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ffwriterbts · 3 years

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Lunar- BTS Werewolf AU Part 4

AN: As I’ve said before, if slowburn BTS werewolf AUs that have springlings of angst, smut, and fluff, this is the story for you! Other than that, please leave a like or comment so I know you’re enjoying the story!! The sections should start getting longer as I keep updating :)

Also! Let me know if you want to be on a tag list for this story!

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: General angst; slight medical talk; mental health issues; soulmate themes if you squint

Posted: 31 Dec 2020

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When YN wakes up, she is lying in what looks like a fancy hospital room. Her shoulder is on fire, there’s an IV in her hand, her leg is propped up in an almost uncomfortable way, and all the rest of her feels like she was repeatedly hit by a cement truck.

YN tries to sit up, but only makes it a few centimeters before pain wracks her body and she stops in her tracks. Her eyes snap shut and she takes a few deep breaths, doing her best to remember what happened and where she was.

And- nothing. YN doesn’t really remember anything that happened.

That is, until Jin walks into the room, and everything hits her all at once- how Jin and Yoongi came to cook, how she was going back to the garden to grab her phone when a mystery wolf tried to harm her, how Yoongi transformed into a giant black wolf, how he fought for her, how Jin helped her.

“I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon. Welcome back, YN.” Jin breaks the silence, and YN’s eyes snap up to him.

“I-” YN starts, taking a second to collect her thoughts before continuing. “What happened to me?” Her voice is gruff, hoarse.

“You were attacked.” Jin gives a little shrug before continuing, “Your shoulder was bitten, your ankle broken, you have three cracked ribs, and deep tissue bruising on the side with the bite. Other than that, you’re covered in scratches and bruises from the dragging and the nasty fall you took.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you have the same blood type as Jimin, and he was more than happy to donate for you. The wolf blood will have you healed by the end of the month for pretty much all of it. The ankle will take a little longer.” Jin shrugs again, going around and checking all of the monitors, making sure everything was good before he makes small talk with YN and helps her sit up, giving her water.

Once he is sure she is as fine as she can be, he takes a seat at the end of the bed. YN can feel her ears get hot as she realizes that he has plenty of room, seeing as her legs don’t even reach three-fourths of the way down when she’s lying, much less when she’s sitting up. She doesn’t know why she feels this embarrassment, but she does anyway, and she silently hopes that Jin doesn’t know.

“You must have questions, so why don’t I give you the full story?” Jin lightly pats where YN’s good foot is, smiling warmly at her. “If you want me to, of course.”

“Please, I feel like I’m going crazy.” YN’s voice is much softer now, as she looks at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers, sipping water.

“Well, I hope you’ve figured out by now that we are all werewolves.” Jin lets out a little laugh as YN nods softly.

“We are a hidden race among humans, almost extinct. There are a few large groups over in America, there’s a couple here, a few somewhere in Europe, and a whole bunch over in Africa. There’s also a city of only wolves and special, trusted humans in China, which is also hidden from the world. We are bigger, faster, and stronger than even the very best human. We have the ability to change into wolves whenever we want, so long as we are fully healed.” Jin takes breath, looking to YN to make sure she was following along.

YN nods, eyes trained on Jin as she listens, and he continues.

“In order to survive, we had to breed with humans, muddle the gene pool. The fastest, strongest, largest of the humans, they are all part wolf. Our pack is one of the purest here, genetically speaking, but we would be considered basically human by our ancestors. But, to be fair, some humans are able to be welcomed into packs.”

“Packs?” YN asks, head tilting slightly to one side as Jin smiles.

“Yeah, like wolf packs. There are Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, which are basically what you think they are, though there is a lot more variation than you would think. Each designation is on a sort of scale, though that scale is not something that can easily be explained.” Jin gives another half shrug, glancing up at the IV, before standing and doing something that YN didn’t understand.

“Here, let me get this changed so your body doesn’t starve or dehydrate. And I’ll let the rest of the boys know you’re awake, they’re excited to meet you and make sure you’re okay.” Jin clearly makes the move away from the subject of werewolves, and even though YN’s mind is swirling with questions, she doesn’t question the dropping of the subject.

YN assumes (correctly) that any and all questions she possibly has will be answered in time, because something about the way Jin putters around the room doing this or that feels like coming home.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next week, YN steadily gets better. Whatever it is about the werewolf blood that makes healing kick it up into overdrive was working better than expected, which all of the boys were grateful for. She had visitors every day, for most of the day, and she quickly got along with each of them.

Jin, who YN found out was actually a fully licensed medical doctor and surgeon, mandated that the boys were only allowed to go and see her in pairs, so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

And thus, YN met Hobi and Jimin almost as soon as Jin opened the door to let the boys know she was accepting visitors. She could see who she would later find out to be Jungkook and Taehyung peaking in the doorway, wanting to be included but not being allowed to be.

Both Hobi and Jimin very enthusiastically introduced themselves, taking no time at all to occupy the end of the bed that YN was far too short to occupy herself. Talking to them felt like talking to people she had known for years, and they had YN almost rolling with laughter within the first five minutes.

It was almost an hour of not-so-patient waiting on behalf of Taehyung and Jungkook before Jin came back and kicked Hobi and Jimin out, scolding them half-heartedly for not letting the other two have their time yet.

With quick apologies, those two boys slipped out of the room as two more replaced them. Again, just as enthusiastic, the two boys introduced themselves, and had YN in stitches almost too quickly.

Without a second thought, YN is talking with them for almost two hours, before Namjoon comes in and cuts them off. He kicks the two youngest out of the room, telling them that YN needs to rest sometime, that she has to heal.

Namjoon in turn takes the same spot at the end of the bed, but he is bearing gifts. Namely, the gift of her electronics from her home, a nice lap desk, and some of her very favorite sour candy.

“I figured you would want these things, seeing as you’ll be here for a while.” Namjoon smiles softly as he almost sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, thank you!” YN is much more animated than she was even an hour ago, snatching the sour candies from Namjoon’s hand as quickly as she dares to, trying her best to open the bag without moving her one arm very much.

“Do you want some help YN?” Namjoon’s voice is soft but deep, and YN nods without even a second’s hesitation, holding out the offending bag with a small pout.

Namjoon just chuckles, making small talk as he easily opens the bag, carefully handing it to YN. She lets out a grateful sigh, carefully balancing the bag in her hurt hand, and throwing candies into her mouth.

“How’d you know I like these?” YN asks absently, paying far more attention to the wonderful flavor than to Namjoon and his response.

She was tired, her body was sore, and honestly, she was more excited for her candy and the prospect of a nice long sleep than she was about anything Namjoon had to say. That was, at least, until she actually heard the words that came out of his mouth.

“Oh, we can read minds. We know all sorts of things about you.” His voice was that same even calmness, to the point that YN didn’t actually register what was said for almost a whole minute.

“You… you what?” YN pauses and looks up at Namjoon, shock and confusion written so clearly on her face that Namjoon didn’t even need to read her mind to know exactly what she was thinking.

“Hyung was supposed to tell you, but yes. It’s an innate ability of ours, and once you present you’ll probably be able to do the same.” Namjoon gives a little sort of half shrug as YN’s face just scrunches up more as she tries to fully process what Namjoon actually said.

“I can see you’re confused.” Namjoon speaks again and YN rolls her eyes without taking a second to think about how that might be perceived. Sure, the men she had met had all been incredibly kind to her, but that doesn’t mean that they’re comfortable enough to start with the half-bratty sass that YN was known for with her close friends.

“Yeah, I wonder why.” YN speaks for the first time, her eyes locking up onto Namjoons in a way that seemed out of character for the girl that he had begun to get to know. “It’s not like this is a lot to process or anything.” Sarcasm seems to drip from every pore like venom, and Namjoon pauses for the first time, slightly confused. Again, this was unlike the character that he had come to know as YN.

He’s sure YN doesn’t mean any harm by what she’s saying, that much is clear to him because of her thoughts, but he was under the impression that YN was just a sweet, mild mannered woman. Silently, Namjoon chides himself for allowing himself to believe that YN, a fully functioning adult woman, was something other than a three dimensional person with multitudes to her personality.

“May I ask some clarifying questions?” YN asks after a short silence. For the first time, she felt slightly uncomfortable in the silence, wondering if she had actually offended Namjoon inadvertently. Usually, she tried to tame the more bratty side of her personality for fear of being hurt by someone she completely offended, and it seemed to hit her all at once that these men, who were already giant in comparison to her, also held an unknown strength.

YN’s fears are assuaged when Namjoon gives her a beautiful smile, nodding his head and motioning for her to ask away.

“How much of my head can you see?” YN tilts her head to one side, not catching how strange her phrasing is until Namjoon lifts an eyebrow. By that point, too much time has passed for YN to really change her statement, and she can feel her ears getting hot as she waits for Namjoon to actually respond.

“Well, any of us can read basically any thought you have. We can also access memories, though it is incredibly frowned upon to do so, as it is sort of like torture for the person whose mind you look into for that one. But, we can also teach you how to make sure we can’t see inside your mind, and when the door to the room closes, we can’t see into anyone inside the room.” Namjoon answers with a sort of practiced nuance, which is comforting to YN in a strange way.

“Do you look at my thoughts all the time?”

“No, of course not. That wouldn’t be fair, and honestly, we don’t really look in your mind at all. You do throw off emotion, but that’s different in the first place.” Namjoon gives that same little half shrug.

“How’s it different?” YN’s voice is much softer now. There’s something about the way Namjoon speaks that makes her feel like she’s coming home.

She shakes the feeling, instead trying to focus on what Namjoon has to say.

“When in the pack, emotions are shared and felt by the other members of the pack, to varying degrees. When it comes to other wolves, we are sensitive to their emotions and have a large amount of completely non-verbal communication. Part of why you’re so interesting to us is the fact that we can feel your emotions, though you clearly aren’t fully wolf.” Namjoon pauses, brow furrowed.

“What does that mean?” YN’s expression turns to match Namjoons.

“It means you’re one of us. But also that you’re not.” Namjoon brings a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure what it means, honestly. You smell like an Omega. You act like one, mostly. But you clearly won’t be able to turn once you finish presenting, you know nothing of our world or customs, you’re absolutely tiny.”

YN shifts uncomfortably when Namjoon looks up at her, her ears heating up again, though she has no idea why she’s embarrassed. It’s not her fault she didn’t know about a hidden society of werewolves, after all.

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something else, but the door opens and Jin steps in.

“Namjoon, go separate Taehyung and Yoongi. They’re at it again. Both of them are acting like children.” Jin lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. “And you need to leave YN alone, she needs to heal. Didn’t you say the same thing to Tae and Kookie just a bit ago?”

YN can’t help but smile softly at the familiar interaction, almost laughing when Jin shoos Namjoon out of the room.

“As for you, Miss YN, you need to actually rest. Don’t be afraid to tell any of the boys to leave, they know full well that you are here to heal.” Jin gives YN a bright smile as he reaches behind her to make sure her pillows are arranged correctly.

YN nods, a grateful smile on her features. “I’ll do my best to heal well, thank you.” She speaks softly, her thoughts a jumbled mess after everything Namjoon told her, her prior annoyance and attitude melting away.

“Do you need anything else? It’s getting late enough I’m going to leave you, I know Namjoon set you up with your technology and chargers.” Jin stands in the doorway, facing YN.

“No, thank you! I’m good until tomorrow.” YN answers quickly, arranging herself so she can rest comfortably for the night.

“I’ll leave you then. If you need anything through the night, there’s a call button on the side there. Good night, YN.”

“Good night!” YN calls, watching as Jin flicks off the light and closes the door. She then proceeds to lay there, in the strange bed, and stare up at the ceiling.

It was a lot to process, everything that she’d been told.

“I’m fucking crazy.” YN groans, sighing deeply and checking her phone for the first time in what could have been weeks.

She was unsurprised to see that the only notifications she had were from her editor, sending back things for her to work on and asking for the corrections and newest works.

YN can’t help but sigh again, throwing her phone to one side and settling in better. She was thankful to the men who had saved her, and she knew somewhere deep down that she could trust them, but it was just a lot to deal with.

What did it mean that she smelled like an Omega? What the fuck did it mean to present? What did Namjoon mean when he said that she threw off emotions?

YN was confused, to say the least, but as she relaxed more and ignored the aches of her body, she realized just how tired she was. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, even with her mind swirling with question after question about what everything meant.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was three weeks before YN had the use of her arm back, her shoulder only stinging slightly when she actually used her arm properly. It was another month after that before YN could walk on her ankle, which had been almost shattered from the attack. And that whole time, YN was bonding with the boys.

She quickly found that the three youngest were incredibly physically affectionate, which YN just adored. She quickly found herself curling up beside Jimin, playing with his hair and feeling completely enveloped in his arms. Or laying across Jungkook’s lap, laughing at his facial expressions as he played his games. Or jokingly having Taehyung carry her around, lovingly calling him her “trusty steed” from her perch on his back.

She found that Jin’s love language was acts of service, which usually translated into him cooking this or that for the group. YN quickly fell into the habit of helping Jin as much as she could sitting at (or on) the counter, laughing at his dad jokes and making some of her own. She made sure that Jin didn’t forget to serve himself as well, always sneaking some of the best parts that he gave to her back into his own portion.

She found that the best way to bond with Namjoon was to just talk to him, about anything and everything, especially philosophical topics. Both YN and Namjoon loved the debate of this or that, the exchange of ideas, the passion of discussing things that others find to be boring. They would spend hours sitting in the library and reading this book or that novel, just to discuss it as soon as both of them had finished, getting off topic in that special way that isn’t really off topic, if you think about it on a deeper level.

She found that Hoseok loved to dance, loved to explore music and feel it through the movement of his body. While YN wasn’t able to stand and actually dance with him, even though she would have loved to, she did suggest new songs for him to try making routines to, bringing him water and snacks every so often. He would always ask her to stay and watch, which she did, always giving him the biggest applause she could at the end of the beautiful dances, talking his ear off about her love for movement like that, even if she couldn’t ever really do it herself.

She found, however, that it was with Yoongi that she felt the most at peace. She quickly gained access to his ever-so-exclusive “genius lab,” where he made his music. Most of the time, YN would work on her writing as Yoongi worked on his music, the studio space filled with the soft sounds of YN’s typing and the sounds of whatever Yoongi was working on. They didn’t need to talk, instead the two sat in silence most of the time, just enjoying the fact that there was someone else there who understood that being together was all that was really needed.

Every so often, Yoongi would spin around in his chair and capture YN’s attention, asking her to listen to something and give her opinions on what could be improved or changed to make the song sound better. While YN didn’t have a lick of musical experience, she was sensitive to sounds and could pick out parts that didn’t quite mesh correctly with ease, which is just what Yoongi needed.

On the flip side, when Yoongi was taking a bit of a break to stretch, YN would ask him to make certain motions or how to say certain things in different accents to help her be able to write this or that out in a way that actually made sense. Her editor was praising the way her work was coming back with less mistakes and awkward parts, and YN was absolutely loving the way she and Yoongi got along.

And yet at other points, when neither Yoongi nor YN could seem to focus long enough to get anything done, the two would lounge side by side on the couch and just talk. They never really had something specific to talk about, but YN would find herself opening up about things that she had never told anyone else. She would find herself listening intently to whatever Yoongi decided to open up about, carefully choosing her words in a way that was meant to make him feel better, without making it feel like she was dismissing the feelings that he had in the first place.

It was a system that worked, with YN falling into the routine of the home far quicker than any of them would have ever expected. She found joy in helping Jin cook, she felt loved at the unashamed touchiness of Jimin and Taehyung, and again in the much more shy touchiness of Jungkook, she found quiet appreciation in sharing music and watching Hobi, she felt wanted during the long conversations and debates with Namjoon, and she felt at peace with Yoongi.

She felt like she was home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But nothing can last forever, can it? YN knew just as much as the rest of the boys that she would have to go back to her own home eventually.

And so, after two and a half months of living with the seven men, YN was taken back to her own home.

Jin’s the one who drove her, with Namjoon riding shotgun. There was an aura of sadness the entire time, like none of them really wanted to go anywhere, but it wasn’t like YN could just move into their house.

This wasn’t a movie or some crappy romance novel, after all. It was real life, and in real life, people don’t just pack up and move into the home of people who were basically strangers.

The whole parting was quiet. YN couldn’t bring herself to actually say the word “goodbye” to either of the men who had come to make sure she got home safe, instead throwing her arms around their necks and giving them a good squeeze, wishing that she didn’t have to leave.

The whole thing rang the same as the way she had parted with the other boys before the drive, the ache settling into her chest like someone had ripped out her heart and thrown it under the tires of the car as it pulled away, tears falling freely as a sharp longing settled in her stomach.

It wasn’t until Jin and Namjoon left that YN actually cried, sobs tearing out of her throat as she crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the hardwood sharply.

She had no idea how long she stayed there, feeling like there was a hole ripped into her very being, wishing for the comfort of Yoongi’s words, or Jimin’s wonderful hugs, or of Jin’s gentle prodding to “eat well.”

Eventually, YN drug herself to her feet, stumbling to the kitchen and chugging some water before grabbing the bag she had borrowed to take her things back to her house, deciding she needed to put things away.

“Why did I let them pack the bag?” YN groans, finding quickly that she is wholly unable to actually pick the bag up, and instead has to drag it to her room. She’s silently thankful for the wood floors because she can actually slide the bag.

It isn’t until she gets to the last couple sweatshirts in the bottom of the bag that YN realizes she’d picked up a few presents from the boys. Shaking her head, she realizes why they had insisted on helping her in the first place, each of them had gifted her something small and they didn’t want her to refuse them, like they knew she would. The knowledge of how kind they were being was completely bittersweet, however, because they felt like “goodbye, at least remember us” presents.

From Jin she got the knife she quickly claimed was her favorite because it was the only one that was properly sized for her. There was a small note attached tha read “For my favorite kitchen helper, since it’s too small for me, -Jin”

YN felt the tears well up in her eyes as she carefully set the knife to the side, not wanting to accidentally hurt herself. She then reaches back into the bag, wondering what else she might find.

Hobi’s gift was next, giving her the one black headband of his that she always stole and jokingly wore around. It was wrapped around an adorable little teddy bear, with a note saying “For my favorite dancer, even if you couldn’t really do anything. Next time, I’m sure you’ll show me up -Hobi <3”

Tears were flowing down her face now, but YN couldn’t stop looking for what was next, no matter what kind of feelings arose from it.

Next she found one of the small figurines from Jungkook’s games, the one she always told him was her favorite because of it’s cool jacket. The note simply read “He might be your favorite, but you’re mine.”

YN smiled at the lack of signature, getting up and placing the figure on her nightstand, carefully angling it so it could watch over the room. Taking a seat on the edge of her bed, she reaches into the bag again, pulling out a gift that couldn’t have been from anyone but Namjoon.

It was a book that was equal parts old and beautiful, and as YN ran her finger down the spine, she took out the note that was sticking out of the book. She wiped the tears from her face before she read the note, not wanting to drip tears onto it.

“Our Miss YN,

Please don’t take this as a goodbye, but as a promise for the future. You’re just as important to us, to me, as we are to you. Remember us, remember the good, and look to when we can be together again.

-Joon”

It’s with this that YN starts sobbing again. They’re so sweet, those boys, and YN couldn’t help but feel almost lost without them. Her chest hurt like someone had shot her, a strong sort of longing that seemed endless settling into the pit of her stomach.

It takes a while this time, before she can reach into the bag again. When she does, she almost immediately has renewed cries falling from her lips.

She had pulled out the one super soft sweater of Jimin’s that she absolutely adored. She had told him that she was going to steal it from him whenever he wore it, twisting her fingers in the material and snuggling closer to him. It was soft, it smelled nice, and she knew that it would make her both look and feel tiny.

There’s no note with this one, but YN can feel the love and sincerity behind the action, draping the sweater over her legs for the time being. She reaches into the bag again, smiling as she pulls out one of Taehyung’s million beanies, wrapped around a small toy horse.

There is a note with this one, which simply reads “Horse.” It’s the most Taehyung thing YN can think of, and without a second thought, she places the horse next to the figurine, pulling the beanie on.

She doesn’t find anything else immediately, taking a minute to put the things she had gotten in safe spots and going to put away the last couple hoodies, which she knew were hers.

It isn’t until she reaches the last thing in the bag that she finds what Yoongi left her. At first, she thought it was just one of his hoodies, which she absolutely adored, but when she took it out to lay it next to the sweater Jimin had given her, something fell out of the folding.

Quickly, YN picks up whatever fell, and finds that it’s a CD. She shakes her head, knowing that Yoongi would be the kind of person to share music as a gift. She sets the CD carefully on the bed, gathering up her shower supplies and a towel, both because she needed to take them back to her bathroom, and because she needed to actually shower.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Once she’s freshly showered, using Hobi’s headband to keep her hair out of her face, wearing nothing but the amazingly soft sweater Jimin left her, YN settles into her bed with a CD player she found, Yoongi’s hoodie layed out beside her. Now that she had calmed down, she could smell the boys on the things they had given her. She would have been lying if she said that it wasn’t incredibly comforting to have their scent around her. It made the gaping hole in her chest feel a little less bloody, for whatever reason.

Pressing play, YN settles in, not knowing what to expect. Neither the CD nor the CD cover had any sort of writing on it, so YN had no idea what was going to be playing, or for how long. She can’t help the small smile that graces her face as Yoongi’s voice fills her space, speaking deep and slow in that comforting way YN loved.

“YN, my lovely secret keeper. You’re hearing this now because the day has come that you had to go back to your own home. I know none of us want you to leave, and if your actions have anything to say about it, you don't want to go.

You know as well as I do that things don’t always work the way we want them to, though. We will be coming to visit you, as much as we can. And we will keep an eye on you.

YN, please listen to me when I tell you I won’t let anything happen to you. It broke my heart, letting you get hurt once. And I’m not sure what I would have done if Hyung and I weren’t there when you were attacked.

If you need me, if you need any of us, we will be there. Always.”

YN curls up in a ball, hugging Yoongi’s hoodie to her chest, breathing in his scent deeply. She knew that he meant every word, that he truly would never let anything happen to her on purpose, but she also felt abandoned by him. By all of them.

She had spent the last ten weeks of her life talking to Yoongi or Namjoon when she felt bad. Going to Jimin or Taehyung for cuddles when she was lonely. Gaming with Jungkook when she was bored. Laughing with Jin while prepping meals. Doing what little dancing she could with Hobi when she was restless. Laughing as Taehyung insisted on carrying her from one room to another, even once she had healed enough to walk.

