#and the more doses of it you take the faster you deteriorate until the healing effects just stop working

[nofacednerd]

finally figured out how to draw blorbo from my shows so I made a reference sheet so I can remember how to draw him LMAO featuring some personal headcanons :)

#the boys #my art #the boys tv #the boys amazon #hughie campbell #I might update this when season 4 drops #also I just fully made up the stuff about tempV because they really don't elaborate on the side effects in the show #other than 'gives you superpowers and also melts your brain' #so my hc is that when you're on it it will heal you but once you're off it it starts to deteriorate your body slowly on a cellular level #(especially if your powers are more physical than mental) #and the more doses of it you take the faster you deteriorate until the healing effects just stop working #if you only take a few doses (like hughie did) the deterioration stops after a few days #but after a specific amount (like butcher) its irreversible

[katsukikitten]

It's hard to see through the sticky wet droplets that fall from above your brow, from your lips and cheeks. You huff, blood splatters the floor at the feet of a woman dressed in an old fashioned black kimono. Her fox mask askew on a rare occasion. 

"You broke her, you BROKE HER!" You screech, small frame shaking from fading adrenaline and flashing memories of cold steel and even colder eyes. This was too much, way too much for your seven year old body to handle. But you would do what you must to survive. 

The woman turns towards you, her blue eyes iridescent even in the low light.

"No child, you broke her. You were just going to let her kill you." She shrugs as if it weren't such a heavy statement.

"I'm- I'm her weakness, she's better than me, SHE HAD TO!" A stammer that grows into a deafening scream. 

"No my dear, she always has and always will be your burden." 

You wake in a cold sweat, alarm blaring and your heart stutters in your chest, knives instinctively woven into your fingers. 

"An old memory. A dream." Soothing words from a shaking voice, knives never faltering as you lower them, slipping them back onto your person. You rise, peering out the window to see the city blanketed in snow, heaps of it as more fall from the sky. The sidewalks cleared in such a half assed way you were sure they would just turn to ice instead, the piles in the storm drain already turning a mute grey. 

You hated the snow, it always brought up bad memories and the biting cold made every scar you owned throb. Ebbing in memories you wished you'd forgotten.  Instead you get ready for the day pulling on your hero suit although you didn't have to work the overtime today, you guess old habits die hard. Two weeks had passed since Bakugou offered you that side job. He paid you enough that you wouldn't have to worry about your sister's bills for the next month. 

Still Christmas dinner couldn't come soon enough. 

You lock the apartment and push through the biting air, face begging for a reprieve as you walk into the icy wind but it's not as if you could walk to the agency backwards. 

Bakugou and Kirishima wait outside of the agency building for you, Bakugou holds out a steaming coffee as Kirishima offers a warm smile. 

"You're late." "Just on time." They speak over each other before Bakugou gives Kirishima a glare. 

"We're patrolling the fucking shopping district today." Bakugou shoves the coffee into your hands as you grit your teeth, trailing behind the two as Bakugou sets out the pace. You let your eyes wander, snow clinging to their hair as Kirishima wears next to nothing, his dumb ass costume having sleeves for warmth. You roll your eyes before they fall on Bakugou. Normally you can smell the spicy burnt sugar wafting off of him in troves but the wind chill is dangerously low for someone who relies on sweat as their weapon. The snow comes down thicker, the flakes a puffy white that sends you miles away before a gut feeling brings you back into the present. You grab onto both of the men, straining your ears to hear over the bustle of the city. Something isn't settling right but they don't seem to be on high alert. Maybe your nerves are fried from the dream. 

Your concentrated look doesn't go unnoticed by either party looking over their shoulder.  Bakugou shoves the two of you into a side alley to stay out of the way of the hustling streets since you're just standing there. You seem to be off your game, you're more subtle at letting them know about danger without alerting civilians. 

"Oi. Spit it out." Bakugou crosses his arms as he stares you down. You blink away the rage, the wind whipping through the side alley making the three of you shiver. You grab onto Kirishima, placing your palm on his sculpted pectoral before explaining. 

"Just some buffs for the day. Your unbreakable will be 65% harder and you'll be lighter on your feet." Kirishima gives you a concerned look as you reach for Bakugou who tries to resist. 

"Don't need your fucking help." 

"Yea?" You hiss, "What good are you if you aren't sweating moron?" 

You yank his arm to you, pulling at his sleeve to get to bare skin, pressing your warm fingers against his cool forearm.  You send him a knowing glare. 

"Gonna feel like summer for you today sweaty palms." You shove him away and he thinks to swing at you. Kirishima diffuses the situation. 

"All day buffs? Isn't that a strain on your quirk?" Kirishima was always concerned about you.

"I'll be fine. You know I'm at a place where a lot of my own personal buffs and debuffs are idle." With a snap of your fingers a little display appears in the air thanks to your support bracelet. Reminding the two men of a video game, your stats out there for them to see. The screen rolls through them fairly quickly. Bakugou can only catch a few as the text moves at a rapid pace. Poison resistance 85%, Stab resistance 98%, weapon pulled from body closes wound 50% faster, returned weapon caught or pulled from body 100% hit rate, deadly intent. Your stats disappear as quickly as they came. Bakugou knows your quirk's ability comes from experience, he thinks of the ones you have maxed out and let's his eyes linger over your face. Over the muted slashes and his stomach churns from concern, suspicion. How would a "petty thief" come across a blade and return it enough times that they could never miss? It surely wasn't in the time of your forced hero work, he has yet to see you take anything more than a surprise punch. 

"Are we fucking done? We got extras to babysit." Bakugou growls stepping out onto the sidewalk and into a nest of paparazzi. 

"Dynamight, over here Dynamight. Is it true you're dating your partner?" 

"Is it Red Riot or Rouge?" Another reporter shouts. Screaming out question after question putting Bakugou under rapid fire. 

Cameras flash as you can practically hear Bakugou's blood pressure increase ten fold, he inhales sharply to scream but Pro Hero Red Riot saves the day. 

"Guys we're on the clock, please save this for our designated interview dates." He smiles listing the dates and times. You wonder how they collected here so quickly, scanning the crowd for a nosy bystander that may have tipped the tabloids off with your location. 

But your eyes lock onto something far worse. 

In the crowd is a woman with auburn hair and icy blue eyes, dressed in an all black kimono. She smirks and mouths "Finally" to you before she throws her deadly ice darts, dipped in shining poison yet to be added to the government registry. 

But how could they know when you helped her make it. Working on instinct you yank Kirishima forward by his steel face mask until he is doubled over before you pull Bakugou into the same position by his belt of winter grenades. One ice dart sinks into your shoulder while the other nicks your throat but it's not as if it matters. Mithridatsim was your best friend growing up. 

A small box flashes in the top left corner of your vision, a status only you can see

WARNING! MORE EXPERIENCE NEEDED: LAST ADMINISTERED DOSE OF POISON X HAS BEEN SIX MONTHS, PLEASE DO NOT CONSUME ANYMORE TO INCREASE LOST RESISTANCE AND GAIN EXPERIENCE.

Fuck! How could you forget that her special blend of poison required exposure every two months?! Hero work was making you too soft, making you wonder just how many other skills were deteriorating from lack of repetition and experience. 

But that was a problem for another day. For now you growl, yanking the men down further to keep their eyes off of you as you give chase. Following her deadly speed with ease, thankfully she is headed out of sight from civilians and paparazzi although it spells trouble for you. 

Or maybe it spells trap. 

She throws another set of ice darts, you dodge them all but one that sinks into your stomach. You grip onto the ice, pulling it from your skin when a warning pops up  

LIMIT EXPOSURE, REACHING LETHAL DOSE, PASSIVE BUFF ACTIVATED, HEALING RATE REDUCED FROM 50% TO 30% DUE TO POISON X, RETURNED WEAPON HIT RATE REDUCED TO 65% DUE TO WEAPON TYPE, COLD RESISTANCE INCREASED TO 55%

WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A CHANCE?

The question flashes as you push forward, following her step for step. You loved and loathed that question, it could increase your chances of the poison clearing instantly, heal your wounds perfectly and return your hit rate back to its max level. 

Or you could utterly "fail" the chance roll earning you double the pain and debuff.

The closer you were to whatever magic number your quirk decided, the better your chances. 

Another set of darts that you barely dodge. You grind your teeth, hero work was definitely making you too soft. 

WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A CHANCE?

"Yes!" You growl as your quirk activates. It announces to you the size of the "dice" and the numbers to avoid as you give chase. 

PASSIVE BUFF DEACTIVATED "LUCK OF THE DRAW" FOR CHANCE ROLL, DIE SIZE 70, NUMBERS TO AVOID CRITICAL FAILURE 1 THROUGH 50, NUMBERS TO HIT FOR CRITICAL HIT 72 THROUGH 75. ALL NUMBERS IN BETWEEN THE CRITICALS WILL INCREASE BUFFS AND DECREASE BODILY HARM BY 15%. 

ROLLING DIE NOW.

In your mind's eye a giant die flashes in your head as numbers blur together while it rolls. 

50! CRITICAL FAIL, DAMAGE INCREASED BY TWO, POISON RESISTANCE REDUCED BY 15%, TEN MINUTES UNTIL BLACK OUT  

THANK YOU FOR TAKING A CHANCE! 

DOUBLE OR NOTHING? 

You swat away the temptation as a copper taste begins to coat your tongue, spitting red into the snow. You return the damn dart anyway, lucky enough for you it sticks into the nape of her neck but the ice is not strong enough to sink deeper. Finally she takes a left into an alley and you follow before the mouth is closed off by ice.

Sealing the two of you into an icy tomb. Snarling you exchange fists, hoping to wear her out before you lose consciousness, as she was never good at hand to hand, unlike yourself. 

Who lived for the up close and personal. 

PASSIVE BUFF "UPPER HAND" ACTIVATED, MELEE AND CLOSE COMBAT SKILLS INCREASED

You rear back your fist, landing it straight into her jaw, causing her to fall back onto heaps of trash. You pin her, pressing one of her ice blades to her throat. 

"What are you doing here Fox?" You hiss, and she smiles in delight. 

"Could ask you the same little ‘hero’!" She laughs and it's haughty, bringing up now bitter memories, "How far you have fallen sister." 

"Tch, this was not my first choice." You fake smile, pressing until you draw blood just to make it even. 

"Did Madem send you?" Even saying her name makes your stomach churn while Fox rolls her eyes. 

"Who else would send me to fetch their golden child?" She shrugs, using her quirk to make another cold weapon as you're distracted. Although you have the upper hand she still has enough room to sink another ice dark into your side, causing you to grit your teeth. 

"You're the fucking favorite now. What more does she want?" 

"You're her favorite, you both are. She wants a complete set." She purrs and it feels as if her ice is freezing your blood. Vision blurring from your rapid heart rate, from your rage and the venom. 

"What the fuck do you mean? What about her?! She is fucking unwel!" It echoes around in the ice and she smiles, playing you for the fool you were. 

"Exactly as I said. I wouldn't count your twin out just yet. You know how Madem lives for backups." She winks, as you feel exasperated. The poison coursing through your veins, your vision tries to spot but you push through.

"I'll let you go just this one Fox but if I ever fucking see you again-" She interrupts. 

"Please, you know the rules. Don't come home empty handed. Plus what you do to me will be far more mild than what Madem can think of." She spits blood onto your face, you bare your teeth and sweet drips onto her kimono.  You were running out of time. 

"ROUGE!" Bakugou shouts in the distance, earning a smile from Fox below. 

"Wow bold of you to keep the name." She laughs, "Well your weakness works in my favor. What a dream it would be to be captured by your boyfriend. Then I could tell him everything about me. About you." 

"You'd snitch? Just like that?" 

"Wouldn't you do anything to keep a loved one safe?" Her words sink deeper than any dagger, any ice pick, she's ever thrown. 

She's right. 

"ROUGE!" 

You would do anything. 

Huffing you do what you hadn't in well over a year and although you'd done it thousands of times. It never got easier. You press the blade deeper, letting it slice into her throat as a red line follows in her wake. She looks up at you with a soft smile, relief flooding her features as sweat prickles your brow. 

WARNING BLACK OUT IN TEN SECONDS, POISON X WILL BECOME LETHAL IF ANTIDOTE IS NOT ADMINISTERED WITHIN THE HOUR. COUNT DOWNS STARTS NOW :10,  59:59

With shaking hands you set the already melting blade into her hand, jumping over the other ice wall deeper into the alley as you hear heavy foot falls come your way. 

You fall into a heap yourself, pressing your hands into your wounds, tempted to attempt to activate double or nothing. Although it could kill you instantly with the status you were in now. 

A part of you hopes it does. 

7

The ash blonde blasts through the icy walls, spotting you in an instant. When he sees the perpetrator dead, his stomach churns as he reaches you. Your clammy to the touch and your support bracelet is flashing with an alert for a trusted on looker. 

5

PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF 

It yells as Bakugou shouts his name. A little hologram of you shows up before your voice pours out. Silently you're thankful that you could tinker with the item enough that should you come across something from your past you could intercept some information. 

Or at least manipulate in your favor should you be rendered non verbal as you are now.  

