they’re hardly a bother. Shouto felt worse from him when they were six years old.

It’s not until late into the afternoon, when Endeavor is on his way to Hosu for a full evening of hunting down the Hero Killer, that Shouto gets the chance to pull out his phone. He has no way of knowing whether or not Midoriya is free, but it wouldn’t hurt to check in.

His thumb hovers over Iida’s name in his contacts, just for a moment. Iida looked troubled, the last time Shouto saw him, and part of Shouto wants to pursue that concern. But he and Iida aren’t friends. They’ve collaborated before, but he isn’t friends with Iida, not the way Midoriya and Uraraka are. And besides, he saw them talking to him at the start of the week, so they probably have it handled.

He shakes his head and sends a text to Midoriya.

Todoroki Shouto: What were you doing last night? Was your supervisor really training you at that hour?

He’s almost surprised when Midoriya actually answers.

Midoriya: No, I was doing it on my own. I’m really sorry, Todoroki, I forgot that it would affect you. Did you have trouble sleeping?

Shouto: I was fine. What were you doing?

Midoriya: Figuring out my control of my quirk. I actually kind of hit a breakthrough!

Shouto: Oh, I thought so.

Midoriya: You did?

Shouto shoots a quick glance around to make sure that no one is looking, before he allows himself a small smile.

Shouto: You haven’t been hurting as much today.

Shouto: I’m glad.

It’s only when the messages are already sent that he remembers this morning’s training, and he tries to swallow the sudden surge of guilt. This morning was every bit as grueling as Shouto’s mornings have ever been, and the afternoon was hardly any better. He hasn’t lessened Midoriya’s pain at all.

His traitorous brain reminds him that there were a lot of good names on his long list of nominations. One of them was Edgeshot. Edgeshot probably wouldn’t have spent the past few days beating him into the ground.

He waits, but Midoriya doesn’t reply again before they reach their destination and Shouto finds himself under Endeavor’s watchful eye again. Biting down a sigh, he slips his phone into a pouch and follows Endeavor out to start patrolling.

Hours later, when night has fallen and the city streets spill over with chaos and screaming, a message from Midoriya comes through. Shouto checks it; it’s not a text message, just a location. His heart leaps to his throat because Midoriya’s here, in Hosu, caught in the middle of the frantic evacuations and invading Noumu.

He’s somewhere in a city that’s under attack, and he’s just sent Shouto his location.

He’s in trouble. The realization hits him only a split second before he feels the cold sting of a blade in his leg.

Shouto turns and sprints back toward the darker side streets away from the chaos, deaf to his father’s indignant shouting.

---

It’s not until Tsuragamae has left the room that Todoroki sits down. Izuku lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing now that there’s no danger of his soulmate further insulting the Hosu Chief of Police.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he says, nervously half-joking. “For a second I thought you were going to punch him or something.”

The light laughter dies quickly when he realizes that Todoroki isn’t listening or looking at him. He’s sitting on his cot with his knees drawn up, curling in on himself like an insect hiding in its shell.

“…Todoroki?”

His arm still hurts. Todoroki’s arm, that is, though that means Izuku’s arm hurts, too. The ache of a half-healed stab wound, dulled by painkillers but still present, runs between them like a wire. Todoroki’s arm and left cheek. Izuku’s sprained wrist, the hairline fracture in his leg, the bruises from gripping claws and the whiplash in his neck from being caught in free-fall.

Izuku makes his way across to Todoroki’s bed to sit beside him. Briefly he meets Iida’s eyes from across the room. His friend averts his head and rises from his cot.

“I’m going to see about going to the restroom,” he says quietly, and leaves to give them the privacy their situation needs.

He was in the same alley they were, after all. When the knife grazed Todoroki’s face and a twin of the cut opened on Izuku’s face, Iida saw it.

Stain saw it, too.

Todoroki’s bandaged arm keeps drawing his eyes. Phantom sensations return to him full force. He remembers hot sting of Stain’s knife slicing into it. The villain had been fighting Izuku when he threw it and hit Todoroki on the other side of the alley. Cruel, but effective. The pain through the soulmate bond threw Izuku off balance, and Stain was quick to lap the blood that leaked through Izuku’s sleeve.

It was the same arm he carved into himself, back when he was twelve and Endeavor wouldn’t stop making his soulmate bleed.

“Todoroki,” Izuku says softly.

“If I’d dodged that knife,” Todoroki says softly.

“Todoroki, it’s okay—”

“I should have dodged the knife,” Todoroki says, without raising his head from his arms. “It’s not even the worst thing that’s ever been thrown at me. I should have dodged it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Izuku says. “But we’re all still here, right? We’re all alive, and we’re okay—I hardly even broke any bones this time. You know me. I can’t do anything interesting without breaking bones.”

Todoroki lets out a short bark of laughter, and slowly starts to uncurl. “I kind of hated you for it.”

There’s no real bite behind it, so Izuku decides not to take it personally. “That’s fair.”

His soulmate raises his head, and Izuku can see his eyes again. They’re not angry eyes anymore; it seems Todoroki spent all his furious energy shouting at Tsuragamae. Now he just looks tired and scared.

He looks a lot like how Izuku imagined his soulmate would look, back before they met and all Izuku knew about him was how much pain he felt every day.

“Thought I was gonna watch you die,” Todoroki says bluntly.

“Todoroki—”

“It was just for a second,” Todoroki says. “I thought—you know, I always thought our fight in the Sports Festival, and whatever you did at the entrance exam—I thought that was the worst I’d ever feel from you. But then I saw you there, with Stain, and I realized it could always be worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku answers in a rough whisper. “I want to promise you it won’t happen again, but…”

“But we’re going to be heroes,” Todoroki finishes for him.

“Yeah.” Izuku lets his hand rest on the mattress between them, turning it over so his palm faces upward. The offer is there, and he can tell by the line of Todoroki’s sight that he sees it, but he doesn’t take it. “Thanks for showing up. That’s never happened to me before.”

Todoroki blinks. “What?”

“Me, asking for help,” Izuku says. “Somebody answering.”

“Oh.” The hardness behind Todoroki’s eyes cracks. “Well, it’s not like I could ignore it. At least I knew where you were, this time.”

“Yeah, that is nice, isn’t it?”

“And it’s easier to stop someone else from hurting you, than it is to stop you from hurting yourself,” Todoroki says. “Even if I’m still not as strong as I could be. I still have to train.”

Izuku takes a deep breath. His hand doesn’t move. “I promised before that I’d get stronger, so I wouldn’t have to hurt you anymore. I’m not going to take that back.”

“Good.”

“But—” Izuku goes on before he could lose his nerve. “You have to do the same, okay?”

Todoroki closes his eyes. “Midoriya—”

“You can’t convince me there’s anything you can learn from Endeavor that you can’t learn from someone who won’t hurt you like that,” Izuku says hotly. “And even if I’m wrong, is he really the example you want to follow?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Just because something is unpleasant doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” Izuku cuts him off. “Just because you’re in pain doesn’t mean it means anything. It doesn’t mean you’re learning anything. It just hurts. And if you keep going back to something that hurts you when you have so many other choices, then how is that any different just hurting yourself?”

Todoroki curls back into his protective shell, hiding his face again.

The anger ebbs all at once, leaving Izuku with stinging, watering eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not mad at you, or anything. And I’m not—I’m not going to leave, because I care about you, and I’ve always cared about you since before I knew who you were. I just… all I’ve ever wanted was for you to stop hurting so much.” He swallows hard. “So I’m trying not to hurt myself, so you won’t have to feel it. But… I need you to try, too, okay? It’s okay if you can’t do it, I just want you to try. That’s all I ask.”

Instead of answering, Todoroki frees one arm, lowers his hand, and slides it over Izuku’s waiting palm. Izuku curls his fingers over it before his soulmate can change his mind, and Todoroki squeezes back. His heart swells until it feels like his chest just isn’t big enough to fit it anymore.

I love you, he thinks, but doesn’t say. Not yet.

One day, maybe. But they have a long way to go until then, and for now, this is enough.