She had spent the last ten weeks evening out their teams when they played games, singing off-key on karaoke nights, fielding Taehyung’s touchiness before he got on Yoongi’s nerves (because for some reason, Tae insisted on trying to cuddle Yoongi at every opportunity), celebrating with them, helping to clean the wolves if there was a fight, stealing blankets off of every surface she could, curling into the side of whoever sat beside her in the name of stealing their boundless warmth.

She had spent ten weeks creating a space for herself in their lives, in their home. And now, it was back to living in a house that was way too big for her, with nobody to keep her accountable.

It was because of this that she cried herself to sleep, even the sound of Yoongi’s beautiful music filled the room. She missed them, more than anything. She felt like she was crying more than she ever had, and it had only been hours since she left their home.

What YN didn’t know was that the boys were missing her just as much back at their home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jin had decided to make a fancier meal than usual, because it would take more time and take his mind off of everything, but as he went about getting things done, he couldn’t help but miss seeing YN, perched precariously on the counter, babbling away about this or that as she carefully cut whatever needed to be chopped up.

He internally cringed as the thought of the time YN had slipped and almost fallen on her hurt ankle, his own quick reflexes being the only thing that had saved her from weeks of extra healing. Honestly, even though it stressed him out to no end to have her cutting things balanced the way she was, it was also something that he had come to expect. Secretly, he wished she had fallen on that ankle, because that would mean she would have still been right there, trying to out-joke the dad joke master himself.

Jungkook had holed himself away in his room, going to game, setting out a second controller without thinking about it. He had been in the middle of teaching YN how to play his favorite game, so that they could properly play together instead of having her just watch him play all the time. It felt wrong for him to have to just put away that second controller.

The feeling was just exasperated when he went to start the game and it came up with the section that they had been working through. Fondly, Jungkook remembered the way YN would bring her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrated on doing things correctly, bouncing in her seat when she finally figured out how something worked. Despite the fond memories, he found himself close to tears, staring at that second controller.

Jimin and Hobi both went to the studio, deciding to dance away the hurt. Without thinking, Hobi went to ask YN what song they should freestyle to, the words dying in his throat as he turned around to talk to the girl that just wasn’t there. Jimin can see just how much pain Hobi is in, not even speaking as he brings the slightly taller man into his arms, feeling the same sense of loss.

They sunk down to the floor, neither of them wanting to talk, which in itself was strange for the two normally boisterous men. Jimin missed the feeling of having YN curled up beside him, stealing his heat. Hobi missed being able to talk to her about the dances he was doing, getting a perspective from someone who didn’t really know anything about dance. They missed her.

They didn’t realize until that moment, when the two were both trying to get the same sort of comfort from each other that they had begun to seek out YN for, how much of a hole there was in their group. Sure, they had been just fine before YN, and would be fine again without her, but there was a comfort with her that they didn’t know how to replace. Things just weren’t the same.

Taehyung busied himself with a book that Namjoon had been recommending to him about one artist that he recently found, but he couldn’t focus on the words or pictures in front of him. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with the fact that, for the past two months, he had spent this lazy time in the afternoon helping YN get from place to place, laughing with her as the others did this or that. He missed those moments, with YN laughing in his arms or on his back, even though it shouldn’t have been long enough for those feelings to settle in.

He closed the book, flopping down onto the sofa he had settled on and trying not to think too hard about what he could have been doing with YN. If he was being honest with himself, he liked having someone who was so small and easily carried around, because he liked feeling big and important in comparison to her. It was an added bonus that her personality meshed so well with his own, and that she seemed to just understand the weirder parts of his personality, instead of being put off by them like so many others.

Sure, he was one of the largest of the pack, but that didn’t mean he felt like it. By wolf standards, he was pretty close to normal, but for whatever reason, he loved the way YN would curl into his side when they were seated next to each other, mumbling about being cold, looking absolutely tiny in comparison to his own body.

Or how she’d sigh dramatically whenever she had to stand to do something, hopping around the room and never asking for help, despite the fact Taehyung would be the first to jump up and whisk her off her feet completely, just carrying her to wherever it was she needed to be, chiding her for not asking for the help she so clearly needed.

Namjoon decided to go to the library, curling up in the chair that YN usually occupied in the mornings before everyone else woke up. His mind was swirling, automatically analyzing why he felt the way he did, instead of really feeling those feelings. Absently, he stroked the spine of the book that YN had been reading, a soft smile gracing his face when he realized that it was the one he had recommended when she was still completely bedridden during those first few days.

He glanced down at the small table beside the chair, realizing for the first time that YN had left a little notebook under the book. He picks it up, flipping through it and quickly realizing that she had been taking notes over things she was eager to discuss with him, which should have made him happy, but in reality just made him feel worse because she wasn’t there to actually follow through.

Namjoon chuckled to himself as he imagined YN, absolutely tiny in the chair, curled up in one of the fluffy blankets she always seemed to be wrapped up in, lovingly devouring the book that he had recommended to her, scribbling notes onto her notepad for later. He realized absently that he had missed one of the ways that she showed her growing love and appreciation for him was through this small action, making sure that she knew what she was going to say before their discussions. Namjoon was surprised when a drop of water fell onto the page in the notebook YN had marked, not realizing until he sniffled that it was his own tears.

Yoongi locked himself up in his Genius Lab as soon as YN was in the car, headphones on as he did this or that to the song he had been working on. He tried to ignore the fact that he couldn’t hear the soft clicks of a keyboard behind him. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling of being lonely.

He had never once felt lonely in his studio, not before he started letting YN hang out on the couch as he worked.

Not until he got used to spinning around in his chair and seeing YN there, typing away on her laptop. He remembered hearing her little sighs of frustration or exasperation when something doesn’t work out quite right, her brow furrowed, her tongue sticking out slightly, with a growing fondness.

Yes, Yoongi liked being alone. He enjoyed the silence, he enjoyed his own company. He had always liked being alone, it was how he recharged. And it wasn’t until he let YN into his most private sanctum that he had ever really felt lonely.

It wasn’t until Jin rounded all of them up for dinner that they realized that every single one of them were missing YN.

“This is bullshit.”

Yoongi is the one who speaks, heads turning towards him. None of them had really been in the mood for much talking, but none of them had figured Yoongi, of all people, would be the one to break the tense silence.

“What, I know you’re all thinking it too. This is bullshit.” Yoongi glares at his plate, taking a deep breath before he looks up at the others.

“None of us wanted YN to leave. YN didn’t want to leave. And now we are all miserable.” Yoongi stands now, not bothering to push in the chair he had been sitting on.

“I don’t care what any of you do. I don’t care what the consequences are. I’m going to YN’s.” Yoongi’s eyes sweep the faces of the six boys he loves the most, a fiery intensity radiating off of him in a way that has them all flinching away from him.

“Yoongi you can’t ju-” Namjoon starts, standing and going over to try to calm Yoongi down, but a sharp growl from Yoongi makes him stop in his tracks.

“No!” Yoongi’s voice drops an octave as he steps closer to Namjoon himself, squaring up with the leader in a way that could very easily lead to a fight.

“You know as well as I do Alpha,” Yoongi spits the word like it’s acid on his tongue. “she smells like one of us. She has our scent all over her. If they find out we let her go, that we aren’t around her all the time anymore, they’re going to kill her.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, anger bubbling up in him like a cursed well, when Jin stands, pushing himself between the two Alphas.

“Both of you! Stop it!” Jin stands, making sure each of them are an arm’s length away from each other. “We all miss YN, but there’s a reason she’s not here. As much as it might seem like it, she isn’t one of us. She doesn’t belong with us.”

The other boys are all standing now, helping to make sure Yoongi and Namjoon stay away from each other, trying to calm both of them down. A fight between the Alphas would not end well.

“How could you say that?” It’s Hoseok who speaks this time, his voice sounding oddly small.

“Because it’s been almost a hundred years since there was a lost Omega! You all know how rare they are, seeing how strong the Omega gene is. We knew her uncle, and he didn’t have a lick of wolf in him, even if she managed to somehow get some wolf in her, it can’t be enough for her to be able to pack bond.” Jin flicks his eyes between the other boys, focusing his attention on keeping Namjoon behind him.

It’s silent for what feels like hours.

“Then why do I feel like I lost a piece of me, huh?” It’s Taehyung who speaks up this time, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, tears rising in his eyes. “Explain that, Hyung.” His voice is barely above a whisper, choked out over a growing lump in his throat.

“I-” Jin starts, the words dying in his throat as he watches Taehyung turn into the closest person, seeking the comfort of someone else.

For once, Yoongi opened his arms to Taehyung, glaring at Jin from over the other man’s shoulder, trying to comfort him.

“I don’t know.” Jin finally admits, his face falling.

Again, the room falls silent, only the soft sniffles of Taehyung breaking the deafening quiet of the room.

“I think we all feel the way Tae does, don’t we?” Namjoon speaks for the first time in a while, the anger he had felt having finally subsided almost completely. There are nods from everyone.

“The feeling is new, and we don’t want to make a mistake. If we report YN as being lost, she will become a target. If we don’t, we will. Let’s wait for at least a week before we approach her again.” Namjoon eyes the others in the room. “But let’s keep patrols heavy in her part of the woods.”

Yoongi glares at Namjoon, thoughts swirling. A whole week without YN, knowing that she’s in pain being away from them? It sounded like downright torture to him.

“Yoongi, Hyung, you know how big of a deal it is to be the pack with a lost Omega. She’ll become a target, just because she can’t handle half as much as we can. It’d be easy to not only to just kill her, but to break her spirit, to force her to tell them about our weaknesses as a pack. She’d have to be with at least one of us almost all the time, have to live with us. She’d have to give up big parts of her freedom, and the YN we know wouldn’t enjoy that at all.” Namjoon pauses, taking a deep breath.

“We have to be sure before we approach her with this. For all we know, she won’t ever fully present and YN isn’t really one of the lost at all.” Namjoon brings a hand up to rub at his temple, a headache starting from the strong mix of emotions.

Yoongi sighs, Taehyung finally detaching himself from the smaller man as Yoongi runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right Joon. I know you’re right.” He lets out another, more exasperated sigh before he continues, “It’s just hard, ya know? Waiting another week feels like torture, because I know, I know, that YN is hurting. And we caused it.”

The other boys nod, giving murmurs of agreement as they start to dissipate, their meal forgotten as they begin to retreat again. For whatever reason, even the most other-person oriented of the pack wanted to be alone, wanted to have a minute to process everything that was going on by themselves.

“Jin, Yoongi. Can we go talk further in the office? We need to actually figure out what to do next.” Namjoon catches Jin by the shoulder before he walks out of the room, reaching for Yoongi as well, even though he was across the room.

Yoongi just nods, Jin letting out a short hum of approval. The trio then turn in unison, heading out towards the office space that Namjoon used so often.

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dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

☾ touch-starved.

yandere! johnny joestar. warnings: heavily implied past noncon, extreme dependency and deep emotional abuse, victim blaming mindset. dedicated to: @josuke8 bc she’s utter trash for johnny.

do not re-upload or use my writing without permission.

art credit: 4156948.

No one touches you like he does.

You’ve searched. A year full of wanton sex and meaningless hook-ups and there isn’t a man alive who touches you the way Johnny did. His touch was harsh and disgusting, like the edge of a knife rusted by stale blood. You used to brush the skin repeatedly when he’d leave you alone for a shower, reddening it, peeling it as if that would erase how he felt on you, in you. His touch used to make your skin swelter and melt — you wish it did, anyway, every time he put his hands on you as if he owns you like some sort of trophy or doll.

You hate it.

You... you used to hate it, anyways. Weeks after you’d escape — after he’d let you escape, laughing and chastising you even as your silhouette disappeared into the distance — you’d scrubbed yourself raw, desperate to rid your very bones of him. He’d touched everywhere, your deepest parts, and thrown you to the curb afterwards like trash. And he would come crawling back, sooner or later, wanting more or you, wanting to take more of you, wanting to break every little piece he could salvage from your remains. He looked like a demon in those moments. A demon sent from the deepest, furthest pits of hell, a demon hellbent on dragging you back down with him.

And he almost did.

You would always wonder why he let you go so easily. Had he grown bored, or did you become annoying like everything else in his life? Another pale, lifeless face to greet him when he’d come home at all hours of the night, sometimes with another woman in tow? The memory hurts, even when you realize he’d laden the blame on your shoulders every time, telling you to stop getting in his fucking way, to stop being so fucking pitiful and pathetic.

But you’ve never felt more pitiful and pathetic than you do now. Sand had settled into your shoes and between your toes, returned to where they belonged, you figured. It’s been so long and the air is still arid, still lonely. This desert you once called home had seemed so big, so vast and abandoned and hopeless at one point. Another one of his lies. The house he’d kept you in isn’t too far from civilization, a mere twenty five miles with good weather. You had packed well enough, that night: several bottles of water, stolen from the cupboards, and a week’s supply of granola and fruit. It wasn’t much, but nothing he’d left out in the open for you ever was. He knew you’d leave one day. Everything was there, ready for you to take in the dead of night and run, and you’d still stayed like an obedient pet for months on end.

You were scared, a dog who could easily overpower him if your tail hadn’t been between your legs. He’d taken your dignity and dangled it in front of you like a piece of meat; the obedience training never wore off, it seems. You still wonder who’s to blame for that.

Can victims be blamed?

Maybe... maybe sometimes. You should be blamed, shamed, for wasting everyone’s time. Because despite months of therapy and heavy medications, you’re back again. You’ve wandered back to the house of your captor on your own free will, and you couldn’t play pretend — you knew why. You could feel it in your fucking bones, in your skin and teeth and hairs and every single cell that ever existed on your person; you need him. He was right, you need him in your pathetic excuse for a life. No one can replace him, the way he’d leave you dangling on the edge, hoping for a hint of praise beneath his condescending remarks and degradations. No one can replace how whole he made you feel even as he tore past your barricades and pointed your own gun against your temple. No one can replace how wanted you felt when he’d honor your body with more than a disgusting look or a harsh slap, honored it with cruel kisses and even harsher demands.

No one can replace how lost you are without him. No one can replace who you were before you met him.

Not even him.

And so he greets you with a knowing smile, a tilt of his head against his palm accompanied by the leisurely whirring of his wheelchair. Dwarfed by a doorway you once thought inescapable, he is smaller than you imagined, far less terrifying, far less intimidating than you remember. He isn’t as big and bad as you used to think, not like he’d seem when you lived here. His feet are constrained to the pedals of his chair and his legs still don’t work; without the help of his live-in caretakers, he is utterly useless and harmless, at first glance. If you didn’t know any better, you’d approach him with a look of sympathy and offer your assistance. Why... why were you ever afraid of him?

Your answer comes when he speaks, and that glass ceiling you’d built from hope shatters. You are a fool — an utter fool who’d crawled right back into the webbed nest of a predator. But you used to love him. You used to love him and you still hope that’s enough to salvage this excuse of a relationship. People can change, he can change still, right?

...Right?

“You haven’t changed one bit.” He smooths the frizz from your hair and ushers you inside, claiming it’s far too humid out there, and you’re almost deluded into thinking he has changed. You’ll dehydrate, he says, but you know he doesn’t really care if you do. He’d happily let you wither away on his doorstep if you give him the chance.

But today is different, today is a celebration, because you’ve returned. Like a lamb to the slaughterhouse. He would laugh, but it’s almost pitiful how wide your eyes are and how shaky your legs have become since the door opened. He almost feels sorry.

Almost.

He’ll have his laugh later. You were gracious enough to gift him all the time in the world, after all. It’s only natural he reward you.

“Welcome home, darlin’.”

#johnny joestar x reader #yandere johnny joestar #yandere johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizare adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #steel ball run #yandere jjba x reader #yandere jjba #jjba x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #*scenario

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crispychrissy · 4 years

Text

Wildfire (6/?)

Summary: Wanda and Y/N discover something unsettling in her memories, and it reveals more about what Y/N went through. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3015 Warnings: Language, angst, violence, more sciencey stuff, a surprise A/N: I am so happy I was able to break through my writers block and write this for you guys. Wildfire is a personal favorite story of mine, and I love how the story is being weaved together and built. Please let me know if you are enjoying this, feedback gives me the fuel to keep going. :) Below gif is made by me, and this was beta’d by the ever so lovely @saxxxology.

Part 1—Marvel Masterlist

The memory overtook Y/N’s mind, sending her into almost a dreamlike state of consciousness. The room around her melted into the floor, replaced by concrete, glass, and a dusty dirt floor. The acrid smell of blood, sweat, and soot had bile rising in the back of her throat, but she continued to remind herself it wasn’t real, trying to stay grounded and not losing herself to the illusion. Y/N was a spectator now, watching from the sidelines as her memory played out.

“Again!” an accented voice boomed, and even though it was only in Y/N’s mind, she flinched. “Get up!”

“Where are we?” Wanda asked, appearing as a somewhat ghostly apparition to her right.

“This was about a year after I was enhanced, in the training and testing wing of the facility I was held at,” Y/N whispered, wincing in sympathy for her former self when she was punched in the face by the uniformed man towering over her. “That,” she pointed to the man, “is Eli Porter. He supervised most of my training.”

Wanda sniffed in distaste. “He seems like an asshole.”

Y/N smiled. “He was.”

Wanda raised a questioning brow, but Y/N only continued to stare at what was unfolding. There were six men in protective suits in the room aside from Eli, all in various stages of injury, leaving Y/N severely outmatched. Y/N’s memory self dragged herself from the floor, wiping the blood dripping from a gash on her nose with the back of her hand.

“I can’t do it,” memory Y/N growled, clenching her hands into fists.

“And I said I don’t give a fuck,” Eli sneered back. “Do what you're told or I’ll strap you down and let my men do whatever they want to make you compliant.”

“This is when I realized he made a mistake,” Y/N said, watching as her memory self’s eyes widened, realizing Eli had not worn his protective fire-proof suit into the training area like he should have.

In a blur of movement, memory Y/N darted forward and jumped so she could put her hands on either side of Eli’s head. Fire surged in her veins and out of her hands, and Eli screamed when his skin began to blister and sizzle. Flames consumed the man’s head, spreading down his neck and shoulders, igniting the expensive wool suit he was wearing. Y/N released him and stepped back, but by the time the other men in the room realized what had happened, Eli’s head was engulfed in flames, and he took several shuffled steps backward before collapsing.

“Well, then,” Wanda mumbled. “Brutal, but it appears he deserved what he got. This doesn’t seem like—”

“Keep watching,” Y/N breathed out, closing her eyes as the memory shifted.

In a montage of memories, Y/N watched with tear blurry eyes as her memory counterpart was beaten, tortured, starved, and worked within an inch of her life every single day. The punishment she endured for killing Eli lasted over two months, and every day began fresh due to her accelerated healing. The men would take bets on how many broken bones they could give before she’d pass out, or how long it would take her to lose consciousness if her throat was slit.

When they broke her body, they tried to break her mind. The knowledge she would heal allowed her to ignore the pain for the most part, and it frustrated her captors to no end. The scene flashed and changed, showing Y/N’s memory self strapped into a medical chair, wires attached to electrodes stuck all over her head. Her body looked so damaged and frail, and when a man in a lab coat flipped a switch and turned on a strange machine, electricity surged into her head. Her back arched and she opened her mouth to scream, but a mixture of dehydration and scar tissue around repeated cuts on her throat resulted in no sound. Tears flowed from her eyes as the machine powered down, and one of the men walked up, leaning forward to speak to her.

“You belong here,” he told her, “we’re trying to help you. Stop fighting us.”

With a quiet sob, memory Y/N lethargically nodded her head, finally giving in.

It was a weakness she promised herself she would never feel again.

“Y/N,” Wanda said calmly, making Y/N turn away from the horror playing out in front of her to look at the redhead. “You need to relax, okay?”

Y/N looked at her, confused, before she realized her fists were clenched tightly, and there were small flickers of orange flames dancing across her hands. A soft gasp left her lips as she relaxed her hands, snuffing out the flames. “Sorry. I just… watching from the sidelines is different. I still can’t believe I listened to them.”

“They tortured you, not even the strongest mind could withstand that.” Wanda’s attention shifted back to the memory playing out, and a deep frown eclipsed her face. “What are they doing?”

Y/N looked back, watching as one of the white coated men tinkered with a vial of some kind of opaque substance. The memory was fuzzy, like it was being seen through a camera that couldn’t focus, and both she and Wanda leaned forward to try and decipher the writing on the label.

“I was really out of it at this point, don’t remember ever seeing what it was they injected me with.” Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Can’t see something in the playback I didn’t see at the time.”

“Maybe not, but I can try to clear it up a little,” Wanda glanced at Y/N, “if you’ll allow me. The eyes register a lot more than the brain can process. All you need is to find the right set of… magical glasses, if you will.”

“If you think it’ll help, please, knock yourself out.” Y/N chuckled, then winced, rubbing her temples again. “Not literally. Please don’t knock yourself out.”

Wanda’s eyes glowed a deep crimson, and she smiled as she began to send wisps of red into the air from her hands. They danced around like sentient tendrils of light, poking and prodding various spots in her memory. When one wisp got close to the area where the doctor was working with the mysterious vial, an inky black puff of smoke appeared and seemed to snap at it, making the tendril retreat.

“Oh, that’s very strange,” Wanda hummed to herself, “whatever is in that vial seems to be pushing back against my magic. Which should be impossible since we’re only in an illusionary representation of your memory.”

A sharp pain stabbed at the back of Y/N’s head, making her squeeze her eyes shut. “Wanda…”

“One second. I’m trying to coax it out.” Wanda continued to focus on the mysterious billow of black smoke that had coiled itself around the doctor holding the vial like a snake ready to strike.

The longer Wanda interacted with the entity, the more intense Y/N’s pain became. When the witch was finally able to touch it with her magic, Y/N screamed and dropped to her knees, clutching her head. It felt like her brain was being burned from the inside, and she began to claw at her hair, digging her nails into her scalp to somehow make the pain stop.

“Y/N!” Wanda shouted, ceasing the use of her magic and rushing to Y/N’s side. Wanda couldn’t see anything actively attacking her, and she tried to stop Y/N’s frantic scratching. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Y/N slumped back, trembling, with tears streaming down her face as Wanda tried to calm her, and neither of them noticed the black smoke slithering its way toward them. The hair on the back of Wanda’s neck stood up and she pivoted on her heel, raising her hands to defend herself against an attack.