3 

"It seems an especially strong poison has been introduced into my blood stream. The antidote will be elderberry tea, which can be found at these surrounding locations. Please do not take me to a hospital, by the time they identify the poison I will be long gone….I'm talking to you Bakugou. Get the tea. If I pass out, force activate one of my idle or passive buffs. Specifically Adrenaline high… Trust me, you're going to have to..." 

The world fades to black without any warning as you float in what feels like non existence. Probably the best sleep you'll ever get even when it's short lived. Like it is now. 

"Fuck." Bakugou hisses as the stupid translucent you blabbers on and on of ways to activate this dumb ass, complex, and mysterious as fuck quirk you had.  He thinks of how the mini you emphasized pain would be a trigger to activate the idle buff. He grips onto your forearm, thinking of doing a point blank blast. Best case scenario you'd have his palm burned into you for all eternity, worst case scenario you lost your whole fucking left half. 

"Fuck! FUCK!" He doesn't want to hurt you but he has to. He thinks of the limited time you have as an ominous timer floats in the air from your bracelet. He tries slapping you across the face first, nothing. Your cheek barely reddening as blood oozes from your wounds. Gritting his teeth and choking on his honor he hits you again, this time with the help of his quirk to add some force. 

When that doesn't work, his sadistic side comes out, fueled by his desperation and his gloved fingers subconsciously find the wound in your throat and shoulder.  Thinking to exploit it in order to rouse you. He lets out a low hiss as he plunges his fingers into the wounds, digging deep into the one in your shoulder. 

PASSIVE BUFF "ADRENALINE HIGH" ACTIVATED. 

Your eyes snap open, rage fueling them as you act on instinct, slamming your forehead into Bakugou's hard enough that it bruises both of you.

"OI FUCKING! I'M TRYING TO HELP!" He shouts, forearms popping as heat rushes up his spine from your landed hit. He pushes back his hair, rubbing his sweaty forehead before baring his teeth at you. 

"What the fuck?!" He snaps, "Who was that? Why is she dead?" 

"Another time yea?" You say weakly, lifting your wrist so he can read the time, "The tea still has to steep." 

You stand but wobble on your feet as warnings flash in your minds eye and thankfully not on your stupid support bracelet. Much to Bakugou's disdain, he needed to know what he was working with, not blindly trusting you. Especially not now with growing suspicions. 

ADRENALINE HIGH OVERRIDES DAMAGE AND POISON EFFECTS FOR THE NEXT 10 MINUTES COUNT DOWN STARTED 09:59

"Dismiss." You spit blood and the information fades away. You stumble like a drunk towards the mouth of the alley, avoiding your fallen sister as your mind races. 

"She wants a complete set." 

"Fuck." Is all you can manage thinking of your actual sister, hoping she was safe within the confines of her own prison. That needed to wait. Right now you needed that elder berry tea.  The closest shop carrying the product was several blocks away and at this rate you'd never fucking make it. 

Bakugou catches on, scooping you in his arms.

"Hold on tight Princess." He growls, propelling himself into the air to land a few store fronts away from your destination. 

"Can't believe you're dragging me down." He hisses, fully taking over holding you to him. He squeezes a bit tighter. Your stomach flips and you blame the poison. 

"If anything I'm bringing your image up. Imagine the paps seeing this bull shit. Headlines like 'Bakugou, the knight in shining armor saves the day.' Or some horse shit like that." You weakly tease, he glares down at you. 

"Tch. Fuck off. They'll find a way to twist it." 

"Well your mom will see it for what it is." You squeeze tighter around his throat, nosing the crook of his throat. You feel his laugh through his chest. 

"Yea and what's she gonna see?" 

"You saving me dumb ass." You pull at his hair and he glares down at you. 

"Great, now she'll force me to marry you. Is that what you want bitch face?" 

"I'd rather die first. Plus you wouldn't be able to afford my dowry, ass hat." You tease, all he can do is roll his eyes. 

"You're fucking right about that. Now where is the stupid elderberry bullshit?" He growls, waltzing through the front door as if holding you were nothing. 

IDLE BUFF ACTIVATED SLIGHT OF HAND INCREASED TO- 

"Dismiss." You whisper, vermillion burns into your skin, "Next aisle." 

WARNING: LACK OF EXPOSURE WILL CAUSE A LOSS IN EXPERIENCE. SLIGHT OF HAND WILL DECREASE 

Grinding your teeth you reach for an easy snack, shoving it into your shirt sleeve as Bakugou studies the tea. 

"Where?" He snaps, causing you to sigh heavily. You point with exaggeration to the small purple box. 

SLIGHT OF HAND MAINTAINED, EXPERIENCE PREREQUISITE MET, BUFF IDLED. 

You needed to think of a way to turn this annoying "emergency" mode off, but whenever you were in critical condition, the warnings would display non stop. Most of your quirk you had memorized but you had to admit, it had been a while since you last rolled for chance. 

For fun.  

"Grab something for Kirishima, you know how he gets when he worries. You need water too." 

"This ain't a fucking road trip!" He growls but oddly enough he moves to the back of the store towards the drinks. He grabs a code red for Kirishima and an energy drink for himself. You hold onto the cold drinks as he holds onto you and the tea awkwardly. Setting them on the counter fixing a nasty glare at the clerk. 

"R-Rouge and Dynamight wow!" They gush, about to ask for an autograph before ringing the two of you up. 

"Kinda on a time crunch kid." Your bracelet flashes 20:32 before the clerk understand the dire situation. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry. On the house." 

"Doesn't work like that." Bakugou snarls, eyeing you to get his wallet. Little does he know you already snatched it, pressing a twenty into his hands. He glares at you as best he can. 

"Keep the change." You're beginning to think that was his new catch phrase as he makes his way towards the hot water dispenser. Setting you on the counter while he let's the two bags steep per your holographic instructions. He taps his finger impatiently before cracking open his energy drink. 

It was going to be a long day. 

"I'm going to cancel with my mom." He says finally, reaching for his phone, "I'll still…" 

"No you fuck. Your mom expects both of us there. I'm not dying." 

"Yet, bitch face." He places the tea into your hands, "Think she'll be more pissed if you die in her living room than not show up."

He eyes your wounds, noticing the droplets of blood that followed in their wake, how your scent clung to his skin. He contacts Kirishima instead instructing him to get the first aid kit ready at his house. 

"When you're done with your tea. We're gonna get those wounds bandaged." 

"Nah I'll be fine, once the poison status is cleared. My other status will return to normal. I'm kinda like a pokemon." 

"Don't care, as your boss I'm telling you Imma wrap your wounds with Kirishima now drink your fucking tea." He hits your shoulder before a sadistic smile clouds his features, "Or am I going to have to activate your passive 'Adrenaline High'?" 

"Fuck off, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna pass out with half the cup down." You shove him away from you as his pocket pings. 

"Only pretty sure? You're fucking stupid. You can check that." 

"Tired of my quirk today." You grumble while Bakugou glares at his phone, he turns it towards you, it's from his mother an article titled "Bakugou, the knight in not so shining armor?" Her text is in all caps beneath ARE YOU SAVING HER I SWEAR TO GOD BOY YOU NEED TO WATCH HER BACK BETTER SHE BETTER BE OKAY YOU BETTER BE OKAY

"Guess you'll have to propose to me now." You laugh sliding from the counter, something from around your throat catches his eye now that things have calmed down. 

An odd feeling burns in his chest as goes all the way to his fingers and toes and realization washes over him in waves. He sees a gold chain that leads down to what looks like the droplet of blood. The garner necklace he gave you. 

"Come on Kiri is probably waiting." You nudge, grabbing for Eijirou's soda, your own tea almost finished.  His eyes follow after you for a moment as he tries to figure out why you hadn't taken it off yet, he's never seen you wear jewelry before. 

There is no reason for you to wear it, still the feeling in his chest burns hotter. It makes him feel suddenly proud and oddly possessive. He grinds his teeth, skin popping as he stomps after you, yelling. 

"Don't you take credit for the soda I bought!"

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha x reader

[eremiss]

12: Tooth and Nail

(light cw: descriptions of post-fight injuries and being poisoned/drugged. Takes place during Post-HVW MSQ “Consequences”)

Ten minutes, Thancred had said. Ten minutes for Gwen to try and wait out the lingering symptoms of the poison she’d been dosed with, make sure Falcon’s Nest wouldn’t fall apart in their absence, and try to find Honoroit --”If you truly must.”-- then they were heading back to Ishgard to deliver the news of the disastrous Conference. His tone had brooked no room for argument.

She took extra care to mind the time, as being late would likely have Thancred assuming the worst. They’d already had quite enough excitement for one day and she had no desire to add to it, plus his mood was already poor enough.

Ten fruitless minutes later Gwen trudges up the ramp to the landing platform, shoulders hunched and spirits low. The garrison’s morale is understandably poor and there’s naught to be done about it, though it seems her departure isn’t cause for it to deteriorate further. There was no sign of Honoroit anywhere, and the people she’d spoken with hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

Her stomach rolls and twists, a weak, nauseous ache permeating her limbs that shivers up her throat whenever she moves too quickly. She’d retched up the tainted wine the moment she was able, but it had plainly been in her system long enough for its effects to linger. 

If I knew what was in it, I could maybe try and counteract it somehow… But she doesn’t, and the woman who does is likely dead.

The landing platform is deserted and quiet, the chocobo stables practically empty compared to when she’d arrived. Apparently she’s the one that has to wait for Thancred for a change.

Whoever is supposed to be on watch has abandoned their duty for the moment, and no one around to see her wander past the gates. The wind is faster and sharper without buildings or mountains to block it, cutting through her outer layers and straight down to her bones. She shivers harshly and crosses her arms tightly across her chest as her bangs whip her face and her ears burn themselves numb, missing the sweltering heat of the barracks. At least the sharp chill doesn’t make her feel ill.

Gwen sweeps her eyes across the empty platform, wondering where Honoroit could have gone, and what he might’ve been thinking. There’s no way he just up and abandoned Emmanellain, surely? He’s stuck to his master’s side like glue through everything until now. He couldn’t possibly…

There’s a lump on the far side of the platform. A small figure with brown hair dressed in familiar blue and white garb. It looks sort of like--

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Honoroit?”

He twitches and raises his head, peering blankly at her as she rushes over to him. “M-Miss Ashe?” he croaks, confused. 

“Hush, hush, don’t talk,” she chides gently, panic and worry tightening like vices around in her chest as she kneels to inspect his wounds. 

Bruises are splattered across every ilm of bare skin, and his clothes are torn and dirtied with patterns that distinctly resemble boot prints. His face is mostly black and blue with a nasty cut over his brow and on his lips, one of his eyes swollen nearly shut. 

Honoroit tries to sit up, slow and careful as he shifts his weight and favors his right side. He only makes it halfway before he grimaces and sinks back to the ground with a pained sound. 

A fresh surge of concern mutes the dismayed, impotent static buzzing through her thoughts. Questions and anger can wait. She lays a light, comforting hand on his arm and hopes she isn’t touching a sore spot. “Be still, Honoroit...”

He needs to get somewhere warm, first of all, as his lips are distressingly blue. Ideally that will be somewhere with a healer, as her initial assessment of his injuries isn’t good. Even natives of Ishgard aren’t immune to the cold, and she has no idea how long he’s been out here lying on frozen stone. But how to move him without worsening his injuries....

“Honoroit!!” Emmanellain’s distraught voice cries from behind her.

She lifts her head as two sets of footsteps rapidly approach, the nobleman making panicked sounds every step of the way with Thancred, expression grim, just behind him. 

When Emmanellain is finally able to see the extent of Honoroit’s injuries his face twists with horror and he drops to his knees by Gwen’s side. “No, no! What have they done to you!?” 

He reaches towards Honoroit, and Gwen puts an arm in his way. He whirls on her, his stricken glare demanding an explanation.

She tries to appear calmer than she feels and makes a mollifying gesture, shaking her head. You shouldn’t move him.

A wash of different emotions twist Emmanellains face one way and then another, and he looks like he has half a mind to shout at her. Instead he makes an aggravated, high-pitched whining sound and slaps his hands down on the stone ground.

“Is that you, my lord?” Honoroit offers a feeble smile and struggles for a light tone, as if making a jest, “You... you seem rather flustered.”

“Because of you, you imbecile!” Emmanellain exclaims, “What in the seven hells happened to you!?” 

“My… my apologies… Some few of the guests expressed a wish to leave...and I implored them to stay.” He makes a weak imitation of a laugh, “It would seem they took issue with my request.”

Rings would explain the small cuts and abrasions in the bruises on his face... 

Gwen’s stomach lurches in a way that has nothing to do with the poison she’d been dosed with. All of her worried thoughts take on a frazzled, angry edge that wears at her already thinned nerves. A twinge in her clenched jaw and a telltale ache shooting from her teeth to her temples signal that she successfully kicked off a headache.

“Gods forgive me…” Emmanellain groans, burying his face in his hands. “If I had only been more careful with my words!”

“Do not blame yourself my lord,” the younger elezen insists. “I know… I know that you and your brother have Ishgard’s best interests at heart. That poor woman… She lives in the past, clinging to memories of the lost.”