#my hero academia #commission #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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rory-of-nantes · 4 years

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P(e)acemaker // Rory & Marco

Location: Rory and Marco’s house, May 2022

Summary: Rory has been hiding the truth about why she returned to Vannes from Marco (@marco-pierre) since she first moved in. She’d asked her parents to promise not to tell her eldest brother for fear of how he’d react. But now she knows it’s time to come clean. It’s best he know the full truth, especially in the event of an emergency... Her opening up to Marco leads to some tears and some strong sibling bonding.

Triggers: Mentions of chronic illness

As soon as Gen went to bed, Rory knew it wouldn't be long until Marco reminded her what she'd signed to him earlier during dinner. There was no way he'd forget how she'd told him to remind her she had something she wanted to talk about. And as much as she was starting to dread the fact she'd even mentioned such a thing, she knew it was too late to take it back. If she put off this conversation any longer, she'd probably never talk to him, not until it was too late and he found out some other way... And that would be bad. Very, very bad.

Walking into the kitchen, she leaned against the doorframe, watching her brother do the dishes for a long moment before finally speaking up. "Um... Marco?" She began, waiting for him to turn around. As soon as he did, she switched to signing. Can we talk?

Marco had such a great night with Gen and Rory. He wasn't as sleepy as they were, so after he put Gen to bed, he came back out to wash the dishes and make sure Rory took her nighttime meds so she could go to sleep. Hopefully they would be able to talk before she went to bed. He wondered what Rory had to tell him, he couldn't lie, he was a bit nervous about what she wanted to tell him. He had a million thoughts running through his mind, but he was going to focus on the dishes right now. When he heard her voice he turned to face her, Hey you...we sure can talk, I'm interested in hearing what you have to say.

Once Marco turned around, Rory saw the pile of dishes in the sink. You can finish the washing up first. We can talk about it later. She hastily signed, hoping he'd let her use the dishes as an excuse to push the conversation off just a little bit longer. Besides, she wasn't even sure how she was going to go about tell him. Once he learned she'd been keeping the truth from him this long, he'd certainly be upset. And she was dreading that.

Marco shook her head, No it's fine, I can wash the dishes later. He didn't want to hold off any longer with this conversation. I really want to know what's going on with you. He put his towel down and walked over to the table, pulling out a chair for her to join him. So what is it sis? Talk to me.

Great. He wasn't going to let her put off the conversation... Rory let out a heavy sigh before slowly making her way to the table, taking a seat in the chair her brother had so gracious pulled out for her. She placed her hands in her lap, fidgeting with them for a long moment, her gaze shifted downward to a random spot on the floor. She wasn't sure how to begin. Did she just come right out and tell him? How did she even do that? Eventually, she glanced up and made brief eye contact with Marco; though she still kept her hands in her lap for a few moments longer. "Um..." She swallowed hard; the words weren't coming to her. So finally, she decided actions might be best. Hesitantly, she reached for the collar of her blouse, tugging the fabric down just enough so he could see the scar from her pacemaker placement surgery. Without saying a word, she let out another sigh, waiting for his response. After all, she wasn't sure he'd even know what the scar meant. So if she had to explain it to him, she was trying to mentally prepare herself to do just that.

Marco sat and waited for Rory to tell him what was going on. The longer she hesitated, the more he got worried what this was about. He didn't want to think about worst case scenario, but she was scaring the hell out of him. He watched as she started pulling her blouse down, and then he saw the scar. His mind starting racing, he wanted her to just tell him what this was about, because he didn't know what to think. He couldn't take his eyes off the scar, but his mouth wouldn't form any words. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, "W-what is..." He pointed to her.

And Marco had no idea what the scar was from. That meant Rory was going to have to try and find the words to explain. Pulling the collar of her blouse back up to cover the scar, she began to sign; though since there wasn't really a sign for pacemaker, fingerspelling it was. P-A-C-E-M-A-K-E-R. She knew she'd have to explain more than that. Tell him when and why. He'd pester her for all the details; so she'd be better off just being as straightforward as possible. My arrhythmia wasn't well controlled anymore. It's why I left America two months early and never made it Costa Rica. I got sick; and went back to London for the surgery... And before you ask, maman and papa already know. Paxton contacted them after I got sick. Once she'd finished what she could bring herself to say for now, she bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap.

Marco was speechless when she spelled out pacemaker, that was the last thing he would have ever thought. A p-a-c-e-m-a-k-e-r? He was shocked that it came to this for her. She had been through so much in her life already, to add this on top of it didn't seem fair. He was shocked to hear that their parents knew and no one told him. Why would no one tell him? And no one thought to tell me? Am I not part of this family? He stood up and started to pace around the room. Rory was his little sister, someone he spent so many nights taking care of. And now when something major happens in her life, no one says anything. He turned to face her again, So what does this mean? Is there something that I need to worry about?

Rory kept her gaze averted until she felt the vibrations of the chair moving and Marco standing up. She glanced up, noticing her brother now pacing back and forth in the kitchen; and instantly, she felt horrible. Chewing at her lip and wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand, she tried to focus her attention on watching as he signed. She could see the hurt in his face, hurt that he wasn't informed of this sooner. I'm sorry. She began, letting out a heavy and somewhat pained sigh; though she tried her best to mask the pain. She didn't need to give him anything else to worry about in that moment. I know I should've told you sooner; but I wanted to tell you in person... And then I was just waiting for the right time to do so. She explained, hoping he'd forgive her for taking this long, especially since the pacemaker placement surgery had been nearly two months back. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't something you need to worry about... Right now, we're just seeing how this helps the arrhythmia. And if I still have issues, there are other options. But she wasn't going to get into those right now, partially because she didn't know all the options. All she knew was that the pacemaker was supposed to help regulate her heart rate. But if she was still dealing with the irregularity as well as the chest pains and shortness of breath such a thing brought about, her cardiologist would want to look further into the cause and look into other ways of helping manage things. And as much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew that could mean another bigger surgery at some point. Even if the pacemaker did its job, she couldn't help but feel like something was going to happen that would lead her to needing another big surgery... And to think, she'd gone twenty years without needing a fourth.

Marco knew he shouldn't be upset with Rory, but she couldn't help but feel hurt by this. He cared so much about her and he worried about her every time she traveled. Now hearing that she had undergone a serious surgery and no one thought to tell him broke his heart. He let out a sigh when she apologized, I get you wanting to tell me in person, but I would have wanted to be there with you. When you come out of surgery I would have wanted you to see my face when you woke up. He let out another sigh and shook his head. He sat back down and watched her sign out what this all meant and his mind was still reeling from the news. I just don't know what to think right now, I'm scared for you right now, not going to lie. He hated that she was dealing with this and that he was feeling like this. He should be supporting her, but his feelings were hurt. Other options? He wanted to know all the options but it was obvious that she really didn't know what they were. He took her hands in his, "Look, I may be overprotective sometimes but I care about you and I want to know what is going on with you. If you have a slight pain, I want to know."

Rory knew it was no use continuing to try and explain to Marco while she hadn’t told him sooner and told their parents not to tell him. The hurt on his face was too much for her; and knowing she was the cause of it was even worse. As he sat back down, she just kept her gaze on his hands, unable to look him in the face right now. Then when he took his hands in hers, she completely lost it. There was no keeping the tears welling in the corners of her eyes from beginning to course down her cheeks. Blinking them away did nothing except blue her vision. Pulling her hands away from Marco’s grasp, she wiped at the tears before speaking up, her voice shaking. “It hurts, Marco...”

Now with those words, Rory knew she’d have to elaborate to the best of her current ability. “It always hurts now, Marco; and it terrifies me... I-“ She choked, the words no longer coming out as she now felt like there was a giant lump in the back of her throat, like she was going to be sick. I guess this is my new normal; and I hate it. I fucking hate it... I don’t know what any of this means for me; and that has to be the worst part.