“No one escapes the abyss,” the smoky entity hissed, it’s voice gravelly and eerily echoey.

Wanda set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “Watch me.”

The area was engulfed with a bright red light, and Wanda held onto Y/N as she forced herself and her magic away from the memory. Normally she would gradually remove herself, allowing reality to trickle back in, but there was no choice in this situation. Leaving a memory like this was unpleasant, and she could feel a trickle of blood fall from her nose at the intense amount of mental strain it caused her. As dark splotches began to flood Wanda’s vision, she made sure all of her magic was untainted and free of whatever that entity was before she allowed herself to succumb to the darkness.

Wanda jolted back to reality when she felt something touching her face, and instinct took over as she regained consciousness. She lifted her hand and sent out a burst of magic, forcing whatever was touching her away, fearing it was something malicious from the memory. When she opened her eyes, she realized the something touching her face was actually someone, and watched as a dazed Steve was helped up from the floor by Bucky.

“Wanda?” Steve questioned, rushing back to her side as Bucky went to Y/N.

“There’s… something inside her mind. The… abyss.” Wanda’s eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp in Steve’s arms.

“Shit,” Steve hissed, waving the nurses in before glancing over to his best friend. “Buck? Y/N?”

Bucky’s hands were running along Y/N’s arms, legs, and head, checking for any open wounds or broken bones with military precision. “There’s blood coming from her ears, but she looks uninjured. Well, no physical injuries, at least.” The nurses took over, also looking for injuries, and Bucky slid backward to allow them to work.

“What did Wanda say to you, Cap?” Bruce asked quietly, kneeling down next to Wanda and helping Steve shift her onto one of the collapsable stretchers he removed from his medical kit.

Steve let out a long breath of air, slumping back onto his bottom. “She said there’s something in Y/N’s mind.” Steve glanced behind him at Bucky helping the nurses shift Y/N onto the stretcher, and lowered his voice. “The abyss?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells.” Bruce shrugged, hooking up a small portable set of vital monitoring machines to Wanda. “Wanda’s stable, just unconscious. If I had to guess, she overexerted herself.” He looked over his shoulder at Y/N and the nurses lifting her onto a similar stretcher as Wanda’s. “Marlene, make sure you take her for a brain scan right away. I may not be a medical doctor, but even I know blood dripping from someone’s ears is never a good thing.”

Marlene nodded and with help from the other nurse, they lifted Y/N up and carried her quickly from the room.

Bucky studied Y/N’s bloody ears as the nurses walked past him, and he shivered as he was assaulted with a flash of his own memory. Zola’s face studying him, injecting him with things, and electrodes being placed on his head before a mind numbing amount of pain shot through him. He remembered looking at his reflection in the mirror once they got back to the Army base camp in Italy, noticing the dried blood that had come from his ears.

“Yeah, never a good thing,” Bucky muttered, and when Steve looked over at him with deep concern on his face, Bucky managed to give him a soft reassuring smile. “Just remembering what happened in Kreischberg,” Bucky tapped his ear with his finger, “I’m good.” Steve’s frown remained, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Really, pal, I’m fine. I’ve remembered that one before.”

“Cap, a hand?” Bruce asked, crouching at the front of the stretcher.

Steve leaned forward and took a hold of the bottom of the stretcher, lifting Wanda once Bruce counted to three. Bucky led the way as they carried her out of the room and down the hallway. Once they reached the medical wing, Tony and Natasha, who were standing outside the MRI room, joined the group.

“What the hell happened?” Tony asked, frowning at Wanda’s unconscious form as they continued down the hallway and into an empty room.

“Wanda was trying to help Y/N remember more of her captivity and figure out why she can’t get a read on her mind, so she did the mind meld thing she did with Bucky when he first got here.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Before she passed out, Wanda said there’s something in Y/N’s mind. Called it the abyss.”

“Hmm,” Tony tapped the side of his glasses, “FRIDAY, run a search on the abyss in relation to Hydra. Any files come up?”

“No, boss,” the AI replied, “the only results I found are excerpts from private journals of Hydra officers. They are all personal reflections about their plans to ‘send SHIELD into the abyss’.”

“That’s because she’s not searching for the correct term,” Bucky chimed in with a shaky voice, moving toward Tony. “It’s not spelled a-b-y-s-s like the word, it’s an acronym. A-B-I-S.”

“FRIDAY?” Tony prompted again.

“Found it,” FRIDAY announced. “ABIS: Autonomic Brain Infiltration Substance. Records are limited, but it appears it was created under the scientific human experimentation umbrella of the Winter Soldier Project.”

All eyes snapped to Bucky, and Steve took a hesitant step forward, waiting for him to explain.

“It, uhhh, it didn’t work on me, which is why they went with the brainwashing.” Bucky’s metal arm whirred as his hand closed into a fist. “I don’t know what it was made of, but it was designed to strip you of your free will. The doctors kinda explained some of how it worked when they didn’t think I was listening. Not only does it block you from making your own decisions, but it also blocks anything external that tries to affect you and if someone tries to remove it, it fights back.”

“Which is why Wanda couldn’t see inside Y/N’s mind,” Steve realized, looking over at Bruce. “Did any of her tests show this thing inside her head?”

Bruce looked up from the monitor he was studying, shifting uncomfortably at how close Natasha was leaning over his shoulder. “I’m looking back through her scans right now. Everything looks completely normal. So either it doesn’t block medical equipment, or protected itself from discovery by projecting a fake result of the scan.”

“Can it do that?” Natasha asked, looking between Bucky and the scans up on the screen.

“I don’t know.” Bucky had more of his own questions than answers for everyone else, but he knew the amount of pain he was in for weeks after they injected it into him. “It never worked on me, and I don’t know why. Maybe it can only latch onto enhanced people?”

“We’re both enhanced, Bucky,” Steve reminded him.

“Yeah, but by chemicals. I’m talking about inhumans, the ones with dormant abilities that are activated.” Bucky turned toward Bruce, and gestured to the doctor. “You said it yourself, Banner, she has mutated DNA, just like the inhumans that began to pop up everywhere a few years back. What if they used the Power Stone to trigger her mutation?”

Natasha’s eyes widened, even though they were full of sadness and sympathy. “And when she resisted, they used this ABIS thing to try and control her.”

“They did say it was going to be more effective and faster than brainwashing,” Bucky growled, “and I bet she didn’t even know it was inside her.”

“She didn’t.”

Wanda was sitting up in the hospital bed, her eyes unfocused as she slowly blinked at the small group standing in her hospital room. Everyone, aside from Bruce, rushed toward her when they saw she was awake. Wanda’s hand was shaking as she gripped the rail of the bed and lifted herself up into a sitting position.

“Easy there, witchy woman,” Tony gently urged her to lay back down, “you need to rest.”

Wanda slumped back, breathing heavily at how fast the small amount of exertion exhausted her. “Y/N?”

“Unconscious, but aside from some bloody ears, appears unharmed. We’re giving her an MRI right now.” Steve sat down in one of the comfy plush chairs next to her bed. “What happened, Wanda?”

Wanda took a deep breath and closed her eyes, retelling her experience with Y/N in her memory. Everyone showed some form of anger or outrage when Wanda explained the amount of torture Y/N endured after she killed Eli, and when she began to explain the strange black substance in a vial, Bucky cut her off.

“That’s it, that’s what the ABIS looked like.”

“It talked to me,” Wanda whispered. “Told me ‘no one can escape the abyss’ before I forced myself from her memory and mind.”

“Ouch,” Bucky winced in sympathy, having seen the toll it took on her when she’d had to do a quick mental extraction like that before. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Wanda smiled. “Just need some rest. But what do you mean ‘that’s what it looked like’? Have you seen it before?”

“ABIS is an acronym, A-B-I-S. It stands for Autonomic Brain Infiltration Substance. They tried to use it to control me when I was the Winter Soldier. It didn’t work, and they resorted to brainwashing.” Bucky shook his head. “Apparently they kept what was left, or still had the recipe somewhere to recreate it.”

“I’m sorry, guys, I’m not strong enough to poke around and get you more answers,” Wanda rasped, eagerly taking the bottle of water Tony offered, chugging half of it in seconds. After she recapped the bottle, she sent Tony a sympathetic look. “But I do know who is.”

“Aw, hell,” Tony sighed, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. “Here we go.”

Steve grinned and looked toward the ceiling. “Heimdall! Can you please let Thor know we are requesting his presence?” Steve sighed. “His and Loki’s.”

***

Marvel Forevers [3 SPOTS OPEN]: @princessmisery666 @tardis-auto-pilot @feelmyroarrrr @idalinette @kassablanca13 @superlockedtimelord @voltage-my2dlove @agentstarkid @amandatar-06 @mizzezm @holyfuckloueh @spn--imagines @fanfictionjunkie1112 @wish-i-had-something-better @kittenofdoomage @growningupgeek @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @cake-writes @captain-kelli @zoerayne2426 @sadwaywardkid @sunlightdances @buckyland @kentuckybarnes @justagirlinafandomworld @cosicas-cuquis @cravingmarvel @straightforwardly @beccaanne814 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @walkingchemicalfire @rhymesmenagerie @hina-chans-stuff @supernaturaldean67 @idjitmonkey @crushedbyhyperbole @xxloki81xx @blue-like-barnes @rainbowkisses31 @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @flyingcannoli @reapersan @previouslyforgotten @thefridgeismybestie @hawksmagnolia @zpandaqueen

Wildfire Tags: @eliza5616 @bitchwhytho @waywardsistersandpie @tofeartheunknown @ayannaboo1111 @nerdwholikesword @nerdgirljen @eileenalone @awaywithtime @winchester-wifey @fuckinherondale

#wildfire #part 6 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #series #marvel #mcu #wildfire series #enhanced!reader #project wildfire #mild angst #more revelations #fire #fire enhanced

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shmegel · 3 years

Text

So my brother and his friend just randomly went to a crowded theme park all day apparently which is kinda eh on its own but apparently neither of them wore masks the entire time

So I’m in my house. Immobile. Because I fell down a flight of stairs and landed on my back. I can’t freaking leave because I can’t even get out of bed on my own. And now these theme park idiots are here and I have no clue what to do and I feel so unsafe and stressed

I knew this would happen when my family said he’s moving in and I asked over and over to talk about Covid restrictions with them and to work out a deal with my brother but they’re so freaking non confrontational that they refused over and over and now here we are: him here with no indication that this would be upsetting, and me trying to decide if I have to wear a mask for the next two weeks in my own house because of a dumb decision SOMEONE ELSE made

I don’t know what to do??? I tried talking about it with mom and she got stressed out and stormed out. And I know dad’s opinion- no risk, wear an N95 around anyone risky because I don’t want you to get Covid because you’re so high risk. And I don’t know what’s necessary or comfortable or safe and I’m so freaking confused because of the new data that came out showing vaccinated people spread Delta to others more than they thought

And like. The top symptom of Covid is fever. And I’ve been over 100° all night (on what is usually my lowest temp week of the month) and I’m so scared of adding Covid fever on top of that fever. Like everyone is thinking about severe Covid post-vaccine which is pretty rare, but I’m worried about symptomatic/mild Covid because of this evil fever.

And this idiot struts into my house after going to A THEME PARK MASKLESS without even warning me, like I had to ask???

And I’m immobile so I was in the living room and they came in and I had to eat dinner so I had to LEAVE even though I was in there for a while already and I’M not the one who did anything wrong but I’M the one who has to change my behavior apparently

Because you can’t eat with a mask on!!! You can’t!!! So any time I’m eating or drinking (which I have to do constantly basically for these medications from falling on my back) I have to leave the freaking room which means I have to call someone in to carry me out of the room and AAAAUUUGGGH

I’m so sick and broken and pitiful and they’re making my life even harder I can’t freaking believe this.

And I can’t even make the decision about whether or not all of this is necessary because no one will talk to me!!!!!!!!!! They’re too stressed out so they won’t talk so I can’t decide which means I have to go with the safe decision and wear a mask when they’re around UNLESS I’m eating or drinking which is ALWAYS meaning either I starve and dehydrate or I have to live in one room alone and do nothing else

Meanwhile they’re mobile!!!!! They could leave!!! They could put on masks!!! Do something! Don’t trap me into sitting alone in one spot all day and all night please 🥺

I’m so sad and I’m so stressed and I’m so sick and no one is freaking helping me they’re like “it’s up to you!” And I’m like “I can’t decide because I have 100 degree fever and pain shooting through my body and now is not the time for me to make smart decisions please help!!!!” And they’re like “no talking about Covid is too stressful 😔” I’m like “HOW ARE YOU MORE STRESSED ABOUT IT THAN ME IF I’M THE ONLY ONE AT HIGHER RISK OF DYING???? HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL????”

Like I get it guys you wanna do something fun ok as long as you wear your mask!!! I can’t believe that was too much to ask of them. How freaking selfish??? Oh my god??? They must know I have no choice here but to stay in my house like I can’t move out or stay with someone who wasn’t maskless at a theme park. Especially now since I can’t even move my legs!!! Like oh my god I’m so sad it’s so horrible that I’m in this position and I don’t even know what to do because no one will talk to me here.

I’m sad and confused and stressed and angry and hurt and I legitimately don’t know what to do.

#personal #covid 19 #coronavirus #chronic illness #immune compromised #yessica liveblogs life

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 33

33. it is the nature of dreams to end

Summary: nikki goes to tommy’s wedding and doesn’t come home, and lola’s left waiting, waiting, waiting.

Warnings: heroin use, overdose, angst, hospitals, ANGST

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @lovehelpmewrite @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @dramatique-moi @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer @redlipscrystalskies14 @kaitieskidmore1 @the-specific-oceans

{ MASTERLIST }

"Why do we even have to go?" Nikki asked, a week before Tommy's wedding, sounding altogether petulant. He's on the floor of the bedroom, propped up against the bed with his bass in hand, despite one of it's strings being snapped, and Lola's reading through a stack of tabloids, looking a little like death warmed up, a bucket beside her.

"You're his best man, baby," Lola says gently, awkwardly trying to slump across the bed and pet Nikki's hair without making herself more nauseous, "and he's still our best friend." She reminds him.

This moment, in hindsight, will stand out; Nikki unable to stand, on the brink of what they both fear, losing Tommy forever. Nikki's hoping to all but black out for the entire ceremony and make an Irish exit, and Lola's more likely to be carted to the hospital than make to the venue with the state she's in. But Lola will remember this moment, like a freeze frame when she's laying catatonic on the bed a week later, and Nikki's shaking her, telling her to get up, that the car's waiting for them, but Lola can barely blink, can only remember 'and he's still our best friend'.

Letting Nikki go alone was cruel, she realises too late. Yelling at him when he's trying to drag him out of bed and her limbs aren't cooperating was childish, she's aware. The words spilling from her, the fears, the honesty, it's too raw by half, selfish in the face of Nikki's obvious aching, but she can't help herself now.

"Will you be here when I get back?" Nikki asks, voice rough and raw, and tears spring to Lola's eyes when she realises what he's asking. She's laughing, laying on the floor, limbs akimbo from where he's tried to drag her, sounding almost crazed, feeling nauseous.

"You're all I need, right?" She said, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows.

"Lo," Nikki's voice is painfully gentle, and Lola feels the nausea rise beginning to bubble up in her stomach, blanching. "Lola," Nikki sinks to his knees, trying to scoop Lola up, but too weak to pick her up; instead, he pulls her to her feet.

"I'll be here, Niks, I promise," Lola murmurs, voice weak as he lowers her back onto the bed. The car outside honks again.

"You and me against the world, right?" Nikki presses his nose to her cheek in a familiar gesture, kissing her temple after a beat. Lola's voice is a reassuring murmur, stronger than it had been a moment ago. Nikki sways when he leaves, but he's managing a smile. Lola passes out.

She doesn't notice time passing.

She doesn't notice the dates changing.

She doesn't notice Nikki's missing, because for her, it feels like just this morning that she'd seen him. She's waiting for him to get home, wasting away, on a day that actually lasts almost a week, dry heaving when there's nothing else to throw up, living her life in limbo, never quite awake, never quite asleep.

The phone rings for eighteen minutes straight, the same caller over and over again, the night Nikki dies, and Lola doesn't pick up. Curled up on the floor, shivering, delirious, dehydrated, having all but starved herself from inactivity, Lola looks as though she's on death's door, and when Vince bursts in, he almost collapses at the sight.

"Lo, baby, please, Lola, Lola," he begs, crawling to her, already crying from the news of Nikki, "please, Lo, please I can't lose you too, fuck." Her pulse is weak, but he's alive, and the EMTs are on their way as he cradles her to his chest.

"Nikki," her voice is hoarse, her eyes cloudy; all she can see is the warmth of someone by her side, and Vince's sobbing stops dead at her words, "I'm sorry for... for what I said. I'm sorry I made you go," She asks, head fuzzy, all she can remember, "he's still our best friend, but I know it's hard." She says gently, and Vince holds her tighter, the realization crashing down around him as he cries loud and unashamed.

The EMTs take Lola to hospital, and Vince is by her side the entire way, in the back of the ambulance, holding her hand as the confusion starts to bring her back to reality.

Nikki's dead and Lola's dying and Vince is desperately trying to hold himself together.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna be okay," Vince tells her, running his fingers through her knotty, greasy hair, her eyes trained on her face, trying to see her as he remembers her, but only seeing the shell of who she used to be, hollowed out and confused.

"Vinny?" She finally recognizes him as they're pulling into the emergency room entrance, and then, as the EMTs are unloading her on the gurney, she's torn away from Vince, fear gripping her as she finds herself surrounded by unfamiliar people, "Vinny, am I dying?! Vinny! Vinny don't let me die again!" And she's suddenly struggling enough that she has to be sedated, and Vince is being made to wait in the waiting room, crying his eyes out.

Lola's alternating between begging the nurses not to let her die, and demanding to see Nikki. They all give her pitying looks, but won't tell her the truth; the don't know who she is, no-one recognises her anymore.

They're detoxing her, rehydrating her where her kidneys had shut down, and yet, have her under more sedatives than any person should reasonably have. It's enough to keep her quiet, to add cannulas to her arms and hands for various medications, and for Vince to sit by and watch in despair as Lola clings with desperately trembling fingers, to life.

"And you are?" The nurse who comes in is frowning at him, and Vince, who'd been staring at Lola with faint tear tracks on his cheeks, steels himself, wipes his eyes, and stands to greet her.

"Her, uh, I'm her -" he hesitates for a moment, glancing briefly at the clipboard she was holding firmly to her chest, "fiancé," he tries not to make it sound like a question, but the nurse nods and seems to accept it easily, "is she gonna be okay?"

"You're the one who made the call, aren't you? Mister Neil, correct?" The nurse's smile widens a fraction, the frown adorned on her brow smoothing slightly. Vince nods, and the nurse looks back at her clipboard, "it's good you called us when you did; she was a bit touch and go for a moment there, but she's pulling through."

A pause.

"This is her second OD in the past six months," the nurse adds, flipping through her notes, but Vince's mouth goes dry, "but -" the nurse adds with what's meant to be a reassuring smile, "by some absolute miracle, there's so far no signs of complications with the baby." And it occurs to her, right around the next moment when Vince goes crashing to the ground in a dead faint, that he didn't even realise she was pregnant to begin with.

When Lola stirs during the night, Vince is there, his hand in her's, offering her reassurances as often as he can, begging her to pull through.

"Please, for my sake, for all of our sake, we need you to get through this," his voice in her ear keeps her grounded as she wades through the fog in her mind.

"Vinny," her feeble answer comes as only his name, before she's asking for Nikki, voice pitiful. Vince gives her hand a squeeze, and presses his face to her hip so she can't see him crying. After a moment, she groans in pain, and has already faded out of consciousness. the nurses have already figured out that Vince is lying about being her fiancé since Sharise shows up the next day, but they let him stay for a small bribe.

News of Nikki's recovery passes around quickly in the following few days, though since he's not about to leave Lola's side, it takes a while to reach Vince. News of Lola's own near-death experience, on the very same day, passes much slower. She's under longer, needs to be kept sedated because she's crying and screaming when Vince finally tells her about Nikki, and they need to make sure the baby's okay.

A Pair of Star-Crossed Lovers Almost Take Their Lives one tabloid reads, and so the idea that Nikki and Lola almost died together becomes the story that everyone knows. It becomes romanticised, to live and die the glam rock lifestyle together, it almost becomes something to aspire to.

But Nikki doesn't know.

He's released, and goes home to an empty house, to the sight of the bedroom empty and messy from where the EMTs had rushed her away. He calls Tommy first, who just about has a heart attack to hear Nikki's voice, before tentatively asking 'you don't know?'

So he goes back to the hospital.

It's been three days.

Mick is in the waiting room, arms crossed, wearing sunglasses, everyone else giving him a wide berth. Apart from Sharise, who sits one seat away, playing with Skylar, trying to keep her spirits up. Mick nods towards the front desk.

"Lola Gone?" Nikki asks her name tentatively, voice hoarse. The nurse looks at him like she's seen a ghost, but directs him to Lola's room.

Through the window to the private room, he sees Vince holding Lola's hand, looking unkempt and exhausted, speaking quietly to her while she lays unconscious in the bed. After a moment, his gaze flicks to the door, and he does a double take seeing Nikki staring at him, at Lola, looking like death warmed up.

Vince stands, lets Lola's hand fall to the bed, walking towards the door with an unreadably shocked expression. Opening the door, it's immediately apparent that he hasn't showered in three days, but it doesn't matter.

"What happened?" Nikki croaked as Vince took in his appearance. After a beat, he lashes out, punching Nikki square in the jaw, before wrapping him in a hug, all the anger and fear and tension from the past three days manifesting in the simple contact.

"You fucking asshole," Vince sniffs quietly, "you fucking asshole, don't ever fucking die like that again."

"I'm sorry," comes Nikki's startled response, still not hugging Vince back.

"She waited for you, you bastard, you absolute fucking bastard, she waited for you and it almost killed her."

"What- what do you mean?" Nikki stepped back, pushing Vince gently from him. The singer wiped at his eyes, trying to keep his thinly veiled rage in check.

"She still thinks it's the day of Tommy's wedding," he said flatly, turning back to watch her through the door, "something's wrong in her mind, man, she didn't eat or drink anything, just..." he swallowed hard, "just shot up and waited for you to come home. Now she's all doped up on pain meds and shit; you're fucking lucky."