He’s admirably composed considering everything that’s happened, even accounting for the fact he’s generally more mature and levelheaded than his master. Empathy for the dissidents and protesters has only made his conviction for Aymeric’s cause that much stronger.  

“But the future holds so much promise. So much joy. And you…” His voice wavers and Gwen tenses, her heart skipping a beat. “You... know that better than any…” His words fade to nothing and his eyes slip closed. Then his head lolls to his chest.

Gwen immediately checks his pulse. It’s steady, thank the Twelve, as is his labored breathing, but his complexion has gone frighteningly pale. 

“Honoroit?!” Emmanellain half rises, panicked. His mouth works uselessly for a moment before he turns his fearful eyes on Gwen, “Gwen, do something!” 

Her chest constricts sharply and she freezes

Ever since the Vault she can’t...

Couldn’t, a small voice corrects. Y’shtola has been tutoring her for more than a moon, and she’s made enough progress that she’s begun regaining the ability to use healing magic. It’s feeble and terribly taxing, a far cry from the white and red magic she used to wield, but she can manage it. As she is now, weakened by that poison and with a fresh host of doubts welling up and knotting in her chest...

But Honoroit needs help. And she can help, at least minorly.

She bites her lip, voices she’ll never hear again murmuring at her in time with her heartbeat. One rings out louder than the others, gentle despite the volume.

For those we have lost. For those we can yet save.

She can’t fully mend his wounds, but she can at least ease his pain. No matter what her clinging doubts try to mutter, she knows she can do something. Not much, maybe, but not nothing, and that’s enough. It has to be. However draining it is on her, she’ll manage. She’s had worse, after all, and she can rest and recover once they’re back in Ishgard. For now... She has to at least try. 

Gwen takes a steadying breath and makes a clear place in her mind before holding a hand over Honoroit’s chest. She closes her eyes and breathes, gathering her focus and recalling Y’shtola’s patient instructions, replaying the simple exercises they’d practiced for bells. When it all feels solid enough to work with, she begins to mumble an incantation.

As the spell takes shape a weak light flickers to life under her hand, drifting over Honoroit like mist. She senses bruises of all shapes and sizes, cuts, cracked bones... no internal bleeding or anything blatantly life-threatening, at least. It’s an issue of quantity, the sheer multitude of otherwise-lesser injuries amounting to something more severe. 

With the injuries assessed, she shifts her intention to healing. Immediately the spell begins to pull at her in earnest, drawing out her energy and replacing it with intangible weight that begins to pile on her shoulders.

Even a layman could tell that her conjury is that of a novice, at best. But, feeble as it is, it’s still enough to slowly mend cracked bones and knit broken skin, and the cuts on his lips and brow gradually close. Hopefully he’ll be able to rest a little easier.

She knows it won’t be long before fatigue settles in, but hopefully Thancred and Duskfeather will make sure she at least gets back to Ishgard before she falls asleep on her feet. Her head is still pounding a dull rhythm, and she’s sure it will likely start to worsen soon, too. It’s fine… So long as the spell is working, it’s fine.

“He’ll live, but it’s imperative we get him inside and into the care of a chirurgeon once he’s stable,” Thancred says calmly. With any luck his steady composure will help Emmanellain pull himself together. “Gwen can only do so much.”

“Only so much?!” Emmanellain demands shrilly.

Gwen winces, squeezing her eyes more tightly shut against the kick of doubt and frustration that tries to crack her barely-solidified concentration. She screws up her mouth and works to ignore that, too.

Thancred’s tone hardens, “It’s a sight more than either of us can offer, unless you have knowledge of conjury that you’ve been keeping secret.”

Emmanellain struggles for a response, half syllables coming out one after another before he settles for an angry hiss. “Gah! We were so close! Why does it all have to fall to pieces!? Don’t they want to live in peace!? Don’t they want to be happy!? We all want the same thing, and still-- STILL it falls to pieces!”

The words buzz in her ears like stinging bugs, the volume piercing her focus. Suddenly she can feel sweat gathering on the back of her neck despite the wintry chill, and the edges of her vision are doing strange things. 

“Tell me, what--what was I supposed to do, hm?!” He demands, a desperate, petulant twinge cracking his voice. 

She can feel the way each throb of her head rattles the focus she’d worked so hard to gather, pain and exertion freely jostling her thoughts. 

He stomps his foot furiously, “Someone, anyone, tell me: what was I supposed to do!?” 

Her vision warps and her headache throbs in her teeth. The spell unravels in her thoughts and on her tongue, and she abandons the incantation with a pained groan. 

It’s hard enough to heal Honoroit between her struggles with conjury, the headache, and the lingering symptoms of poison, and now Emannelain is making it all worse by yelling. 

She drops her head into her hands and gulps steadying breaths, fingers icy and numb against her pounding head. Stop being dizzy, stop being dizzy... She isn’t sure if it’s her numbed fingers or a genuine fever making her skin so hot to the touch, but the sheen of sweat suggests the latter.

His voice cracks with panic when he realizes she’s stopped her healing spell. “What are you doing?! Don’t stop!”

The Banquet, the Vault, Azys Lla, the Antitower, faces she’ll never see again, and too many other godsamned things shove up up against the inside of her skull until her head feels like it’s going to split in two.

All at once her throat itches with a stifled scream, her eyes sting and her chest aches like she sprinted for malms without stopping.

She doesn’t know what she should do, what she wants to do, but her nerves are bristling, her heart is pounding, and her body is thrumming with desperate, impotent fury, and she’s so sick and tired of losing people, of failing, of being so useless-- of-- of--

A hand clamps on her shoulder and gives one firm shake.

Her thoughts upend and crash back to the earth, abruptly deflating and crumbling into splinters and shards.

“Breathe.”

She sucks in a mouthful of wintry air and chokes on the cold. After a few tries she catches her breath enough to loosen some of the knots in her chest. When did she start holding her breath...?

Gwen’s head is still a litlte woozy as she looks up. Thancred is leaning over her, his mouth set in a firm grimace and his expression woodenly calm. He twitches his head towards Honoroit, Focus. Heal him.  

The tide of anger and adrenaline passes as quickly as it came, taking the dizzy spell and a modicum of her headache with it. Gwen wipes the sting out of her eyes in place of shaking her head, pushing away the briars and splinters clinging to the inside of her head. She’s no less overwhelmed than she had been a minute ago, but she’s pushed off the worst of it for the moment. That’s good enough.

Thancred releases her shoulder, straightens and turns to face Emmanellain. The nobleman is being surprisingly quiet, perhaps realizing he’d overstepped.

She counts the breaths hissing between her teeth and grasps for calm, pushing her shoulders down and trying to clear her mind. The sight of Honoroit, battered and unconcious, is sobering enough to quell the last simmering strains of irritation and get her mind back in line again.

She closes her eyes and re-gathers her focus through the haze of her headache, trying to ignore the briefly-forgotten fatigue that’s still hanging on her shoulders. Twelve but white magic is so much more taxing than it had ever been--than it should be.

Gwen rests her hand on Honoroit’s chest to center herself and stubbornly, purposefully mumbles the incantation over and over until the sounds and shapes of the words hollow out a big enough place to hold her concentration. 

Emmanellain speaks, “Well? If you have something to say, say it!”

The spell takes shape again, magic trickling from her into Honoroit and flowing out to the worst injuries yet in need of attention. She can feel that the spell is weaker than before, that it’s working more slowly, but it’s still helping. That’s what matters.  

Thancred’s voice is hard and flat, scolding, “Stop looking to others. You make your choice and you live with the consequences.”

There’s brief sputtering followed by a few harsh, seething breaths.

Suddenly there’s a short, hard impact. Instinct identifies the sound before her mind can: a punch.

“And what would you know about consequences!?” Emmanellain spits bitterly. “You, who always knows just what to say and just what to do! Your every deed is greeted with a round of applause!”

Gwen winces away from the words, bitterly wondering how fate’s timing could be so spectacularly terrible. There couldn’t be a worse time for such perfectly aimed words. Matoya’s cave and the Antitower are scarcely a sennight behind them. People claim fate likes to ‘jest’, and apparently its sense of humor is twisted and cruel. 

All at once the air grows close and heavy, bristling with energy like the calm before a storm. Apprehension tightens across her back and she catches the inside of her cheek in her teeth, worrying thoughtlessly at it. It is much too quiet...

A much louder, harder impact rings out, more like a thunderclap than a drumbeat. 

Emmanellain’s yelp of pain is abruptly cut off by the heavy, metallic thud of a chainmailed body hitting stone ground.

Thancred’s voice is low and furious, the point of a knife sinking home. “You know nothing about me. I have fought tooth and nail for the people I hold dear-- done everything in my power to save them, to protect them...and I have failed.” A beat of silence filled with a harsh breath, “Learn to live with it. I have.”

A heavy feeling settles in her stomach, apprehension morphing into worry that convinces her turn her head. She opens her eyes and peeks over her shoulder, keeping the majority of her focus on her tenuous spell. 

Thancred is standing over Emmanellain with a face like a thunderstorm, fists clenched tight at his sides. Emmanellain stares silently up at him, frozen in shock. 

Thancred seems unharmed, while one side of Emmanellain’s face is rapidly darkening and his jaw is hanging at a slightly awkward angle that suggests it might be broken. 

Gwen has never heard Thancred so furious before. She’s never seen him snap. He spat those words like curses, like they’re a burden he’s suffered and agonized over for ages without reprieve. They speak of a kind of deep ache and near-hateful sort of guilt that Gwen is much too familiar with. 

Thancred turns brusquely on his heel and storms away in silence. 

Gwen avoids Emmanellain’s gaze and turns back to Honoroit. 

She immediately resolves to talk to him, but not until he’s had time to cool off and settle out. She’ll do what she can for Honoroit first, then she’ll go after him.

Gwen is more than a little wobbly on her feet as she staggers back down the ramp into Falcon’s Nest. Her vision is behaving itself, but her head is throbbing, her legs are weak, and her stomach is refusing to settle down. 

Though it took entirely too much effort, she still finds no small amount of satisfaction in successfully managing healing magic again. She’s improving, slowly but surely.

Casting her eyes around the open square turns up nothing, and she rubs at her heavy eyelids with a pout. She’ll have to go searching, then. But where to start? On a whim, she turns for the barracks.

She finds Thancred in an out-of-the way spot a stone’s throw from where she’d hidden earlier to purge the tainted wine from her system and wait for her grasp on conciousness to solidify. He’s leaning against the wall and radiating the air of a man better left alone, arms crossed tightly across his chest and a stony glower on his face. 

He glances up as she approaches, shrewdly scrutinizing the rhythm of her steps and the way she’s carrying herself.

Concern, discomfort and reemourse coil around her chest and tie knots in her head, images of Matoya’s cave flitting past her vision. She takes a slow breath, feeling a bit like she’s readying to try more healing magic.

Mourning and grief do crazy things to people, and no one handles it the same. Gwen knows that. She withdraws, physically and mentally, growing hollow and distant and numb. She wilts and shrinks, always drained and slow as if she’s wrapped in a layer of lead that separates her from the world, trying to insulate and protect herself. She hasn’t yet mastered pulling herself out of it, but she’s always --eventually-- managed it with the help of her friends.

Thancred closes himself off and binds himself to his mistakes, as if not forgiving himself for them means he won’t make them again. He pushes others away and walls himself in with his hurt, treating it as a lesson to be learned rather than a wound to mend. It lies just beneath the surface and drives him to lash out when it grows too painful to hold, like on the landing platform, and over time it sinks into him, a weight he carries that he never speaks of or shows even as it changes him.

But...

It’s not that Gwen thinks he doesn’t have the right to his misery or grief, especially after losing someone so dear as Minfili. The events of the Antitower are barely behind them. Of course he’s still hurting and struggling with all of it. 

It’s how he’s handling it--or rather, not handling it, and what it’s doing to him that she’s worried about. He’s hurting. He’s insisting on struggling alone, on holding everything in and carrying it with him, like he did after being freed from Lahabrea, and refusing to allow it to rest.

It’s too soon to really begin healing, maybe, but not so much that she can’t remind him that he isn’t alone.

Gwen stops in front of him, just out of arm's reach. Her limbs are heavy, her head is throbbing and her stomach is shifting unpleasantly, but she does her best to keep her discomfort to herself. She settles her weight on her feet and regards him with a concerned and placidly questioning look. What was that back there? 

They stand in silence, simply looking at one another and waiting. 

Thancred’s expression loses a smidgen of its harshness, though otherwise remains flat. Gwen loosely folds her arms against the chill, chewing the inside of her lip and worrying the sleeves of her coat between her fingers. She can wait for as long as she needs to.

Thancred shifts against the wall and sharply turns his head, putting the black wrap of cloth towards her. A dismissal, most likely. He doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want sympathy and, more than that, he doesn’t want her there. It stings, even as she corrects herself that he likely wants to be left alone to brood and doesn’t want anyone around.

Blue and purple are creeping out from beneath the edge of the cloth. The evidence of Emmanellain’s punch.