Marco didn't want to make Rory cry, that was the last thing he ever wanted. She was his sister that he would do anything for. There was nothing that he wouldn't do for her. And when she started to cry, he broke down as well. His heart was breaking for her. He didn't know just how much pain she was in till now, and that scared him so much. "Rory..." He could see the pain in her eyes and he never wanted to see her like that. He listened to her talk about her "new normal" and how terrified she was and he wished there was something he could do to fix this, but he knew he couldn't and he felt so helpless.I'll be here Rory, please know that, in whatever way you need me. I promise. The tears were steady coming down his face.

Rory tried to blink away her tears once more before deciding to just wipe them away with the back of her hand. But like before, that just blurred her vision, thus making being able to understand Marco’s signs a bit more difficult. So she didn’t respond to whatever he’d just said. Instead, she shut her eyes and bowed her head as she tried to stop herself from crying too much. Crying always made her chest hurt more and made her lightheaded, two things she really didn’t want to be feeling right then and there. She tried to focus on her breathing so she wouldn’t get dizzy; but it wasn’t really working. Unfortunately that meant she was now stuck where she was sat. As much as she wanted to just up and bolt from the table: she wasn’t about to chance stumbling and losing her balanced in front of Marco. She didn’t need to give him any further reason to worry, any further reason to be more of a protective big brother.

Marco didn't want to make this about him, if he felt this way, he could only imagine what she was feeling. She was crying and he wanted it to stop, so he wiped the tears from his eyes and knew he needed to be her rock through all of this. He got up from his chair and knelt down in front of her and hugged her tightly. She couldn't see his lips, so it would be futile to talk to her in this moment, all he wanted to do was hold her tight. She was going through so much, so all she needed was her brother, and he was going to give that to her. She was so important him, and he wanted to keep her happy and as safe as possible.

Rory only looked up as she felt the vibrations of Marco moving from his seat. And next thing she knew, her brother was kneeling in front of her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. Resting her head atop his, she carefully wrapped her arms around him and let out another heavy and pained sigh. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She muttered into his hair, still feeling horrible after seeing how keeping this information from her brother had hurt him. That certainly hadn't been her intention.

Marco held her tight, he felt better having her in his arms. He wanted her to feel as safe as possible with him, so she didn't feel like she couldn't tell him things. He shook his head when she was apologizing for not telling him, still not talking because she wouldn't be able to see his lips. He couldn't let her go at this point. After a few minutes of holding her, he pulled away and looked at her, "It's okay, just know I will be here...no matter what, okay?"

Staying in that hug with her big brother was exactly what Rory needed to help put herself together in that moment. With his arms safely wrapped around her small frame, she was able to focus on regulating her breathing; and that helped with some of the lightheadedness as well as some of the chest pains. She still felt like she was going to be sick; but now she didn't feel like she'd fall over if she moved to stand. So when he finally pulled away, a deep frown began to find its way to her face. Then she noticed him start to speak; and she knew that was the only reason he'd broken the embrace. Watching his lips, she nodded softly. "O-Okay."

Marco was a mess, but he wasn't going to show that to Rory anymore. From this point on, he was going to be the Rock that she leaned on. He smiled when she saw what he was trying to say, *Good, now I think it's best if you go lay down and rest. I'm sure this took a lot out of you, and I don't want you to get sick or be in any pain." He stood up, Do you need help to your room? A small smirk came across his face, I can carry you like I used to do when you were a kid. He chuckled.

As Marco suggested she go lie down and rest, Rory just shook her head. I don’t want to lie down. While she knew lying down would be for the best, she didn’t want to go and rest just yet. If she felt her heart start racing like it had been on and off most of the day, she’d go lie down. Or if her chest pains increased or her shortness of breath increased, she’d go lie down. Otherwise, she felt like she’d be fine just curling up in front of the TV and watching a movie. If you try and carry me like you used to do when I was little, don’t think I won’t hesitate to bite you like I did when I was little. She pouted as she watched him move to stand. She wasn’t a child anymore; and she definitely didn’t wish to be treated like one. But do you think you could help me to the couch? She still wasn’t 100% certain she could stand up without wobbling and falling over. Whenever she got even a tad bit lightheaded, she knew she became high-risk.

Marco really wanted Rory to lie down, but he knew better than to fight with her. She was stubborn just like him, so he just let her decide what she wanted. He laughed when she threatened him to bite him, You better not bite me, but if it was necessary that I carry you, then believe me, I would. He was going to respect her space and her wishes, but if he had to do something extreme and carry her, he would. He smiled and helped her up, Yes I can help you to the couch, do you want to watch a movie? He really wasn't in the mood to watch a movie, he was going to turn in early, he was tired.

Rory was fairly certain there would come a time when Marco had to carry her. After all, she’d been prone to dizzy spells and even fainting most her life. And lately, both things had increased in frequency. Oh believe me. I know you would... And I suppose now’s a good a time as any to tell you that if I pass out, I don’t need to go to the hospital unless I’m unconscious for more than a few minutes, hit my head, or my heart rate or oxygen levels aren’t good. But if I just pass out for a minute or two, I’m okay. I’ll just need to ensure I rest afterwards. She tried to reassure him; but she knew her words most likely would cause further worry... She’d type up some whole reference sheet or something, everything he’d need to know about her health currently, include all the stuff she struggled with sharing. Letting him help her to her feet, Rory leaned into Marco’s side for support and switched to using her voice. “I’ll put a movie on; but I’ll probably fall asleep before anything good happens.”

Marco was glad that Rory knew that he was just as stubborn as she was and if push came to shove, he would carry her anytime he felt like she needed it. Her next comment had him stunned, he couldn't have read that right, did she say if she passed out? He wasn't going to believe it, but then she continued on about when it was okay to take her to the hospital and when not to take her. Pass out? Is that something that happens often? Do you have something that can alert help if you are alone and this happens? Now his worry factor just spiked to 1000% his mind was racing with things he needed to get for the house. This was a very heavy conversation and he was drained from all this information he was receiving tonight. He helped her to the couch, "Well if you do, I'll make sure you get to bed."

Once they were at the couch, Rory plopped down, situating herself so she was leaning against the cushions. Letting out a heavy sigh, she finally answered Marco’s inquiry about her passing out. It’s happened more often since the whole arrhythmia thing began. But I can usually tell when I’m starting to feel faint; and I can lie down or do something to prevent myself from full-on passing out. She explained, hoping that bit would lessen the worry she read all over her brother’s face. This is actually one of the main reasons I want to look into getting a service dog. I’ve wanted to get one for awhile now; but with all my traveling, it didn’t seem feasible. But now that I’m no longer able to travel... She bowed her head at the mere thought of no longer being able to travel. She hated it. Traveling and her blog had become her life. And now, the travel side of her blog was no more, at least for the foreseeable future. “If I start to feel dizzy or faint, I’ll be sure to let you or whoever is around know. I promise.” She then glanced back up, holding out her pinky towards Marco, offering up a small smile.

This was starting to seem like so much more than just a health issue, it was feeling like a health tsunami and he hated that for Rory. He listened as she talked about her situation and why she decided to get a service dog. Well we definitely have to look into getting that service dog as soon as possible because it would definitely ease my worry a little to have a dog with you. He could see the pain in her eyes when she mentioned not being able to travel, he knew how much that was part of her life and he felt so bad that she wasn't able to do that anymore. He sighed and nodded, "Okay, I'm going to hold you to that. I think I'm going to look into getting one of those alert bracelets that can sense when something is wrong and if you pass out and hit your head when I'm not here, or you're out in public."

It takes a little while to properly train service dogs. Like six months to a year. I’d mentioned the idea to maman and papa when I went back to London; and they said they’d start looking into things. Technically I could get the dog now and train him or her myself; but a professional trainer would be best. Little did Rory know, her parents already had a dog in training for her. They were planning on surprising her once the dog was trained or she started looking more into obtaining one. An alert bracelet? Seriously? That was the last thing she wanted. She had her medical ID bracelets she wore all the time; but having to wear another piece of jewelry because of her health... it would only make her feel even more self-conscious about things than she already did. At least a service dog would be cute. I think I’ll wait for the dog. Thanks.