"Is she okay?" Nikki asks, stumbling to the door.

"Yeah," Vince tells him, arms crossed, scowling at Nikki, "and so's the kid."

Nikki's mind short-circuits at that, and he pushes open the door to see Lola's body prone, quiet apart from the beeping of her heart monitor. Tears well in his eyes as he steps forwards and Vince's words hit him. Touch gentle, his fingertips brush her ankle, up her leg, coming to rest on her stomach. He can feel the ache of death in his bones still, but the ice-cold fear of Lola's catatonic state overrides everything else.

"Lo?" His voice cracks a little as his other hand comes up to rest on the top of her head, "Lola?" He asks, lip trembling. He moves his hand to brush her cheek, and he hears the faintest groan. Lola's eyes open, just a crack, and he sees her lips stretch into the faintest smile.

"Home," she whispers, voice dry, "you're home." All she sees is him. "I told you I'd be here." She licks her lips, though her tongue is still dry. Nikki can't form words, just rest his forehead against Lola's as he tries to hold back his tears. With a gentle hum, Lola leaned into the contact, "knew Vince was a fuckin' liar; told me you'd- you'd-" her words failed her, and Nikki pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Right here, Lo, I promise," he couldn't keep the wobble from his voice, "sorry I took so long." He tried, and Lola laughed softly.

"Felt like no time at all," she told him honestly, and Nikki clenched his teeth so hard they almost cracked as he held her close.

"Lo, Vince is saying you're having a kid," Nikki says quietly, and Lola laughs, loud and bright, the first strong sound he'd heard since arriving.

"That's news to me," she snorted, and oh, Nikki realized, it really was news to her. He keeps his mouth shut, trying to figure out his thoughts before he breaks down from relief.

Lola scoots over. An invitation. Nikki joins her, still wearing his shoes, carefully navigating her various IVs, and wraps his arm around her shoulders to pull her wiry, malnourished frame to his. She's not right in her current state, won't remember anything he's saying, won't remember herself, will doze off and probably be a blank slate, but he can't help himself.

"It hurts to die, Lo," he admits, feeling the ache in his bones, in every fiber of his being.

"I know," Lola tells him, eyes closed, leaning against him, "I hope you never have to go through it." She tells him, far too knowingly, and gingerly wraps an arm around him. "How was the wedding?"

"I don't remember," Nikki swallows, parsing all the new information she'd just given him.

Very suddenly, and with a painfully sober mind for the first time in years, Nikki sees Lola for who she is, brittle and fragile, clinging to him for safety in a sea of uncertainty; their fears and feelings had fed into each other, and they'd dragged each other down... He'd dragged her down; she'd been doing well, had been managing the band with a surprising amount of success, taking care of business and herself in the wake of the revelations about her family, she'd been trying.

"I did this to you," he whispered in horror; he could feel the bones of her shoulder where there had always been hard muscle for as long as he'd known her. How long had he stopped paying attention that that had changed? "I broke you, didn't I?"

"No," she yawns, voice calm and dreamy as she's nestling against him, "'s my fault, baby." She tells him almost reflexively, like she hadn't even had to think about the words she so clearly believed. Somewhere in the back of her drugged up mind, her mother's poisonous rhetoric still plays loudly it seemed.

"I'm sorry -"

"Don't be."

"We're gonna get help, Lo; all of us, we're gonna get help," Nikki gives her a squeeze, "we're gonna at least fuckin' try. I can't believe I did this to you, I'm so-"

"Don't say it," Lola tells him, before yawning. Nikki keeps his mouth shut. Sharise, Mick, and Vince all peer through the window at them, wearing identical concerned looks on their faces. Nikki gives a nod. A confirmation.

"I miss..." Lola whispers quietly, much later that night, her mind substantially clearer and calmer, and Nikki takes a deep breath, trying to stave off his exhaustion, "I miss who I was before," Lola considers for a moment, her head on Nikki's shoulder, "before Nicole. Before Heather." She paused, "I miss that shithole we used to live in, just the two of us."

"Just the two of us? Not even Vince and Tommy?"

"They're not... I love them, but... I don't think I ever said it, but I never loved anyone back then half as much as I loved you; you know I tried dating so many people, but... but I liked just being around you more than anything else, you know? Us fucking around, I miss us. I miss how we used to be." She paused, "I don't feel anything anymore, not really, just... sad, I guess, sad when I think too hard about everything. I don't know who I am anymore."

"I know," Nikki finally muttered back, "at least when I was angry and scared I was feeling something; some sick part of me is glad I died, 'cos at least then I... I felt something. I'm just hollow now, Lo, just going through the motions... maybe that's why I like Tommy, 'cos he's genuine, still cares about shit."

"Still genuine," Lola agreed quietly, before adding, "I'm sorry I made you go to the wedding."

"I'm sorry I didn't come back for so long."

"Mom always said if I did what I was told, if I was good, dad wouldn't leave," Lola told Nikki, they both know he knew this already, "and I think... I think with Tommy getting married, and Doc leaving - sort of - if I just... if I just did as I was told, you wouldn't leave."

"I didn't."

"I wasn't in my right mind... I haven't been in my right mind for a while." Lola took a deep, shaky breath, "we really do need help, don't we?"

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #Vince Neil #vince neil imagine #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #mick mars #the angry lizard writes

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scripttorture · 4 years

Note

Do expected outcomes or intentions have an effect on how someone reacts to torture? I have a character who was kept in a mental hospital when he was younger and during the time period they used ice baths and bloodletting as treatment and he's chained to his bed at night and sometimes briefly during the day. He's there for a month. He has lasting effects from it but would the fact that they were trying to help and that he thought it would work change his symptoms or the severity?

I think I’d treat this as a question of informed consent, which does effect outcomes.

My position on this is pretty simple: if there’s informed consent it isn’t torture. Even if it’s painful and does not achieve anything.

Someone who puts themselves in a stress position for a few hours as part of an ‘exercise regime’ because they think it will make them stronger is not going to have the same lasting mental health problems as a person who is forced to endure the same thing.

In fact there’s evidence to suggest that this alters our perception of pain. People who have a positive motivation for doing something painful are able to endure the painful activity for longer and may feel less pain.

Which I think is fascinating. The way we approach and interpret what we go through really does make a huge difference.

Which means that if this character understands the ‘treatments’ he undergoes ahead of time and genuinely believes they’re helpful- He could come out of the experience with no lasting trauma at all.

Though I would add that that statement does not seem to apply to torture by deprivation. Anything that takes away something we fundamentally need (starvation, dehydration, sleep deprivation, solitary confinement etc) still has a psychological effect even when viewed positively by the person going through it.

So as long as he isn’t also starved, kept in solitary confinement etc the outcome here could be really good.

He might even feel better as a result of the placebo effect.

Which is part of why the medical establishment was able to justify… let’s call them ‘ineffective treatments’ for so long. Because you would get at least some patients insisting they felt better.

Worse outcomes in this scenario are also possible of course. If procedures aren’t explained ahead of time and consent is not sought (especially if treatments are forced on unwilling patients)- then this does effectively become torture.

But I get the impression that isn’t what you’re describing here. It sounds like what you’re describing is a form of ‘partial consent’; perhaps the procedures were explained before he arrived at the asylum but he isn’t told what’s happening when he’s taken for ‘treatment’. Or perhaps everything is explained to him in an ethical fashion, but his requests for breaks part way through the ice-bath ‘treatment’ are routinely ignored.

Over this time frame that could lead to the development of trauma symptoms but the severity and number of symptoms is likely to be much much lower then in a torture survivor.

There’s a range of course; some individuals in those circumstances might leave with no lasting trauma symptoms, some might leave looking just as ‘bad’ as a torture survivor. But I think most would have less symptoms and less severe symptoms.

Of course none of this protects him from potential physical effects. He’s still at risk of hypothermia from the ice baths, anaemia from the bloodletting and strokes/heart attacks from the prolonged use of restraints. This combination can kill, in fact there was a case a few years ago of a mental health patient in his twenties who died as a result of the prolonged use of restraints (from memory for about a week).

The way you’re describing the scenario is survivable. Most young healthy people treated in this way over this timeframe would survive. But be aware that not everyone would.

All of this means that you’re in a position to choose how good you want the outcome to be. Decide on the level of consent and bodily autonomy the character has during this period. Use that to decide the severity of any long term effects.

I hope that helps :)

Edit: There’s some good additions here for if the character is a child or young adult. I answered assuming adult and that ‘younger’ meant mid to late twenties. Which says something about my personal assumptions/biases.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #tw medical abuse #consent #trauma and consent #clean torture #scarring torture #medical torture #medical ethics #placebo effect #pain #pain thresholds #ways people process pain

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tuuliivanovas · 4 years

Text

I have a giant list of reylo headcanons (Tros spoilers)

This really got out of hand: it turned into 6 pages. oh dear.

Hope some people like this because it was very helpful for me and dealing with my grief.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben does not like Tatooine. Like at all. He stays there with her because Rey seems to like it. He wants to leave but is a little afraid to bring it up.

Rey is comfortable on desert planets. She adapts very easily to Tatooine. She doesn’t know why she stays there is nothing truly keeping on the planet. She has a family, Ben is her family the past has been laid to rest, but she is afraid to leave the familiar. She likes the stars, maybe that's why she stays.

Leaving is a topic they avoid like the plague. There is a slight passive-aggressiveness about it because angst, but they get sad and get over it quickly.

Ben freezes most nights, he's big and generates a lot of heat. Rey legitimately does not understand it. He jokes about giving all of his warmth to her.

(more under the cut, they may turn into short story idea)

They like to cuddle a lot. Both of them are touch starved babies.

Ben is a city boy.

Rey is not a city girl.

Rey gets claustrophobic in large groups of people.

Ben tries to make jokes to make Rey feel comfortable. Rey thinks they’re stupid but laughs anyway.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben wants to start cooking again like he did when he was a kid.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey likes watching him do things. She likes watching his hands work.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey lets her hair grow and Ben braids it. This one was a shock to Rey. Ben tells stories about his mother getting ready for parties and how he helped put braids in her hair.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben wants to explore his Alderaanian heritage. When he and Rey travel he looks for anything he can.

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Both of them realize that even though they are a dyad and have known each other for quite some time and have seen each other's memories. They don't really know each other. They haven’t talked about their pasts, like the little things. They haven't talked about what they like and dislike. Things that don't seem to matter, but do when you think about it. So they sometimes stay up late and just talk.

_______________________________________________________________________

Both of them remember being dead. The nightmares aren’t fun.

Ben cries a lot. There are a lot of unresolved issues in his head.

Ben suffers from chronic pain after his fall.

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Luke tried to visit once, but that didn’t go over well. Ben didn’t come back for a few hours and Rey wants to help but doesn’t know how. She knew the family drama goes deep, Ben has talked about it. She has just never seen it. With Leia, it's a little easier, but still very stiff and awkward.

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Ben has some severe abandonment issues. They have one nasty fight about Exogol. Talking about that place takes time and Rey tells him about all the Jedi coming to help her. Ben is jealous and angry. He was tossed into a pit, had several broken bones and he climbed out of there with the only determination of getting back to Rey. When she said Anakin spoke to her jealousy turned to rage. He is upset that the Jedi had more faith in a Palpatine than the last Skywalker. Rey is heartbroken her, own struggle with her lineage is a sore subject. They don’t speak to each other for days until Leia helps them heal the rift. Ben is so incredibly sorry by the end of it. He opens up about how he only had a memory of his father to help him turn. Nothing real, just something in his head. He tells her that she is the hero of this story.

Rey says fuck the Jedi at this point.

They really don’t fight after that.

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Ben, even with all of his Jedi teachings, has to relearn how to use the force. He asks Rey to be his teacher. He is so used to his anger and passion being his source of power, but after his nap in purgatory, something changed. (pretty much zuko needing a new source for his firebending lol)

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He loves Rey’s lightsaber. It's just so her. The yellow is perfect for her, bright and warm. He is very proud.

Rey asks him if he would ever build a new lightsaber. He doesn’t know if he could. He eventually builds one and the blade comes out a dark purple.

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They go on adventures and find information in old ruins. Rey gets interested in the old republic. Ben is a nerd so research a lot for her. They learn about two very curious characters named Bastila and Revan (Because I love them)

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Rey misses her friends a lot. Ben encourages her to go visit them. Rey asks if he will come and he gently says “No. They don't want to see me.” Rey doesn't want to leave him alone. He reminds her that he is always here. Rey goes and visits her friends and start coming up with a plan to introduce Ben.

The ship lands at the base the resistance is located Rey starts walking out Ben following but he stops. Rey concerned reads him tells him to wait on the ship. She leaves and comes back with Chewie. Ben is petrified as the Wookie approaches him. Ben is a big guy, but Chewie is taller. Ben looks up at him. Chewie still views him as the boy he carried around on his shoulders a long time ago. Two furry arms wrap around Ben and he feels like a child again and breaks down. Rey has tears in her eyes at the display and quietly departs to prepare her friends for what will likely be a very long day.

Rose reaches out first. Makes him work the first moment he gets there. Her reason is that he is tall and can reach things she can’t. It's a little awkward at first but once Ben learns that Rose bit Hux he falls in love.

Rose’s heart warms when she hears Ben talk about Rey. She has heard stories about Kylo Ren and the boy in front of her aint him.

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{This section has stuff dealing with pregnancy, if that topic triggers you please skip this section}

Rey confesses that she wants a family. Ben knows that. She explains that she means children. Rey also goes on to explain her fears of being a mother. Ben understands her fears. He really never thought that he would ever be a father so the idea of having his own kids is terrifying and exciting. He won't make the same mistakes...he hopes. Ben asks her if they should start really trying, Rey says no and if it happens it happens.

Six months after their conversation Rey gets pregnant. They are overjoyed.

They started thinking that they should settle somewhere permanently and stop moving around the galaxy so much. They often live in isolation.

The choice was made for them when Rey got sick about 2 months in. Ben made the executive decision to have her around her friends. The former resistance had better medical facilities than the sparsely populated planet they were living on.

Rey has a rough pregnancy and is in and out of the care of doctors.

Ben is a nervous wreck and this is truly when Finn and Poe lighten up on him.

Even though Rey has gotten healthier, being able to eat properly over the time she has been with the resistance and Ben, the damage to her body from years of starvation and dehydration has already been done. She is thoroughly humbled and hit with the reality that she is human.

Ben feels helpless and useless, but Rey tells him that he is exactly where he needs to be. With her making sure is happy comfortable and loved.

The birth was just as hard as everything else. During the labor, it was not funny, but after the fact, Ben joked about how she caused a small earthquake.

They have twins named Jaina and Jacen.

Ben cries as soon as holds his children. He is so proud of Rey.

He is crying. Rey is crying. Everybody is crying.

The entire gang loves the babies.

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More Domestic/ Headcanons

Ben has a sweet tooth. Its something he has passed to Rey. When ever they are in a marketplace he picks up something for them to share.

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Ben sees Rey’s drawings and loves them. He wants to learn from her. He’s not very good at drawing but likes spending time with her and watching. Ben shows Rey calligraphy and she wants to learn from him too.

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Lounging in a bath has become a guilty pleasure for Rey. Freshers were a huge luxury for Rey when she left Jakku and baths in large tubs, taking up huge amounts of water will always make her feel a little guilty but it doesn't last long when Ben starts pampering her.

Ben likes to wash her hair. It's a long and very loving process and Rey teases him and returns the favor and takes care of him.

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They eventually make their home on Naboo at Varykino after they have their babies. The estate was gifted to them by the Naberrie Family. Ben was uncomfortable and tried to not accept it. His cousins were adamant and said it was his inheritance from his grandmother and a gift to the last Jedi in honor of the Jedi that was happiest here.

The estate was so big. The twins would love it. A home that would last forever.

Rey wants to share what she has learned of the force, the dark and the light. Ben agrees, there are lonely kids out there that need to know that their feelings aren’t bad and that they have a hand to hold when they need it. Rey wants her children to be surrounded by friends as they grow. They start their school knowing things will be different.

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They love to spar, its the only they have any real challenge. Ben is not as rigid as Kylo Ren. Rey notices that his moves are free and flow like a dance. Rey gives him a good challenge with her saberstaff. Ben admits its taking time getting used to not having the crossguard. Rey modified her staff to be detachable and likes to practice dual-wielding with her sabers. Their children and students love to watch them. They draw a crowd every time with a clash of purple and gold.

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When their school is fully operational and their children just getting into their teens Ben asks her if they should get married. Rey says that they technically are. They made a promise and sealed it with a kiss and they have kids so every box has been checked. Ben knows that but he says that maybe the should make it official with a ceremony with their friends and family with them. Rey says yes.

Jaina helps her mom pick her dress. The dress is not white, but layers and layers of sheer panels of gold and light green elegantly draped on her like the sculptures at Varykino. Ben wears a soft black tunic with matching pants and an elaborately embroidered blue cloak. (He lives to push the boundaries of fashion and it wouldn't be reylo without them looking like Hades and Persephone).

The ceremony was full of love, happiness, and hope. I like the idea of them dancing. Then Ben dancing with Jaina and Rey dancing with Jacen. It's cute and just a perfect happily ever after.

[Quick note I am not good with describing clothes so for visual reference for those that want it, look up the costumes for Magnificent Century for the aesthetic and the level extra that is Ben’s cloak and the whimsy that is Rey's dress.]

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And that's all the post-tros headcanons that I can think of at the moment. It kind of turned into a bulleted list of a fix-it fic with my dream happy ending. I'm playing around with my reylo baby headcanons and what will happen to them because...drama. I also am thinking of writing Dark Rey and Jedi Ben solo Au headcanons as well as Dark reylo headcanons if school grants me the time 😌

#reylo #My personal headcanon tag #reylo baby

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doyoubelievein-ghosts · 4 years

Text

Mazarin, Smiley & Smoke: Annals

Charm, the City of Ten Splendors. Court of Singers District. Eastern side of the river.

The Masters of Charm, three disowned bastards from three of the Great Families of Andrastus, have been at war with their sister city of Rose for a year now. The last three months of that war culminated into the present siege on the fair city of Charm; a grueling conflict of attrition as the Rose soldiers and their allies from the scoured wastes of Dar took the districts of the western bank week by week. Fighting the holdouts of the Charm army and the collection of mercenary companies that the Masters hired to hold the bridges connecting the halves of the city.

Three companies for three bridges; and only one remained. The Legion, a band of sellswords from the far eastern lands, proved to be the latchkey for the entire siege. Holding out at the Pearl Gate's bridge fort and repelling attacks from all fronts. Now for the last month the enemy's settled on starving out the Legion while attempting to find ways to either repair the two other destroyed bridges or begin a siege camp on the other side.

The citizens of Charm's western front eked out a life under siege; stealing and ransacking, murdering in cold blood and taking everything that could be eaten or sold to the black market.Things were different on the eastern bank of the river. Charm's affluent merchants and minor nobles always made their homes on the eastern side, and as a result the city's better conveniences were there as well. Better roads, schools and museums. The actual barracks for Charm's army was in the eastern side and most of the city's standing force were present, leaving all the fighting to their sellsword counterparts while licking their wounds.

All things were truly quiet on the eastern side, save for the Court of Singers. When the medical triages were overflowing from designated sites, the Masters of Charm permitted the Court of Singers to be used as an extended field hospital. And now where once the city's finest actors and patrons of the arts lived and loved, the screams and groans of soldiers dying or pleading for life. While it was spacious to accommodate the injured, there weren't as nearly enough supplies to go around the injured.

None of the army's officers were present, and neither were any of noble blood. Those injured benefitted from private physicians as provided by their families, leaving the grunt soldiers to live hour by hour on the passing hope that there'd be enough painkillers or clean bandages to go through the night.It made matters worse when the soldiers from Dar started tossing the dead from the initial battle into the river, polluting the city's major water source from use.

\\More often than not, the upper echelons of war reduced a battle to numbers. How many had survived? What was the number of the injured? How many were dead? Number after number, tally after tally. All to come to the single, most important number: how many bodies need to be replaced? Pawns across a vast game board, taking a square or losing one.\\

\\Having to consider the remains; those injured, rarely factored in.\\

\\He is a strange sight, this exceptionally tall individual with strange grey-blue skin, long cattle scooped ears and a curiously flat snout nose. Blues and pinks, and mint greens adorned him, with a large pack on his back. A tall, curved wooden staff topped with a gem as pink as his long, trailing hair kept pace with his step in a three legged gait. A single thin braid of white and red hair trailed down over his shoulder, mixed in with the pink, and a brooch sat clipped to his powder blue tunic. Angel wings surrounding a crying eye.\\

\\He doesn't hide his approach, nor does he call attention to his approach. Simply entering the Court of Singers with purpose and a kindly survey of the situation and the dying.\\

Mazarin's presence was an announcement of itself. Standing well over a head taller than most of the local populace of Charm, the man would have a tall surveillance of the situation that was in place. A sea of tents and pavilion structures were set up to house those in the midst of recovery in varying stages. Sectioned off by wooden walls and cloth barriers to prevent the sight of some more gristlier results from several surgeries. The operating rooms themselves seem to be taking place in the surrounding buildings of the Court's massive rotunda shape center; theaters and tap houses now repurposed for surgeons to amputate and sew up stomach lining with meager means.

Nurses and other sorts of medics were in a constant stream of movement between the tents and buildings. Eyes either worn or glazed over with the amount of work that was always tugging at them. Always a soldier crying for help; always an officer from the army to deliver supplies that were always short in some way or another. Starvation and dehydration would kill many more than those who fell by the initial battle.

It's currently in the afternoon too.

\\It wasn't an uncommon sight for him. An unfortunate fact that slipped through and was lost like smoke in the wind as he immediately made his way to the closest tents or buildings. Happy to pass out what little food and water he had in his own pack while looking for whomever seemed to be in charge of the area.\\

It's a strange sight this far out, but Mazarin's efforts are quickly realized. What food is given is gobbled up too quickly for it to be digested properly; water gulped down until they started coughing. Little blessings, but also blood in a pool full of piranha hungry for life.

His charitable acts get acknowledged soon by one of the nurses, who does get a supervisor wearing a network of chains and coins along her neck.