Gwen shifts her weight, numb fingers prickling as they slowly warm, her teeth sharp against the inside of her cheek. Then she takes one slow, somewhat cautious step forward.

Thancred tenses but doesn’t move, clinging to the hope she’ll go away if he ignores her long enough.

She takes another step and comes to a stop, now well within arm’s reach. She cautiously lifts a hand towards his face.

The motion makes him twitch and he jerks his head back around. She pulls her hand back in time to avoid colliding with his bruised cheek.

His expression is guarded as he glowers at her, a hint of incredulity and impatience tugging at his mouth while his eye is sharp. There’s a feeling tense expectation hanging about him that has a definite, bristling edge to it. He’s braced for a reprimand or a lecture, and is plenty ready to retaliate and start an argument. In fact, he almost looks like he’s hoping for an excuse to do just that.

Gwen gives him nothing of the sort, regarding him with a calm, weary look. She tentatively moves her hand towards his bruised cheek again, carefully studying his reaction.

He allows it, watching her like a hawk.

She stops short of touching his bandana, fingertips hovering just beside his cheek. She focuses on the back of her hand and scrounges up the last onzes of her energy for just one more small conjury spell.  

Thancred’s jaw shifts beneath her hand, his shoulders tightening and lifting like he’s getting his hackles up.

A somewhat tenuous whisper of soothing magic ripples out of her fingers and flows across his skin. The effort leaves her feeling a bit like she stood up too quickly, but she sets her jaw and keeps at it. The fringe of blue and black begins to gradually soften and melt away, shrinking back beneath the edge of his bandana.

After a few slow, drawn out seconds his jaw flexes and he lets out a long, slow exhale that sounds distinctly like resignation. A bit of tension bleeds out of his posture and his shoulders begin to slowly sink back down. 

Thancred’s expression gradually smooths out, angry sparks fading and antagonistic edge dulling. Eventually it settles into the dour, brooding look she’s more accustomed to.

His jaw tenses up, relaxes just enough to shift, then tenses again. She imagines the sound of his teeth grinding.

He turns his head ever so slightly, just enough that his cheek barely connects with the pads of her fingers. He takes a few careful breaths and closes his eye, brow not quite furrowed. There’s an air of resigned expectation to his silence and the passing seconds, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Gwen doesn’t say a word, maintaining their slight connection and not pushing for more. He’s free to pull away, or to lean in. He’s free to talk, or not. 

At length his eye opens again, and he looks a great deal calmer and more composed. “...I may have overreacted.” His voice is quiet but unapologetic, as flat as his mouth. “But it needed to be done. He was becoming hysterical.” 

Gwen tilts her head a little, acquiescing the point. Thancred’s reaction wasn’t appropriate, no, and it was worryingly unlike him, but it was… understandable. Emmanellain is the one who threw the first punch, in all fairness, and he’d been doing a spectacular job of hitting their sore spots before that. She doesn’t blame the young nobleman for his frustration or whatever else he’s feeling, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to listen to him rant whilst trying to heal his manservant.

Thancred takes another long breath, gaze drifting slowly over the stones around them. Eventually the silence urges him to speak again, “I understand the desire to look for reasons. For excuses. To convince yourself you had no choice. But the past is the past, and there is naught to be gained from reliving your mistakes.” 

His tone has a heavy undercurrent of repetition to it, as though he was reciting words he was tired of hearing. Yet the words make his frown turn pensive, if a little wrinkled with bitterness, in a way that makes her think he’s yet working to fully process that statement himself. 

Gwen tilts her head the other way, giving him a meaningful look. Are you telling me this? Or yourself?

“I know this,” Thancred insists immediately. “I know this.” His expression tightens, almost slipping into a grimace, and his eye drops back to the ground, “But he…” 

He he huffs a sharp, frustrated breath and shifts moodily against the wall. He makes a point to keep his head still, maintaining their tentative connection.

She wonders how much striking Emmanellain made him realize the extent to which everything is affecting him.

Baby steps. Healing takes time. Understanding and overcoming one’s frustrations with themselves is a long road, and acknowledging them in the first place is the first step. He’s taken a step in the right direction. Hopefully.

Gwen can senses his cheek isn’t quite healed, but reluctantly admits she’s too spent to finish the job. She still has to fly to Ishgard and deliver the report to Aymeric, after all. And with her luck she’ll likely have more to endure after that, too, poison be damned.

She lets the spell peter out with a weary sigh, letting her hand linger for a few more seconds before dropping it back to her side. 

Thancred takes a long moment to look her over again, bluntly studying her face and the way she’s holding herself. "You look hellish.”

Gwen’s lips twitch with a hint of a smile. No one is around, they’re alone and in private for the moment, so she reaches out to brush the tips of her fingers along his knuckles. 

He watches, not quite impassively.

As her hand withdraws his turns, slowly as if it’s half-frozen. He curls his fingers just enough for the tips of hers to catch on his. 

It’s surprising how steadying such a small thing can be. 

Less than a breath later he lets hers drop. He shoulders himself off the wall and straightens up with a bit of muttering, brushing off his clothes. “Get your bird and let us away. We’ve important matters to attend to in Ishgard, and have kept the Lord Commander waiting entirely too long already. The lordling can arrange his return on his own time.”

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

Tooth and nail - adverb with all one's resources or energy; fiercely

Oy vey @_@ this FFXIVWrite is really kicking my butt.

This is the first, and only, idea that sprung to mind when I saw the prompt. This part was so intense, and the conference just felt like the latest thing in the long list of “everything is going wrong fuuuuuu” @_@ I need to write more about this particular time in Post-HVW

#ffxivwrite2020 #Guinevere Ashe #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Gwencred #Post-Heavensward #Dragonsong War #My Writing #UGH MY BRAIN #god when he punched Emmanellain @_@ #I was like 'oohhhh shit o.o... Uh Thancred? You good my guy?'

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (41 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Saturday)...

In the presence of his Master, Killian lay inert.

There was no escape. Not ever.

No immunity, not in the end. He had resisted as long as he could. But now, he no longer had any control over his body. He could do nothing but lie helpless, paralyzed and at the mercy of the creature endlessly circling. Tapping that eerie cadence around and around, stopping only to prod at him, squeeze and pinch and crush. His ankle. His hand. His ribs.

Killian could not even scream anymore. Sometimes he felt on the verge of knowing why. The tentacle snaking down his throat did not truly hurt, though on occasion it inspired such panic that he would rather be dead than endure its presence any longer. Then the moment would pass, he would lose concentration and forget the invader, and try to beg an instant’s peace, and wonder why even the smallest hint of his pathetic pleas would not come forth.

YOU CAN NEVER BE FREE OF ME. I SHALL HAVE YOU FOR ALL ETERNITY.

Yes, Master.

Had there truly been a time when that commanding voice held no sway? The mantra scripted, the despair half-pretend?

NO MATTER. SAY IT FOR ME AGAIN. FEED ME YOUR MISERY.

No hope.

IT IS REAL THIS TIME.

No hope.

THE BATTLE IS LOST.

No hope.

NO HOPE. NO HOPE, TRIPOD. NO HOPE FOR ANY OF YOU. KILLIAN.

Killian?

*****

Emma burst into the waiting lounge, cursing, her heart pounding as if she'd just sprinted up to the top of the clock tower. Of course they would page her as soon as she ran down to the cafeteria for five minutes; she should never have let her dad talk her into taking a snack break.

"Whale?" she called urgently even as she spotted the physician’s distinctive shock of bleached hair across the room. He had his feet up on a coffee table and looked even more haggard than before; apparently, the past 30 hours had been rough on him, as well. He did not get up when he heard his name, opting to merely wait until Emma had perched nervously on a chair nearby. Dr. Whale gave her a reserved smile before speaking.

"He's out of surgery."

For an instant, Emma thought she might black out from the relief. Whale rubbed at bloodshot eyes, continuing,

"We did everything we could for him, for now. His lung has been repaired, his shoulder reduced, and temporary closures provided for his other injuries; they'll have to be addressed at a later date, when he's stronger. He's had probably a dozen units of blood and may require more over the coming days."

Emma felt a hand on her shoulder and realized that her father must have cleared up quickly downstairs in order to be able to be with her, and then snuck in while her attention had been riveted on the physician’s words.

Whale sighed and stretched his neck.

“I'm not going to lie, Emma; he's not out of the woods yet. He'll need constant supervision in the Intensive Care Unit until we’re sure he won't crash on us at any second. The biggest complication that we're dealing with right now is the neurological condition which, I can't even remember if I told you, has gotten exponentially worse since Wednesday.”

“The brain shriveling?” clarified David, and Whale nodded.

“The best thing for that would have been to keep him sedated while we work on a therapy, like we did for the others, but for some unknown reason, every sedative we’ve tried has only made everything worse. His blood pressure will fall, or he'll develop an arrhythmia or respiratory depression or something else equally as dangerous. It's totally bizarre, and none of the other slaves have reacted this way. Bottom line is, I don't think it's safe to keep throwing different sedatives at him and hoping one will stick. We’ll allow him to wake up and just try to keep him comfortable with painkillers.”

Around a lump in her throat, Emma managed to ask,

“But didn't you say the brain condition is slowed down when they're sedated?”

“I did,” shrugged Whale. “But faster brain deterioration will kill him slower than a clot caused by low BP would.”

Emma nodded slowly, the long list of threats to her husband's life squeezing at her heart until she could not speak. Behind her, David quietly asked,

“What about something like total anesthesia? Would that slow the condition?”

"That would be even more risky than sedation," explained Whale. "With general anesthesia, you always want to use the smallest dose for the shortest amount of time, otherwise all sorts of bad things can happen, from respiratory arrest to brain damage."

A moment of heavy silence filled the room, uninterrupted by the background noises of the busy hospital. Then Emma squared her shoulders.

"So when can I see him?"

With great reluctance, Whale stood up, unfolding slowly like a man many years his senior.

"Let's go," he groaned. "He's going to be disoriented at first; hopefully you can help with that." He glanced at David, then back at Emma as he added,

"Only you, though. For the time being, at least."

David caught Emma's hand in a quick squeeze. “Give him our best.”

*****

His Master had its clawed hand around his arm, squeezing without involving any of its nails. It hurt the stake driven through his wrist. But that was, after all, its privilege.

Harder, Master. Take what you will. I am yours.

“Killian.”

Bloody hell. Swan was in the church. He could hear her. He could almost see her, if he tried hard enough to open his eyes and focus. Impossible!

I SHALL HAVE HER TOO.

No!

A piercing pinch. A whimper without sound.

Yes… Master…

*****

It could only be an extension of his Master’s recording experiment, but how it was supposed to succeed was utterly mystifying. Any little sound stalled before it even started, not just the screams he wanted to unleash. So how would his Master glean any sort of energy from him this way?

THAT IS NOT YOUR CONCERN.

Killian’s elbow twitched and he felt an immediate jolt of stiff pain in his shoulder. He could not say when he’d been torn loose from his imprisonment, what almost certainly should have been the structure against which he’d breathed his last and surrendered his soul. The figment Emma was back, or perhaps had never left, though their Master had yet to make good on its threats against her. It must wish to drain the last remaining drops of scream energy from him first, wringing him out like a filthy, useless rag, scraping him down to the rind and then beyond.

She called to him. He could not acknowledge.

I AM HERE, insisted his Master. He felt it. Its marks of possession carved into his flesh. Unyielding limbs pinning him, holding him still.

Which of its appendages was slender enough to slip inside a nostril? Killian had no recollection of that particular trick.

“Hold still--”

DO NOT MOVE, TRIPOD.

Something twitched deep down inside his chest, sparking a powerful urge to retch. The Master’s device between his teeth confirmed itself as not-tentacle by its texture and flaccid presence, no roiling, pulsating muscle beneath its rubbery exterior, and yet it began moving again, this time sliding up his throat and exiting in one long, slippery slither, its tip scraping irritated muscle as it went.

Gagging hurt, but coughing was worse.

“Breathe,” urged many voices, Emma’s and at least one other. Z, if she weren’t dead and could speak. Or maybe it was only after death that she would.

FILL THOSE LUNGS WITH SCREAMS.

*****

When Dr. Whale had first led Emma inside, she would have sworn it was the wrong room. Her emaciated husband was simply unrecognizable, even compared to what she'd seen of him the day before. Discolored, withered, and limp, taped and wrapped, sickly pale skin free of dirt but painted with a sheen of sweat. After so many situations just like this, she probably should be at least somewhat accustomed to all of the gadgets necessary for life support, but they shocked her every time. Whale’s team had at least traded the I/O line for a more long-term central line, which she knew would cut down on the number of needle sticks necessary for blood sampling and the like.

Emma sighed. He was going to hate this. He always did, but now the parallels to his time as the Vocivore’s slave--not in control of much of anything, feeling trapped and helpless--would make it that much worse. Not to mention the damage to his hand that would take away all autonomy.

Well, she told herself, it was a miracle he was even around to hate it. And besides, it would be different this time. Magic would return soon; it had to. And then, even if she couldn't heal everything completely, she might be able to shorten his length of stay in his least favorite place.

No, she realized. She now knew of several places that would rank lower than this.