Marco watched as Rory explained how long it could take to get a service dog, he was glad that she talked to their parents about the dog so hopefully she will get it sooner than later. I'm glad that you talked to them, and I hope they followed through with it so you can get the dog as soon as possible. He let out a sigh when she refused the alert bracelet, Come on Rory, I'm only asking you to do this to ease my mind a little. Can you compromise and wear one until you get the dog?

There would be no way in Hell Marco would drop the whole alert bracelet thing until Rory agreed to one or got a service dog, whichever came first. "Fine." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and slouched back against the couch cushions. "I'll wear an alert bracelet or necklace or something if it'll get you off my back... But it can't be all that noticeable." She didn't need another reason for people to treat her differently. She'd already dealt with enough bullshit throughout her life.

Marco knew Rory didn't want to do it, but he was grateful that she was willing to compromise. I know you hate this, but I would constantly worry if you didn't have it. He sat next to her on the couch, "It won't be noticeable and as soon as you get the dog, you never have to wear it again.* He wanted her to have a normal life and not be treated any differently from anyone, I'm only looking out for you, I promise.

Look, making you worry has never been my intention; so I'm sorry for worrying you so much. Rory knew he'd tell her she had no reason to apologize; but she couldn't help herself from doing just that. She knew she never had to apologize for anything related to her health; but it had almost become a habit at this point. She hated that she caused others to worry; and she hated constantly feeling like a burden because of her health. Thank you. "Thank you for always being there for me, Marco. For always listening... I don't think you realize how much it means to me." She began. "But know you don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass. I'm not going to break." While she obviously wasn't made of glass, she was definitely still very fragile; so in a way, she understood why people treated her as such. She just hated it, especially when it came from her family.

Marco knew that Rory wasn't trying to make him worry about her, but there was really nothing she could do to prevent that from happening. I know you don't want to make me worry, I just do. It's my nature to worry about you and I don't see that changing anytime soon. He waved his hand at her, Don't you dare apologize to me about being worried about you, I care so much about you and I would worry about you even if you didn't have any health issues. He knew more than anyone that she wasn't a fragile being and he would never treat her like glass, but he wasn't going to treat her like there was nothing wrong with her, she was sick, that was facts. He needed to make sure she was always okay, but he knew that she was also a grown woman and needed her independence from time to time. Listen, I will always be here for you, and I should be the one thanking you for allowing me to help you. You gave me purpose and help mold me into the man I am today, so I thank you Rory.

Rory could feel the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as Marco signed. His words... A wide smile began to form upon her face; and without hesitance, she shifted her position on the couch and leaned forward so she could wrap her arms as tight as possible around her brother. “I love you, big brother.” She stated, staying in the embrace for several seconds longer before pulling away. Wiping away at the happy tears with the back of her palm, she then gestured towards the TV. “Um, could you do me a favor? There’s a green DVD case I put with the others. No label or anything. Just has 2001 written on it. Do you think you can pop the disc in, press play, and then come sit?”

Marco smiled and hugged Rory so tight, he would never get enough of hugging her. Once she pulled away, he smiled, "I love you too sis." They were always close and he liked that they were able to connect again and continue building their relationship. He sat back and looked at her when she asked if he could do her a favor, "Yeah no problem." She directed him to a green DVD case and asked him to put it in for him, but she wanted him to sit and watch it with her. "Okay..." He got up and found what she wanted, and popped it in the DVD player. After he sat back down, he grabbed the remote and turned it up some, "So what's this?"

Rory knew Marco would ask her what was on the DVD; but she wasn't going to tell him. That's why she wanted him to sit and watch it with her. It'd be much more effective to show him the DVD's contents. So after he popped in the disc and moved to sit, a wide smirk began to form upon her face as she read the question on his lips. Just watch. And with that said, she turned towards the TV, waiting for the first image to pop up and reveal what 2001 meant...

The DVD was a compilation of home videos from the year 2001. She'd gotten then from their parents; and with the help of her best friend from university who happened to be a tech genius, the videos were converted to a DVD with captions so she could enjoy them. And they were all in order. She had a few DVDs made for different years; but 2001 had been a big year in her life. She was 5; and it was the year she got her third and final open heart surgery. It was also a year that involved a lot of videos of her and Marco, videos that showed Marco being the most awesome big brother ever... So as the first image popped up, she sent a quick glance over to her brother to watch his reaction.

Marco should have known she was going to say that, so he just stuck his tongue out at her and sat back brat. He smirked and watched as the screen came on. When the first video started, he was instantly transformed back in that time when he was 16 years old and he was taking care of her before her surgery. His jaw dropped, he signed, When? How did you do all this? He wasn't sure how she was able to do this, but it was already tugging at his heartstrings.

He watched the DVD with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes, still not believing she had all this from 2001. He had some pictures of them, but nothing was like this. He couldn't stop watching, it was so sweet seeing all the pictures of them together. Seeing that beautiful smile of her, and even the ones where she was frowning. When another picture came up and he laughed, I remember this like it was yesterday. You had just come from the doctors and you were feeling a bit down, so I dressed up in my pirate costume and read your favorite story. All I wanted to do was make you smile, so I went all out and acted every part of the story. I always wanted you to have adventures in life and I am glad you were able to fulfill all those dreams. He smiled and continued watching.

Between the actual home videos, there were some pictures thrown in as well. All in all, it was just a nice trip down memory lane, even if some of the memories were ones Rory would've rather forgotten. She never liked seeing pictures or videos from when she was little and really sick. She hated how she looked with nasal cannula or even that stupid brace for her clubfoot... But putting the video compilation together had been a fun project; and she'd wanted to share it with Marco for years now. The opportunity had just never presented itself before now. You like? She asked, already knowing what the answer would be. My friend J-A-Y from uni helped me with this. He's into all that tech stuff; and he said as long as I got him the source materials, he could put all the videos and pictures onto a DVD and add captions to the videos so I know what's going on. Her friend's help had allowed her to enjoy old home videos for the first time in her life. She'd seen them before over the years; but she'd always had to ask her family to tell her what was being said. And that was always annoying. Turning her attention back to the TV screen, she smiled wide as an actual video of pirate Marco started to play. He looked ridiculous; and she could only image he sounded just as silly.

Marco couldn't stop looking at the screen, it was so many memories flashing before him, he couldn't believe that she had this made. The tears were welling up in his eyes, it was so nice to see all these pictures and videos again. Of course I like it, this is amazing. I can't believe you did this. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. Not that I mind, but why did you decide to do this? I love seeing all of this but.... He was getting choked up, What made you do this? He turned just in time to see him reading her pirate story, Wow, I didn't even know someone was recording that. He laughed hearing his silly pirate voice, he couldn't stop himself from laughing at how silly he was. Seeing your face when I would do this was why I loved it so much. Look at how excited you get.

Rory only pulled her gaze from the screen as she caught Marco signing out of the corner of her eye. Turning to face him, she smiled at his words before momentarily shifting her attention back to the TV, her smile widening at the current video. As the video ended and some pictures started to pop up, she shifted her seat and once more turned to face her brother. You asked why I had this made? That's simple. She began. I was away at school; and maman sent me a box with a bunch of old pictures in it. There was a video in there too; and when I went to watch it... Well, let's just say I realized how much more enjoyable it would be with captions. So I decided to look into having that done. I wanted to be able to better follow along, know what was going on. While she could easily follow along when someone was signing in the video and was facing the camera so she could see their hands, there were plenty of videos where she couldn't make out the signs or there weren't any in the first place. It became a little project of sorts for me and J-A-Y... His name sign is— She stopped to demonstrate his name sign. He's like my third brother; so I talk about him a lot. He was also featured a lot in her blog posts about her three months in India, mainly because he'd been the one she'd gone with. He was born there and still had family in the country. I had maman send me more videos; and he compiled them into different DVDs by years and added captions where needed. There was also a secondary reason Rory had the video compilation DVDs made; but she didn't want to share that with Marco, at least not yet.

Marco couldn't stop watching the screen, it was so sweet that Rory would go through the trouble of getting this made. It gave him the confirmation that everything he did for her was special and she appreciated it. He loved her more than anything and he would act a fool anyday. He listened to why she had this made, and it made sense to want something like that. I wish I had something like this when I was in the military. He smiled looking at how they were when they were younger, I probably wouldn't have been so lonely. Next time you meet with J-A-Y, please tell him I said thank you for doing this.