A short woman with a shaved head and shrewd features, she approaches Mazarin and clasps her hands in front, looking over the tall stranger before settling a pale eye on the symbol he bore. She speaks, saying two different phrases in two different tongues before speaking one that Mazarin would recognize. "What brings you to our work here?"

\\No, it would do very little in the grand scheme perhaps. But a little went a long way as he'd come to learn. It might offer a moment's respite to hang on to hope for just a little while longer. He slows as the short woman comes to him, breaking into a slow, wide smile as she flipped through languages before coming to one he actually recognized. Leaning on the staff to lower down a few inches closer to her, large bovine almond eyes light up.\\ Ah.... I came... to see. \\A pause, while one long ear flutters with the glint of wooden swirled earrings.\\ If I could... offer you aid.

Her eyes narrowed again, peering at the man's accoutrement and gear before glancing again to the symbol. "I have seen this symbol before. Long ago. Heard stories of the healers from Barta."

Another scrutinizing glance to the man's face and all of its peculiarities. Either she knew what Mazarin was, or just accepted that all easterners were strange folk. She lifts a hand and indicates Mazarin to follow before turning to walk towards one of the tents to the farther side of the court. She speaks lowly, but manages to pitch her voice directly at the Panyar too. "We don't have much supplies, and even less for hope. Many will die here."

She opens the flap to one tent that is sectioned off into eights by cloth barriers. Tuns to the nearest one on the left that was occupied. The patient inside had a bandaged arm with what was obviously a nasty cut that was starting to turn colors on the skin. A sheen of sweat was already on the soldier's skin as she was under the influence of some painkilling drugs. The supervisor speaks on. "I hear stories, but anyone can wear a brand, or an amulet. Show me the truth in your hands."

\\Everything is brightly colored and whimsical. Pleasing to the senses with drifting designs.\\ Story... no more, my friend. \\His smile widened further, genuine and kind as the woman studied him over. She was odd, to him. Idle thoughts wondering why she'd shaved her head.\\ That is... the way. But...

\\He paused again, attention drifting as he followed the woman as if he'd forgotten his train of thought. Time passing before he picked it up again as if he hadn't stopped at all.\\ Even a few saved... is important.

\\He stooped as she opened the flap, tilting his staff to let him enter the small space. Half crouching until he could straighten enough for comfort while looking down at the patient the woman was offering up as a test.\\ Completely understandable.

\\Warm and gentle, as he hunched over the soldier, propping his staff up against the bed lightly so he could take the woman's arm in his large grasp.\\ You best... hm.. pay attention. \\He doesn't wait long for the medic to get in place, lightly cupping his long fingers around the bandages to remove them softly. Getting a better view of the injury itself before sliding his hand in a ghostly hover over the gash. Mumbling in a softly flowing litany of words to let the golden brush of feathery light to drip through the soldier's blood and muscle to purge the infection and knit the cut together once more.\\

\\As he does, the bare skin of his mirrored arm slashes open, oozing sluggishly as the nasty, putrid hues that had been on the soldier, blotch over his flesh instead.\\

The supervisor stood to the opposite side of the soldier's cot, eyes hawkishly on Mazarin's hands as. She was clearly surprised when he did not reach for the physician's kit in the room, performing a miraculous act before her eyes. A wound that might've claimed the soldier's arm and maimed her for life was no gone. Sun branded skin with the few scars she's accrued over her own natural life; not a hint to show that one of Asrika's followers had come to her today.

Looking to the wound now on Mazarin's hand, the supervisor thumbed over one of the many linked coins around her neck, thinking of what to say before the words finally came. "The nurse's quarters are full as they are here, but there is a house near the waterfront that may take you in." She looks around the tent, seeing no one around. "It is a noticeable place. Faded blue rooftop and a wall broken from the siege. Go there and tell them Quaithe sent you. A room and food will be given, and you may begin your work here tomorrow morning."

That will... be perfect. \\He gently set down the soldier's arm, placing it neatly back at her side while sweeping away the pus and blood crusted bandages.\\ I will... go there. And return in the morning. \\His arm must have ached, and surely the fever would be spreading through his body. He was all light though, reaching to take up his staff once more as he looked over the curious sprinkle of coins decorating her collar.\\ If you... do need me... sooner. \\Large eyes moved to his own arm, thoughtfully humming before continuing.\\ You... may ask... for Mazarin.

Quaithe nods, bending down to kneel besides the soldier to check her fever. Secured in the knowledge that she would live it seems, the supervisor rose up and opened the cloth partition for Mazarin; leading him back among the sea of tents towards the south western edge of the Court of Singers. Right on the end of it she would extend a hand and provide brief instructions for Mazarin to follow. They were of course all things that could be recognized from an outsider's eyes; the shape of some building, the color of a rooftop and the statue of some kind or another than actual streets and names.

Following the the directions Mazarin would find himself approaching to the only part of the eastern riverside that appeared to have taken damage during the siege's first few months. A few buildings had caught the stray projectile and now wore sloped rubble that had yet to be cleared away from the roads.

It was still bearable to look at compared to much of the western bank. While it hadn't been completely annihilated, Mazarin could be certain that over there were many more injured with much less means of taking care of themselves.

He'd eventually find the building in question facing the polluted river that had the odd body floating down the way. It was a lengthy walk, now coming closer to the cusp of evening as Mazarin finds the front of the home facing the street and river. There was only one person out in the front, a stern and grizzled looking bouncer sort of character with tattoos over his sagging jowls and pierced cheekbones.

\\Calm and serene as a lazily winding river, he waited for Quaithe to come to her conclusions with only the idle flick of his long ears to give movement to the otherwise still Panyar. When she rose, he followed her, moving at a slow pace that still managed to eat up distance with his long legs. He appeared to listen closely to the instructions, thanking her with a hand over his breast before moving on. Unfortunately... he finds himself a little lost after a wrong turn as he made his way to the building Quaithe had told him to go to. After precious minutes of backtracking and finding a statue the woman had mentioned, he gets back on the right track. Not that he seemed to have minded in the slightest the inconvenience; Mazarin was happy to let the wind blow him one way or another and see the sights of the side of town that had suffered far less than the other.\\

\\It's a little later in the evening than he had intended to get there, but the tall Panyar comes plodding up to the building after spending a minute watching the dead body float down the river.\\ Hello, friend. \\Mazarin smiles at the grizzled fellow benignly.\\

The man gives a surly look over of Mazarin before leaning to the side and spitting out a wob of brown colored phlegm. He gives a reply to Mazarin that the Panyar wouldn't pick up on. It sounded similar to one of the languages Quaithe had tried with him, but at a severely hampered accent.

Hmmmmm.... \\Still and humming in thought, Mazarin stood there for a lengthy minute. Blinking slowly, like a cow at pasture with all the time in the world.\\ Quaithe?

\\His head slowly turns one way and then the other to be sure he did have the right place.\\

Recognition flickers over the bouncer's face. Hooks a thumb to the door on his left side.

\\He breaks into his slow grin again, eyes crinkling before he turned to plod to the door and enter the building. Another press of his hand to his chest in a show of silent gratitude, the wound stretching with a hot reminder of its existence.\\

Having to stoop low underneath the doorway, Mazarin comes into a spacious home that might've been a merchant's manor or a minor noble's riverside getaway. Now it was a half hovel, half smelling refuge for many unwashed bodies that were in the space. Fifteen bodies in total, each having scars, tattoos, and piercings that were all varied but similar to the one man outside.

There was the main room, a sweeping staircase to the second floor, and an open archway that lead to a dining room that had the shadow of people inside being thrown to the wall by a fireplace. Two figures were on the stair causes on the higher rungs, armed with cudgels and daggers strapped to their belts giving Mazarin a look over with hawkish eyes.

\\Stoop he does, ducking extra low on instinct of too many banged brows on doorframes. When he stepped in proper, he straightened as much as he could and leaned against his staff.\\ Hello, friends.

\\Whether or not he registered their dirty, seedy appearances wasn't clear. His smile for them all just as genuine as it had been for Quaithe and any one else on the street he had come across on his meandering way over. He begins a new meandering path, this one slowly heading for the dining room area, hardly seeming to mind the hard stares. Water right off a duck's back feathers.\\

Eyes follow after Mazarin as he comes into the dining hall. There are several figures too, gathered around one end of the table and pouring over what seemed to be a map of some kind. They stopped, looking up to the tall figure that Mazarin projected even with his lack-a-daisy nature. They exchanges glances, and one straightens to stand up fully. A bald man with a snake tattooed around his head like a circlet.

The snake headed man also speaks in different languages until one rings true on Mazarin's ear. "Again, who the hell are you?"

\\Ambling into the dining hall, he cast a long look over the space with a leisurely turn of his head to find a spot to sit down where he could stretch his legs out comfortably. He'd just begun to head to a spot when the familiar language tickled in his ear and it flicked with a clicking of his wooden earrings. He peered down at the tattooed man.\\

Ah.... Forgive me. Hm. I didn't think... anyone spoke my... language.

You may... call me... \\He stops in a gradual halt of his carrying voice, large eyes lighting on the map while blinking slowly.\\ Hmm.... Mazarin.

"Mazarin", The snake tattooed man said, exchanging a look between his cohorts before speaking in their own language. A few exchanges and the man nods to the Panyar's way. "If you're here then it's with Quaithe's instruction. Here about a room?"

And... you? \\Almost as if in afterthought with how long it takes for him to ask. Then he nodded, rustling his long pink hair with its strangely colored braid.\\ A room... and food. If... there's any. \\He placed his hand to his stomach, over the thin fabric of his tunic. Arm pulsing hotly with the motion while his eyes slitted down to a lean amber glint.\\ To spare.

He glances to a person over Mazarin's shoulder before speaking again. "Yeah, we'll get you set with a room and meal. Don't you worry, there's plenty enough to go around."

There's a whiff of air coming to Mazarin's ear before a heavy, studded cudgel hits the Panyar square in the temple. A moment later two burly armed men were grabbing for Mazarin's arms to arrest, digging knees to the back of Mazarin's knees to send them crashing to the stone floor.

\\His ear flicks at the whiff of air, head tilting as if to look behind him. The cudgel slams into the side of his face, sending spots of light flashing and winking across his vision while staggering under the blow with a loud grunt. An arm gets caught, shoulder dropping under the weight while he snapped his other wrist to flick the butt of his staff up with a hitch and then smash it down into the man's foot, right at the ankle to shatter the joint through whatever raggedy boot he might be wearing. A knee buckles, and he tries to dig his fingers into the shirt of the other man next to him, to drag him down with deceptive strength to topple one of them off balance on his way, to shake off one of them at least. Head ringing with a droning whine.\\

A thug curses a litany of swears right at Mazarin's ear as the staff hits the ankle with a meaty hit. The other one buckles, wrestling for footing underneath Mazarin's hard tugging and still holding onto Mazarin's arm. The third thug raised and struck the Panyar again with the cudgel as the other one raised a foot to kick against Mazarin's kneecap.

The snake tattooed man made a passing remark, which the two nearest replied with chortles. Another sentence, this one obviously a command, and the three thugs would wrestle and drag Mazarin from the dining hall and back to the main room where the other fifteen thugs were loitering about.

They all had daggers and cudgels at the ready, a few giving jeering calls to the latest prize of theirs brought back to view.

Then one of the thugs right in the doorway sprouted a red bloodied blade from her throat, spewing blood and choking on the steel before an awful twisting sound is heard, breaking bones and severing meat to decapitate the woman in a single move.

^With a hard boot to the headless woman's back, the blade's owner is revealed in the doorway, moving forward with a fluid pair of steps to twist the blade and lunge at the nearest thug.^

The thugs, now all turning at once to see this figure, behold five more coming in after the swordsman. All of them having a mixture of weapons intended for close quarters, dressed in plains clothes that had the sound of mail underneath the fabric.

The brief stupor falls away and the thugs turn to engage with these attackers.

Fuck them up! ^A sharp snarl comes from the man as he adds another coat of red to his blade.^

\\Blood trickled from the blow to his head, creeping down in a hot trail while his thoughts fuzzed and fizzled. As chaos erupted and the thugs leaped into action, he made a bid to get back to his feet slowly, like he'd forgotten his precarious situation. It's much more accidental than on purpose as he staggers from the wild flashes in his vision, straight into a thug next to him. The full brunt of his hefty weight slamming into the person to send them crashing off to one side.\\

The two thugs on Mazarin's arm leave off on the Panyar in favor of going to fight these invaders; which is proving to be a one sided affair as they have already dropped three thugs on the ground, entrails spilling outwards, and another with a severed hand.

The thug behind Mazarin remains close by, swinging a low blow to the Panyar's kneecap. Which doesn't help his fellow thug who gets thrown straight into the sword of one of these attackers.

\\His stomach growls, reminding him that he really just had wanted a decent meal and a place to sleep before he went to work tomorrow morning. Followed swiftly by the sharp pain in his knee, and a low grunt from Mazarin. Anger never rises, but he leveled a sad, disappointed stare on the thug that had struck him after fixing his stance to face the wavering man. He exhaled in a great gust, stooping to grab the man by his shirt front and get him onto his toes while squinting through the building headache.\\ They'll... kill you.

\\His eyes narrowed even further at a spike of pain.\\ If you... don't stop. \\Another heavy, despondent sigh.\\

\\Most of his weight is resting on his good leg, favoring the one that had been struck.\\

The thug, obviously distressed that this giant cow looking man had yet to pass out after several hits, whips his head back to cash his forward against Mazarin's nose.

The sounds of the fight continue. Some thugs take off on their own to save their own hide after seeing one too many dead on the ground. The few that remained fought with some feral ruthlessness, using dirty tricks just like the attackers were. Two thugs shove an attacker to the wall, stabbing into the man's gut repeatedly before a pair of maces clobbered the thugs to more heaps of bleeding meat.

\\Mazarin shoves as the thug's head comes forward, pushing him away with surprising force. He's not exactly a quick man though, and the thug's brow smashes into his nose enough to crunch cartilage. Blood and snot erupt from his large nose, spluttered out over the thug's face when Maz shouted in a cry of pain. He went staggering back again, black winking in and out of his sight with a spiderweb crackling that nearly sucked him under.\\

\\His bad knee buckles and he hits the ground on it, another hard stab of pain up into his hip and ribs that steals air from his lungs.\\

The thug goes down, and the opportunity isn't wasted by one of the attackers who approaches and drops a piece of rope on the thug's chest.

-That same attacker, a shorter man with a white beard framing a dark leathery face hidden by a wide brimmed hat, contorted his fingers and growled out some phrases. The rope, coming alive it seemed like a snake, began to wrap and entangle around the downed thug's body. Cinching around the wrists and ankles.-

\\He blinks at the smarting watering of his eyes, trying to see what was happening.\\

By the time Mazarin's aware of it in the next moment, the fight's over. The eight of the thugs were on the ground, dead. Others having fled and being pursued by the other attackers. One of the attackers is still holding his bleeding guts as he slumped against the wall.

^And the other one wiped his blade on the back of a fallen thug, turning it over to inspect before calling out to the short fellow in the strange hat.^ That our man?

-Leans down to grab the thug's around before shaking his head.-

Sagging asscheeks, ^Continues to clean off his blade before bringing it to rest on his shoulder.^

\\He gradually makes a phlegmy sound in the back of his throat, before hacking a bloodied loogie off to one side. An action that then made him wince, which made him do it again at the fine crackles of pain erupt over the delicate bones of his face from his broken nose. When the cycle ends, he slowly finds his feet, using a chair and his staff to help.\\ One... of you...

-Gives a kick to the thug's temple with a heavy boot before looking at the towering Panyar.-

\\He seems to forget he was speaking at all, meandering ever so slowly... more slowly than even before with his injuries, to the one slumped and holding his guts.\\

^The sword moves off his shoulder and lowers itself to press against Mazarin's chest. Not to impale, but to try and halt the Panyar.^ You ain't a local. Slave?

\\A gust of heavy air leaves him, like the great exhale of a weary beast.\\

\\Warm almond eyes settle on Smiley, head throbbing in a way that made the man's image warble on his edges.\\

Mercy. -The shorter man tuts, grabbing a hold of the thug and dragging him across the ground. One of the attackers goes over to help the older, white bearded man.-

\\He began to shake his head in answer, but thinks better on it when pain shoots through. Instead, he pats his brooch with a heavy hand when Smoke gives the word.\\ I will.... heal your friend.

^Looks to the pendant and then to Smoke. Doesn't seem to have much faith in the iconography, but the old soldier's words make Smiley remove the blade from Mazarin's chest.^ Alright then. Just keep in mind I got a big sharp stick in my hand.

Little men. \\With the sword's removal, he eases down nearer to the fallen man to check his wounds and assess what could be done physically, and what needed to be healed otherwise.\\

\\Minutes pass and he picks up on his earlier words.\\ Sharp sticks.

The man's guts were practically shredded. The thug's blades had been thin stilettos, piercing through the ringlets of the mail underneath and stabbed at least ten times. Death in minutes was a certainly as blood spilled between the armor and cloth and stained the man's lap.

\\It would likely be better to put the man out of his misery. But what was the point of his power if he couldn't save even the most far gone? \\

\\He rested his large hands around the man's guts, blood spilling through his fingers and staining his dull skin with a sheen of brilliant crimson.\\ You will... be alright. Soon. \\Gentle words, before he started to murmur, bowing his head. Long pink hair slipped away from his nape, exposing the branded sigil mirrored as a brooch on his tunic, while a soft, radiant light spilled into the fallen man. Pouring like liquid gold through the man's stomach, whittling away the injuries.\\

\\Just as fast as they vanished from the man, they formed on Mazarin. Spots of red blooming against the pale blue of his shirt, although stilted from just how much blood the other fellow had lost. Painful all the same, in a way that made his low rumbling words slow down more than before as a sheen of sweat beaded over his skin while he worked.\\

^He was sitting on his haunches adjacent to the Mercy, skeptical eyes on the soldier under his command and Mazarin as he supposedly worked a wonder...and, well, it was there. Right before Smiley. There might've been awe and reverence from a more holier man, but the look on his face went from skepticism to a cruel grin.^ Well, why don'tcha look at that? Looks like you get to disappoint a whore for another day now, Zec.

\\His ear flicks as Smiley speaks, withdrawing from the man after a time.

Zec was the one with open awe and gods damn surprise when he pawed his hand over the armor that was still bloodied, but no longer bleeding.

You shouldn't... be disappointing. \\A moment passes.\\ Whores. They work... hard.

^Gives a twisted smirk to Mazarin before speaking to the Zec.^ Right, go get yourself to the boat. Grab Jordie and Sisko to help Smoke with our captive, too.

\\He thinks about getting up. But this is a comfortable spot for the time being. And maybe these men would leave soon, and he could rest and heal before anyone else showed up.\\

Everyone else loot what you can and get ready to move when I holler. ^Stands up, stretching his legs before sheathing his blade across his back scabbard.^ So, Mercy, you got a name and reason for walking into a slaver's den?

\\He doesn't answer for several heartbeats. Still moments where it could almost be believed he had passed right there. Then he inhales, moving around sluggishly to try and get at his pack, to remove supplies to wrap up his stomach at least because it did feel like his innards were going to spill out of all the little holes.\\ Mazarin.

I didn't.... know. Quaithe... said to come. \\His bloodied hand splays against his stomach. At least he didn't feel the hunger pangs anymore. A sad, sad sliver of acceptance.\\ Room and food. Was going to heal... the fighters. For her.

\\He appeared to be puzzled over the entire matter.\\

She's been suspected to part of a smuggling operation here in the city. Stealing medical supplies from the Court and sending it over to the enemy soldiers across the river. ^Nudges a boot to a dead body, reaching down to grab a coin purse tied to the body's waist before pocketing it.^ And when supplies are short, well, people go missing in sieges all the time. Strangers especially. You were probably gonna be someone's prized toy healer for life.

\\He drifted back to the dying soldiers who had been so hungry for a bite to eat, or a sip of water.\\

\\His earnest features arrange into a dark scowl abruptly, amber pools heating up with a lightning flash of anger.\\ Will... \\He sighs, long and suffering.\\ Take care of her.

Wouldn't hedge my bets on finding her after this. But more luck to you all the same. ^Turns to look at his fellows and give a few and gestures.^ Was under orders to bring everyone I found here back with me for interrogations. Loose ends, smuggling secrets and all that shit. Zec'll march with us another day, and that's worth something. So what is you need here, big guy? I can play blind and just leave you to your devices, no mess otherwise. Need a way out of the city? Siege ain't ending anytime soon, and it's not going to get any prettier.

\\He passed a hand over his stomach, fabric sticking to his belly and sliding uncomfortably against his skin. This place wasn't safe, and he didn't know any other place that would be safer. Uninhibited by the blood on his fingers, he scratched his head while thinking. Who knew really, how long it would take him to recover. He swallowed thickly against a stinging sneeze threatening his broken nose before nodding slowly.\\ A way... out.

^He nods, then turns about to leave the building, gesturing for Mazarin to follow. When he's out, Smiley is raising his voice.^ Smoke! Get everyone and our prisoner back to Pearl Gate. I'll see you ugly fuckers there.

\\Gradual increments of movement have him following Smiley.\\

-The old man gives a gesture back and swats the arm of one woman nearby. They all clamber on board the small skiff and push off the river's edge, oaring back up river and going towards western side of the city.-

^Seeing them off, Smiley turns about and heads down the street, retracing the path that Marazin had taken to get to the slaver's den, but circling around the Court itself by some blocks.^ Mind a stupid obvious question?

\\He plods at a dawdling pace, limping on a bad knee with his head swimming hard enough at times to make him dizzy.\\ Might have... \\The thump of his staff intermittent with his heavy steps fills the gap for a time.\\ A stupid, obvious... answer.

What the shits is a Mercy doing out this far west of the world?

The wind... led me here. \\A loose and easy grin overtakes his large face. Pulling at his broken nose and he winces lightly before grumbling.\\ Why are you.... here? \\After a pause.\\

Work. If you want to get existential about it I'm here because I'm no good at anything else besides making other lives miserable. Reminds me that I've forgotten my manners yet again. ^He turns and snaps to attention, setting his heels together and putting a closed fist over his heart.^ Sergeant Smiley of the Legion. Hired on by the great three bastards to keep their gilded assholes from being properly fucked by their cousins across the river.