"Killian?" she called again, tenderly stroking his bony arm. In the 15 minutes she had been with him, he had showed some brief flashes of near-awareness: slight limb movements, fluttering of his eyelids, minute grimaces eliciting pangs of sympathy within her. In response to her voice, his heart rate would pick up momentarily, though it was difficult to tell whether that was from glad recognition or startled anxiety. In between, however, he would settle back into a frightening stillness that only the monitors proved could not be death.

A few minutes ago, a couple of nurses had removed the endotracheal tube from his throat after Whale had declared him stable enough to breathe on his own. The bout of choking that followed was painful to watch, but Killian still seemed mostly out of it as they attached an oxygen mask to his battered face. His eyes fluttered briefly open but did not focus before slipping closed. Since then, it was back to nothing again.

Whale appeared beside her and leaned over Killian in order to have a listen to both lungs.

“He'll come around in his own time,” he assured Emma. “This is not unusual after such extensive surgery.”

*****

Something had changed.

The paving stone had warmed, softening into something almost comfortable, a concept so unfamiliar as to be suspicious. The persistent cooing from up above mingled with an utter cacophony of bewildering sounds, none of which belonged to any reality within the horribly familiar confines of the sanctuary. And the light touch on his arm, the gentle stroking along intact flesh… for the first time, it was not altogether unpleasant. Which would only confirm what he no longer feared: total, unreserved surrender.

Does it please you, my Master?

The end of the deception and the fight.

IT IS GOOD.

He could feel it prodding at his chest with its cold, unyielding legs. He did not pull away. No horror stirred his heart, though he knew it wanted something of him.

WAKE UP.

More places were being petted, encircled, or invaded than his Master had limbs to account for; nothing made sense. And why was it insisting he wake up when he was already awake? Perhaps he could appease it with a groan.

Killian coughed. His whole throat felt raw as if acid slime had eroded all the tissue away.

I may no longer have any screams to give.

His ankle spasmed. Stabbing, burning cramps spread up his wrist from an oddly immobile hand. But his Master seemed unfazed by the revelation and continued its touching.

“Please--OPEN YOUR EYES--Killian. It’s time--YOU MUST WAKE--wake up now.”

The babbling had returned, voices on top of voices, all begging to be heard amidst the rolling of whitecaps pitching the floor into sudden, violent motion, squashing him down as though he weighed a thousand pounds, and in an instant, Killian was retching like the greenest of new recruits on their first day at sea.

If he’d thought coughing hurt, his stomach trying to eject what wasn’t there took that pain and magnified it a hundredfold.

“...Pretty common, too, after anesthesia…”

Shut the hell up, Whale, and let a man die in agonized peace.

HE WON’T ASPIRATE WITH THE NG TUBE CLEARING HIS STOMACH.

“Trust me.”

His Master’s suit had turned white.

The bucking slowed, gravity returning to normal from his feet upwards. Killian’s eyes were watering in lights far too bright and colorless, lacking any hint of refracted hue.

It wasn’t a white suit. A white coat.

“Killian?”

Tilting his neck even the slightest degree seemed to drive iron stakes all around its perimeter. Killian blinked away the tears into which his Master’s image had dissolved, leaving behind only smeared shapes and hazy colors as it bellowed a whisper,

I REMAIN.

His first in-focus sight had to be of bloody Whale, leaning over him in professional study. But the physician’s voice hadn’t been the only one to blend with the Vocivore’s menace.

“Swan?” he mumbled, almost noiseless, and promptly gagged. What he’d taken for a tentacle tightened on his arm in trembling reassurance.

“I’m here, Killian.” She moved into his field of vision and his weary eyes looked into her face, desperate for the calm that only she could provide. “You’re safe; you’re at the hospital. You made it.”

Though his vision remained blurred and unsteady, there was no mistaking the relief on her face, nor the steady stream of tears coursing down her cheeks as she tried to smile.

Sudden, paralyzing panic overtook him; he could not remember… his Master, it was there, always there, but beyond its looming presence… only fragments. A life. Such a precious life… and a corpse…

“Wh…” he tried, then, “H…”

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” interjected the bothersome physician. “You had a tube down your throat to help you breathe, and there still a smaller one going down into your stomach to help with nausea and for feeding later.”

The majority of Whale’s words got lost in the storm clouds of confusion and worry, and Killian chose to ignore the rest. But moving to keep Emma in view brought a wave of such intense pain that the room lights went out and a high-pitched, pressurized buzzing filled his ears.

“For the love of God, Hook,” Dr. Whale was saying, muffled at first but slowly clearer as Killian’s senses returned. “Hold still; there’s about 101 places you could tear open and we just finished putting you back together.”

Killian could only gulp unsatisfying breaths under the weight of the several cannonballs that seemed to be piled on his chest. In a much more patient tone, Emma pleaded,

“Try and relax, Killian; everything is fine. Hope is fine. The monster is dead. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Hope. It was Hope, the corpse. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead. Emma was saying one thing, but he saw another. Hope dead. Maybe Emma didn’t know. So many terrifying scenes jumbled in his head. So much screaming and pain and despair. And Hope’s corpse, there among the flashes. The wounds were real. The Master was real. But Hope dead was not?

How would he ever be certain?

Emma’s touch; that felt real. Whale and his lackeys, as they performed their checks and asked questions he could not possibly comprehend… less so, but then again, their knowledge struck him as far beyond anything he could ever conjure.

Whence came the corpses?

I HAVE CONSUMED THEIR SCREAMS. THEY ARE DEPLETED.

His Master once again circled his bed. And Killian closed his eyes. Resigned to the torture.

*****

Emma watched her husband slip back into a troubled slumber and scrubbed at her face. The brief moment of clarity had been equally as encouraging as heartbreaking. He knew her; that was certain, and momentarily seemed to soothe at her touch, but the long periods of terrified delirium before and after had been difficult to stomach. Not to mention the apparent anguish that any small movement caused him.

Whale finished scribbling a progress note and pursed his lips. “Well, that went about as well as could have been expected. His neuro scores are encouraging, so we don’t have to be as concerned about hypoxic brain injury.”

Clearing her throat, Emma resumed resting her hand on Killian’s arm. Whether or not he consciously felt her presence, subconsciously she had to believe that she could provide a bit of a buffer between him and his nightmares. “Sure didn’t last long.”

“Combination of post-anesthesia and his pain meds. Really, sleep is the best thing for him, as long as it stays peaceful like this.” He checked a readout on the complicated IV pump and made a quick adjustment. “It’ll probably be like this the first few times. You may have to keep reminding him where he is and all that; he might not remember each time he wakes up. By tomorrow morning, I’d expect him to seem more alert and possibly stay awake for longer periods of time.”

The physician yawned and did not even seem sorry. “It’s going to be another long night, Emma. People in and out frequently. You’re welcome to stay, but no one would be surprised if you decided to go home for a couple hours’ sleep.”

Emma shook her head. “I need to be here for him.”

“Your choice.” He headed for the door. “Don’t hesitate to call someone if you have any questions or concerns.”

After he left, Emma watched Killian breathe, reassured by the small cloud of condensation that formed on the inside of his mask each time he exhaled. Then she composed a quick update to her father; she knew he would take care of spreading the word to everyone else waiting for news. That accomplished, she settled in for her lonely vigil.

Killian had endured a month’s worth of little to no rest, and low-quality sleep when he could get it. Compared to that, three or four nights of watching at his bedside was nothing. 

________________________________________________________________

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #dr whale #hospital #ICU #hallucinations #intubation #pain #retching #fear #confusion #Vocivore ltd

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[ahloveisboo]

Long Forgotten Sons | pt 4

Pairing: OT7 Genre: Zombie!AU, mature (includes violence, gore, death, explicit language, future major character death) Word Count: 3.5k

← previous | next →

***

“So… What brings you here?” 

Yoongi all but scoffed at the question. “Not sure. It’s either being on the run from brain dead zombies trying to eat us alive, or a nice, long, romantic road trip. A broad trip if you will.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon warned, but he was smiling. Yoongi rolled his eyes and puffed out a laugh.

“Right. Technically, they’re everything but brain dead. I heard you the first seven times.”

Jimin craned his neck, casting a glance over Jungkook’s shoulder. “What do you mean, everything but?” His eyes flicked from Namjoon to Yoongi and back. Yoongi cocked his head and smiled.

“Namjoon has… intel.”

Jungkook frowned and stepped forward. The others silently followed to surround the newcomers, making a crescent shape in front of them. It wasn’t meant to be threatening but Namjoon found himself backing away instinctively.

Jimin pursed his lips and squinted. His voice sounded smooth when he spoke. “Intel,” he repeated. “Like, military level shit?”

Seokjin took a seat in one of the pews up front, eyeing Namjoon as he waited for a reply. Namjoon’s eyes flicked to Yoongi, who was waiting for Namjoon to continue what he started. Namjoon wasn’t sure what he expected from him but took a breath and focused back on the people before him.

“I’m- well, was, an intern at Hudson Corp.”

Hoseok failed to hide his surprise. “Hudson. As in the company that’s responsible for all this?”

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek, nodding. He could see Jimin’s hands ball into fists in the corner of his eye but continued. “I’m a biomedical engineering student, specializing in neuro. I got the internship as a final step to graduating next semester.” He paused and averted his eyes. “I was on the team that created the virus.”

It happened in a flash. Namjoon’s back hit the ground before he could fight back, knocking the air from his lungs. Jimin’s fists balled into Namjoon’s hoodie, pulling his torso from the ground and smacking him back down. “You son of a bit-“ he cursed, eyes ablaze as he met Namjoon’s own bewildered gaze.

“I can explain,” he choked, grabbing at Jimin’s hands to fend them off. Jimin only hissed in response, raising a fist in the air.

Jimin promptly went still. His hands dropped when he felt fingers tangled in his hair and the cold touch of Yoongi’s dagger to his throat. His head was yanked back, forcing him to stare into Yoongi’s face.

“Do that again and I won’t hesitate next time. Let the man finish.”

Jimin nodded but did nothing to disguise the loathing written on his features. He pulled himself off Namjoon, who scrambled to his feet and nervously started smoothing out his hoodie. Seokjin and Jungkook exchanged glances as Jimin took a seat between them. Seokjin put his hand on Jimin’s thigh, digging his fingers into the skin in support.

Yoongi gestured at Namjoon with his free hand. “Go on.”

Namjoon fixed his gaze on Jimin as he continued. “The team I was put on was working on a drug to cure or reverse certain elements of Alzheimer’s disease. I was pretty stoked about it, too because my family has a history. I would be a part of making a fucking cure for fuck’s sake.” He raised his voice in proud excitement but toned it down as soon as he saw the others’ blank stares. He cleared his throat. “As you all know, Alzheimer’s disease leads to brain deterioration, which was what our team was trying to stop or even reverse.” He paused again, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Researchers have been trying to determine the cause of Alzheimer’s for decennia but keep coming up empty. And since we don’t know how it develops, we were having a hard time finding the right code to fight it. Studies show that genetics only account for a certain percentage of cases and there have been some genome studies which found 19 genes that could potentially be affecting the risk of getting Alzheimer’s but that wasn’t enough to base our entire project on. There are multiple hypotheses out there, and we decided to build onto the Tau hypothesis and go from there.”

“That’s the one with the protein changes, right?” Namjoon’s head whirled at Hoseok’s comment, jaw mid-drop before realizing no sound was coming out. His mouth snapped shut but he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. Jimin leaned forward, crossing his arms over his knees and grinned at Hoseok, enjoying the reaction it got out of Namjoon. Yoongi stared at Hoseok a little too long for comfort.

“What? I read a lot,” Hoseok shrugged, focusing his attention back on Namjoon.

“Right. The tau protein changes the microtubules in a way that they start to disintegrate. I won’t bore you with any more details but that’s what we built our approach on.”

Hoseok nodded, draping his arms over the back of the pew. “Did it work?”

“Science takes time. They were already developing a-“ He raised his fingers in air quotations. “-cure when I arrived. It was prepared for testing a few weeks after. One night I couldn’t sleep because this feeling kept gnawing at me, like I had overlooked something that just didn’t make sense. So I went back to the lab to go over my notes by myself.”

Somewhere down the line, Namjoon had started pacing, hands motioning wildly to support his words. It made Taehyung restless, shifting in his own spot as he watched Namjoon adjust his glasses. He wanted to say something to make him stop but the words died in his throat. The atmosphere was tense and sultry, settling over everyone’s chest in anticipation. Namjoon took a long breath and continued.

“I found an anomaly in the sequence we used. It would basically fuck up everything we’d been working on. It was meant to treat the first few symptoms, the ones that affect the episodic memory. You know, things like short-term memory loss, being disoriented, occasionally forgetting vocabulary, etc,” he added, as though the boys would understand even without clarification. Taehyung grimaced.

“Instead the anomaly would make sure to skip those and go straight to the second stage, which is when long-term memory and learned facts get affected, as well as muscle memory. Walking, eating, shit like that. Things you don’t usually have to think about.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jungkook interrupted, going over the information in his head. “If it attacks the second stage before having to work on the first symptoms, wouldn’t people heal faster?”