We try and Zoom weekly. Next time we have a chat planned, I’ll call you into the room if you’re home. You can thank him yourself. It would be nice for Marco to meet Jay, even if it was just via a video chat. Since Jay was like a third brother to Rory, she definitely wanted him to finally meet at least one of her biological brothers. Otherwise, I may have to invite him to come visit over the summer.

Marco smiled, Great, then call me when you do so I can come say thank you to him. He did an amazing job. Watching this was bringing back so many wonderful memories and he wanted nothing more than to see more of the video. He laughed when she said she was going to invite him You should, I'm sure he misses you as well and would love to spend time with you.

Rory really did miss Jay. He’d become quite special to her during her university days and continued to be quite special to her ever since, even to the point he’d been there at the hospital in London when she’d gotten her pacemaker. Whenever she was in the hospital, he‘d been there. You know how you said you wished you had known about my surgery so you could’ve been there when I woke up? Well I had Jay there. So I did have someone making sure I was okay.

Marco looked back at the screen, laughing at him playing dress up with Rory, still not believing he did that. He turned and looked back at her as she signed at him, and he knew that hearing Jay was there for her when she had her surgery should be comforting, but it wasn't, he really wanted to be there. He didn't want to make her feel bad, so he smiled, I'm glad someone was there to be with you.

Rory could still tell that her not telling Marco about her surgery until now had hurt him. She could still see the desire to have been there for her behind his eyes. Even though his words said he was glad Jay had been there for her, she knew that wasn't the full truth. Letting out a small sigh, she returned his smile, momentarily turning her attention back to watching the current home video on the TV before speaking up. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you sooner. And I'm really sorry I made maman and papa promise not to tell you either." If she had know her keeping this from him would've hurt him this badly, she definitely would've told him. It hadn't been her intention to hurt him. It had merely been her intention to not cause him further worry.

Marco hated that he couldn't shake his feeling of sadness when it came to not being there for Rory during her time of need. He had always been there for her no matter what, and for something like this happen and him not know about it upset him. He tried to keep his emotions to himself, but obviously Rory still picked up on it. He sighed when she apologized again, It's okay...you had your reasons and no matter what they were, it was your choice and I have to respect it.

"I just didn't want to worry you." Rory opted to continue to use her voice, knowing how Marco loved hearing her speak despite her own hatred of how she assumed she sounded. She figured letting him hear her speak when signing was clearly an option might make him happy. "It honestly wasn't even that major of a procedure. Could've been done outpatient and with local, um, anesthesia—" She paused as she hated fumbling over her words; and that was such a word she never failed to fumble over. "—if I wasn't allergic to the stuff." Her allergy to local anesthetics had always been quite inconvenient. Made even the smallest procedures 10x more complicated and risky.

Marco shook his head, "I understand why you felt it was necessary to do that, but I would be lying if I said I didn't still feel a little hurt by it. But you are a grown woman and can make your own decisions about your health and healthcare. I respect your choices Rory and no matter what, I'm going to always be there for you."

Rory watched as Marco spoke, still unable to feel a bit of guilt for upsetting her brother. But she just nodded at his words, offering up a small smile before shifting how she was sat on the couch so she could rest her head on his shoulder as she let out another heavy sigh. Thank you. "I love you, Marco."

Marco wrapped his arms around her shoulders, he could tell she was sincere about her apology and that meant a lot to him. He signed, I know you do, and I love you as well...always and forever. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. They stayed like that for a little while longer, when he heard shuffling from his room, I'm going to head to bed, I don't want Gen to think I abandoned her. You should head to bed as well. He smiled and got up, kissing the top of her head, Night sis. He headed back to his room feeling better about things.

#{ para }#{ para: marco pierre }#{ para: p(e)acemaker }#{ marco pierre }#{ p(e)acemaker }#tw chronic illness mention

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themindofnery · 4 years

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What’s the point?

Tuesday June 30th, 6:23pm

Right now, I feel like utter and major bullshit. I’m not happy... but when I hear myself complain it’s annoying. I feel like there’s a whole lot worse going on right now. But I should still have the right to feel like shit don’t I? So as of now... the year has been mostly shitty. I spent January thru about May being sick with my lupus. My whole body was swollen and my medicine tastes like poison more and more each day. Meanwhile, the whole coronavirus pandemic is going on in the midst of my quarter life crisis. I don’t want to take my medicine ever. I have to force myself to do it. I should want to do it so I can feel and be better every day. But honestly my life doesn’t feel all that great. I’m not having a good time in this lifetime. One of the biggest demons in my life is my lupus. What kid wants to get sick at 12 years old and have to figure out life, puberty, family, high school and an autoimmune disease I’ve never heard of. I can admit that from that point until now, taking my medicine was/is a challenge. Has to do a lot with why I’ve gotten sick, worse throughout the years. But in the back of my mind I’m kind of hoping it just kills me. But it doesn’t and I pay the consequences. My lupus has gotten worse over the years. I’m currently 24 about to be 25 in a couple of days. I’ve gone through my body swelling and retaining fluids because my kidney function is bad. I don’t follow my strict diet that I’m supposed to and I’m either throwing up or throwing up! My body can’t handle salt and I still consume it like it’s nothing. There was a period where I was doing really good. I was eating healthy, drinking water and taking my medicine. But I get depressed from time to time. When that happens I stop taking my medicine because of what is in the back of my mind. I stop taking care of myself. I’ve done this multiple times. Each time I just don’t see what’s the point of life? To suffer???? It’s created who I am. I don’t give a fuck what a person thinks about the shit I do or am about. I’ve lost my faith towards God because of this too. Granted, I’ve always was skeptical about church growing up. Especially because I’m gay. I was told it was wrong and that I would burn in hell. So I hid it. It was hard seeing I am the femenine gay. I’m a whole ass bitch and proud. Why? Because I feel like my life is so uncertain. Yeah, everybody on this planet could die at any given moment but I feel like I’m already halfway in the grave. So I’m not gonna spend my uncertain life trying to please everyone else's standards. If God is this good-holy-healing-spirit then why am I suffering with lupus? Plus, I believe in the science about how this world came about. But that’s another story. But I really want to change the way I am viewing life. Because I am still here. I am alive and as much as I would like to be gone or dead... I am not. As much as I want it to kill me it has not. So I have no other choice than to accept that I am here and truly honestly deal with it. I don’t want to wake up dreading to take my medicine. I want to wake up and feel energized. I want to start making more of an effort to better my life so I can make small moves in my life to live a happy life. I honestly don’t want much... at least I don’t think so. I want to move into my childhood home and live there. I want to have a badass jeep. Seeing as that is another thing that has gone to shit this year. After months of being sick and the pandemic I am finally returning to work. Just to have a whole ass bitch hit my car! My poor jeep patriot. :( RIP. At least I came out of that car accident okay. Besides the body aches I wasn’t dangerously harmed... lucky me!!! But now I’m going to have to start over with a new car. My goal was to have my car paid off by the time I was 21. Three cars later that still isn’t happening. That’s a whole other story as well. Right now I have to deal with this bullshit insurance claim and having to get rid of my jeep. I was on my way to work at a job that I love months after being sick with lupus and being quarantined. Just to have my car taken away from me. It’s just a material item but my car is one of my escapes. I love the freedom of getting in my car and driving. It’s therapeutic for me to drive to no destination with some good jams and a blunt. That incident didn’t help with my already distressed mind. I feel okay at the moment and I haven’t been taking my medicine like I really should be. I tell myself that I need to take it. But I go on about my day and I don’t take them. I took my medicine today. I should really work on taking them at night as well. Because I disregard my nighttime medicine. I just go to sleep. I need to take care of my lupus if I am going to be here in this lifetime. At the end of the day I don’t have it in me to kill myself... myself. Not taking my medicine is a form of trying to kill myself but I don’t dare do anything extreme. Not yet anyways. I’ve survived my near death experiences. I don’t know what other sign I’ll need for me to get it through my head that I am here on this earth. But that’s why I need to do better. Better energy will produce a better life. It’s just going to be a hard battle especially when things feel like they’re going wrong all the time. But if I deal with my lupus first and love myself enough to take care of myself... things should fall into place. Good energy, vibes and people is what I need more of in my life. I’ll start a new lupus chapter in my life because I at least want to feel good enough just to live in my own home and enjoy my smoke in peace. In the comfort of my own space.