^Gives a dismissive snort and goes back to walking.^

No dawn... without the night. \\Comes his eventual answer, his lumbering steps coming to a halt when Smiley whirls around to give a proper introduction.\\ Well met. Sergeant Smiley of the Legion. I am... \\He might have forgotten already introducing himself, at least partially, with all the blows to his head. Because he gives his own again.\\ Mazarin Flowing Ember. Of... \\He comes to some lengthy thought that occupies his expression for a moment.\\ Hmmm....

\\Appearing to forget about it entirely a beat later.\\ You may use... Mazarin. Or Maz... as some do. \\Then he ambles again, doing his best to ignore the wild throbs of pain banging around his poor body.\\ Why... were you killing? The slavers.

Instead of... keeping the gilded assholes... from being... properly fucked by their cousins... across the river? \\Probably the longest set of words he's given by far.\\

'Cause if there's one thing this city's got down, it's seedy corruption and betrayal abound. And when the Masters can't trust the motives of those below, they trust those who's loyalty is to gold. Which is us. . ^He scowls at some inward thought. It wasn't going to be fun reporting this to the Marshal after the weeks they had put into its planning; but that's why he sent Smoke forward to get the disappointment already set up by the time Smiley got there for the tail end of it.^

Shouldn't have been a butcher's scene, but that's how it goes sometimes. Slavers got deliveries and people at regular intervals on specific days. The odd day that someone else was sent there meant something had changed, and it couldn't be risked to let them go.

Farther eastwards they go to the parts of Charm that must not have seen conflict for some generations, pristine and empty as the streets were now that the evening was pulling on a vibrant set of colors over her mantled sky.

Passing through beautiful architecture and plazas, the two of them would begin to near the eastern gate that lead out of the city of Charm. And there they'd find where everyone else was at, supposedly. A massive set of double doors that spanned at least twenty feet upwards were closed, and the portcullis was being lowered.

The guards of Charm were forming a barrier to keep the crowd back from the gate as they pleaded for various reasons

So... it was my... fault? \\His large eyes thin to slits of pensive consideration, though he seemed to grow distracted by the lovely architecture for a time before they came upon the guarded gate.\\

No plan survives contact with the enemy. Hardly your fault in my book, ^Smiley's demeanor shifted lightly at the scene, then he moved forward to shove his way through.^

^Raises his voice in the local language to get something heard, and eventually does elbow a few rowdy members of the crowd.^

The crowd somewhat parts for Smiley, though Mazarin's towering presence would get noticed as he would see the teams of soldiers going about the gate to move wagons and carts in position.

Atop the city walls there were guards also in motion performing various tasks shouted by guard officers, marked by their plumed helms and green cloaks.

\\He lumbers along after Smiley, doing what he can to hide the worst of his bloodied clothes and injuries to prevent unnecessary concern or worry.\\ Hmmm...

What are they... doing? \\Most of the words escape him entirely, since he can't understand them.\\

Fuck if I know. Hold on, ^He reaches out a hand to grab the haft of one guard's spear as they were holding it out horizontally.^ Let us through. Legion business. What the fuck is going on?

There's clearly some difficulty for the guard to understand all of Smiley's words, but the Legion is recognized and he does angle the spear back for the sergeant and Mazarin to walk through.

The guard also gives a glance to the portcullis as it was still inching towards the ground. In smattered Aldermani, the guard says. "Army! Horizon! March here. The Dar."

^His face deepens to a scowl at the mention of the Dar. Then Smiley goes jogging towards one of the switchback stairs that lead up to the wall's battlements.^

\\He scratches his head and continues to follow after Smiley.\\

The two of them ascend upwards to the battlements, joining the throng of guards moving about their stations. Moving rocks, buckets of water and oil. Spare spears to line in the archer parapets and long bolts for the mounted ballistae.

Right across the eastern horizon, like a sea of fire flies marching in unison than lazy patterns, was an army heading towards Charm. Slowly, but no doubt they would reach the city by the night and start their own siege woks.

Red banners fluttered amongst the enemy army, which by a guesstimate lined somewhere near ten thousand soldiers.

^Shoving a few soldiers aside, Smiley comes up to the stone barrier and peers over. The scowl leaves his face, taking in the sight with a professional's eye.^ So much for those gilded assholes.

\\He surveyed the count, taking in a rough estimate before releasing a low, long whistle. By the Horned One, this was not a welcoming sight.\\

They are going to be.... properly fucked. \\Nods slowly.\\

If I had to hazard a fucking guess, the Dar will be intent on starving us out too. Set up a siege camp, cut off the city's last supply lines, and hasten our internal struggling. ^And then the city would tear itself apart from the base up.^

^Looks behind him, towards the faint outline of the western horizon before speaking again.^ Still keen on getting the hell out of here?

\\He chews on a thought for a time.\\

Are you? \\More absent than intent, this question. Gazing out over the distance.\\

I go where the Legion goes. We've gotten out of worse scraps before. ^Or so he was told, many times, by the Legion's annalist.^

^Then he looks up to Mazarin.^ Don't know how you feel about mercenaries, but the Legion takes all kinds. Even those who just want to tag along until something better comes by. Can hole up with us and die amongst strangers than guess whatever the fucking Dar'll do.

\\Whatever thought had been rolling through his brain like molasses came to some kind of conclusion by the way his expression cleared. Turning a grin down on Smiley before clapping his large hand down on the Sergeant's shoulder. A feeling like a block of stone coming down, as if the Panyar didn't know his own strength but still had tried to be gentle.\\ Providence.... it seems.

We will... keep each other, alive.

Do that fancy trick of yours on our wounded and I'm sure they'll be lining up to suck you off in gratitude and in hope. ^Giving a final sweep of the horizon, Smiley starts down the stairs and through the city.^

\\His ear flutters.\\

\\He then follows Smiley back down again.\\ That seems... not good for resting. And getting well again.

Seems like we're gonna have a talk about the virtues of fucking as medicine itself. ^Cruel topics, easy jokes to pass the time with. Smiley's got many more to give, making it seem like there wasn't a second full fledged army of troops on the horizon.^

Though both of them would have plenty of time to ponder on that thought. Going through the eastern side of the city and coming to the last bridge that connected the two halves of the city. Probably one of the last few times that bridge would be open before a siege within a siege occurs.

\\Mazarin seemed to find it amusing, if the easy grin on his face was anything to say by it. But then again, it always seemed to be there in perpetuity except for the brief instance of a scowl when he'd learned the truth.\\ Always interested... in medicine.

\\They come up to the bridge, considering the implications of the spot with gravity. He trusted his Gods, but it felt like a test and one that might prove fatal.\\

Passing through the eastern bridge fort filled with the city guard, the pair of them would cross the long, old bridge that was once three of Charm's arteries connected. The other two had been destroyed, left with their standing pillars in the riverbed by order of the Masters of Charm.

The mercenary companies trusted with defending those forts had all but crushed in the first engagements of the siege. The last holdouts had their bridge fort marked with standards, and in a few places, pikes with the severed heads of enemies between those standards.

Soldiers patrolled the bridge fort's smaller walkways too, though a few sharp whistles from Smiley and the western bridge doors were opening. Yielding the way for Smiley to rejoin his fellows in the Legion, and for the Panyar Mercy to begin a long road of daring trials and tribulations.

#band of blades #band of blades:oc #the annals #legion #mercy #Mazarin flowing ember

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long-cosmos-overhead · 5 years

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Walk with me

Story: Reader is injured and left bedridden for months with the company of Elrond who askes her for a walk

Pairing: Elrond x reader

Hues of of silver moonlight ghosted your face in the crisp Autumn air. An unsettling fog of confusion lay heavy in the atmosphere as silk bedding brushed your palms. It felt as if going back to a sleep you never remembered taking was better than facing the pressing issues at face. You arose your body, slowly, like a cat analysing a foreign area. Your head spun like you’d been led down for days, probably the most logical answer you could’ve reached. Suddenly, a flaring pain shot through your right leg halting all movement queued to make.

You feebly pulled back the silken sheets to rest eyes on your leg. From the knee upwards to your thigh had been woven tightly with gauge, scented like herbs to assist healing. Panic welled in your throat and in the moment you wished to see someone familiar, that you knew and trusted, someone who had answers. You let out a throaty, mangled cry, sounding gritty from dehydration. Several healers rushed over overwhelming you with questions of how you were feeling. Some beginning to remove the gauze wrapped upon your leg. The second you saw the vicious wound you wished you stayed in slumber for a bit longer; it wasn’t the blood or flesh that bothered you but the pain and disorientation of it all. The wound stretched from a swords width plunging deep through muscle and blood was soaking through the dressing past the inflamed red skin around it. The more people bustling around you the more scared you felt yourself getting, letting out whimpers of fear.

“Enough.” A smooth voice spoke firmly yet with a tone of appreciation. The nurses began to part from your bedside returning back to their business. A much needed familiar face came to view one who could give you answers and one of whom set your worries to rest. Elrond sat in the chair perched beside the bed you lay in, a hand reaching out to cup the side of your face. “Oh y/n.” He spoke, his hair falling at the sides of his face, the silver crown he wore piecing together with the moons modest glow. “I have anticipated this day for months tiresome, how could you do such a thing. A simple wound could not suffice the years I would spend grieving for you, Mellon.” Crystal tears built up in the depths of his eyes. His worry lines ever visible from creasing his brow in thought and sorrow.

“Elrond, forgive me.” Shame struck each nerve and your head lowered out of instinct. “I do not remember such tragedies.” Elrond took a long sigh of relief and pain. Moving his hands to grip yours before starting. “We were fighting, y/n, to save our people, I told you to stay here where it was safe but it seems you defied my best intentions and went out.” He breathed outward a pained small smile momentarily twitched his mouth. “I was in danger, not enough to maim or kill me but you ran infornt and took the full hit. The filthy orc plunged its blade right through you. There was so much blood, when I got you to a healer they didn’t know if you’d make the night. I was so worried, Mellon.”

“Elrond, I don’t know what to say.” Your voice was weak and a sense of helplessness washed your body. “Say nothing, my dear, for you must rest. I assume the healers took to re-dressing your wound” He looked saddened every part of his body was lesser than in comparison of the months previous. “How.. long was it, Elrond, how long was I asleep?” His face changed from sorrowful to pitiful and he looked down. “You left us for a month, my dear, these halls have been so very isolated.” Your mouth dropped a little. “A month.” You we’re getting quite overwhelmed. “Elrond, I should be out I have duties.” You swivelled your legs as best you could in an attempt to jump out the bed and catch up your list of overdue duties. Elrond gently caught you, ever careful not to cause more damage and moved you back into the sheets countless others had ached in. “Mellon, it pains me to see you so please allow yourself a rest I will see your duties are taken care of.” You would’ve protested but the sorrow in his grey eyes suddenly made you feel a lot heavier. “For you.” Your voice still gritty and laced with exhaustion.

Countless nights you had awoken led in your own blood, crying in pain. Elrond was always there coaxing you to calmness and distracting your pain with tales of old while healers scrambled to your assist. He brushed your tears astray until you fell into the cove of sleep. He never cared what time it was neither did he for the work. He sensed your boredom growing with each hour in the same room, he himself had royal duties to attend therefore only allowing a fraction of his day to be spent with you. Elrond did his best as a healer to speed along the process but it would be at least another month before you could properly walk again. He stayed through your frustration, anger and sorrow whether you were weakly hitting his chest or crying into his shoulder.

It was late in the day, where the sun began to set welcoming a new night. You had been awake for a few hours having taken a short rest around midday. You lay staring at the wall in front of you until the door swung open somewhere between hastily and somewhat slowly leaving Elrond to pass though. His cloak reaching out behind his nimbly fighting the breeze that pushed it back. He sat in the chair which had been allocated to him like an unspoken rule. “Mellon.” He said tenderly. “How are you feeling?” You reached out to touch his dark hair and ran your delicate fingers through it before letting your hand rest at your side. Elrond loved your fingers combing through his hair it fuelled the warm feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach and it left him always wanting more. “Better though I do feel rather bored laying in these halls watching the vast sun set once again.” You stared out wishing to be soaking up the suns rays. Elrond seemed to pick up on your feelings, he too glancing at the golden streaks. “Then perhaps a walk, y/n.” You turned around to properly face him, excitement bubbling within you. “I do believe a walk would suffice, my lord.”

Cautiously, you maneuvered your body with Elrond’s warm hands to support you over the side of the bed. Your bare feet touched the cool ground and for a moment you felt different as if it wasn’t real and you’d fall down through the abyss back to the start of it all. You gripped the the top of Elrond’s arm finding purchase in the soft fabric before easing yourself down until you stood upright. Immediately you leant on Elrond who wrapped an arm around your waist. A warm feeling grew in your stomach that left you wanting something more.

The first step was the hardest a heavy limp powered your leg and it took a long while until you even made it to the door. Hope started to dwindle by the time you reached outside the medical wing but if the view wasn’t worth it. The halls were empty coated in golden shine, each glance was more than you could’ve asked for and you felt such happiness. It seemed like years since you had last seen what lay outside. Your limp prevented most movements below your hip and for a moment it felt like walking alone was a far fetched fantasy. “Stray your thoughts, Mellon, in a few moons you may be able to walk alone.” The pair of you walked further stopping in between to take a rest. Neither realising the elves behind the corner watching their king clutch the wounded agreeing you had broken the walls to his heart.

The gardens were beautiful woven with radiance, such love it had seen in its ages. The sinking sun kissing your starved skin as Elrond helped you down onto a stray bench, the pain was more manageable now than before something about Elrond’s presence was calming, it left a fuzzy feeling whenever he fretted over you. His voice was alluring. You watched the elf sit down beside you. Your mind raced though everything he has done for you through any pain and sorrow you felt. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me y/n, I should be thanking you, without your noble sacrifice I would be under care and the people should be without their lord.” He didn’t really look at you out of shame he despised seeing you so weak. “Lord Elrond, forgive me for asking but why are you doing all this for me?” Something flashed in his eyes only for a split second, he turned his head to look into your eyes his hair falling gracefully past his shoulders before parting his lips.

“Y/n when you fell, I immediately felt all the worlds break down around me. It hurt me so to know I inflicted this pain upon your body and I felt I could not live with myself if you left me you see your kindness, bravery and love awoke a desire within me and then I knew I could not sit and watch you waste away in a healers wing. You deserve far more than I can give, this small act is a mere fraction of the love I hold for you. Please tell me if the love I feel for you is requited or you wish to rid of my incessant ways.” He pleaded.

You stared wide eyed at the beautiful eyes in front of you watching them gloss over with tears fearful of rejection. “Elrond.” Your voice fading before it had the chance to be spoken. “You’ve captured my heart.” He placed a loving hand on your cheek pulling you in before halting giving you an option to pull away. You leaned in closer fluttering your eyes shut.

His lips were wondrous more than you ever imagined. He kissed with such love and passion ghosting his hands to tilt your face up to his. You couldn’t think in the moment only feel love radiating between two bodies sparking a flare in your stomach making your heart race like a great stallion. After what seemed like a blissful eternity, you pulled back for air. His scent of mint and books all over your body.

“Meleth nin.” He whispered.

“Elrond.” He wrapped an arm around you pressing your sides against each other, leaning your head onto his shoulder. The sun had since fallen below the horizon leading in a new night. And that was how you stayed side by side until the crescent moon welcomed a new sun.

#elrond x reader #elrond imagine #the hobbit #fluff #elrond x reader fluff #elrond x reader angst #comfort #angst

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phael-the-trash-bin · 4 years

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Phäel’s character backstory, as approved by our DM:

Phäel was born the second youngest of 7 children to a human mother, Francis Vermir, and an elven father, Gailier Neer, in the village of Hilthron in the northern region of Gadra. Phäel never got to know his father after he abandoned the family when Phäel was only 3. His mother suffered a breakdown when Gailier left, and was distant as the siblings grew up, finally leaving her children when the oldest, Mikhäl, turned 18, and Phäel was only 10. In a fit of anger over the loss of their mother and the strict ruling of their oldest sister, Phäel and his brother Larceir, who was the 4th child, ran away from their home and found themselves as wanderers along the open road. They survived by doing odd jobs in the many villages they visited.

When passing through the coastal village of Mothras one day, Phäel and Larceir were taken captive by a band of pirates and managed to bargain their lives for Larceir’s skills as a swordsman, which he had been teaching to Phäel. Seeing the potential in the 2 siblings, the ship’s captain Asari Daisi decided to keep them on board the ‘Scarlet Spell’ as powder monkeys with a promise of promotion if they could survive the year.

Phäel had a strong moral code from growing up in a religious household that Larceir had abandoned, and therefore did not approve of being a part of a pirate’s crew, but his loyalty to his brother and fear of being alone kept him aboard the ship. Soon after joining the pirate crew, Phäel met a human boy, Jules Ilyak, who would become his best friend. Jules was also a powder monkey, although with much more experience, and was given the task of showing the half elf brothers the ropes around the ship. Taking an immediate liking to Phäel , the two after only a couple of weeks became inseparable. After Phäel’s first year on the ship, he was promoted to artilleryman along with his brother.

Although tempted many times to abandon the ‘Scarlet Spell’, Phäel one day witnessed the execution of a man who had attempted to leave during a raid, and a fear of Captain Daisi was instilled in him that would never leave him and would ultimately keep him on the ship for the next 10 years of his life.

Under Jules’ suggestion, Daisi began to give Phäel private sword fighting lessons in hopes of developing his skills. Larceir, who had originally taught Phäel how to fight, did not receive the same special treatment by the captain and grew jealous of his brother and his skills, although he was careful not to show his growing resentment. That same year, Larceir was promoted to gunner on the ship.

On a chilly fall day when Phäel was 16, the ‘Scarlet Spell’ was intercepted by a Zofranian Royal Naval ship, and a battle between the two ships commenced. Phäel, who was attempting to help Jules fight off the Royal Navymen trying to board the ship, was captured along with Jules and taken prisoner. Captain Nyx of the Zofranian Navy tortured the two boys for information on a smuggling ring taking supplies out of Zofrana, but the boys couldn’t tell Nyx anything because they didn’t know any information. Nyx, in torturing Phäel, made a deep gash along his face that would create a long jagged scar marking Phäel for the rest of his life. Nyx told the boys that they would be docking in Zofrana within the next day and that they would be hung for their crimes. The night after having the brand of piracy burned onto his chest, just before arriving in Zofrana, Phäel managed to pick the lock on his and Jules’ cells, making their escape into the night. Nyx caught them however, and tried to shoot Phäel, but not before Jules jumped in the way, taking a bullet to the head and saving his best friend. Phäel grabbed Jules’ body and managed to cut a lifeboat loose and escape from the ship. Phäel held Jules as he was dying, and Jules managed to stay alive long enough to tell Phäel that he loved him, then died in Phäel’s arms. The Zofranian ship shot down the lifeboat, knocking Phäel unconscious. When he woke up, Jules’ body was gone and Phäel was floating upon a splintered piece of driftwood. After floating for about 2 days, he was picked back up by the ‘Scarlet Spell’ by complete coincidence, starving and dehydrated, but very much alive.

Larceir was secretly bitter that his brother had survived, and began ignoring him on the ship, which Phäel noticed amidst the trauma of the incident aboard the Zofranian ship. A couple of months later, Phäel was made a junior officer while Larceir is already boatswain of the ship. Phäel has nightmares almost every night about what Nyx had done, and Daisi takes pity on him and teaches him how to control his emotions and channel those into his fighting. Phäel feels for the first time that he has something akin to a motherly figure.

One unsuspecting day after the grueling years progressing through the ranks, Phäel was conducting his crewmates as boatswain of the ship when his brother, who had taken the role of quartermaster, announced that the captain had fallen ill and that he would be in charge of the ship until her recovery.

Phäel had his concerns that his brother was not fit to be in the captain’s position because of the changes he had seen since they were kids. Larceir was no longer the loving brother he once had, but now felt cruel, with no regard for other lives. He had no idea if the life as a pirate or the contained anger he had since he was young was the culprit, but Phäel had a feeling things were about to take a turn for the worse with his brother in charge. If only he wasn’t such a coward, Phäel thought, he would escape on the next trip to shore. If only it were so easy.

Normally sailing courses were voted on as a crew, but as Phäel awoke one morning, he found the ship sailing unannounced to the coastal village of Wrunstead, cannons at the ready, and he realized with horror what his brother was about to do. Wrunstead had been the village that their mother grew up in, and Larceir had come to take his revenge on their absent mother. As the ship docked in the harbor, Larceir came to his Phäel and handed him his sword, slender and sharp. “Take this and fight with me, help me destroyed them the way she destroyed what we could have been.”

Phäel was hit with an unusual stroke of bravery and decided that he couldn’t let this happen, and as the crew swam to shore, Phäel broke off and hurried to help the citizens of the village who were trying to escape. Then he realized as he saw a group of children escaping a small building that the village had an orphanage, and knew he had to help them. There was no way he would allow his brother to harm children.

As Phäel hurried the children out of the building, he could hear a cannonball hit the floor above and began to feel the heat on his skin: the floor above had caught on fire. Panicked, he ran up the stairs and searched for any children that may have been left behind when a fiery beam fell on top of Phäel, rendering him unconscious.

A bright light hit Phäel’s eyes as he opened them slowly and saw a bright, glowing, many-winged figure floating in front of him, telling him that he had already begun to see his purpose, that he must be a protector to those who cannot protect themselves.

Phäel woke up in a daze in a medical center of the now singed and burning village of Wrunstead, which had managed to fight off the band of pirates. Still in shock from the fire, Phäel had lifted his left arm to run it through his hair, when he realised that he had no left arm, only a stump ending just above where his elbow had been. The lead healer told Phäel that his arm had been caught under a pile of wood and rubble and had to be amputated in order for the rest of him to escape the fire. Phäel was thanked by the village leader but was generally mistrusted by a majority of the village’s citizens because of his status as a once-pirate. He stayed in the village during his recovery from his injuries, and while staying there discovered a temple dedicated to the same god of the religion he grew up learning about and practicing, Helm. Here he was able to reconnect with parts of his old life and rekindle the faith that had been wavering during his years upon the sea. In this temple he swore his oath of devotion to Helm, and promised to become the protector that the world needed.

Once fully recovered Phäel set off on the road again, truly alone for the first time in his life, but also for the first time with a purpose: finding the mysterious glowing entity that had appeared before him and told him of his destiny. With his dominant arm still intact, Phäel began to start offering his services as a swordsman for hire to protect shipments travelling from port to port. In these ports he would ask around about any religious orders that worshiped a multi-winged being. Phäel found that port taverns were excellent places to find out secrets, so he hung around many a tavern out of hopes of finding out any information he could. On one special occasion in the city of Arkalai in eastern Penrith, he found more than just information, he found a friend.