Namjoon halted, hands clasped together as though Jungkook had just discovered an option he hadn’t thought of. He smiled at the youngest. “I understand why you’d think that. At first, I was willing to consider the possibility, too, even if everyone knows to always go for the lower ranks first. Every action movie can tell you that.”

“What happened next?” Hoseok asked politely, urging Namjoon to complete his story.

“I talked to my colleagues first. They dismissed it, of course. Called it a rookie mistake in my findings. And that was it. I couldn’t take this to my superior without solid proof after that. So I broke protocol,” he explained, glancing at Yoongi who had taken a seat on the floor. Yoongi shifted his weight backward, his hands spread out behind him for support. He sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I came home one night and he had stolen three mice from the lab,” Yoongi chuckled. “For a second I thought he’d joined one of those animal rights groups and that he’d walk out of his room in a “stop animal testing” shirt. I did not expect a syringe and a vial of some zombie virus.”

“Obviously I had no fucking clue back then,” Namjoon retorted, gesturing dismissively. “But I had no other choice. I needed to know if we were heading for disaster or a miracle.”

Seokjin leaned forward, grabbing everyone’s attention with the sudden movement. “You experimented on them yourself?”

Namjoon nodded in confirmation. “It wasn’t ideal. I couldn’t separate the mice but figured it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. They were disoriented and slow since they suffered from most of the symptoms humans show in those stages. I injected the first one that night before we went to bed. My plan was to expose them to the drug in different doses and time frames. It should have taken me months to see any significant results but when we got up the next morning..,” he trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek again.

“The one he injected the night before was hanging by a thread,” Yoongi picked up the story. “Namjoon had gotten up early to get into the lab but I didn’t have classes until late afternoon so I slept in. It was 9 hours after the injection and it was clear the sucker didn’t have long to live. I texted Joon as soon as I noticed.”

“I couldn’t leave the lab early without attracting attention so I told him to write down observations the best way he could. By the time I got home, it had died.” Namjoon paused long enough to let the information sink in and answer questions, but neither of the boys said anything. Finally, Taehyung spoke up.

“So basically you spent months, if not years concocting poison instead of revolutionary treatment.” He couldn’t suppress the edge in this voice. It sounded accusatory and Namjoon didn’t blame him. It took him a few heartbeats to reply.

“Here’s the kicker, though. It did work.”

Now the boys started to stir, words spilling from their mouth in both confusion and disbelief. Jimin jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at Namjoon’s chest. “The hell it did! You killed us all. You and your fucking crazy scientist friends.”

Yoongi shot him a warning glance but Jimin chose to ignore it. “This-” he raged, spinning on his heel and motioning with his hand. “is all on you.”

Jimin hadn’t noticed Hoseok coming up behind him until he felt his hand on his wrist. Hoseok fingers wrapped around the delicate skin and tugged it down. “As much as I want to punch him in the throat right now, this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

Jimin locked eyes with Hoseok and snarled. “How are you so calm? He killed your family.”

Hoseok flinched but shook his head. “That’s not fair.”

Namjoon waited for the racket to die down. He wondered if the others could hear the way his heart pounded in his chest as silence settled, but he managed to keep a calm façade.

Yoongi got up and pat the dust from his trousers. He looked over the boys’ faces and cocked his head. He spoke as if there had been no interruption. “Namjoon doesn’t take failure well. He spent the next hour staring into the cage as though he’d bring it back to life through sheer force of will. I went to get us food and when I got back, the damn thing was alive. Walking, squeaking, whatever mice do. It was unnerving. I mean, fuck, I watched it struggle and perish with my own two eyes hours ago.”

“At first I thought we actually did it. That it must have just looked like it died and we had found what others hadn’t been able to. I was over the moon. I couldn’t tear my eyes away and didn’t even care about the possible side-effects we had just witnessed. But then it happened.” Namjoon folded his hands in his lap. “It attacked the other mice, basically tearing them apart. There was blood everywhere. I was so stunned I just stood there watching. And then it hit me. The drug had sparked the brain back into action. The mouse’s body had died in the process but the brain had not. It was fully functioning. Just not in the way we were expecting.”

Jungkook swore audibly, “What the fuck, Namjoon. You bred zombie mice and didn’t tell anyone?”

Namjoon’s gaze was blank as it met Jungkook’s. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? I did tell. I managed to catch the infected mouse unharmed and took it to my superior. He didn’t care. He gave me a lecture and scolded me for breaking protocol, for putting the entire project in danger. He showed me the door and basically told me to shove it. But not before reminding me of the confidentiality clause I signed upon entering the company. He made it very clear I was good to go and never to come back.”

Seokjin rubbed his face in a desperate attempt to hide his disbelief. “They knowingly let this happen. They put the entire population in danger over a greedy longing to succeed where others had failed.” Namjoon nodded in confirmation. Seokjin straightened and tensed his jaw. “What did you do?”

“I broke his nose,” Namjoon deadpanned. A grin broke onto Yoongi’s face as he listened to his friend retell the story. “I would’ve done worse if I thought I’d get away with it. Instead, I focused on how to make sure the drug would never make it to the human trial stages in this state.”

“Surely they wouldn’t have let it come that far if they came to the same discovery as you,” Hoseok stated, cocking an eyebrow.  

“I’d like to think so but at that point, I didn’t trust any of them anymore.”

Jungkook didn’t realise he was staring until Jimin snapped his fingers in front of his face. Startled, he blinked, but he focused back on Namjoon instantly. “Considering the situation we are in, I assume you didn’t find a way to stop them,” he concluded.

Namjoon shook his head. “I didn’t. A few weeks later the explosion happened and all I could think about was that drug, that virus we created and the idea that they just unleashed hell on earth.” The tone of his voice did nothing to hide his frustration and it took every ounce of self-control for Namjoon not to scream. Yoongi cleared his throat, the look in his eyes too subtle for the others to notice but Namjoon accepted the silent support with gratitude.

“When I heard the news, I panicked. If that virus had infected even one of my colleagues without anyone knowing the consequences, we’d be done for. I told my family right off the bat and they didn’t even think to doubt me, but getting anyone else to believe me turned out to be one hell of a job. Zombies aren’t real, you see. We don’t live in some weird dystopian, post-apocalyptic wasteland where people rise from the dead to eat your brains.”

“Except now we do,” Taehyung noted. “So where’s your family now? Did they evacuate with the others?”

“Nah, they fled to Europe way before anyone else got out. They packed up and left instantly. We were supposed to be on the plane with them but turns out I have a knack for losing things. Including my passport.”

“We?” Hoseok asked, letting his eyes drift from Namjoon to Yoongi. “Why did you stay?”

Yoongi shrugged, idly playing with his dagger. “He’s a shitty roommate but I’ve grown fond of him. Besides-” He paused, as though internally debating how much of himself he wanted to share. His words were cold as he continued. “I have nowhere to go.”

“To be honest, if I didn’t have Yoongi by my side, I wouldn’t have survived the first week,” Namjoon added, trying to take the edge off Yoongi’s comment.

“Hey, just out of curiosity,” Taehyung interrupted before Namjoon could say more. “What did you do with the mice afterwards?”

“We killed and buried them. The virus only affects the brain so we crushed their skulls, disabling brain activity,” he explained. “Brutal, but effective. They don’t necessarily feel pain since their nervous systems died with them. They only react to violence because the brain registers that the body is being attacked, which is why they scream when you stab them for example. But you’re not actually inflicting any pain. It’s just a reflex response. If you want to kill them, aim for their heads,” Namjoon concluded. “Crush it, stab it, pierce it, hell- even decapitation would help since it disconnects the brain from the rest of the body. But yeah, always go for the brain.”

He looked at Seokjin when finished and feebly nodded once to indicate this was all the information he could provide. Seokjin returned it with a look that Namjoon couldn’t quite decipher but he was glad there weren’t any more questions to be answered.

Namjoon sat down next to Hoseok to catch his breath, suddenly aware of how heavy his limbs felt and how exhausted he was. It was the first time he told the story to anyone that wasn’t his family or Yoongi, and he was surprised how easy it had been to come clean to total strangers. He instinctively rubbed his chest looking for any bruising left by Jimin earlier. He sighed. They’d been on the run for two weeks, and these were the first people - alive and breathing - they’d encountered along the way.

Namjoon glanced at Yoongi, who had sheathed his daggers and hooked the machete back in his belt. His hands were leisurely tucked into his pockets as he stared at the far wall. Yoongi could feel Namjoon’s gaze burning holes in his skin and turned to look at him. Bewildered, Namjoon noticed he looked just as tired as he felt.

They had barely slept the past nights. Being up against aggressive walkers was bad enough, but there were only two of them and even with Yoongi’s skills and Namjoon’s wits, each fight against those monsters took its toll. Yoongi’s body hurt in places he didn’t even know had muscles.

Namjoon allowed a flicker of hope to spark in his chest, turning back to the boys who were now chatting amongst each other. Processing everything Namjoon had just told them. He cleared his throat loud enough to draw attention. “Listen,” he said as soon as everyone’s eyes were trained on him. “I heard news about a safe place up in Daegu. That’s where we’re heading. You can join us if you want. Yoongi has family there that we could probably turn to for help.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Yoongi. “But you just said-”

“I know what I said,” Yoongi gritted his teeth and turned away from Hoseok, no longer able to stand the way he looked at him. The all too familiar pity-filled look made his stomach churn. Hoseok took the hint and dropped the subject.

Seokjin and Jungkook sat on the farthest end of the front pew, animatedly talking to each other. It was too loud around him for Namjoon to listen in on their conversation, but he assumed they were discussing the option of joining him and Yoongi to Daegu. They’d be stronger as a group of seven. No more sleepless nights of taking turns to watch their backs and look out for the faintest sign of walkers. They’d finally have someone else to depend on besides each other.

He let his eyes fall shut, steadying his breath as his exhaustion washed over him. Namjoon almost fell asleep there and then, until he realized Seokjin had gotten up and was now standing before him, sizing him up. Namjoon jerked his head back up and blinked.

“First of all,” Seokjin started, his voice steady and dominant. “Thank you for sharing your story with us. It helped us understand and figure out how to deal with things easier. I want you to know that we-“ Seokjin glanced at Jimin, who had chosen to blatantly ignore the conversation. “Don’t blame you for what happened. You did everything you could. Don’t let this guilt weigh you down.” Seokjin could easily spot the relief flickering over Namjoon’s features but it disappeared as fast as it came and morphed into a faint smile instead.

“However,” he continued. “We appreciate your offer but I think we’d be more comfortable finding our own way. We will stay the night here and leave first thing in the morning.”

Namjoon’s smile faltered as his heart turned to ice in his chest. The little flicker of hope he’d allowed himself to hold onto earlier, slipping through his fingers. “I understand,” he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Thank you for listening and not judging my actions.”

Seokjin nodded and turned away, making room for Yoongi to step closer and put a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. His eyes were cold and unreadable. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, gently squeezing in reassurance. “We’ll be fine on our own.”

Namjoon acknowledged him with a faint tilt of his chin and grimaced. Yoongi turned to face the others to speak one last time.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to try and catch some sleep. If you are gone by the time we wake up, good luck. We’d appreciate it if you don’t let any walkers in on the way out.”

By the time Yoongi’s head hit the hard wood of the pew next to the one his friend was occupying, Namjoon had drifted off to sleep.

A/N: I did some research into the disease but obviously I am not a scientist, so take everything mentioned here with a grain of salt. I’m also well aware that the travel from the Seoul area to Daegu would not actually take weeks but let’s pretend it does for the sake of the story. Thank you so much for reading this for and again to @eradikeats-writes for editing.

#long forgotten sons #noonanet #kwriterskollection #kpoptrashtag #bts zombie au #bts au #bangtan au

[timclymer]

How Smoking Can Destroy Your Health in 10 Ways

There is a trend in smoking and you can see people smoking no matter where you go. Young people smoke because they get influenced by their friends. Young people who start smoking in their teenage years usually will continue until their adult years. Perhaps you will change your mind and make up the decision of stop smoking when you are informed about the bad effects of tobacco smoke and how it can harm your health in many ways. The following are the 10 bad effects of smoking on your body.

1. Premature Aging Smoking makes you age at a faster rate so that you look older than your age. Because of the premature aging effect, you will notice your skin developing lots of wrinkles and having a leathery texture. Nicotine is responsible for narrowing the blood vessels on the outer skin layer so that lesser oxygen can reach your skin. As a result, your skin cannot obtain important vitamins such as vitamin A.

2. Inflammation on Stomach Lining Smoking causes inflammation in the stomach lining and encourages the development of ulcers. Nicotine will induce the stomach to produce a higher amount of acid which in turn can increase your risk of developing ulcers. Many smokers suffer from ulcers in the duodenum and esophagus. If you continue to smoke, it will take a longer time for you to fully recover from the stomach ulcer even if you are taking a prescription.

3. Acid Reflux Nicotine from the tobacco can weaken the sphincter muscles, a ring of muscle in the lower esophagus. The sphincter muscle facilitates the food passage from the esophagus to the stomach and makes sure the stomach acid flows toward the stomach. When the muscle is weakened, the stomach acid will flow up to the esophagus causing the person to suffer from acid reflux.