8:00pm

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iamcinema · 4 years

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IAC Reviews #010: Blood Lake (1987) [Retrospective #2]

"...I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him...“

Over the years, I’ve been scowering the Internet trying to find the worst of the worst when it comes to horror movies. I guess you can call me a glutton for punishment in that regard since some movies need to be seen to be believed, rather than looked into as an example of what bad filmmaking looks like. Whether it’s a problem with the acting, the writing, the technical specs, or all of the above, you know you’re in for a good [or horrible] time if it checks one or more of those boxes. When it comes to bad horror movie lists, not just shot on video ones, one film in particular seems to rule them all as it’s hailed as one of the worst movies of all time, if not the worst horror film ever made. This time around, I’m making an ill-fated return to the Oklahoma to talk about Tim Boggs’ lone directorial credit, Blood Lake.

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Blood Lake tells the story about a group of friends who are being stalked by a mad man while on a weekend getaway trip at the lake. It’s not the most original concept out there, but hey, what else is new? It’s interesting that this is Boggs’ only attempt at being a filmmaker and the rest of his credits are attributed to being part of the sound department for notable films and shows like Lost Highway, Tales From the Crypt, Xena: Warrior Princess, The Sopranos, Breaking Bad, and Legion. That’s a hell of a resume, but that’s not what we’re here to really discuss.

I heard about the notority of this for years, and I decided to take the plunge with it nearly five years ago where I live reviewed it for Under the Morgue. Needless to say, I didn’t have fun with it and I don’t think I ever ripped into a film that hard up until that point. With the anniversary date of that review coming up, I thought it would be fair to do a retrospect on this to see if it really lives up to how genuinely atrocious I thought it was all those years ago.

Blood Lake in One Gif:

I think I need to lay down for this one. Do you know that feeling of nostalgia you get when you see, hear, or smell something that really takes you back to a better time? Well, whatever the antithisis to that is would describe the seething rage and horror I felt re-watching this.

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While it’s true that some movies need to be witnessed to truly understand how bad they are, it’s also fair to say that some things shouldn’t be known by mere mortals - and this absolutely applies to films like Ax’Em and Blood Lake. They’re as cut-and-dry and boring as they are in premise, and a train wreck of a travesty in execution at that.

The quality from a technical standpoint is pretty damn atrocious, particularly during some of the nighttime shots since it can be hard to tell what’s going on and it feels like you’re squinting the whole time trying to tell what you’re looking at. The sound is just as bad, though sometimes it fairs better than the visuals, even if a good chunk of the time you can’t tell what the hell anyone is saying because they’re either too far from the mic to be picked up or it’s a dialogue problem with everyone mumbling, talking over each other, or fumbling over their lines. IMDB says the sound was shot with a single shotgun microphone, and yeah...it kind of shows.

C’mon. Look at this and tell me you can figure out what the fuck all is going on.

The writing feels almost non-existent as Boggs encouraged the actors to paraphrase the dialogue in their own words to I guess make it feel more natural. However, with how clumsy things are, it’s hard to really tell how much was ad-libbed or done by the actors themselves. The total direction and set-up with the pacing is absolute garbage and some of the worst I’ve ever seen, as it’s padded out with gratuitously long shots of them doing things like “extreme” sports on the water or a scene of them drinking at a table that goes on for close to ten minutes. It feels like the director left the camera on a tripod and accidentally filmed their lunch break. People have said this feels like a glorified home movie, and I get why. I’ve ripped on Las Vegas Bloodbath for how bad the filler was during its third act; as well as the opening dance sequences and the yo mama jokes in the opening of Ax’Em for needlessly dragging things out, or even the flashback sequences in Nick Millard’s films - even if they don’t exist within the canon of the story. Hell, Sledgehammer does this too by slowing down scenes in order to pad it out to a 60 minute runtime after being told it was too short.

When it comes to the characters, they aren’t anything special and are mostly forgettable. With this camp, I designated them to one of two sides of the field; boring and awful. All of them I’ve mostly shoved over on the boring side, as they never really do anything noteworthy or special, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you their names off the top of my head for the most part. However, some of the guys do teeter on being awful and annoying as hell, but one character in particular stayed on the shit teir side of the spectrum from start to finish - which would be Tony.

Oh, god. Tony....

This guy right here. This motherfucker made watching this the first time around feel like a total chore. But the second time around, and willingly so, it was like pulling teeth to get me to finish.

I don’t mind weird, perverted, sleazy dickheads who show up now and again, but Tony is a special case because his entire shtick is being a weird creep to the point of giving off rapey vibes with the other guys over how his goal at the end of the weekend is to conquer some girl he goes to school with. Bro, you’re like twelve, shut the fuck up. It’s beyond cringe. It’s insufferable, and prior to this, I said over on Under the Morgue that Alan from Return to Sleepaway Camp was the most unsympathetic “protagonist” I had ever seen. But now, compared to him and the majority of the characters from Await Further Instructions, I don’t know who is the most grating to sit through - and I spent most of my time on that review talking about how the zero level of characterization makes it so hard to watch. In that review, I said I can appreciate a scummy character if they have any sort of secondary personality trait that makes you love to hate them, or at least makes them tolerable. With Tony, he’s just an annoying, pervy brat who I guess is about as comedic and charming as a trench foot infection.

It’s pretty damn rare that I see a movie where I root for the villain(s) from start to finish because I can’t stand the majority, if not all of the characters. So, having to recall how many times I wished Tony would have drowned within the first fifteen minutes or had a joint stubbed out in his damn eye has proved to be more enjoyable than the entirety of this shit show, since the only tail he should have been chasing was the tailpipe of the damn car he arrived in. I was honestly surprised we didn’t get any Summer Camp Nightmare moments given how much of a creep the twerp is, and I still am now.

The fact that this is called a slasher film feels like a cruel joke, since after the opening kill, the next murder doesn’t happen until close to the fifty minute mark in an 82 minute movie (78 minutes if you get rid of the credits). Plus, because of the abysmal quality, you can’t even see them clear enough to tell what’s happening. It’s so frustrating to feel like you’d get more out of the death scenes by closing your eyes the whole time. It’s up there with Ax’Em in terms of quality and how much it feels like they cheat you, which makes me wonder why bother at all if it’s possible you can’t even see what’s going on when you were editing the damn thing?

________________________________________

So, here we are at the dreaded moment where I close this off with how I’d rate this. Is it as bad as I remember it being? Yes, if not more so. I had to pause and walk away from it for a bit to cool off and do something else because it was so tedious sit through.

It just goes on, and on, and on, which was only made worse by obnoxious characters that were a total hassle to put up with who could have been reduced to Douchebag #1, Generic Girl #2, and Rattail Motherfucker #1 based on how little they actually did to make me want to remember their names - and the ones who did were the most insufferable of the lot that I couldn’t forget them even if I wanted to. There’s little to no actual blood and gore, and with the very little there was, it was completely wasted in scenes that you can’t see clearly which is a damn shame because one of the kills could have had a decent reveal if it was shot better.

If I had to say just one good thing about the film to be generous, not counting that it had some kind of a reachable end, it was the mediocre soundtrack supplied by the band Voyager. It’s not good at all, but hey, if you like cheesy 80s horror soundtracks, there’s that going for it...I guess. With all that being said, I never want to see this disaster ever again. I’m trying to wrap my head around how people genuinely like this, even in a so bad it’s good type of way, and I just don’t get it. This, for me, is arguably one of the worst horror movies I’ve ever seen, and probably ever will.