The tiny gnome had approached him and offered to buy him a drink. Suspicious, Phäel accepted and took a seat next to the gnome, who’s name he found out to be Nima Nungel. Nima was a tinkerer who specialized in electric mechanics, and told Phäel that she could make him an arm to replace the one he had lost. Phäel knew nothing comes for free, so he asked what her price would be, and Nima responded that she needed help on a hunt. She had heard from some of the sailors Phäel had just been working with about his exceptional skills as a swordsman, and wanted his help with hunting a rogue giant which had been terrorizing the smaller towns around Arkalai. Phäel accepted her offer, wanting to help the town but worried also about the type of tinkerer Nima was. He had heard about the dangers of trying to harness electricity, and, although Nima seemed like a genuinely nice person, he wasn’t sure about her practices. However, he was even more unsure about whether he could live the rest of his life as a paladin without his arm.

They set off for the hunt, and Phäel, for the first time in a long time, felt the comfort of having something like a friend. Nima was enjoyable to be around, and after 3 days of travel around woods and forests, they were able to find and slay the giant. True to her word, Nima started immediately to work on the mechanical arm. Phäel decided to stay in town for a week or so while Nima worked, and took up a few odd jobs on the docks to try to earn some gold to be able to pay Nima back, although she had insisted that his help on the hunt had been enough.

When the arm was completed, Phäel was shocked at the complexity of the whirling gears and intricate pieces that he could control just by moving the muscles in the top of his arm the slightest bit. Small bits of stretched metal wired their way throughout the curving edges of the forearm and, although he couldn’t quite understand it, the arm worked perfectly. Phäel, out of his thankfulness, tried to give Nima the gold pieces he had earned, but Nima told him to use the money to buy some proper armor instead to hide the arm, not wanting Phäel to be attacked by those who did not trust that sort of technology. With hopes of seeing each other again some day, Phäel and Nima went their separate ways, and Phäel continued on his journey to search for the creature of his vision.

While in the port of Uasha in Southern Raclax, he heard of worshippers of a similar entity to the one from his vision with a small tribe in a forest area just north of a place called the Invisible Tides in Zofrana. Phäel felt hesitation going back to Zofranian waters, but knew he couldn’t avoid an entire country because of one person. He secured passage on a cargo ship, offering protective services, and set off to find this religious band. Phäel heard from some of the sailors he was sailing with that there was a festival taking place on the day they would be docking into the Invisible Tides, so he decided he would stay in town for a day or two to enjoy the festivities before setting off.

And thus began the adventure....

#character #character backstory #d&d #dungeons and dragons #dungeons and dragons 5e #d&d 5e #backstory #oc #d&d oc #d&d character #original character #phael #phael backstory #phäel #phäel backstory #writing

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plane-lord · 5 years

Text

32 Days Since Titan

So, here’s the finished fic I was working on before I saw Endgame. I’ve done a little tweaking, but it’s canon compliant. Still working through my feelings, this helped a little...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601774

Thirty Two Days...

It’s been thirty-two days since Titan. Nine since Tony Stark returned to Earth, and the Avengers compound, half dead, starving, and dangerously dehydrated. Three days since he was released from medical. He isn’t up to full strength yet, and tires easily; which is how he’s found himself waking up from yet another nightmare, this time on his sofa. Part of him wants to blame Pepper, for being so blunt and telling him he needs to face his feelings, honor Peter, not hide the memory of him away.

Leave it to Pepper, to hit him with the hard truth — Lord knows she’s the only one he will listen to, even though he won’t always admit it. Ever since he’s returned to some semblance of health, he’s been trying to “forget” the kid, well avoid really, he doesn’t think he can ever forget. He hasn’t returned to his lab, because he knows he’d see the last thing he and Peter were working on — the kid’s unfinished project spread across his designated table.

Tony is desperately trying to hold on to what he does have left — Pepper, Rhodey, the remaining Avengers — though he’s kept the latter at a safe distance, not interacting with them much after their brief reunion. He thinks maybe if he focuses on the things he does have, he’ll be able to have a life, make things better for the people who are left.

Tonight though... well, Pepper, aided by a couple glasses of wine, managed to get Tony to talk. He told her every horrid detail. Fessed up to his feelings of total inadequacy, how he was so desperate to hold on to what he did have left — her, Rhodey, Happy — that he didn’t dare think about how he might fix things, bring them all back. He didn’t think he had it in him to face another loss, another failure — because losing again might mean losing Pepper and he couldn’t do that. Ever.

Tony pushes himself into a seated position, elbows on his knees, head in hands, and tries to catch his breath. God he was getting sick of this — Peter (and Thanos) haunting his dreams. He must have fallen asleep soon after Pepper left him to stew in his thoughts.

It was a variation of the same nightmare that has been haunting him since he left that god forsaken, hell hole of a planet, with Nebula. This time they were at Peter’s graduation party. They were all having a good time, Pepper with their future baby. May, Happy, everyone there bursting with pride for Peter and celebrating the momentous occasion. And then like every nightmare since that day on Titan Tony hears a quiet, “Mr. Stark…” When he turns to find Peter, he watches helplessly as every single person disintegrates, turning to dust. The plates of food and drinks fall, the sounds of shattering porcelain and glass echoing as they hit the floor, mixing with the dust — leaving Tony alone and screaming in horror.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, “It’s just a dream. Just a dream.” He says it out loud to reassure himself, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to stave off a panic attack. He hates this. With a trembling hand, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and stands up. He needs a drink.

The wine glasses and bottle from earlier are on the counter, where Pepper left them. It’s not quite the potency he needs, but there’s still some Malbec left in the bottle. He pours himself half a glass and downs it quickly.

After a few minutes, when the tremors in his hands lessen — he decides to start cleaning up the kitchen, to give himself something else to think about. Tony’s focus on the mundane task slowly work to calm him. He takes his time washing the stemware and cheese plates. He is careful and precise as he dries each dish, before putting them away. He throws away the empty wine bottle and wipes down the counter, just like he'd seen Pepper do. Satisfied with the now spotless kitchen he notices the wine opener still sitting out. He opens several drawers, trying to remember where it’s supposed to go. He really wishes Pepper would stop rearranging the kitchen, he can never find anything.

Opening the third drawer, which he quickly realizes is a junk/mail drawer he spots a rectangular object. He pulls out a black 5x7 picture frame and flips it over. His grip tightens and his eyes get a little cloudy when he sees the photo of him and Peter, each throwing up bunny ears behind the other’s head.

Tony remembers the day clearly, nearly eight months ago...

———

Sometime in early August 2017

Tony’s phone dings several times in a row, notifying him of incoming text messages. He picks it up with a scowl, there is only one person that would blow up his phone this early in the morning. “I’m beginning to regret giving the kid my number.” He grumbles to Pepper, who's sitting in the stool next to him at their kitchen island. “I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, as she finishes her last bite of yogurt, “Oh please, you love the attention.”

“I do not,” He scoffs. Opening the phone he scrolls through the texts. “Pepper, this kid — he wants to know what I’m wearing!”

Pepper laughs and stands up, picking up her bowl. She pauses on the way to the sink to kiss him on the cheek, “So, tell him. He’s just excited, Tony. Today is a big deal for our interns. I thought you were all about encouraging young minds.”

“Uh, yeah, in the abstract, hands off, pat on the back, move along sense. Not this, teenage — tell me what you’re wearing to the dance — nonsense.”

“Oh stop being such a grump and just tell him. He adores you, Tony. Peter’s just nervous and wants to make a good impression.”

And God did that statement terrify him. Tony Stark was not meant to be a role-model or adored — especially by young, impressionable teenage minds. He was a fuck-up of monumental proportions and he was certainly not cut out for this. He was fumbling through this mentorship and terrified of messing up.

“Fine. I’ll tell him, but know that I am doing so under extreme duress.”

Pepper poured herself another cup off coffee, ignoring his dramatics, she says sweetly, “Yes, dear, whatever you say.”

Tony shoots her a disapproving glare, letting her know he does not appreciate her sass. He types out a quick text.

A black cotton t-shirt and gray sweat pants. You?

A few seconds pass, before Peter’s reply comes through. Hahaha… I MEAN for the luncheon today!

Tony taps out a reply, a mischievous smile on his face. God, he loves teasing this kid. Oooh…dress is formal. I’m wearing a tux.

Uhh, would you believe my tux is still at the cleaners? ? 😳😳😳

Oh well, guess you’ll have to skip it then. Very strict dress code. NO EXCEPTIONS.

The reply from Peter is immediate, Dang, guess I’ll let Aunt May know… she’s going to be so disappointed. 😿

Oh? Don’t want to disappoint Aunt Hottie. Guess we can make an exception, this once... Dress is business casual. I’m wearing jeans, T-shirt, blazer.

Haha, thanks Mr. Stark! I think I can pull something like that together. Happy is picking us up? 10:30?

Yup. See you soon. Tony replies.

Clicking the screen off he sets the phone on the counter and looks to Pepper, who is putting the dishes in the washer. “How long does this thing last, again?”

“I think a couple hours. I usually only stay to finish lunch, which is longer than your usual 30 minute drop-in, slash meet and greet.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll stay for lunch, too. You know, inspire and encourage those bright young minds.”

“They’ll love that, Tony. Everyone is always so excited when you make an appearance. And it's a really good group of kids.”

Pepper walks around the counter and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his right temple, she says, “I’ll see you in a couple hours. Don’t be late.”

“Uhh, I’m never late!”

“Hmm, I literally have documented hundreds of missed appointments, engagements, and appearances over the last twenty years that say otherwise, but sure, Hon, you’re never late.” Pepper pats him fondly on the back and leans over to pick up her purse sitting on an empty barstool. As she makes her way to the door, she says, “FRIDAY, remind Mr. Stark to be out the door by eleven. Luncheon starts at noon.”

The AI responds with an obedient, “Yes, Miss Potts, I’ll make sure boss doesn’t forget.”

“That’s so not necessary — I can tell time!” Tony yells in protest, to her retreating back.

“See you in a few hours.” Pepper replies, as the doors to the penthouse elevator doors close.

“FRIDAY, remind me to get ready at 9:45.”

"Yes, boss."

The luncheon is held at Stark Industries offices in Mid-town Manhattan. For once, Tony is ten minutes early. When he saunters into Pepper's office, to escort her downstairs — he makes sure to point this fact out to her.

High School and College-age interns from every applicable department, and two of their guests, are treated to a catered lunch, presented with certificates of participation. The more outstanding interns of each department are recognized with their own official Stark Internship plaques. The afternoon also includes a quick meet and greet with CTO Tony Stark and CEO Pepper Potts, both of whom give a short speech to the attendees and present the awards.

Tony is just a little pleased to see Peter is given special recognition by the Science and Technologies Department. He had decided that Peter should officially join the high school summer internship program, get the kid some real world experience to add to his college applications. Somewhat to his surprise, the kid had jumped at the chance, offering little protest to the proposal, even though it might take away some time from his patrols. Maybe it was because Peter knew that Spider-man is never going to pay the bills, and perhaps, he really did take Tony’s advice to heart.

Tony tried his best not to show favoritism and mostly left Peter under the tutelage of the department’s internship program head. He would never admit to anyone, that he may have, discreetly, checked up on him multiple times a month. And he can’t say he didn’t, occasionally, pull him away for some ‘special assignments’ in his private lab — days spent working on their own projects and consuming copious amounts of pizza. And maybe, just maybe, he brags a little to Pepper when he reads a glowing review from Peter’s supervisor. Yeah, he’s man enough to admit — the kid is doing him proud.

The luncheon passes without a hitch. The awards are handed out, photos are snapped, and Tony gives his off the cuff speech, a mixture of humor and inspiration for the future. Pepper gives her brief introduction and a message about how important Stark Industries views the Internship programs and all their young bright minds. Most years Tony ducks out after the speech and certificate presentations, but this time he stays for lunch, while Pepper takes the opportunity to get back to her office.

Tony assembles a plate of food and makes his way to where he sees Peter sitting with his Aunt, and to his surprise, Happy, plus a couple interns and their parents. He tries to ignore the shocked faces of the other interns when he approaches the table, “This seat taken?”

Peter raises his eyebrows in surprise, “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, all yours, Mr. Stark. I mean, of course it is because you own them—”

Peter stops his nervous rambling at the pointed look Tony sends him. He wonders if the kid will ever not be nervous around him. He sets down his plate and sits in the empty chair next to Peter. He is mildly amused to see Peter wearing a corduroy sport coat, jeans, and a black t-shirt, nearly matching Tony’s own sartorial choices. He says a quick hello to everyone at the table and tries to give them his attention. He’ll never admit he relishes just sitting next to the kid and spending a little more time with him, sharing this day, celebrating his accomplishment.

The longer he sits the more relaxed Peter gets, even cracking a few jokes at Tony’s expense. Something he never would have done a few months ago. He doesn’t miss the way some of the parents, and teens, at the table look between the two of them, surprised by their easy banter and familiarity.

Lunch soon finished, Tony lingers for a little longer — taking more pictures with the interns and their familes. It’s well into mid-afternoon, when he tries to make his exit. He and Pepper have dinner reservations and he needs to get some work done before then.

Before he goes, May Parker pulls him aside. “Tony, would you mind me getting a picture of you and Peter, before you go?”

“Anything, for you Mrs. Parker.” Tony replies, giving her his most charming smile.

Handing his own phone to Happy, who for some reason, which he’ll have to investigate later, is still hanging around, he says, “Take a couple for me too, Hap.”

Tony throws an arm around Peter, who has his award in hand -- at May's insistence -- and pulls him in close. They smile and take multiple pictures with the award, both getting increasingly irreverent, much to May’s amused frustration. Peter even tries to sneak bunny ears — “Bunny ears? Wow, you are a nerd!” Tony teases, while throwing up two fingers behind Peter.

When Tony does finally leave, he is all smiles, with an extra swagger in his step. He’s not sure when spending time with the kid became so important to him and he’s a little frightened by the implications.

The sound of bare feet on the hardwood floor, pulls him out of his memories. He looks up to see Pepper wrapped in her robe, her hair askew from sleep — it’s nearly one in the morning, way past her usual bedtime.

“Tony? Are you coming to bed?“ Pepper asks worriedly from the threshold of the living room. She hesitates when she sees him and steps forward cautiously, into the kitchen. “Hey, you okay?”

He watches her walk toward him, feeling lost and overwhelmed with sadness. He thought he could move on, he told himself he could, but he knows now that he was lying to himself. This isn’t something he can just shove in a drawer, like the picture. He loved that kid and no amount of denial will lessen the pain he feels over his loss.

“Hey…” Pepper’s hand is on his cheek, wiping something wet from under his eye. She takes the picture from his hands and wraps one arm around his waist, holding it for both of them to see. “I forgot about this… It arrived the day you left. There was a card…”

She reaches into the drawer and pulls out a bright red envelope addressed to “Mr. Tony Stark”. She hands it to him, the envelope already open.

He opens the card and sees Peter’s sloppy scrawl:

Dear Mr. Stark, Thank you for everything you do for me. The Stark Internship made my summer and I cannot express how grateful I am for the opportunity. I know how "excited" you were to come to the luncheon and I thought you should have something to remember it by. Sincerely your biggest fan, Peter

The card blurs and Tony tries to blink away the threatening tears. He drops the card beside the photo and pulls Pepper into a tight hug, burying his face into her shoulder. “I miss him,” he whispers. “He was such a good kid... and I didn't, couldn't —“

Pepper runs a soothing hand down his back, feeling the outline of his ribs, he's still so skinny. “I know. You did everything you could, Tony. I know that, he knew it… and he knew how much you cared for him. Believe me, he did.”

And Tony does know it. He could see it in the way the kid looked at him, the glint of awe in his eyes, that always made him a little uncomfortable because he didn’t know what to do with that kind of admiration. It kills him a little more to know he may never see that look again. He lets the tears fall freely this time, wrapping both arms around Pepper, holding her closer, clinging to one person he still has left…

Epilogue

The next morning he wakes up to find Pepper already gone from their bed. After his momentary panic, he remembers she had several meetings planned for the first half of the day. He stumbles groggily into the kitchen, seeking espresso and a bite to eat — he’s still feeling as tired and worn as he did the night before.

He’s well into his first cup of espresso, and the breakfast smoothie Pepper left in the refrigerator, when he sees it. The picture of him and Peter is propped up on the counter, next to one of him and Pepper. He’s tempted to put back in the drawer, but he tries to recall what Pepper said, about remembering and honoring. Moving on, but not forgetting because Peter Parker is not to be forgotten. Peter Park is loved.

THE END

#tony stark #pepper potts #pepperony #spider son #fanfic #avengers: endgame #Endgame spoilers #avengers 4 spoilers #peter parker

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noa748 · 5 years

Note

Do you have the Trigun Si posted anywhere?

nah. but for your amusement, here’s what I have so far…

The sky is an unbelievable shade of blue.

The observation sparked a sense of déjà vu in him. The temperature was unusually mild today and the sunshine more cheery than severe. It almost felt like he was being mocked.

That’s right. I remember thinking the same thing the day I met…

…The day he met that terrifying man in the white jacket. The last person he had met that made him feel such an utter lack of control. He felt like he was unraveling today, just like he had back then…

Another step. His feet felt like they were weighted with lead. History repeated itself, didn’t it? Here he was, alone all over again.

His brother was gone. Vanished.

Well, that wasn’t right. He was certainly somewhere, but there was no trail to follow. He hadn’t even taken his gun, which was unthinkable. Had he been in his right mind? Still injured, he posed a threat mostly to himself—but fully healed, he was a threat to humanity.

Vash the Stampede wasn’t sure what to make of it. He just knew that the moment he lost track of Knives, he had to leave everything he had built for himself behind. No one he loved was safe with his brother on the loose.

Rem… how could I have been such a fool?

His pack felt heavier than normal; his shoulder was already getting sore. He wasn’t used to traveling like this anymore. He had practiced shooting and worked out every morning for the past six months, but he had still softened up. He hadn’t realized how much he had been hoping for it all to finally end… until it hadn’t.

He was thinking a lot about the past today, as he trudged step by step through the desert to the city of Octovern.

The girls, at least, were safe. They were going to be angry with him for leaving, for doing this again, but they were safe.

One night, back then, they almost hadn’t been. The night he’d taken a life to save them. How much more would it take to protect the ones he loved?

God helps those who help themselves, friend.

He could hear Wolfwood chastising him even now. It was the truth; he would just have to keep moving and hope for the best. He was just so damn tired… couldn’t he be shown some kind of sign, some kind of pat on the back telling him it’d be okay in the end?

Just as he had this thought, he crested a hill and caught a glimpse of a crumpled figure on the other side. For a moment his breath caught in his throat and he forgot his weary musings; then the figure shifted weakly, and he unthinkingly broke out into a run.

—-

Hey. Hey… miss—are you okay?

It was hard to differentiate the voice from the hazy dream I’d been having. Was this another hallucination? Blond spiky hair, red coat, bright blue eyes… I knew him.

“Vasss th’ zampeede,” I managed to mumble, squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again. My tongue felt swollen. There was sand in my mouth, in my eyes, jammed into every crevice in my body.

He froze for the briefest of moments, but then I saw him shuffle around for something in his coat. Something touched my lips and then water, glorious water was flowing into my mouth.

I grabbed at the waterskin and managed to take a solid swig before he tore it out of my hands. The water stayed down for about two seconds before my stomach revolted and I threw it back up.

“Easy now,” he said quietly, lightly rubbing my back.

When I shakily reached for the waterskin a second time, he kept a firm hold on it and let me have a little at a time.

—-

Who is this girl?

She knew his name. That alone was coming as less and less of a surprise nowadays, as people started to learn the full story and hear his name associated with more positive deeds. Without Knives actively working against him, the tides had begun to slowly turn.

But something about her was so strange. First of all she was carrying no pack, just a small purse slung over her shoulder. She wore jeans and a t-shirt—nothing to shield her from the desert sun, which was made even more evident by the sunburn she was sporting.

Nothing to shield her save for the cap she wore, a style he hadn’t seen in a long time. The logo on the front of it read “Patagonia”.

Her shirt had a logo on it, too. It said “Anchorage, Alaska” and had picture of what looked like… were those mountains? He had only seen mountains in the books he’d read as a kid. Alaska…

“The last frontier,” he muttered to himself. A memory was stirring, though it was hard for him to sort out his thoughts with his mind muddled from exhaustion.

She was still severely dehydrated. Her short hair was mussed and full of sand from the desert wind; she was sunburnt and her lips were cracked. He could think about these abnormalities later. First order of business was to get her out of the sun.

Octovern was still a few iles away…

Oddly enough, he found a little more pep in his step now that he had someone to support. She would die if she was left out here; he couldn’t afford to drag his feet.

So Vash set off at a much faster pace for the city, the strange girl slung over one shoulder. For the time being his problems were on the back burner.

—-

For a while the stranger-but-not-a-stranger carried me, and for a while everything was dark. Time seemed to blur together and my perception of events was hazy.

Then, finally, everything became still and I felt almost centered again. I was made aware suddenly that I was lying in a bed, eyes closed. Sunlight was filtering in through my eyelids.

I awoke to see a fairly plain, generic looking room with white walls and wood flooring. There was a glass of water and a tray with a few medical instruments on the nightstand next to me, so I guessed that maybe I was in some sort of clinic. A tall window to my left was open, and the sheer white drapes hung over it blew in the warm breeze that was coming in.

There was a man sitting in an armchair against the wall. He wore brown pants and a white button up shirt, his blond hair slightly messy but still standing in near vertical spikes. His eyes were closed and he was propping his cheek against one fist. I noticed a small beauty mark under his left eye. Such a small detail, but so telling—suddenly I was absolutely certain that I knew this man.

Of course I knew him. I had spent half of my awkward early teens idolizing him.

There were a few vague memories coming back of an endless desert and the unforgiving sun… and a man in a red coat, leaning over me. It was definitely him… but how was it him?

Water.

Suddenly I remembered and the need hit me like a freight train, but my limbs wouldn’t cooperate the way they were supposed to and I flailed so hard trying to reach the glass by my bedside that I fell clean out of the bed.

The man in the chair woke up with a yelp and was fussing at my side in an instant, though all I could muster with my dry vocal cords was a disgruntled groan. After lying there grimacing for a second, I made grabby hands at the glass of water that was still out of reach.