4. Atherosclerosis Smoking can cause plaque to build up inside the blood vessel and increases your chances of developing atherosclerosis. In atherosclerosis, the plaques that have been built up in your blood vessels become hardened and narrow the passageways of your arteries. When the blood vessels become narrow, the blood that travels to your heart will carry lesser oxygen. People with atherosclerosis also tend to suffer from coronary heart disease and peripheral artery disease.

5. Oral Problems Yellow teeth discoloration is one of the most obvious bad effects of smoking. The tartar from the tobacco can also cause brown stains that build up on the edge of your teeth. The acidic cigarette smoke can cause cavities in your teeth so that you suffer from toothache. Smoking can cause receding gum lines exposing more of the tooth. People who smoke regularly also tend to suffer from various types of gum diseases such as gingivitis and leukoplakia.

6. Bone Injury Smoking can weaken your bone so that it is easier for you to get bone injury. In the cigarette smoke, there is a chemical that can reduce your body’s ability to absorb calcium. Calcium is an important mineral required for a healthy bone. When your body can’t absorb calcium properly, you will have weaker bone and suffer from bone related problems such as rheumatoid arthritis. Long term smoking can reduce the overall bone mass density and increases the chances of develop osteoporosis.

7. Damage to Fetal Development Smoking can cause damage to a fetus that is still in development inside the womb of a pregnant mother. Many women who smoke during pregnancy deliver babies with health problems such as heart problems, cleft lips/cleft palate, and high blood pressure. The baby that is born tends to have low birth weight or they are born prematurely. Smoking also increases the chances of miscarriage, delivering a stillborn baby and sudden infant death syndrome. If you don’t want to give birth to an unhealthy baby, you should stay away from smoking.

8. Make Your Lungs Black The tar of the cigarette smoke that you inhale can build up on your lungs and make them black over time. The tar will deposit in the bronchioles one by one until the entire lung becomes black. Smoking can damage the cilia, a structure that brush away particles that enters into your lung. When the cilia is damaged, it will no longer be able to remove the tar that you inhale and you will find yourself coughing as your lung work harder to remove it. Smoking can lead to diseases such as emphysema, COPD, lung cancer, and breathlessness.

9. Cortical Thinning Cigarette smoke can cause cortical thinning and deteriorates cognitive function of the person. Corthical thinning not only causes minor problems such as short term memory loss. Too much dopamine can cause the smoker to suffer from psychotic illnesses such as Alzheimer disease, Parkinson’s disease and schizophrenia. Cortical recovery can take place weeks or years later after you quit smoking depending on how much cigarettes you have smoked.

10. Type 2 Diabetes Research has shown that smoking is link to Type 2 diabetes, the most common type of diabetes disease in the world. People who smoke are 40% more likely to contract diabetes. Smoking causes you to have problem with insulin dosing and makes it harder for you to control your diabetes. Diabetes can lead to other problems such as heart disease, kidney disease, blindness, and damage to the nervous system. Type 2 diabetes can cause poor blood circulation and slow down the healing process of any wound that appears on your body. When the wound is slow in healing, the tissue around it will rot. Ultimately, you will have to resolve to amputate the body part to prevent the infection from spreading to other part of the body.

Conclusion In conclusion, even though you don’t see any of these symptoms now, you should not feel safe about continuing your cigarette smoking habit. This is because they take time to develop and you don’t know the bad effects that are happening inside your body while you are smoking. So, if you don’t want to suffer from these harmful effects, you should take actions to help yourself quit smoking now.

Source by Zirkon Kalti

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/how-smoking-can-destroy-your-health-in-10-ways/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/186522935020 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

#Home Solutions FOREV

[homesolutionsforev]

How Smoking Can Destroy Your Health in 10 Ways

There is a trend in smoking and you can see people smoking no matter where you go. Young people smoke because they get influenced by their friends. Young people who start smoking in their teenage years usually will continue until their adult years. Perhaps you will change your mind and make up the decision of stop smoking when you are informed about the bad effects of tobacco smoke and how it can harm your health in many ways. The following are the 10 bad effects of smoking on your body.

1. Premature Aging Smoking makes you age at a faster rate so that you look older than your age. Because of the premature aging effect, you will notice your skin developing lots of wrinkles and having a leathery texture. Nicotine is responsible for narrowing the blood vessels on the outer skin layer so that lesser oxygen can reach your skin. As a result, your skin cannot obtain important vitamins such as vitamin A.

2. Inflammation on Stomach Lining Smoking causes inflammation in the stomach lining and encourages the development of ulcers. Nicotine will induce the stomach to produce a higher amount of acid which in turn can increase your risk of developing ulcers. Many smokers suffer from ulcers in the duodenum and esophagus. If you continue to smoke, it will take a longer time for you to fully recover from the stomach ulcer even if you are taking a prescription.

3. Acid Reflux Nicotine from the tobacco can weaken the sphincter muscles, a ring of muscle in the lower esophagus. The sphincter muscle facilitates the food passage from the esophagus to the stomach and makes sure the stomach acid flows toward the stomach. When the muscle is weakened, the stomach acid will flow up to the esophagus causing the person to suffer from acid reflux.

4. Atherosclerosis Smoking can cause plaque to build up inside the blood vessel and increases your chances of developing atherosclerosis. In atherosclerosis, the plaques that have been built up in your blood vessels become hardened and narrow the passageways of your arteries. When the blood vessels become narrow, the blood that travels to your heart will carry lesser oxygen. People with atherosclerosis also tend to suffer from coronary heart disease and peripheral artery disease.

5. Oral Problems Yellow teeth discoloration is one of the most obvious bad effects of smoking. The tartar from the tobacco can also cause brown stains that build up on the edge of your teeth. The acidic cigarette smoke can cause cavities in your teeth so that you suffer from toothache. Smoking can cause receding gum lines exposing more of the tooth. People who smoke regularly also tend to suffer from various types of gum diseases such as gingivitis and leukoplakia.

6. Bone Injury Smoking can weaken your bone so that it is easier for you to get bone injury. In the cigarette smoke, there is a chemical that can reduce your body’s ability to absorb calcium. Calcium is an important mineral required for a healthy bone. When your body can’t absorb calcium properly, you will have weaker bone and suffer from bone related problems such as rheumatoid arthritis. Long term smoking can reduce the overall bone mass density and increases the chances of develop osteoporosis.

7. Damage to Fetal Development Smoking can cause damage to a fetus that is still in development inside the womb of a pregnant mother. Many women who smoke during pregnancy deliver babies with health problems such as heart problems, cleft lips/cleft palate, and high blood pressure. The baby that is born tends to have low birth weight or they are born prematurely. Smoking also increases the chances of miscarriage, delivering a stillborn baby and sudden infant death syndrome. If you don’t want to give birth to an unhealthy baby, you should stay away from smoking.

8. Make Your Lungs Black The tar of the cigarette smoke that you inhale can build up on your lungs and make them black over time. The tar will deposit in the bronchioles one by one until the entire lung becomes black. Smoking can damage the cilia, a structure that brush away particles that enters into your lung. When the cilia is damaged, it will no longer be able to remove the tar that you inhale and you will find yourself coughing as your lung work harder to remove it. Smoking can lead to diseases such as emphysema, COPD, lung cancer, and breathlessness.

9. Cortical Thinning Cigarette smoke can cause cortical thinning and deteriorates cognitive function of the person. Corthical thinning not only causes minor problems such as short term memory loss. Too much dopamine can cause the smoker to suffer from psychotic illnesses such as Alzheimer disease, Parkinson’s disease and schizophrenia. Cortical recovery can take place weeks or years later after you quit smoking depending on how much cigarettes you have smoked.

10. Type 2 Diabetes Research has shown that smoking is link to Type 2 diabetes, the most common type of diabetes disease in the world. People who smoke are 40% more likely to contract diabetes. Smoking causes you to have problem with insulin dosing and makes it harder for you to control your diabetes. Diabetes can lead to other problems such as heart disease, kidney disease, blindness, and damage to the nervous system. Type 2 diabetes can cause poor blood circulation and slow down the healing process of any wound that appears on your body. When the wound is slow in healing, the tissue around it will rot. Ultimately, you will have to resolve to amputate the body part to prevent the infection from spreading to other part of the body.

Conclusion In conclusion, even though you don’t see any of these symptoms now, you should not feel safe about continuing your cigarette smoking habit. This is because they take time to develop and you don’t know the bad effects that are happening inside your body while you are smoking. So, if you don’t want to suffer from these harmful effects, you should take actions to help yourself quit smoking now.

Source by Zirkon Kalti

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/how-smoking-can-destroy-your-health-in-10-ways/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

#Home Solutions Forev

[sherristockman]

Discover Why Ashwagandha Can Be Used for Stress and Anxiety Dr. Mercola Ashwagandha, also known as winter cherry or Indian ginseng, is a popular herb in Ayurvedic medicine. It literally translates to "odor of horse" because of the distinct smell it emits, which is similar to horse sweat. Some accounts also say that it was named as such because it gives you the endurance and strength of a horse. In Ayurvedic medicine, ashwagandha herb is classified as "Rasayana," a type of essence that helps in the healing of the body and the lengthening of life.1 The ashwagandha plant comes from the Solanaceae family, the same as tomatoes and eggplants. It's a small shrub with distinct red berries and five-petal flowers. However, the most important part of the plant is the root because it's where the powder used for tonics and tinctures is extracted from. But what is ashwagandha good or used for? Besides helping your body function better, it can impact your immune system, your ability to deal with stress and your cognitive responses as well. Ashwagandha's Many Uses As an Ayurvedic herb, ashwagandha offers numerous benefits when ingested or used as a medicine. Ashwagandha for children is usually in the form of a tonic, whereas ashwagandha for adults is in supplement or capsule form. The different parts of the ashwagandha plant have various medicinal purposes. The ashwagandha leaves are used to help treat fever, swelling and opthalmia, or inflammation of the eye. You can also use ashwagandha root to help treat ulcers. Other ashwagandha root benefits include acting as a diuretic and as a remedy for constipation and insomnia. Ashwagandha seeds, on the other hand, are used in India to coagulate milk. Ashwagandha root extract, together with the berries of the plant, is used for the production of tonics and capsules. It can be used to make tea, a refreshing drink and at the same time provide you with countless health uses.2 Ashwagandha can also help treat the following disorders and imbalances:3 ✓ ADHD ✓ Incontinence ✓ Diabetes ✓ Conjunctivitis ✓ Amenorrhea ✓ Uterine Fibroids ✓ Constipation ✓ Vitiligo ✓ Parkinson's Disease ✓ Impotence ✓ Arthritis ✓ Hyperglycemia How to Use Ashwagandha Ashwaganda comes in various forms. While there is no standard dose, it is usually recommended that you ingest only 3 to 6 grams of this powder daily. It should also be noted that to get the maximum health benefits that the plant offers, you should make sure to use fresh ashwagandha. Ideally, you should buy organic ashwagandha to avoid ingesting pesticides and other harmful chemicals used in conventional farming.4 Ashwagandha root powder can be used topically as a poultice to help treat wounds. Mix the powder with water to make a smooth paste, and apply to the wound. It will help fight off bacteria, alleviate pain and speed up the healing process. You can also use this paste as a skin toner and as a treatment for keratosis. It will help keep your skin healthy and glowing.5 If you want to consume ashwagandha powder to maximize its healing uses, here is a recipe for ashwagandha tea with milk and cardamom. Ashwagandha Tea With Milk and Cardamom6 Ingredients: 1/2 cup raw organic milk 1 teaspoon Ashwagandha powder 1 teaspoon honey 1/2 cup water Procedure: Boil milk, ashwagandha and honey over low heat. Wait for it until the mixture is reduced to about 1/2 cup. Add cardamom and drink while it's lukewarm. Consume this drink twice daily. Health Benefits of Ashwagandha Ashwagandha can help improve your immunity and support your digestive system. Ashwagandha benefits for women include relieving menopausal symptoms, helping solve female infertility and eliminating leucorrhea.7 For men, ashwagandha benefits include increasing fertility and sexual drive, improving testosterone levels, helping with erectile dysfunction and helping increase low sperm count.8 Ashwagandha also: • Helps in cardiovascular health Ashwagandha helps maintain your heart health through its regulation of blood circulation. It helps prevent blood clots, stabilizes blood sugar and controls the cholesterol levels in your body. It also helps keep blood pressure levels within the normal range, which prevents the stress from burdening your heart.9 • Treats insomnia Ashwagandha helps in treating insomnia because of its naturally relaxing components. It helps the body reduce cortisol (stress hormone) production by as much as 28 percent.10 It also helps the body become more active and may induce sleep at the end of the day.11 • Wards off infections This herb boosts your immune system and allows the body to produce more white blood cells, which filter out viruses and bacteria, preventing infections from occurring.12 • Helps maintain your skin's youthful appearance Ashwagandha increases your estrogen levels, which in turn triggers the production of collagen. This allows the skin to keep its youthful appearance and helps in the production of natural oils. It also fights off free radicals that cause wrinkles, dark spots and blemishes,13 and may even help reduce your risk of skin cancer.14 • Improves memory and cognitive function Ashwagandha helps slow down the deterioration of brain cells in patients with dementia. It was found to repair brain cell damage and rebuild neuronal networks and synapses. This herb may also help deal with depression because of its ability to combat mental and emotional stress.15 Try Ashwagandha Oil, Too Ashwagandha oil is another form of ashwagandha that offers a wide variety of medicinal and practical uses. It's usually mixed with other essential oils (or diluted in a safe carrier oil) to assist with illnesses and diseases. The following are the benefits of ashwagandha oil:16 Combats cancer-causing free radicals. Ashwagandha oil has been credited with having antitumor and antioxidant properties that help in preventing cancer cells from developing. It has also been observed that ashwagandha oil helps in a faster recovery with patients that have undergone chemotherapy. Helps deal with arthritis and rheumatism. The oil deeply penetrates in the skin, allowing the muscles and blood vessels to relax. It also alleviates pain, strengthens the bones and nourishes the tissues. Enhances immunity. It boosts the immune system and helps you fight off infections and viruses more efficiently. The oil itself function like a tonic, and has shown to increase white blood cell count. Fights stress. When the body is stressed, it produces high amounts of cortisol that triggers your fight-or-flight reflex. When you take ashwagandha, it reduces cortisol production, which then minimizes the occurrence of stress. If using ashwagandha topically, make sure to dilute it in a carrier oil like coconut or almond oil. You should do a skin patch test to see if any allergic reactions occur. Consult your physician before ingesting ashwagandha oil as well. Do You Want to Plant Ashwagandha? The ashwagandha plant typically grows in hot and humid climates like India's where it originates. But it is quite tolerant to dry soil once the plant is established. To grow your own ashwagandha, make sure that you follow these requirements:17 Your soil should be sandy and well-draining. It's best to plant your seeds in a sunny part of your garden. It is nearly impossible to grow ashwagandha in a waterlogged environment that doesn't drain. The plant should not be watered all the time, and should be watered only when it seems "thirsty." The ideal growing temperature is between 70 to 95 degrees Fahrenheit. If the temperature is lower, expect the plant to grow at a much slower pace. The ashwagandha plant should be fully grown in about 150 to 180 days. Is Ashwagandha Safe? Most people don't show any negative effects when they consume ashwagandha for a few days. However, it should not be taken for a continuous period of time because studies on the long-term effect of ashwagandha have not yet been done. Therefore, the intake and usage of ashwagandha should be done in moderation.18 If you're suffering from any health problems, consult with your physician before taking ashwagandha orally. Side Effects of Ashwagandha and Other Contraindications Side effects could occur after ingesting ashwagandha, such as diarrhea, stomach upset, nausea and vomiting. Ashwagandha herb side effects also include excessive sedation when taken with a mild sedative. Ingesting ashwagandha during pregnancy or when breast-feeding should also be avoided because it could have an effect on the unborn or breast-feeding child. It could also cause a miscarriage because studies suggest that when taken in excess, ashwagandha can cause spasmolytic activity in the uterus, which can result in a premature birth.19 Like other herbs and spices, ashwagandha offers a broad variety of benefits and uses. But it should always be used in moderation. Remember, everything in excess, even something as health-giving as ashwagandha, may have negative effects on your body, which is totally against your initial goal.