RATING: 0.5/10

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#blood lake #sov #sov horror #shot on video #shot on video horror #80's horror #80s horror #horror movie #horror movies #horror film #slasher #film #horror #movie review #film review #iac reviews

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dustinhendrsn · 5 years

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swingsets and bitter daylight

max mayfield/lucas sinclair 3.4k - read on ao3 requested by anonymous from this list: 19. ‘please don’t let me be alone.’

Everything is over before Max even realizes it. The headlights of Billy’s car surge bright in her eyes, in her friends’ eyes, and the screeching of the monsters in the tunnels beneath them disappears. They stand there in the cold, breathless and apprehensive of the sudden silence, holding fistfuls of each other’s jackets and shirts and backpack straps to make sure they don’t lose someone else. Max’s mind is stumbling over itself as she tries to comprehend the new situation. The car lights fade back to normal and the bracing nighttime air wraps around them with a peaceful quiet that’s almost startling.

It’s really over. They just don’t know if their efforts were in vain or not yet.

“What do we do now?” someone asks after a long minute. She isn’t sure who spoke. Maybe it was her.

They go home. Steve drives.

Max is tired.

Numb and detached, she drags herself up into the Byers house with her friends and they find it empty. Shards of glass and papers upon papers of chaotic blue drawings are scattered everywhere. Billy is gone – all that remains of his attack is the empty syringe, a gash in the floor, and the bruises on Lucas’ neck and the blood on Steve’s face. She can barely look at them; how she wishes she had done more, sooner.

The fates of El and Will are still in the wind and Max knows that neither she nor anyone else will be able to rest until everyone has come home, so she starts moving. If she doesn’t, the waiting will kill her. The jagged memory of black and blue monsters clawing at the doors of the bus will kill her. The dread of how she might have just made things so much worse with Billy will kill her. The fear of how close she and her friends came to death tonight in those corrupt, claustrophobic tunnels will kill her. Her adrenaline is all gone; there’s nothing to hold any of it back now except her own force of will, and she doesn’t have much of that left at the moment.

There’s not much talking as the five of them shuffle around the house, finishing the cleaning they didn’t get around to earlier to keep themselves busy. Max tries to keep everything at bay by focusing on something good. The easiest thing to latch on to is Lucas, his kind eyes and even kinder words. Not once since their first meeting has he given up on her. While the rest of the party still feel somewhat like strangers to her, Lucas has already carved out a place for her and made sure that she knows he wants her there. After how I’ve treated him, I don’t even deserve it, she thinks sadly, looking over at him. He’s on the floor by the couch, scooping Will’s drawings into a trash bag. He’s clearly just as exhausted as she is, but when he looks up and catches her eye he offers her a smile. She tries to return it but finds that she can’t, so she hopes her eyes get the message across. From his expression, she thinks it does, and her heart eases.

Joyce, Jonathan, Nancy, and Will return first. Sighs of relief and tight hugs go around and questions of their wellbeing are met with quick reassurances. Will looks worse than all of them put together, his skin ashen, his eyes bloodshot and distant, sweat dripping down his temples. But he’s alive, he’s breathing, so all the risks they took weren’t for nothing. Joyce takes him to a room down the hall (Max still isn’t familiar with the layout of the house) and neither of them reappear for a long while. Nancy and Jonathan emerge from another room after a few minutes, their faces cleaned up and a stack of blankets and pillows in hand.

“If anyone wants to stay the night here, you’re welcome to,” Jonathan says, setting the pile of bedding on the couch. Max doesn’t need to ask why he’s offering – none of them want to go home and fight off the promised nightmares alone. She hopes tomorrow night will be easier, after they’ve had a chance to rationalize everything in the comforting daylight, but tonight…she doesn’t even want to think about what could be waiting for her at home.

“Have Hopper and El not come back yet?” Nancy asks, hovering by the kitchen table. Max isn’t sure who her question was directed at but since she’s the closest, she shakes her head. It occurs to her that Nancy and Jonathan probably don’t even know her name, let alone how she came to join this motley group. It isn’t important right now, she decides.

Mike is inconsolable – he paces in front of the broken window and chews his nails down to the quick and he’s so ramped up that it’s putting Max on edge even more than she already is. She gets it, but she can see it’s for two reasons: the need to keep his mind off everything, just like she and all the rest of them are trying to do – and El. Max wonders just how deep Mike is in it with her. When she saw their reunion earlier, the way they clung to each other made her feel like she had walked in on a private moment. Maybe it’s love. Max isn’t sure if she’d recognize it.

Finally, finally, the police chief’s truck rumbles into the driveway. Mike is first out the door and the rest of them follow after him, beyond relieved to see their telekinetic savior living and breathing. Max trails behind the group – she and El don’t even know each other, and besides, El already has enough people smothering her.

That’s what Max tells herself as she swallows back the hot lump in her throat. Before, El made it clear how she felt about Max, and as much as Max would love to try, she can’t pretend the rejection doesn’t sting.

Shortly after El and Hopper come inside and a headcount is made, the time comes to face sleep. Max knows she’s going to stay over even before they start discussing who will sleep where, and all of a sudden she’s struck with the heart-stopping fear that Lucas, her only ally here, will go home.

She quickly moves from her seat at the kitchen table over to where Lucas stands next to the wall, watching them divvy up blankets and pillows. He gives her a tired smile when he sees her.

“Are you going to go home?” she asks him quietly, without preamble.

“Oh, I – I don’t really know yet. If there’s not enough sleeping bags, I might.” He frowns. “Why? Is everything okay?”

Max hesitates, not quite sure how to put her need for him to stay into words. “I just – I can’t go home tonight. Billy might be there and I don’t know what to tell my mom and I don’t want to walk all the way there in the dark, and I just…please don’t let me be alone here, Lucas. Please.”

She can hear the desperation in her voice and feel the burning behind her eyes and she hates it, especially when they both know he doesn’t owe her anything, but his gaze softens immediately and he nods.

“Yeah, of course I’ll stay. Don’t even worry about it, okay? I’ll stay with you.”

She’s afraid that if she tries to speak she’ll burst into tears now that the terror and the adrenaline and the exhaustion of the night has finally caught up with her, so she just nods gratefully and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. Somehow she manages to choke out a thank you, and he squeezes her closer.

“I’m not going anywhere, Max. I promise.”

The next day is worse. It shouldn’t be, but somehow it is. After a night of tossing and turning without ever truly achieving sleep, Max opens her eyes to cold daylight streaming in through the broken windows. Her bones are heavy, her mind numbed to a standstill. All her emotions have all melted into one dark, unfeeling pit in her stomach, like when a kid tries to combine all their crayons to make a rainbow but just ends up with black. Lucas is still asleep next to her and it seems impossible that he could look so peaceful. At least one of us is, she thinks.

“Do you want to come to my house for a little bit?” he asks her once they’ve all gotten up and helped put away the sleeping bags. The rest of them are going home to make their excuses and change clothes and eat breakfast. Max hates to admit it, but even though she doesn’t want to force herself on the unknown family of her new friend, she’s still too terrified of the bigger unknowns lying in wait for her at home. Her mind is too muddied and wrung out from last night – the last week, really – for her to predict and prepare for Neil’s or Billy’s or her mom’s reactions to her being gone for so long. Some small, logical part of her mind tells her that waiting is just going to make things worse, but she ignores it. It’s easier that way.

She can feel her shoulders slump as she nods. “If that’s okay.”

Lucas smiles sideways at her, like the idea that it wouldn’t be okay is ridiculous. “Of course it’s okay. And besides, I don’t really want to walk home alone either.”

“Don’t you live next door to Mike?”

“Yeah, but he’s going to Hopper’s cabin to be with El, so it’s just us.”

The daylight is blinding. Reassuring, but blinding after everything. Autumn rips through the town with cold winds and dead leaves and spindly bare branches that reach towards the sky in vain. As they walk, Max can’t find the energy to make conversation but it’s alright, because Lucas can’t seem to either. With every other step she takes, movement flashes in her periphery. She knows it’s just the ghosts of everything she’s seen, the dark afterimages of nightmares made real, but the skip of her heart and the lurch in her stomach doesn’t. Lucas’ hand is swinging right there, just inches away from hers, and she doesn’t think he’d pull away if she took it. It’d be nice, having that warmth in her hand again. She barely had time to register it on the bus – grabbing his hand was a knee-jerk reaction. She needed something solid to hold on to, a reminder that there were other humans there with her. But thinking about it now, it was nice.