The blond sat me up and placed the glass in my hands. I gingerly took a few sips, suddenly remembering throwing up back in the desert.

“Jeez, you scared me,” the man said, sinking to the floor to sit beside me. He ran a hand through his hair. “You okay, miss? Oh, man, I told the doc I’d watch you, he’s gonna kill me…”

I coughed, swallowed another gulp of water, and then chanced a smile. My cracked lips hurt.

“I’ve been better,” I admitted. “Where…?”

“The city of Octovern,” he replied. Then he let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’d introduce myself, but it seemed like you already knew me back there.”

I blinked. Had I said his name back there? I must’ve. Octovern? And the desert… what the hell was going on, anyway? Was this some kind of elaborate dream?

“Guess so,” I mumbled, brow furrowing. I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Sorry. Um. Vash. My name’s… my name’s Brittany.”

“Brittany…” he tested it out, and then looked over to smile at me. His eyes practically sparkled as his voice dropped a note. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks…” I blinked. It was literally the most common name ever. Was he trying to flirt? I didn’t have the energy to figure it out. “Uh, do you have any food?”

His face fell but he was quick to recover, jumping to his feet. “Right! You must be starving!” He bent down to scoop me up, catching me completely off guard, and placed me back on the bed before dashing out of the room with a quick “Be right back!”

I was left with a brief moment of peace, sitting there on the bed in the quiet room. My brain was still fighting to catch up. Octovern… Octovern…

Wasn’t that a city in the manga? It had been so long. And that was Vash, so the desert setting made sense, but…

I pinched myself. Pain. I glanced around the room, focusing on my senses—the sterile smell of a clinic, the warmth of the breeze coming in through the window, the sound of kids playing outside…

Leaning forward, I peered out the window for a better view. My room overlooked a busy street. There were in fact a group of kids kicking a ball around out there. Across the way was a bakery, and I caught a whiff of what smelled like fresh baked bread. My stomach growled.

…How could this be a dream?

Staring at my hands in my lap, I fought to remember just what I had been doing before waking up here. Wandering in the desert…

Suddenly I stopped. I frowned and felt a cold feeling in my stomach as unwanted memories came back. Why…? Couldn’t I just not dwell on shit for one second?

I had just been so depressed, so bitter, so done with the charade of my life… nothing I did ever seemed right or good enough, and I was sick and tired of everything. The last week of my lease I finally snapped, sold almost everything I owned, and packed the rest in my car. I quit my shitty job, and that shitty man, with zero notice and got in my car and drove.

That was right… the last thing I remembered was crossing the state border, sobbing, wishing things could’ve been different. Wishing I could’ve been stronger instead of running away. Wishing for a sign, any sign, that things were going to be okay.

And then, somehow, I was wandering through the desert, sunburnt and dehydrated. If he—Vash, if he was Vash—hadn’t found me, I would’ve died.

Footsteps coming back up the hallway. I looked over just in time to see the blond come back through the doorway, wearing a bright smile.

“Here.”

I reached out to take a steaming bowl of soup from him. It looked disappointingly brothy, but I understood that that was probably the best I could manage for now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, pulling the chair up closer to the bed and sitting down once more. He examined me for a moment before continuing. “What were you doing wandering the desert with no food or water, anyway?”

I shook my head, idly stirring the soup. “I don’t really remember. Last I checked, I had a vehicle and I knew exactly there I was.”

“Where was that, exactly?”

“Um…” I stared at him dubiously. “White River Junction, Vermont.”

“…Vermont?” A blank stare was all I received in return.

“Yeah, you know, east coast?”

I knew I was still weirdly in denial… but seeing the look on the man’s face gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, couldn’t this just be a dream? The implications of it being real were too terrifying. I had wanted to escape, to run away, but this…

“The shirt you were wearing when I found you…” The blond was frowning, brow furrowed. “It said ‘Alaska.’”

“Yeah, I have a friend who lives in Anchorage,” I replied, attempting to seem nonchalant.

Where were my clothes, anyway? After glancing around the room for a moment, I saw them washed and folded on the shelf below my nightstand. My Patagonia hat sat atop the pile, mocking me. I would’ve much rather ended up in Patagonia than stranded in a godforsaken desert.

He was staring at me hard, his blue eyes piercing. With his cheery façade dropped, I found it difficult to meet his gaze. The silence felt like it lasted forever.

Then he suddenly reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card with a sheepish grin.

“So where’s New Hampshire?”

“Hey!” I nearly spilled the soup, lunging to snatch the card back. “Where’d you get my license?!”

He both hands up in a gesture of surrender, leaning back a bit. “Hey, hey! Careful! I just found your wallet and was trying to figure out who you were, that’s all!”

“Coulda said that from the start,” I huffed, clutching the license protectively. A tiny bit of hot soup had sloshed out and scalded my thigh, and I was trying to hide my pain.

I looked down at the license, and my picture stared back at me. It was a small bit of familiarity, reassurance that I wasn’t actually going insane.

After some hesitation I opened my mouth to reply, but the sound of footsteps caused us both to look up. A stocky middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair had stopped in the doorway. He was wearing a white lab coat, so I assumed he had to be the doctor.

“Ah! So she’s awake at last. Thanks for the help, Vash.”

The blond rubbed the back of his neck. “Heh, it’s no trouble.”

“How are you feeling, miss?” the doctor asked, turning his gaze on me.

“Um, I’ve seen better days… but I’m holding up okay.”

“Well, I’ll mark that as an improvement,” he replied, smiling. “Vash, may we have a moment? I’m sure Felicia would be happy for a hand in the kitchen.”

“Oh—of course! Right away, Doc!”

I watched as the blond straightened up and was out the door in record time, a dopey grin on his face. It didn’t take a genius to notice that he had been a little too excited there. Felicia was probably pretty, whoever she was.

The doctor chuckled, shaking his head. “For someone who bears the namesake of such a dangerous outlaw, he sure is predictable.”

“You don’t believe he’s really Vash?”

He snorted. “Do you?”

“Well…”

“Don’t fret over it, in any case. He was kind enough to bring you here from the desert, after all.” He paused a moment, frowning. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. My name is Stanley Ross; I run the clinic here on the east end of Octovern.”

“My name is Brittany Furness,” I said, subtly tucking my driver’s license under the sheets of my bed. “I’m sorry for the trouble. My memory’s still a little messed up…”

“That’s to be expected. You were showing early signs of heat stroke when that young man brought you in.”

He reached over to press the back of his hand to my forehead. “Your temperature has stabilized since, but I’d still advise you to take it easy for a few days. I’d like to monitor you for another twenty-four hours just to be safe.”

I stared at the soup in my lap. That was probably good, considering I literally had nowhere else to go…

A hand on my shoulder. I looked over to see the doctor giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t worry too much. You’re still recovering; I’m sure things will seem much clearer by tomorrow morning.”

Feeling dread settle in the pit of my stomach, I forced myself to smile back. “Thanks… you’re probably right.”

We chatted for another minute while he checked my vitals and made sure I really was okay, and then he left me to finish my bowl of soup, which was now growing lukewarm.

My hands were shaking enough that it took some concentration to spoon the broth into my mouth. I felt a strange mixture of emotions, though most of all I figured I was disoriented and in some degree of shock.

I thought about the life I had abandoned. Wasn’t this what I had wanted—a complete change, a new start?

But I hadn’t asked to leave my entire world…

Even though I had shut down and left New Hampshire, all of my friends and family had been a phone call away. I hadn’t wanted to turn back, but I could have if I needed to. But now all of those options had been snatched from me and I felt like I was stranded…

This couldn’t be real… this couldn’t really be happening. How could this be happening?!

I put my head in my hands, but I had spent so much of the past month crying that I had no energy left to do even that. When could I just catch a break…

—-

How can this be real?

Vash stood at the counter of the kitchen downstairs, methodically cutting vegetables for the doctor’s daughter. Felicia was indeed cute—there was no doubt about that—but he really had just jumped at the opportunity to sort out his thoughts.

Well, there was also the fact that she was an absolute pro at acting oblivious to his flirting. He’d mostly given up, but it was still entertaining to try every now and then. For now he was happy to have a task to keep his hands busy while he tried to figure out just what mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

“Mr. Vash, are you feeling all right?” Felicia had stopped her task, seeming to take note of his silence.

He forced a cheery smile. “Hmm? Oh, yeah! Heh, I guess it’s just been a long couple of days.”

“That’s for sure. You’re the most interesting newcomers we’ve seen in a while.” She returned the smile. “Well, hopefully we can all sit down for dinner together tonight. Could you dice these too?”

He took the carrots he was handed with a nod. He knew his smile looked fake and she probably saw through it, but he was too tired to put up a good front.

Brittany Furness… who are you?

Vash trained his eyes on the cutting board once more, brow furrowing. The young woman’s meagre belongings were safely stored in a cabinet in the room he was renting. He had gone through them in an effort to find some sort of information about who she was and where she had come from. The more he had looked, the more confused he had become.

That ID card in her wallet had her name, photo and what looked like an address… but the address named a town he had never heard of. The corner of the card read “NH – USA” in bold letters.

There was currency in the wallet that read “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,” as well as other plastic cards bearing her name.

There was a red pen in the purse with the name of an inn written on the side and the words “Jackson, New Hampshire”.

And there was a strange rectangular device with a screen in the purse as well—he had been shocked to see the screen come to life when he pressed the button on the front. It had displayed a time and date, and when he pressed the button again, it prompted him to input a passcode.

That in particular was advanced technology he hadn’t seen in a very, very long time… not since he was a child. Which begged the question… who was that woman?

He remembered some of the books Rem had shown him a long time ago, books about her home, where all of the humans of this planet came from—a place called Earth. Rem had been from a country called the United States.

And—he remembered. Her hometown was a place called Juneau, in the state of Alaska. That was why the girl’s shirt had stirred something in him. He had been so fascinated with the book about Alaska and its dramatic, dreamlike landscapes and cool nicknames, like “the last frontier” and “land of the midnight sun”. Back on the SEEDs ship, it had seemed impossible that such a land could exist… and it was infinitely amazing that Rem had grown up there.

But Project SEEDS had been formed because Earth’s resources had been depleted… and its creation had occurred nearly two centuries ago. Was Earth even habitable anymore?

No—unless… unless one of the cold sleep pods had survived the crash, and she had only just now woken up?

He shook his head. That didn’t explain that handheld device she had. There was no way it could’ve survived this long and powered up so easily. And why would someone have boarded a SEEDS ship dressed and equipped like they were just going for a quick outing? None of it made sense. She was a mystery.

What a nightmare… with Knives on the loose, he didn’t want to get involved with anyone. But there was no way he could just ignore this. It was too dangerous for her to be around him, but he might be the only one that could help her.

Damn. He shouldn’t even be here right now. But he needed to get information, and the city was the place to do it.

He paused in his task for a moment as another thought came to him. Whatever the explanation… if Earth was all she remembered, how the hell did she know who he was, especially on sight alone?

This just got more confusing by the second…

#noa748 writing

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navpike · 6 years

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So I've only just found you and I'm screaming cause your writing is so good??!! It's amazing??!! I love it!!!! I'm so happy I found you and your writing. I can't wait to finish reading everything. I also thought I'd send a prompt if you're still open. No14 maybe? With Bruce and dick? I don't know. You don't have to though. But maybe something to do with that epileptic headcanon which is amazing btw and so true? Also my favorite so far has to be that argument btw Jason and dick.

hi i have no idea what prompt list that’s from cause this has been in my inbox for seventeen years. anyway, have some epileptic dick and also jason anda teeny bit of bruce and damian

[also, this is long, so it’s on ao3][buy me a coffee?]

Dick has his first seizure a week after he gets out of surgery.

He’s in the medical bay in the bunker, lying on a cot and watching Damian go over case files when suddenly he goes clammy and his eyes get very far away. Dick looks at Damian like he doesn’t know who his brother is, and looks like he wants to ask a question, but he doesn’t get the chance.

He barely gets the chance to say the word “Bucket”, before he’s gagging.

Damian scrambles for the bin at the end of the bed, and just gets it under Dick’s face in time. Dick throws up bile, his hands trembling as he tries to grasp the edges of the bin. Several things happen very fast after that.

He retches one last time.

He settles back into his bed.

His fingers twitch.

His arm jerks up towards his chest.

His eyes roll listlessly up into his head.

The entire left side of Dick’s body starts seizing.

Damian slams the panic button at Dick’s bedside.

He knows what’s happening, has basic knowledge on what a seizure is, but he has no idea how to handle this.

It takes Bruce too long to get to the bunker.

It takes Dick too long to stop seizing.

It takes too long for Damian’s hands to stop shaking after Dick comes out of the seizure.

Alfred wraps and arm around Damian’s shoulder for one brief moment. For once, Damian doesn’t protest.

He looks very much his age.

It’s the first thing Dick sees when he comes out of it.

That, in itself, is enough to terrify him.

~*~

Leslie comes by later that day.

Not twenty minutes later, Leslie Thompkins is in the Watchtower for the first time, and Dick is hooked up to machines and there are tests and results and more tests and more results and scans and results and more and more and more and more.

Dick’s trembling by the end of it.

For all he’s faced before, this is still the more terrifying thing he’s ever lived through. The fact that Damian’s refusing to leave his side doesn’t really help settle any nerves.

Several hours later, there’s a definitive answer.

Dick has epilepsy.

Caused by the gunshot wound to the head that he suffered.

Dick really doesn’t know why he’s surprised at this point. His life’s been taking a nosedive lately, why not add one more thing to it?

Leslie, Bruce, Damian, Alfred and Doctor Midnite are the only ones who know, now.

Dick demands they keep it that way.

Leslie and Doc Midnite launch immediately into a list of all the reasons why that is a horrible idea and how dangerous that is, especially given both of his lines of work. He handles firearms, for fuck’s sake, he needs to tell somebody, this isn’t something he can keep quiet.

He agrees to inform his employers, and that’s it.

Leslie is very obviously disgruntled but it is Dick’s decision, in the end.

And Dick Grayson is nothing if not stubborn.

~*~

He gets a medical ID bracelet, very reluctantly.

He wears long sleeves all the time anyway, to hide the scars. What’s one more thing to hide? It’s easy to tuck the bracelet under his sleeve and ignore its existence. He agrees to stay at the manor while they get his medication squared away. It’s safer that way. Loathe as he is to admit it, Dick does feel a little anxious about being alone in his apartment at the moment.

He has three more seizures in the next couple months and they up his dosage twice before the medication actually starts to do its job. Dick finally doesn’t feel so antsy about being alone after a month passes without him having a seizure.

He’s back at work, even if he is riding a desk until he’s certain the medication is working properly.

Things finally seem like they’re going back to normal.

He goes back to staying in his apartment six months later, and he’s finally feeling like he can breathe again.

And then he has to pull a double shift at the station because of an Arkham breakout. By the time it’s over he’s exhausted, he’s starving and he’s ridiculously dehydrated. He thinks that last one’s cause he’d had a bit too much coffee to stay awake.

He’s five blocks away from his apartment when he feels it. His peripheral vision starts to shake, and then goes black. He tastes metal on the back of his tongue. As he stumbles forward, he has to shove back a dizzying wave of nausea. He’s too far away from home. A car honks and it’s so loud to him he feels like his eardrums are going to explode.

He’s not going to make it home.

There’s a place, a block away. He doesn’t remember why, but he has to get there. He has to. He knows it’ll be safe.

So he stumbles to this place he only half remembers and presses buttons until someone buzzes him in and then hurries up to the top floor in the elevator and… he forgets what he’s doing.

There’s a door in front of him.

His door?

He doesn’t know.

He knocks once.

A man he knows he should recognize slams the door open a second later.

“Dickhead, what the fuck are you doing he… Jesus, what happened to you, Dick?”

Dick. That’s him. That’s his name. He knows that.

He forgets who this man with the shock of white hair at the front of his dark curls is. He knows him. He has no idea who he is.

Where is he again?

“Who are you?” Dick asks, tongue heavy in his mouth, the metal taste getting stronger with every second. He’s surprised he’s made it this far, actually.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised but he knows he is.

“Dick?”

“No that’s me.”

“Come on, let’s get you sitting down, Goldie,” the man with the black and white hair says.

The door slams shut behind them and Dick claps his hands over his ears.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re in the apartment, and he’s sitting on the couch, with the man crouched in front of him. He lists sideways, and the man has to right him.

There’s a bucket between his feet.

Good.

Dick slumps forward and throws up the meager contents of his stomach, and the man has to stop him from falling head first off the couch. Dick would appreciate that more if he knew what was going on.

His eyes roll back into his head and he doesn’t know much of anything after that.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he knows what’s going on again.

“Wha’s…” he mumbles, looking around wildly. Oh. That was a mistake. His entire head throbs. His stomach churns. The light burns his eyes. His muscles feel sore.

He has a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Dick? Oh thank fuck,” someone… no. Not someone. Jason. Jason mutters. “Yeah he’s awake.” He’s not talking to Dick now. He’s talking to no one. No, he’s talking into his phone. Okay. “He’s awake, seems to be getting more lucid. Yeah, I know seizure first aid. I grew up in a house with an addict, of course I do, Bruce. You’re stalling. Why the fuck didn’t you say something about Dick having seizures? Oh, I didn’t ask? How the fuck old are you, five? I thought you were supposed to be the adult here. Anyway. Let me ask now. How long has he been having seizures? Six months ago? Great. Now how long has he been using? Don’t be dense! How long has Dick been on drugs? How long Bruce?”

And what? That doesn’t make sense. Dick’s not on drugs. He’d never do that. He saw how badly that affected Roy. He’d never start using. That’s not…

He looks down to see that his sleeve has been rolled up. His left sleeve, the arm he doesn’t wear his medical ID on. The arm he always injects himself with antidotes on. The arm he’s got track marks on, from antitoxins and antivenoms and antidotes. Not from drugs, but Jason doesn’t know that.

“Jay,” Dick tries but Jason rounds on him and snaps fingers in his face.

“No, I’ve got words for you later.”

“M’not on drugs, Jay,” Dick mumbles, trying to push up his other sleeve, to show Jason the medical ID, with uncooperative limbs.

“What, are you gonna show me one clean arm and expect me to believe you? I saw the other one, genius!”

Dick shakes his head and makes a pathetic whimpering noise when that makes it feel like his brain is rattling around inside his skull.

“Shut the fuck up, Bruce!” Jason shouts into the phone and Dick whines again. Jason’s quieter when he speaks again, but still seething. “This isn’t something you can just…” Jason’s eyes fall to Dick’s wrist when the metal of his bracelet glints in the light. “Fuck you, B, we’re gonna finish this later.”

Jason hangs up and tosses the phone to the other side of the room without looking to see where it falls.

“What’s that, Dick?”

“Med ID,” Dick says quietly, running his thumb over the shiny metal plate, engraved with his name, Alfred’s phone number and ‘EPILEPSY’ in all caps. “M’not on drugs. The track marks are from antitoxins and stuff. I’ve been doin’ this a while, it adds up. I’m not on drugs,” he repeats.

Jason knocks Dick’s hand out of the way so he can read the engraving on the ID.

He sucks in a quiet breath through his teeth.

“You’re epileptic?”

Dick nods once, a shallow jerky gesture. He winces after. He really needs to stop moving around so much.

“After… well, it was the last thing I did as Batman. It was a whole thing. But I got shot. Uh. I got shot in the head. I got better, obviously. It didn’t kill me. It just… fucked up my brain, I guess,” Dick says with a self-deprecating laugh.

Jason’s eyes are wide, one hand still clutched around Dick’s wrist in a white knuckled grip. It kind of hurts, but Dick doesn’t say anything.

“Why the hell would you keep that from us?”

Dick shrugs. “I’m on meds. I’ve been seizure free for six months, Jay. I was fine. It was fine, I had it under control. I just didn’t eat or drink enough or get enough sleep today. Still today, right? Whatever. I just. I’m fine. This was a fluke.”

“You can’t keep something like this from your family, asshole!”

“Leslie knows. She’s the one who referred me to a neurologist that can be trusted with a little more than most.”

“Much as I love Leslie, she’s not family,” Jason snaps.

Dick twists his wrist out of Jason’s grasp.

“Dami, Bruce and Alfred know.”

“And what, you didn’t want to share with the rest of the class? You know you’ve got three other siblings, right? And a hell of a lot more people who care what happens to you? You’re lucky you came to me, Dick. What if you’d gone to Cassie or Tim or Babs? They wouldn’t have known how to take care of you as well as I did. They wouldn’t have known what was happening right away. Because you didn’t say anything. Do you get how dangerous that is?”

Dick is silent for a long moment.

“Damian saw the first one,” he says, so quiet he can barely hear himself.

“Speak up,” Jason demands.

“Dami was the only one there the first time I started seizing. Alf and Bruce got there quick enough, I guess, but Damian was the only one there at first and when I came back, he just… the first thing I saw was his face and he looked so fucking scared Jason, and he was scared for me and it looked so wrong on him even though he’s just a kid and I–” Dick gags and has to lean over the bucket still at the side of sofa while he retches for a moment. He doesn’t vomit. Small mercies.

Jason puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder and waits him out.

“Don’t work yourself up so much, Goldie.”

Dick huffs out a humorless laugh. “I just didn’t want to scare you guys. I thought I’d just be fine.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Dick looks up, a little hurt, only to find Jason smiling at him softly. “You’re such a self sacrificing moron. You’re our brother, dumbass. It doesn’t matter how bad it is. You need to tell us all these things. All of us. So we can help you. Cause that’s what family does.”

“I–”

“If the next words out of your mouth are not ‘yes, of course’ or ‘will you tell Tim, Cass, Steph and Babs,’ I’m going to punch you in the head and you will deserve whatever that causes. I don’t want to hear anything else. Now get some rest.”

Dick just sighs and agrees and falls asleep.

~*~

Two weeks later, Dick comes home after informing the rest of the family to find a t-shirt folded neatly at the foot of his bed. Jason denies ever having been near Dick’s apartment.

But the shirt, reading “MY BRAIN OCCASIONALLY MALFUNCTIONS” in large print, with “I have epilepsy” written much smaller underneath it, says enough about who left the gift.

#dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #epilepsy #nightwing #red hood #batman #robin #prompts #fic #mine #atqh16 #dc #dc comics #epileptic!dick grayson

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