#VitalityPath

[smokeybrand]

F*ck That: An observational expose about the interconnecting relationship structure of 20-something and late teenage children and how stupid it all seems from the perspective of a 30-something year old

There seems to be an epidemic of “B*tches ain’t sh*t” amongst our youth nowadays and I don’t understand it. I’m an old man, chronically 33 but much older both mentally and in mentality. I had a great deal of responsibility thrust upon me at an early age and it’s shaped who I am and my perceptions today. So, as I sit back and watch all the little kiddies figure out what it means to be “adults” or find that real, “grown up love”, I’m flabbergasted. For me, realizing the woman I love was “The one” was an easy observation. I knew how I felt without her and I knew how I felt with her. We could talk for hours about nothing. I legitimately slept when I was with her. Like, I got rest. I hadn’t had a good night’s rest for the better part of a decade, not since my grandmother passed. For the first time in my life, I found myself wanting more for someone else; for HER. I wanted to embellish and multiply whatever made her happy. I wanted to destroy anything that made her sad. I wanted to grow with her, to live a life with her. 13 years later, we’re still moving forward, together. To look at my love and think, “This b*tch ain’t sh*t”, is literally Japanese to me. It just doesn’t make a lick of sense.

I watched my little cousin, 18, pursue a chick, 19,  for a full year of his life. He stayed steadfast, courting her, telling her how much she meant to him and how much he wanted to mean to her. He played her games, and she admitted there were a lot, but he played them to win. And, eventually, he won. She accepted him into her world and gave him the keys to her heart; a heart that had been damaged, abused, and belittled for years. She had never been with a man. She had been with boys and tools, but never a man. My cousin took up that challenge and for a time, lived up to the expectation. But over time he faltered. His manhood gave way to a juvenile sense of insecurity and selfishness. He did not want for his woman. He did not yearn for her presence; her warmth. He too her for granted and slighted her company for that of “his boys”. I literally watched as he begged and pleaded to go with his friends someplace instead of staying with the woman he “loved”, who was less than 20 yards away. He quite literally, climbed into an open trunk because there was no seats for him inside the car. I watched, flabbergasted, at the complete disinterest in his woman. This is the woman he said he “loved”. The woman he pined for. The woman he chased for a full year. Now, he was trying to smuggle himself away for drunken shenanigans with his “boys”. It was absurd.

I watched their relationship deteriorate at an alarming pace. They went from that honeymoon phase to toxic relationship within two months. It was f*cking insane! They were two months in when I met his chick. I thought she was delightful and almost immediately adopted her as my little-little sister. Chick had experience a great deal but still moved forward. She has her scars but, even though she’s bleeding, she still wants to love and be loved. All she needed is a little support. And for a time, my cousin was that support. And then he became the same as everyone else before him; a bane. Like some sort of violent, insidious, cancer, he infected her heart an traumatized it on an almost regular basis. The verbal abuse gave way to emotional abuse. The emotional to physical. There were times when he would do intentional, malicious, acts against her over a perceived slight. All his posturing at the cost of her sanity and self-worth. It was disgusting to watch. I did my best to be her support in these times but I knew whatever I could give was only a small fraction of what she needed. What she needed was the man who had earned her heart, to just take care of it. And that man, that boy, refused. Quite the opposite, actually. Like a maelstrom on the sea, he blew through her life and essentially stripped it bare, before sinking her into a spiral of self-destruction, self-humiliation, and almost crippling depression.

After a rather intense fight with my cousin, she called me. I told her to exert her anger outward, not to draw it in. This manifested in her punching a couch. Her parents took this as a relapse into her mental instability and instead of supporting her in a time of vulnerability and need, they threw her out on the street. All because my cousin decided to deride her for some stupid reason. I took her in because, again, my little-little. She’d endeared herself to me faster that anyone aside from my chick. There’s no way I was going to leave her out there in the world alone and broken. F*ck that. Within hours, they were back together only to have me both figuratively, and quite literally, talk her off a bridge. Again, behind something my cousin said to her. Now, I don’t want this to seem like I’m bashing my cousin, like I’m taking her side over his. There are no sides. I hold no illusions as to who she is. Of course, she can vey crass and cruel. Of course she can emotionally manipulative. Of course she plays the victim in circumstances where that would benefit her. Of course she does. She’s 19. It’s what they do. I am resolute in my support for her because, unlike my cousin, she has a lot going on. Most of it isn’t even her fault. Circumstance has been rather cruel to her over the years and that, coupled with a hefty dose of mental illness with a side of self-doubt makes for a volatile mix. Essentially, she needs more support than he does. A decent allegory would be he is someone who dreads the thought of being stabbed so obsess over that imaginary situation whereas she’s been actually stabbed, several times, but several different people, and just wants someone who can help her heal. My cousin was not that person. He intentionally inflicted harm upon her. I came home once to her sobbing abut an assault. His hands were imprinted by bruise around her throat. I saw that. My rage was indescribable. I wanted to put my hands around his throat, not until I left bruise, but until I crushed his larynx. No one does that to my little-little, I don’t care who it is. Fortunately, and bewildering to me, she asked that I do not. So I did not. Instead, I banned him from my home. My mistake, our home. Even this would not be enough. A few days later, he drunkenly broke into my house to assault her for a  second time, only this time, I was home. He saw me, he released his grip from around her throat, and immediately retreated to the lights of the street. His performance earned him a visit from the police, one I diffused, at her behest, so my ridiculous ass cousin didn’t go to jail. We met the next day and spoke. I told him exactly what he needed to hear. He did not hear any of it.

I would like to point out these two abusive ass situations occurred after they had broken up for good. They were trying to be friends. That’s how my cousin apparently treats his friends. In the course of this relationship, he’s gotten physical with her countless times; the aftermath I was privy to and the assault I witnessed firsthand. He’s purposely destroyed her emotionally over something petty, driving her to suicidal bridge encounters and the arms of close friends. Speaking of, one such friend, one his “boys” got pretty rapey with her, more or less sexually assaulting her while she slept, and he forgave him. Blamed her for it. It’s ridiculous. I was there to help pick up the pieces after every argument, on both sides. Watched as he slighted her in favor of someone who literally wants to do harm to her person. Several times. I watched his continued immaturity poison her self-worth and image. Eventually, she got sick of it. Eventually she found someone who gave her what she needs and she, his. Eventually she found someone, I think, can grow together with her. And she didn’t have to look far because he lived in the same house; my brother. The two of them should have been together to begin with but my brother has his own hang-ups. He isn’t the type to move on someone when there’s more than an attraction. If there’s a chance for real intimacy, we shy away from that. All of us do. It’s a product of our sh*tty upbringing. But these two wayward should eventually found each other and it’s been pretty spectacular to watch. For the first time in a long time, my brother is happy. She makes him happy and I’ll love her forever for that. I’m a miserable person when not with my wife. I distract myself with games, movies, comics, whatever because, left to my devices, I tend to remember. I don’t like remembering. My brother drowns his trauma with liquor. That self-medication. He doesn’t do that as much anymore because he has her. He goes out less. Take care of himself better. Even takes stock of the people in his life and that’s the crux of this essay; “his boys”.

When she and my brother began their relationship, they kept it secret because my cousin would have a meltdown. I opted to let the little f*cker go nuclear because he deserved it. That one incident alone when the cops came to my house was more than enough for me to push that button but my brother, who is far more compassionate than I, declined. When the news came out, these little sh*tbags chose sides, many of them choosing my cousin. How? How the f*ck can you side with someone who literally abuses the person he’s supposed to love? You mother*ckers saw WAY more than I did, and you’re chastising my brother? You’d slight bother of their happiness in favor of some immature child fulfilling his obsessive fantasy? Let’s just ignore how detrimental the relationship was for both my cousin and her. Or how it had literally hindered certain outings with the entire crew because of their constant bickering. Or how her presence made literally all of “the boys” so thirsty, they’d risk it all. Hell, one did! But that dude gets a pass and not my brother, who waited their entire sh*tty relationship, and then a few more weeks, before he even accepted her feelings. Hell, SHE PURSUED HIM! Yall out here mad because you “friends’ have found a love that betters both of them over a n*gga who couldn’t keep his sh*t together enough to realize how good this chick was for his life. Yall mad because the cat next to him saw what he was throwing away, understood it’s worth, and picked that sh*t up with the quickness. Yall mad because he wants to be wither more than he wants to be with you. Get the f*ck over it. If you were his friend, you’d understand the situation instead of taking it personally. You’d see that the two of them are good together and good for each other. You’d understand your lane and adjust for the new traffic because that’s what friends are supposed to do.

I look at their budding relationship and I see a lot of the same hallmarks I see in my own relationship. I see how he looks at her, how his posture kind of shifts in her presence. Same for her. She’s very vocal about her love for my brother but it’s the little things that reassure me. They stand together as equals. They are partners in this life moving forward, something my cousin could never understand. To him, she was a trophy; something to be won after a long and arduous courtship. Once he had her, he owned her and that’s not how a relationship works. That’s not how people are supposed to work. Blame goes to both sides, of course, and I wouldn’t begrudge my cousin as much if he pulled the break-up trigger and just stayed away but he didn’t. HE lost his favorite toy and refused to let it go. So, as clearly as I can put it;

My cousin f*cked up.

My cousin.

Not her. Or my brother.

My cousin.

Yoko didn’t break up the band, that nameless drummer who bailed for Ringo did.

Through his action, my cousin introduced, ingratiated, and then became possessive of her. When she finally found strength to refused him, he became violent, abusive, and obsessive. When I intervened and essentially killed any chanced of a reconciliation, he turned his barbs toward their “friends”. The weaker minded ones sided with my cousins. The more adult ones, with my brother. Time heals all wounds, of course, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t exposed. So much face was lost but the users and sycophants have been laid bare. All because these immature little boys believe in that grandiose lie that “b*tches ain’t sh*t.”

F*ck That!