Lucas’ yellow-walled house is a blur. She tries her best to be polite when Lucas introduces her to his parents, and then they’re in his room, and then he’s showing her the bathroom. Distantly, she sees a soft pink towel folded neatly on the counter. Set out for her, most likely. She drops her mud-spotted, probably radioactive clothes on the tile and stands under the showerhead until the water runs cold. After, she changes back into her jeans and one of Lucas’ shirts that he offered her.

“I’d give you one of Erica’s but you’re twice her size,” he says. She shakes her head, tells him it’s fine. And it is. The cotton is clean and soft against her skin. It’s comforting, steadying.

Mrs. Sinclair, with the same gentle brown eyes as her son, gives Max a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and a fork. She isn’t hungry, not in the least, but she smiles and says thank you and forces it down anyways. Sometime in the afternoon (or at least she thinks it’s the afternoon), Lucas suggests they go for a walk.

“Is there a park here?” she asks as they walk down his porch steps, zipping up their jackets. Surprise crosses his face for just a moment – it must be because all morning, she’s said a grand total of about twenty words – but then the look is gone, and he nods.

“Yeah, of course. There’s a few, actually, but there’s one near here that’s usually empty.”

“Okay. Cool.”

Again, they walk in silence. Her hair is wet and cold against the back of her neck, but it has the same grounding effect on her as Lucas’ shirt does. It reminds her that she can still feel things; she is still real.

They reach the park before long and like Lucas promised, it’s empty. Max makes a beeline for the swings; she hears Lucas chuckle at her quiet eagerness, and then he takes the swing next to her. She slowly pushes herself back and forth and tips her head up to the brilliant blue sky. She inhales, sharp, clean oxygen flooding her lungs. She doesn’t close her eyes. She can’t.

She realizes that Lucas is waiting on her to speak. Not in an impatient or expectant way; he’s just not forcing conversation on her. It’s a bit of a surprise when she finds that she wants to talk. Maybe it’s because it’s him.

“Thanks for, y’know, letting me shower and eat and stuff,” she says, glancing over to him. He smiles, already looking back at her.

“No problem. You can stay with me – I mean, us, for as long as you want. It’s no big deal.”

She shakes her head, her gaze falling back to her lap. “It’s okay. I’ll go home today.”

Lucas hesitates, and she already knows what he’s thinking. “Are you sure? I can go with you, if you want.”

The thought of voluntarily bringing sweet, courageous Lucas anywhere near the violent maelstrom of Billy again makes her sick to her stomach. She keeps her tone neutral, almost normal. “Really, Lucas, it’s fine.”

It isn’t fine.

He shrugs. “Alright. But if you need me, or you want me there, just let me know, okay?”

“I will.”

Will she?

After a few more minutes of tranquil quiet accompanied by the creaking of the swings, the gnawing in the back of Max’s mind urges her to talk more. She knows now that it’s definitely because of Lucas. She trusts him. He understands her, or at least he tries to. He’s kind to her, and her heart is yearning for all the kindness she can get nowadays. And she likes him – oh, how she likes him already. Too much. It’s dangerous – not for her, but for him.

“Can I tell you something?” she says to the woodchips being pushed around by the toe of her shoe.

“Yeah, sure.”

She takes another moment, trying to figure out the words she needs. “I’m not…brave,” she finally says, softly.

Lucas stares at her. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re brave. You’re, like, the bravest person I’ve ever met. What you did last night, with the car, and with Billy and the needle and what you said to him –“

“It wasn’t like that. I was just trying to keep you guys safe and I had all this adrenaline and all this anger and it’s like I wasn’t even thinking about what I was doing. It was easy right then and there.” She lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand up and down the cold links of the swing chain. “But it isn’t like that one moment changes everything. I’m still really, really scared of him, Lucas. He still hurt you and Steve, and what if I made things worse? What if I go home and he – he –“ She can’t fathom it right now. She swallows back the rest of her sentence and moves on to a new one. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of superhero or something. I’m not fearless, and I’m not really that brave.”

With a shallow breath, she finally looks up at him. His eyebrows furrow ever so slightly; she can’t tell what he’s trying to puzzle out. Finally, he shakes his head.

“Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, so what? You still did it, Max. You were brave whether you admit it or not, and I know that you can be brave again if you want to be. That’s who you are.” Lucas smiles at her again, his belief in her infallible, and she feels tears pricking behind her eyes. He reaches over and squeezes her hand. “You saved our asses, Max, even though it meant facing something that terrifies you. That’s brave.”

She can’t hold his gaze anymore. Her eyes fall to the faint purple bruises on the base of his neck, made visible in the sunlight. “I didn’t save your ass,” she mumbles.

“That wasn’t your fault, you know it wasn’t.”

“I put you in danger. He came after you because he knew you were my friend, he knew I liked you –“

“Max, he came after me because he’s a racist, abusive asshole. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Deep down she knows he’s right, but it’s hard to ignore the sirens in her head screaming at her to push him away, to shut him out for his own good. She blows out a breath, letting some of the guilt and the tension leave her shoulders. All she’s left with is the numbness, but Lucas’ warm hand in hers is thawing it ever so slowly. She was right – it is nice. And it isn’t even entirely romantic, she thinks. It’s an anchor to reality, something to hold on to so that she doesn’t float away in this new world he’s brought right to her doorstep.

After a long minute, she looks up at him, a new question in mind. Something that’s been bothering her ever since she first thought about it. “How do you…adjust?” she asks. “Like, do things ever go back to normal?”

What she really means is will the nightmares stop? but she knows he’ll understand. His reassuring expression from earlier fades away and he shifts in his swing, his hand still laced with hers in between them. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “After El sacrificed herself last year, and after everything we went through – it was hard. I guess it did get better for a little while. Sometimes I went a few days without thinking about it at all, and without waking up from nightmares. But this kind of stuff can really mess a person up, you know? It sucks.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Sorry. That’s probably not making you feel any better.”

She shrugs. “At least it’s the truth.”

“It shouldn’t be, though,” he sighs. He squeezes her hand again reassuringly and a rush of warmth soothes Max’s frazzled nerves. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Really. I had my friends to lean on back then, and now you have us to lean on.”

Max grimaces. “I don’t think I have Mike.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, some lightheartedness returning to the atmosphere with the gesture. “You will eventually. I promise. And El, too – they’ll both love you. They just have to get to know you.”

Her heart lifts hopefully at his words. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

To her immense surprise she finds herself smiling at the prospect, and Lucas grins. It’s almost startling to see. “That’s better,” he says with an air of satisfaction, like he’s just fulfilled a task he was set.

“It feels better,” she admits. She glances down at their joined hands and decides on one more moment of truth, just for him, the first person to start breaking down her walls. After a beat of mustering up her courage, she says, “I like holding your hand.”

Lucas beams even wider, if it’s actually possible. “That’s awesome,” he says, his enthusiasm so, so endearing. “And great, and fantastic, and spectacular. You know what?”

“What?”

“I like holding your hand too. Like, a lot.”

She laughs, nodding even as her cheeks flush warm. “Awesome. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Lucas glances around the park for a moment, still smiling, and when he looks back at her, there’s new spirit in his eyes. “We’re going to be okay, Max. You know that, right?”

It feels like the truth. She takes a deep breath full of crisp autumn air and as she exhales it to the sky, a little bit more of her icy dread and worry and fear melts away. “Yeah.” Inhale, exhale. “I know.”

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#my first fic in like two months?? what??#i don't know WHAT you're talking about #anyways i've had this sitting foreverrrr i just haven't been able to get it up #but it's here now #on my empty blog lmao love that #stranger things #st #lumax #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #anna puts words together #also WHAT happened to the line breaks here??#like the lil divider in the paragraphs #where did it go

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